#their blood and bones!!! what’s it like to have your sense of self stripped from you like that!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bisexual-horror-fan · 1 year

Note

BEX I’M SO EXCITED TO REQUEST SOMETHING FROM YOU!!! It’s nothing fancy, but may I request something where New Nightmare Freddy just mercilessly eats out an AFAB reader? Like, he’s just totally nasty and messy and keeps going until Reader’s a sobbing overstimulated mess? I have a major need. Please and thank you Bex, you’re the best <3

Ahhh! ACE! So I know this took me a minute but I am so happy with how it came out! Just some filthy fucking nasty pussy eating! What more do you need! Got this in under the wire but happy Valentines day, eh? I agree we need more NN! Freddy, he is the best and I hope to do more of him this year! Let’s not waste time, let’s go!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.5K. NN!Freddy X AFAB! GN! Reader. No Pronouns Specified. Warnings. Use Of Bitch. Degradation. Dirty Talk. Dub-Con. Forced Orgasm. Cunnlingus. Fingering. Face Sitting. Knife Play. Pain Play. Fear Play. Blood Play. Chase. Cum Play. Freddy Just Being Gross. Crying. Overstimulation. Nipple Play. Rimming.

—

“We’re Done When I Say Were Done.”

—

He hasn’t needed to eat in years.

His body isn’t sustained by regular food. And yet still needs something to maintain himself, just what he gets energy from is different now. He gets power and life from taking it away from others, from making them utterly helpless and terrified and ultimately killing them, consuming their soul, stealing the very life force that made them, them. That is what he truly needs nowadays. He was more than capable of taking it, in fact the build up and the execution of it were far too fun for him, he loved drawing out the experience, “playing” with his food.

There are so many ways to toy with one’s food, and so, so many ways to feed one’s self, and currently we find him, between your spread thighs, eating you in such a fashion that while it doesn’t physically nourish him, it does satisfy him in a different sense.

You however were still trying to contend with the sheer speed with which he had snuck up on you, struck up a chase, and had managed to catch you. Seemed no matter which way you turned he was always right fucking there.

He did it with such ease there was no cloying or taunting variation of the oh so original, “Caught ya.” Because it wasn’t necessary. You filled in the blank for him in your mind and he could hear it, I mean this all technically did take place in your head didn’t it? You didn’t like to think about the mechanics, it could make your head hurt and you had a much more serious life and death situation to focus on at the moment.

When you were below him and he raised that sickening hand that was a mish-mash of exposed muscle and bone and blades, your eyes squeezed shut and you waited for the killing blow.

But it never came.

He didn’t end you like you might have thought, his hand fell, he did slash, but the razors only caught your shirt, your eyes flying open in surprise, and from the mild jolt of pain from the few thin cuts that grazed your stomach. He fed his fingers through the slits he made into your shirt with ease, he curled his fingers and he pulls, hard.

The fabric gives way and you jerk in fear as your torso is exposed, the remnants tossed aside, he finally acknowledges you, a sneer as he asks, “Scared?”

He leaves no time for you to respond as next the poor excuse for bottoms you wore to bed that night were torn away to join the same fate as your shirt. He was so strong, it took him no effort to strip you totally bare except for the sweat that had built up on your body from the chase through this blistering hell hole of steam and pipes and cracked concrete.

His monstrous hand came down, blades teased featherlight over your chest, cold metal brushed over your nipples and you inhaled harshly, sucking down a deep and shuddering breath as the sensitive skin stiffened into hardened peaks. The expression he wore was sadistic, the smirk twisted, his fingers closed on one and he pinched, he pulled and turned, rolling it in his grasp and making you let out a small and strained sound in response.

“I think you can do better than that, right?”

He tugged hard and you let out a yelp and he almost praised you but the tone and expression undercut it, making it fall just shy, “Better. But still pathetic.”

You feel the smoothness of cool leather against your thigh and the unmistakable hardness below it and the feeling of that forced upon you simultaneously turns your stomach and makes your clit throb.

Again there was no time to pour over or process because he rocked against your thigh as his bladed hand abandoned your chest, drags lower, fingers spreading the small amount of blood that had welled up from the tiny cuts he gave you earlier. He didn’t stop until two of his fingers were bordering either side of your clit, a small squeeze and your breath catches, eyes slightly unfocused and he was watching your face the whole time. You could almost hear the pleased purr at the reaction he got from the smallest touch, he could feel the confusing mix and mess inside of you. The fear and the slight nausea, the confusion and of course the shameful, guilty arousal. It was totally delicious, almost as good as it could get without killing you.

But not quite, there is still something better to partake in and he was intending to soon after a little more playing with you.

Your breathing was ragged, the fear was close to outweighing every other feeling because of how close the blades were on his fingers, the dangerous position. How one small slip up could fucking ruin and utterly destroy such a sensitive and intimate part of you. He didn’t stop his small probing and manipulation and how you had no clue what to do, to pull away or hump embarrassingly into his touch to get more of what you clearly craved. His fingers left you and your body went slack, relaxing until he laid down a firm and solid hit right where he had been touching previously. Your body bowed from the intense jerk of pain to your system along with a choked off moan. He let out a laugh that was somewhere between amused and malicious. “Hurts, hmm?”

A shaky nod and he repeated the action, harder and you whined from the abuse he brought to your clitoris. He tsk’d and a few more smacks hit strong and true, each one causing you to release another all too amusing sound and while you were still reeling from the last hit he took the opportunity to do what he really wanted.

He could smell your cunt, you were more than ready and he was simply dying to satiate that other lingering hunger he had. His hands on your hips he jerks you up and you inhale harshly, you were staring up at him, wondering his next move as he ground the smooth leather against you. The slick from you spread over the clothed bulge of his erection as he moved and he said in the most mocking way possible, “I’m sorry.”

He leaned down closer, “I’ll make it up to you.”

A harsh swallow before you asked, “How?”

He started to slip down, hands moving as he went, more thin cuts along your hip and down your outer thigh as he went, you hissed at the hurt and he hummed out as he found his place between your thighs, resting on his stomach as he provided the answer to you. He leaned in, unnaturally long tongue slipping out of his mouth before licking a strip up the middle of you from hole to above your clit making you cry out and arch before he told you, “I’ll kiss it better.”

You think if anyone else but him said that you would cringe and roll away but the heat behind it made you melt even more so than the heat in here already was.

Any lingering want to push him away or for this to stop has been put to bed when his mouth is back on you.

How could one ever begin to describe the taste of you in this state?

Describing how a person tastes might be difficult for some, trying to nail down and put words to the flavour of an individual, but he isn’t regular, is he? No, he isn’t human at all, he is so, so much more than that. He himself is like a collection of words, a living, breathing, idea, a story currently in motion and as such he has more than ample ability to describe what your needy and soaked cunt tastes like.

The unique cocktail that made up you was nothing short of delectable. A hot, heady, silky mixture, salt and a particular tang to it that was immensely pleasing to the palette. They say what you eat affects how you taste but again he isn’t mortal, he can glean so much more from the taste you provide, he swears that he can in fact, “-taste how desperate you are.”

He barely lifted his head or broke contact with his mouth to share that lovely little fact with you and dove back in between your thighs tongue first before you could even begin to conjure an adequate response, or a response period. You tasted like just what he knew you would and just what he needed, pure, unfiltered, barely contained fucking whore. It was just below the surface and he could bring it out to play with a few well placed licks.

He seriously wondered how long you had been deprived of anything like this, it felt like it had been ages from how you were responding. And speaking of, right now you were very tense, breathing shallow and thighs threatening to almost suffocate him, (well if he actually needed to breathe of course-), from how hard they held his head. His hands took care of that. Spread you wide and force your legs apart and flat to the surface of the bed to truly allow himself to do what he needed. You were gasping for air in short order as his tongue delved inside your parted lips, into your soaked and clenching hole, curving up and upon touching a particular spot you made the best sound you had so far tonight.

Back to you though and how you were handling all this. Your mind was a soupy mess of pleasure and scattered thoughts, trying to cling to anything as he ate you out in a way that felt like the one series of letters and syllables that could fit it was ferocious. How could he do this? Move his tongue inside you with such ease and simultaneously so much force? Your end was speeding towards you at a blinding pace.

His mouth seems too large. His tongue is still inside you, moving, sliding in and out, curling and working but also you could feel the wet heat of the rest of his mouth covering your clit, as if he managed to encompass your whole vulva with his horrible maw. Legs twitching underneath his hands, the string inside you threatening to snap, eyes squeezed shut and there was nothing you could have done to stop the impending orgasm, it overtook beautifully. A deep inhale in while you were on the edge and when you exhaled you were cumming.

You moaned, deep and genuine, voice wavering from the strength of it and your voice wasn’t the only sound. Eating someone out the way he was, it isn’t a quiet affair, it sounds lewd and obscene and wet, but more than that too, he also let out a moan against you upon the peak of sensation. The moan sent vibrations that made your body try to jerk against him, increasing it all even further.

He loved this part, feeling you clenching rhythmically around his tongue, undeniable evidence of what he forced from you. What made it even more delicious was the lingering reluctance, the wish that you weren’t so fucking into it and cumming so hard from the mouth of a literal monster.

His hunger was far from satisfied.

He didn’t slow even when your orgasm subsided. He kept going. The attempts at thrashing were ignored as was the beginnings of your pleas for him to, “Stop! Fuck, please-It’s too ahhhn, too much!”

Of course it was too much, it was all by design, it was the entire point.

You tasted better after cumming, he wasn’t sure how but you just did and of course, you were wetter even though some of it had to be from him. Long tongue slid out, he pulled back and in that deep, unnatural voice he told you, mockingly, “Scream all you want, I’m not stopping because you want me to, this isn’t about you.”

Confusion painting your features, “I-it’s not?”

A laugh, a sickening sound that made you clench around nothing and also made your hair stand on end before he tells you, “No it’s not. This is about me feeding myself from this-” His hand between your legs, his thumb stroking up and down your clit, dipping into your soaked hole, you hissed slightly from the overstimulation, “-sweet cunt. It is the best thing you have to offer me, addictive taste and I am going to eat it until I am done, no sooner.”

And then a funny little thing happened, him saying that, the look in his eyes, his hands on you, the fear you had felt totally melted away. True to his word, he didn’t stop, didn’t relent, more probing of his tongue, harsh sucks of sensitive flesh, nips of sharp teeth and cuts from his bladed fingers on your hips and thighs. The pleasure and pain intermingles in this scarily intense blend that makes you feel like you might lose your mind. He talks and what is odd is that when he does at points he doesn’t break away, you still feel the moves of his mouth but hear the sounds of his voice reverberating on the walls around you, he asks humiliating questions, makes impossible requests, expects you to keep track of the times you fall apart because of him and how could you ever do that? He forces you into many a degrading position, dragging you easily into whatever configuration he wishes, making you grind on his face as he holds you so hard you bruise. He leaves no part of you below the waist free from his mouth, clit and both holes are delved inside and abused till you gape and have wetness rolling down your shaking legs all while he orders you to- “Ride my tongue you desperate bitch.”

You are so far gone your body moves on it’s own, pace is uneven but you do as he wishes.

You genuinely lose count, you have moments of the briefest lucidity but they don’t last, you are lost to feeling and to the all consuming nature of him. He presses on the fresh cuts, makes blood spill and intermingle with slick and spit and sweat, he tastes all of you, everything you have to offer. When it all becomes way too much, when you have cum more than you think you ever have or maybe ever will again, too tender to have another wrung from you, the tears fall and you feel him break away only to be back on top of you. His tongue is back on you, tasting the salt laden streaks pouring down your cheeks and then he finally seems satiated, having tasted every single fluid he wanted from you. The last thing you remember before waking up was him nearly cooing about how you were a, “-perfect midnight meal.”

#Ehhh?#Pretty good eh?#New Nightmare Freddy X Reader #slasher x reader #Freddy x Reader #BHF writing #BHF asks #ace-of-hearts-and-spades

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yandere-to-express · 7 months

Text

The wrong cranium

Part 2

Gender neutral

The space in between is not empty. The non-euclidean fluid time churns around the non-matter vessel we have curated from a list of volunteers. While the transition is delayed, we are simultaneously weaving the strings together and pumping the thing-that-makes through them. It is an eternal work, but the time dilation has handled it. Can-will-did handle it. It is done in two moderate infinites, which is a frame the fluid in our capacity can work with. The non-matter vessel is absorbed by the strings and bent, folded, broken into its many subatomic particles, then utilized as base material to pump through the strings again. The song of creation screams so beautifully.

The work is done. More precisely, ‘done enough’. We strip out of our self and twine around the strings to hide. Lovely abomination. The guide that hears and cares, that hears and leaves, that cannot hear but cares, and does neither. So close, yet so far away. We caress the string that pumps you through them, therefore, we caress all the strings, all the you.

I love you.

LOAD…

loading coda: 1111001 1101111 1110101// end // repeat seg.

ʜ̴̹͋ɘ̷̠͌l̸͖͗l̷̘͐ò̵̜ ̵̳̎γ̴̲̑ô̸̤υ̸̥̌.

You’re in a dark room. You’re on the floor, smelling the aged wooden floor and the dusty rug beneath you. Where are you? Or better yet, where were you? Slowly, the memories come, and to your surprise, they are clear and painless. However, they still make the veins tremble inside you.

You did crack your skull on the floor. All the disgusting stuff ended up spilling all over the linoleum, and you grieved for the person who would have to clean it. The force that had busted you open like a watermelon— you willingly let go of that memory. You don’t want it.

And then you were—

Dark. You weren’t you anymore, not in the sense you were used to. You were something between real and not real. You were like a shadow, the negative of something that had existed, but not anymore, so you weren’t you but even so, you couldn’t be anything else.

Your hands creeped below your ribcage and around your arms, thin as branches. Somehow thinner than the last time you held them. But the contact brought you comfort, and an old, warm feeling echoed through you: I love you. You whimper in relief. As long as you have yourself, nothing could be too heavy to weather.

Revitalized by this certainty, you regain the feeling of your body, the dead nerves of your limbs. They cramp back to life, muscles and bone obeying your command. They right you up, then lift you up, like ghostly hands holding a newborn fawn.

And finally, you remember your last memory. Peter, touching you, bringing you close. Your heart gave a strange, nauseating lurch in response. Looking around, you can see that this is not your apartment, but you don’t remember this setting; this can’t be Peter’s place.

Instead of relief, fear fills your blood, and what is delivered to the tips of your extremities pushes you forward to the door knob standing at your waist height. Swollen with the cocktail of your emotions, your hand turns it, opening the door. Outside there is even more darkness, but despite it, you can see everything you need: a couch, a TV, a dinner table, and a corridor to your right.

You don’t know where to go. Should you even leave? What if your host is even more violent, their moods more tempestuous?

That settles it. You’re going. You steel yourself for anything unexpected and step through the threshold, only to freeze at the sound of a door unlocking, the creak of hinges, and footsteps approaching.

You can feel yourself melting, cold sweat dripping off of you. You hurry your gangly limbs and ungainly torso over to the wall beside the living room door, awaiting movement in your peripheral vision. Distantly, you can hear this person’s vibrations traveling through the floorboards, feel their heartbeat hopping in your marrow fluid. They’re so close.

One step away. You ready yourself and pump tension into your arm, like a gun loading a bullet. If you surprise them, you may have a chance. Stepping inside. You see their shoe, then their wrist, and you swing your arm.

“Ow!” He stumbles into the doorframe. Your hit landed on his shoulder, though you had been aiming for something closer to his neck. Just like your plan, you almost run, but then… you recognize the voice.

“Pe—” Not Peter. He doesn’t know you know him. “Aren’t you…”

“Ha ha, you got me good! Wow, now that’s some arm strength, I definitely wouldn’t wanna be at the end of that.”

Yup. It’s him. There’s no one else who would treat an almost punch as lightly as this, even in the current circumstances. You try to clear your mind as he turns to face you properly, and wow, he’s actually really tall. You knew he was, but experiencing it in real life is something else. While you gather your thoughts, he just keeps serenely smiling at you, as though he’s got nothing else to do.

“Why am I here?” you ask. “We were at the park.”

“Well, yes. But you fainted, and I thought it would be irresponsible to leave you like that? I tried to wake up but you just wouldn’t, so I brought you here. To my house.”

“...I see.”

You blinked slowly, watching him for ill intentions. He seemed to have none, and even you with your meta knowledge of him, couldn’t parse what else his explanation could mean. It was in character, wasn’t it? Peter wanted to be close, so of course he would take the first chance to bring you home.

“And why didn’t you bring me to my place?”

“You didn’t tell me where you live. I couldn’t.”

You stared, baffled. He stared back at you, his expression still stuck with that peppy smile. Was he pulling your leg? He knew your address. You knew he knew— oh.

He’s pretending to be normal. Of course. That’s why he brazenly brought you here. If he did know your address, he would have to abide by your wishes and bring you there, but if he didn’t, then there was nothing holding him back from performing this “kind” act.

When you review what he just said, you actually notice that he wasn’t exactly lying. He didn’t say that he didn’t know your address— he just said that you hadn’t told him, which is the truth. When he said he couldn’t bring you home, he wasn’t lying, because how would a stranger know your address? This was, quite frankly, his only reasonable option… even though you’re sure that he could have found another very easily.

Unable to make peace with all these thoughts, you sigh. “Alright. Thank you?”

His smile widens, his eyes creasing with happiness. “You’re welcome! It’s really late right now, so would you like to stay over? I could make dinner for the both of us, then you could go back in the morning?”

Not gonna lie, that’s really tempting.

Still, you had your own hang-ups about that. “I’d be imposing—”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought that.”

“I don’t want… um… to make you tired?”

He looked at you without understanding, tilting his head.

“You know,” you said, “if you made food for two, that would be more effort? And you’d have twice the dishes to clean? I’d feel guilty.”

“Ah.” Peter looked away, but you could see the rapid fluttering of his eye-lashes, as well as the slight flush on his cheeks. “It’s alright. I’d love to cook for you! I mean, you’re so nice and— ha ha, what am I saying?” He lightly slapped his face, then faced you once more. “Then… how about you help me cook? And when we’re done, we can wash the dishes together.”

There’s no use arguing against that, is there?

“Alright. Just a heads-up though— I like cooking.”

“Really? Even better! Let’s switch on the lights and we can start…”

He flicked on the lamp on the ceiling.

NO, something screams inside you, then clams up. In the infinitely small time frame between darkness and illumination, the heaviness in your body retreats upwards, soaking around your skull, then disappearing as though it never appeared. When the light touches your skin, there’s nothing strange to be seen.

But it was there. Around you, inside you. It had been criss crossing your whole skeletal system.

(Not anymore, it’s not.)

“I’ll show you to the kitchen, okay?” Peter asks.

You nod. You need to forget what just happened. You drag your feet, following him into the hallway, busying your ears with the sounds of the carpet.

#your boyfriend game #yb #peter dunbar #yandere #yb peter #your boyfriend #ybf #tw: yandere #yb fandom #yandere games #your boyfriend fanfic #yandere fanfic

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the-leftfield-files · 1 year

Text

[TW - Bugs & Self-harm]

>FILE ACCESSED - DATE 12/2/22, TIME 1:03 AM.

>FILE STATUS - CLASSIFIED

Officially, I don't exist anymore. I'm dead, been that way for a long time now. That's not true for everyone who works in my field, some of them get to keep their lives intact. Not me, I dove in head first when I found out what we did and almost didn't live to regret it. My thoughts on that have changed since then. What we do should be public knowledge - the things that hurt people shouldn't be kept secret for a bullshit reason like "The public is too chaotic" or whatever they say nowadays to the new guys. I may get caught, I may not, I hope by spreading this on a site like this there will be a significant delay between my whistleblowing and my death, but we'll just have to see. Continue reading at your own discretion.

It was November 28th, 1965. I was being dispatched to a possible sighting of what we called "Watchers". I think these days people like to call them "Hide Behinds”, which is a much less succinct name but I digress. I was driving from D.C. to Utah, and this was back before they decided to start sticking us with partners. That was after ‘66, I don’t really know what drove the change but I’d be dead many times over if not for my old partner. Damn, thinking back I really wish I had one when this went down, but all I had to accompany me on my drive was the radio. Not exactly the top tier conversationalist unless you’re half insane.

Like I said though, D.C. to Utah. I was getting used to the feeling of being out of my depth, but somewhere in the middle of nowhere Kansas something started prickling my sixth sense. One thing that one of the other guys told me when I started working was to never ignore that feeling. It’s not an end all be all. It doesn’t always help, and it’s just pretty vague in general, but better to react to it when its nothing than ignore the cause of your death.

It was near 10 P.M. at the time, already far too late into the night for me to have been driving but I… well I was still trying to be a human being I guess. Wanted to get to Utah before the damn thing had a chance to kill again. The cornfields around me were impossible to see through, but I looked anyway. I didn't dare slow down my car in case whatever it was attempted to attack me, but as the feeling kept getting more and more powerful I could feel the terror creeping in. What was it? What was out here in the fields that could keep up with a car?

I almost hit it before I realized the other possibility. Something that looked like it had once been a man was standing on the side of the road. I slammed on my breaks and swerved to avoid hitting it, my car spinning out in a half circle and ending up facing it. As I calmed down, I got a better look at it. It's head was at an odd angle, and I could tell from the light my car was cascading upon it that the left leg had been stripped of flesh down to the bone. So, I of course, did the smartest thing possible, and slowly stepped out into the cold night air. It continued shuffling down the road, and even from the distance that I was at I could hear the odd clack of bone hitting the cement.

An important thing to note is that most of these fuckers are flesh and blood. They exist in the material world and can be stopped; or at the very least significantly injured by material things. I drew my service weapon and felt significantly calmer with the cool steel in my hand. As I heard the safety click, the thing stopped but didn’t turn around towards the sound. I thought something along the lines of 'Zombie, okay, first I've heard of them but I'm sure I just missed something.', and in my defense there was a lot of information I was told to comb through in only about a week, so it wasn't too small of a possibility for me to have missed something. Another important thing is that some of these creatures are pretty damn intelligent, around as smart as humans or smarter, so I thought I'd give it a chance to talk before I did anything.

"My name is Agent Fletcher, part of the Leftfield program. Who are you?" I yelled, my voice more jittery than I would have liked.

The smarter guys would know what we were, and those that didn’t, well… the creature twitched, and then slowly began to turn towards me. I watched in horrible fascination as it turned and I got a look at its face. The flesh around his skull was fully eaten away, revealing a writhing mass of insects underneath. They were everywhere in him, now that I was looking I could see them crawling out of the corpse from every opening. They escaped through his ears, his leg, even burrowing out of the rotting flesh in a mad scramble. It was almost too late before I realized what they were scrambling for. They were coming out of the ground as I was frozen in fear, staring into the empty sockets of the man. Oddly enough, a single centipede, much larger than the rest, was staring back at me. I could barely see its black beady eyes, however there was a deep hatred in them that kept me frozen. As the first of the bastards tore through my leg the pain brought me to action.

I began squashing them left and right and started running to my car. Every step must have crushed hundreds of tiny insects all trying to rip into my flesh. They were at least as far as my calf by the time I managed to get into my car, and as I slammed the door, I definitely heard an audible crunch. I fumbled in terror for a moment as the bugs filled all windows of my car, surrounding me in darkness and burying me beneath a squirming mass. I hit the gas not caring if I hit the fields. As my car accelerated past 75 mph the things started to fly off of the windows by themselves, and I could hear the sound of bugs being crushed by my shitty windshield wipers. I knew, however, that I wasn’t safe. I could hear them in the car, crawling all around me but just out of eye sight. I knew I couldn’t stop at least for another couple of minutes before I was far enough away from whatever the hell the thing was.

Every few moments, I saw something poke out of the different parts of my car. I could see them worming their way into the different instruments on my dash, trying to find their way to me. It wasn’t long before they found their way to the air vents, and I quickly grabbed my knife from the glovebox and began stabbing them. I heard their hissing comming from all around me not long after, and another terror began to encroach on me as I felt some make their way from the seat into my leg, and I slammed on the breaks and ran from my car.

The pain was sharp, piercing. I felt hundreds of tiny needles stabbing into me, consuming me from the inside out. I didn't know what to do at first, in shock from the pain, but as they began moving upwards, I quickly thought of a solution. I had my knife. I had a lighter in my pocket. I had some number of bugs trying to burrow up through my skin towards my head. I got the first ones relatively easily, ignoring the smell of burning flesh and the searing pain. After that, the bugs quickly learned and started burrowing deeper than any wound has ever gotten, and I was forced to follow.

It took me four minutes. Four minutes of hell, scarring myself and waiting for one of the fuckers to slip up and move close enough to the surface for me to get it with the knife. Self preservation opens the window to absurdity.

Luckily it was dark enough that I could barely see the damage. I had solved the first issue, and I dared a trip back to my car to grab my medical supplies, managing to retrieve enough of them to stem the worst of the bleeding, so I was in no immediate danger of death anymore. I sat there, in the darkness, for a few minutes, with every itch and tingle driving me insane.

How would I know if I had gotten all of them? How would I know that there wasn't one who could mask itself better and was about to reach my brain? Was that lump always there on my skin? What part of the pain that I was experiencing was the damage I had done to myself? Was it actually the pain of something moving under my flesh, one that I had missed? Suddenly, a bright light illuimated me and I turned towards the culprit. A car was driving down the road, and as it reached me, it began to slow. I limped over as he fully stopped, seeing a middle aged man. After a quick lie about a car accident, he agreed to take me to the nearest town.

I spent the rest of the evening in the hospital. I didn’t sleep, something in me was sure that if I did the bugs would start crawling out of the sink, out of the different cracks in the ground, ready to finish the job. I convinced the nurse at the ER that I needed to be off, only really managing to do so because of my badge. Around 3 A.M. or so, I found myself in a motel, devising a plan to take the thing down. Fire, certainly, was my best bet. I tried my best to sleep after that, but it was mostly fruitless. I woke to every ache that my body felt, and every tingle that could be the signal that something else was taking control. The next morning, I went into a gas station, buying a six pack, a liter of gasoline, and some rags. The man at the counter gave me an odd look, but nobody really questions you if you look like a ‘G-man’. I got a ride back to my car from someone else, and after inspecting everything to make sure something else wasn’t hiding in it, all I could do was sit around and wait.

I spent two more days in that town, some of the longest in my life. The anxiety, the pain, my nerves were shot to hell too. Three people disappeared from the nearby farms during that time. Three people I didn't save because I couldn't think fast enough to create a solution when I first saw the bastard. I’ve gotten better since then, but I’m not perfect. I know some of the guys on the force let it ruin them, and I refuse to let that happen. Can’t be much help if I’m too busy fighting my own demons, now can I?

When it finally decided to show itself again, I was ready to leave, half convinced that I needed to just head off to the main purpose of my trip. I was looping around the town on the back roads when I saw it. The thing had taken a different body by then, the new guy was much fatter and as I approached, I could already see the signs of decay and consumption that the swarm had left on its new victim. As I calmly stepped out of my car, it didn’t stop moving and kept its slow pace forward. I grabbed a molotov, and only then did it stop as the few bottles I had clinked against each other. After the first bottle started burning, I could see the bugs beginning to climb out of the ground, but I was ready this time. Three bottles in I could hear the things inside of their terrible rotting abode screaming and popping in the heat. I used another two to burn the excess bugs that were attempting to attack me, or maybe they were trying to escape at that point. The last one I used on the corpse after it had started to calm down, burning it even longer. Afterwards, I managed to find a bit of the original centipede which had stared at me, and placed it inside of a small metal tube for further examination.

I only gave myself another day of rest before I continued on my journey. In Colorado I connected with another agent from the program. He had been informed that I would be passing through and we were to check in with each other. I’d learned that this practice was pretty typical, if someone failed to show up, the other agent would be tasked with going to solve their last known case in the possibility that they had died on the way or had died in the line of duty. I barely made it to the rendezvous, the other agent was about to leave before I managed to catch him in a coffee shop.

It was a small, rundown place. Honestly, the only reason I noticed it was because of his vehicle parked outside of it. The inside was no better, but we met eyes and the man nodded his head in what seemed like a mixture of relief and greetings. After I told my story to him I finally learned the bastard’s name.

“I’ve always called them ‘Hosts’, but I think some of the guys in the science division have a more technical name for them.” He informed me, rubbing the back of his neck and ordered me a drink. “Fire… that’s the best you’ll get. I think we lost a guy a few years ago 'cause he had the brilliant idea to try and shoot the damn things."

We paused for a moment as the barista brought me my coffee, and after I took a sip I replied "Yeah, I didn't really know anything else to attack them with. Pesticides maybe?"

We both laughed at that one before he gave me a serious look "You sure you got all of them Fletcher?"

"Y-yeah. I'm sure I would have felt it crawling in me if I hadn't, right?"

He just nodded and mumbled something into his coffee as he took another sip. As we sat there in silence, I couldn’t ignore the sudden feeling of an itch on my leg, but I tried my best to ignore it. Suddenly, he stood and paid for both of the drinks, beginning to head out.

"Well, I'll be off then. You're behind schedule as is, best you get going too."

"No rest for the wicked, right?"

I've never forgotten his smile as he walked out of the cafe. It was a mix of pity and knowing, a smile that haunted me with its secrets. I suspect my own looks similar these days, coupled with its own stories behind it. My leg always begins to ache slightly when I think about that job. I still humor the possibility that I'm being driven by a bug from time to time, but regardless of the odd tingles that I get, I try not to dwell on it anymore.

So, monsters are real - the things that kids whine about in the night, the things that kill or impersonate hikers in the wilds, and even things that fry the mind by trying to properly comprehend. They're real. Not all of them mind you, Steven King is just fiction, but some people have had a connection to something paranormal. I genuinely believe Lovecraft tapped into something like what I'm talking about, Cthulhu isn't real but there's definitely something like it - you get the point.

The official program, titled "Project Leftfield", gets its money from the U.S. military's budget. There's so much money moving in and out of there that no one is going to miss the funding for a few hundred guys. We had a close call back in '66 with the FOI act, really had to go blackout then, wiped all internal actions with the FBI. Turned out to be the best damn thing that happened to the program. The director was essentially his own boss, had to occasionally give a report to some anonymous congressmen, say something about how our actions were "keeping the peace, and making excellent progress" or something like that and he got a million dollars pushed his way. They didn’t care anyways. In those days, they were much more likely to skim some into their own pockets rather than look at us twice.

Don’t ask me who founded the program, I don’t know. Our current director, [REDACTED], is always vague when I ask him any questions that don’t directly pertain to the line of duty. All I know is that he’s not the first one, and that according to some coworkers, he’s “significantly better than the last.” so I’ll be avoiding the question until I need to ask it. Occasionally you’d get someone going on a power trip as we were still figuring things out, but that mostly settled down as the years went on.

To any god that cares, my name is Agent Fletcher and I hope to continue sharing these stories.

>ADDITIONAL NOTES -

Wish you the best wherever you ended up, Fletcher.

#fiction #horror #short story #case file horror #self-referential

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percontaion-points · 4 months

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VOEN chapter 4

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 4

Yes, this was certainly susto. Madre Santa, why did Abuela have to be ill today of all days? Only she had ever cured a man of susto. Nena had watched.

From wikipedia: Susto is a cultural illness primarily among Latin American cultures. It is described as a condition of "chronic somatic suffering stemming from emotional trauma or from witnessing traumatic experiences lived by others".

Dude doesn’t need herbs, he needs a fucking therapist.

“He’s alive.” She had suspected this, she had hoped this, but hearing his heartbeat shored up her shaky confidence.

Either the author doesn’t know what “susto” actually is, or this is a whole lot of overreaction for a panic attack.

The cases of susto that had occurred in the young men on the rancho— even ones as seemingly impervious as Ignacio—all presented the same. They had experienced a violent shock that left a severe wound in the aura, that separated the soul from the body. Abuela had called three souls back; two, she had been unable to retrieve. Those graves were still fresh behind the chapel. She saw them every day.

“Regresa, Ignacio.” Please, come back. She closed her eyes and thought of directing her energy into him to help heal that breach in his aura, to heal its wounds, to strengthen him as she called his soul back. She reached. She beckoned.

Nothing happened.

Have you ever witnessed something that was so traumatic that you yourself curled up and simply died?

What the fuck is happening.

I don’t have words anymore.

Ignacio reached his right hand up to caress Elena’s face. The motion caught Nena’s eye, but what drew her attention was the glint of a wound beneath the man’s underarm.

It oozed with blood.

“When did that happen? How?”

Elena and Ignacio turned to Nena in surprise, as if only just then remembering that she was there.

“What?” Confusion clouded Ignacio’s face. Exhaustion hung over him like a soaked rebozo.

“You’re bleeding.” She immediately turned her bag out, searching for the strips of fabric she always kept there for bandages. She was an idiot. She had been so afraid of failing to cure Ignacio’s susto that she had completely overlooked this. What if she had gone back to la casa mayor and left his wound to fester?

She turned sharply to examine it.

Okay, so I get that the healer-in-training walking in and thinking “panic attack” (/spirit leaving the body????), and not looking for physical wounds.

BUT WHY THE HELL DIDN’T HIS GODDAMNED WIFE TELL NENA THAT THE DUDE HAD A HUGE, NASTY BITE ON HIS ARM?! IS THIS NOT A GOOD REASON WHY SOMEBODY FUCKING COLLAPSED?! THAT MAYBE THE THING THAT BIT YOU WAS FUCKING VENOMOUS?! OR MAYBE THAT THE WOUND IS FUCKING INFECTED?!

JFC these people are too stupid to be alive.

There was something that kept the people of the rancho from trusting her like they trusted Abuela. It didn’t seem to matter how hard she studied Abuela’s practices, never mind how early she rose to help young mothers with colicky babies or how many broken bones she successfully set.

Abuela had her theories. She had poked a gentle finger in Nena’s upper arm as they hung laundry to dry one recent afternoon.

“It’s your aura,” she said. “It’s wounded.”

Nena looked up at her in surprise, her pride stinging.

“People can’t see it as I do,” Abuela continued. Her voice was tender, almost pitying. “I know where this wound comes from. You do too. You must find a way to heal yourself from it, or you will never be able to live your full self. Can’t you sense how it confines you? The sick can. That’s why they hesitate.”

This, Nena knew, was nonsense.

Bold words from a girl who used burning rosemary to “tether a man’s soul to his body”.

But she was still grateful for the click of the latch behind her.

Chapter 4 summary: We jump back to Nena, who is not only alive, but also not a vampire as I was led to believe??? Anyway, she gets called out in the middle of the night to tend to a man who is sick. Her abuela (grandmother) is usually the healer (read: bruja {aka witch}) who takes care of all of that stuff, but Nena is in training to take over these duties.

When she gets to the house, she finds the young man lying prone, barely breathing. Now, at this juncture, I’d like to say that despite whatever wikipedia (and my psychologically trained husband who lived in Huston for several years working closely with the Hispanic population) has to say, this is the story that we’re given. These people believe that setting dried herbs on fire and waving it over the affected person is going to help.

By only the grace of the author commanding it, the dude instantly and immediately recovers from what basically sounds like a fainting spell. As his wife kisses him, Nena then notices that the dude’s arm is bleeding, and goes to check it out. She’s startled when she finds a wound like a snake bite, but instead of 2 puncture wounds, it’s 6. Let’s call it for what it is: a fucking vampire bite. I’m still angry that the dude’s dipshit wife failed to mention this to Nena when she showed up.

As she leaves, Nena thinks about how dumb it is that nobody trusts her as a healer yet.

#vampires of el norte #bookblr #book review #readers of tumblr #gothic horror #horror novel #historical fiction #vampire #supernatural

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silentmeteorite93 · 6 months

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The Leaping Gazelles 24/34

Neighborhood

The man of the year walks past the window of the shopping mall, which reflects the figures of two people. He continued on his way as to find the ice cream parlor. He pressed straight ahead while the woman stopped to look at the merchandise in the window. Every offering of the woman who had become a shadow was in fact a sacrifice, an offering of the man's desires to a higher being, and by the time he realized the woman's tactics, he had long since sunk into the array of years, unable to bring himself to resist at all.

In the midst of the man's own internal sophistry, a large portion of his freedom had been lost by the time everything was on track, and the self-proclaimed pit-returner and loose cannon was hardly likely to be able to refine his skills. An elderly cat neutered by freedom was what he had to say about himself. It was then a tall, lovely woman whom the man teased as a female executive came into his view, and the battle known as the Bureau of Wisdom found him a sense of confrontation he hadn't felt in a long time.

Like the man, the woman's preferences were specific and eccentric, and even the man, who prided himself on having enough cold knowledge, rarely ran into a complete knowledge vacuum, but fortunately, he was a patient and open-minded learner, so he didn't lose in the initial verbal test. And just as both men were convinced that the brain was the only sex organ, written descriptions and scenarios became incredibly important. The man's previous position as lord of the city in the Dungeons and Dragons board game had given him similar experience, so after initially figuring out the woman's preferences, the man had begun the gradual process of constructing a world exclusively for the austere woman who preferred Bengalese reasoning.

The man found that over a long period of time he had more or less lost the motivation and ability to study hard and conceive seriously, and slowly began to be perfunctory and slack from a passive abuser, gradually turning the source of pleasure from the careful implementation of the plan into a unilateral, quick and cheap way to satisfy his own desires. He neglects the fact that careful design and gradual advancement used to be his greatest source of pleasure, he forgets that discovering each other's inner darkness and desires was his original intention, and he now resists sewing each other together with grotesqueness and pain, but instead, it becomes a death that he needs to deliberately avoid. And all of this misdirection or helpless growth is exposed in the collision and game with this woman. The fog on the sea suddenly ripped, it turns out that the sunshine has always been there, only deliberately hidden, to the man in front of him to pass the test. Perhaps this is the endless joy and benefits that can be brought by a confrontation that makes a man's eyes light up every time he thinks about it.

Women's tastes and preferences are extremely elusive, and the man who has repeatedly encountered the wall, on the contrary, has become more and more courageous, and in the many collisions and temptations in the man has come up with an incredible answer. The atmosphere should be sweet and refreshing in the midst of completely reflecting the absolute privatization of possession, the scene should be familiar but through manipulation stripped of a sense of security to achieve the strange but not panic, the pain should be bone-chilling but gentle caresses as a prelude and a conclusion. It's the shame that makes your ears redden and your heart cry out for the worst that destroys you, and makes you suddenly brave enough to reject human civilization as a pedantic impediment to the brain's pursuit of pleasure. The short skirt that doesn't cover your private parts, the bell that rings when you shake it slightly, the blindfolded and backhanded boudoir, the white flesh that makes your blood rush but you still caress and admire it, the man who is gentlemanly and courteous one second and then his blood boils the next, the beast who is rough and unsympathetic just now but then murmurs softly in his ear, the image of the forbidden but powerful woman who is drawn out of herself by her own self-forgetfulness and abandonment. wantonness withdrawn from within herself in contrast.

Just imagining her silhouette and submission sent the blood rushing to the brain, even though it was concentrated elsewhere in that image. The pistol hanging from her brow, the hand that held it trembling and bone white with anticipation of being aroused by the thrill of the planning process was almost intoxicating to the man, the complexity and simplicity of the stage he repeatedly constructed and the script he wrote.

Everything was carefully designed but driven by instinct, every step followed a plan but in reality there was no set script at all, and if much of what was done and said in the ring was a cover for much of what was unsavory. For these two equally beautiful and twisted people, even the desire and pain of the flesh will completely give way to the intertwining of ideas. Men jokingly claim that nine out of ten readers of The Little Prince are different, but the sense in which it seems as if they will find the answer and apply it to themselves as a fairy tale in the next second, the cosmic truths that flow vaguely through the book are truly mesmerizing. No one don't know what kind of benefits two people who are so honest and hypocritical can get from each other, every time a man gives a woman a silent design outline, he actually remembers that rainy and broken faraway place where there was once a person who wanted to decay that obsession together, just like this same pursuit of the pure woman, the man doesn't feel that he can understand what they think or really satisfy them, but just like looking up to the stars, the depressing and absolutely beautiful shock! But just like when you look up at the stars, the overwhelming and overwhelmingly beautiful shock often makes a man want to stand up and roar to the heavens, but he never does. The key word men gave themselves was do-it-yourself, which was far less romantic than the woman's charming words. It was true that if you wanted to tame a man, you had to risk tears.

He had a hot and blunt toughness that he wanted to share with the sensitive and vulnerable ones at the moment, stirring her tenderness and forbearance with his persistence and rudeness. The man felt an overwhelming hunger, the reality was a bowl of noodles that smelled and looked steaming hot, only to realize it didn't taste as good as it should when it reached his mouth. There was no nutrition, only a way to fill the hunger in front of him. The goddess in the center of the stage in his mind was waiting to be defiled, so he was forced to re-build his humble image. Perhaps it was because he had been too busy with his studies lately, or perhaps it was the flowers that happened to open up on the way out of school. Men always pay more attention to the opposite sex walking around them unintentionally, their small and white ears and slim and tender ankles are telling men that they need to restrain their inner sadistic desires even more.

#poem #writers #books & libraries #writing

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pinertour · 2 years

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Birdy shelter notea

Whether it’s taking the fuzzy buoyancy of Phoenix’s 1901 and reinventing it with an introspectively sombre melody and hushed vocals or faultlessly masquerading Cherry Ghost’s People Help the People as a subtle beacon of hope, Birdy manages to capitalize upon the emotional aspects of the originals and manipulate them in entirely new directions. In many respects, her self-titled debut is a continuation of her early promise, the covers frequently doing justice to the originals. Propelled through the overwhelming reaction to her early single the infamous Skinny Love cover that debuted at number 10 on the singles chart, Birdy’s extensive palate was revealed along with her wonderfully innocent voice. In recent years the hyperbole surrounding any up-and-coming star from the motherland has become something of a running joke, but Birdy has a little more about her than your average “next big thing”. In this sense at least, releasing a cover album is a brave move indeed.Īnd so we come to Birdy, the latest in a line of teenage British females touted as the “next best thing”. Whether this new direction eventually enhances or worsens the song is down to a multitude of factors, not least the skill of the singer and the tenacity with which the initial song is praised, but the risk of tarnishing what is probably somebody’s favourite song (however deluded this may make them) remains regardless. Despite the apparent ease of rehashing an old idea however, the best cover albums take just as much effort as an original LP for by taking an already cherished song and modifying it just enough to justify the cover the interpreter is effectively penning a new work anyway. Often the final straw of a long-forgotten artist looking to gain a little more commercial viability, the cover album is oft derided as an unimaginative slur on the profession and habitually disregarded by fans. Talent shows aside, the releasing of a cover album tends to be a rare event. Professional Reviews: Uncut (magazine) (p.81) - 4 stars out of 5 - "Birdy brings uncommon poise and sophistication to songs by Bon Iver, Cherry Ghost and The National.Clearly a talent to be reckoned with.Review Summary: Or: The Art of Covers by Jasmine Van den Bogaerde. The whole idea of Birdy sounds like a transparent attempt to court a more credible audience, but thanks to her haunting tones and a tasteful yet compelling production, it impressively avoids being the try-hard affair you'd expect. As clever and subtle as these reworkings are, it's Birdy's youthful and fragile voice that steals the show, whether it's replicating the multi-layered harmonies of Fleet Foxes' "White Winter Hymnal," providing a poignancy to Bon Iver's "Skinny Love," or showcasing her scale-gliding abilities on the Postal Service's "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight." The gospel-tinged cover of James Taylor's "Fire and Rain," the only track to sound more expansive than the original, feels slightly out of place, while the unremarkable balladry of the only original composition, "Without a Word," suggests she might have to work a little harder on her songwriting skills if she's to avoid becoming a one-trick pony. The likes of the National's "Terrible Love" and Francis & the Lights' "I'll Never Forget You" offer little deviation from the source material, but for the most part, producers Rich Costey (Muse), James Ford (Arctic Monkeys), and Jim Abiss (Adele) strip the songs down to their bare bones, turning Cherry Ghost's everyman anthem "People Hold the People" into a tender torch song with its stately piano chords and mournful cello, toning down the aggression of the Naked & Famous' synth pop hit "Young Blood" with some muted beats and ethereal twinkling electronica, while somehow turning the already sparse "Shelter" from the xx's Mercury Music Prize winner into an even more skeletal and ghostly affair. Indeed, you won't find any karaoke standards or renditions of Miley Cyrus songs here, as this stripped-back collection of lesser-known hits and album tracks reads like a who's who of lo-fi hipster indie rock. But although its 11 renditions of mostly contemporary songs, many of which could be passed off as originals due to their previous lack of exposure, stick to the tried-and-tested talent show formula, that's where the comparisons end. On the face of it, the self-titled debut from 15-year-old Birdy, aka Jasmine van den Bogaerde, doesn't seem any different from the hastily assembled cash-in covers albums released every year by the various X Factor alumni.

#Birdy shelter notea

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mssirey · 2 years

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Self-Love (and How It Measures Against Doubt)

a little gift for @sexybread-png!

Kar had joined her workout—gone through the same motions—mimicked her in all but the strain that forced her lungs to demand relief. As she ran a towel over her body, ridding it of the sweat that had collected, her partner shedded their t-shirt—one entirely free of the dark stains on her own that mapped the heat on her skin.

Lena approached just as Kar’s shirt lifted over their head, and when their arms lowered, the fabric falling to reveal a comfortably dry chest, she was in reach. She gave into the urge to touch, her slightly damp fingers catching as they slipped along the faded red of the softly jagged outline beneath their pectorals.

The scars were ones Kar had chosen, a procedure they had opted into, for themself. Some days, they were like any other scars—the remnants of hurt—but most days they were a source of healing, of self-love, painted proudly on otherwise flawless skin.

Kar’s gaze was gentle, patient, but there were twitches of confusion in their brow. Their teeth played with the inner edge of their lower lip, toyed with the idea of giving voice to their curiosity, but as that crinkle she found so adorable began to show between eyebrows, she knew what was coming.

Kar’s shirt dropped to their feet, in favor of hands settling on Lena’s waist, a simple tug enough to encourage her final stride into their space. “What’s happening?”

Lena’s hands flattened against their chest, maintaining that last inch between them—the boundary that kept Kar from the spiral of thoughts that dragged at her. Time would leave its mark on her and life would take its toll, her body taxed more each year, while Kar would not see such struggles in her lifetime.

“Nothing.” Lena recognized the bitterness that coated her tongue, the venom that she did not want to direct at Kar, so rather than open the floodgates, she denied the need.

“Are you sure?” When Lena’s gaze lifted, she caught the way their eyes flitted between hers, searching for the truth she hid away. She returned to the sprinkle of hair along their collar bones. “Your heart is— well, it’s doing that thing,” they tapped the erratic beat with a finger, “and I don’t think it’s cause of the knee lift thingies.”

Lena was no longer panting, but her breath was still heavy. “How am I supposed to compete?” A sardonic chuckle hollowed out the rest of her chest.

Her question was met with a deep inhale, her hands rising with the fill of Kar’s chest, where they held still for a stretched beat. Whatever lightness she’d hoped to return to was forfeit then.

“You’re not.”

Lena recoiled from the sting of judgment she’d never escaped, echoed back through her past to rebound with a multitude of voices singing the same cruel chorus.

“You don’t have to measure yourself against me.”

There was a sincerity she wasn’t expecting, driving through the shell of humor she used to guard those little seeds she harbored—the doubts about what her future held, what more it would strip from her, and whether what was left would be desirable.

“You’re allowed to love yourself…”

It wasn’t permission, not in a way that could be given with any true authority, but more the shared fruit of a lesson clawed from blood-thick soil, found in the raw tracks left by tears, and beyond silent screams that haunted nights. And just as it was etched into flesh, it also cropped up in tufts of hair allowed to grow freely.

It was joy, when all that was taught was loathing and guilt and a sickening sense that escape from all of that wasn’t deserved, wasn’t earned—because somehow it had to be. But there it was, a happiness nurtured in the cracks, sprouting along those ridges, fed by a tender radiance.

That smile. Crooked, with the barest show of teeth. It’s warmth was offered without demand for compensation.

“You’re enough,” they said, their words driving directly into the tenderness of her heart, “always.”

Lena heard it, then. Her hands slipped around Kar, held tight in the hope that if she squeezed, it would sink in easier.

“Thank you,” she breathed as she sank into their embrace, into their cultivated warmth, nestled into the safety there.

#kar danvers #lena luthor #nb!kara #supercorp #mssirey #my writing

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heliads · 3 years

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Time Can Heal (But This Won’t) Chapter Three: Bloodstains

You’ve been a lone demigoddess, daughter of Hecate, ever since your home of Hellas sank beneath the waves centuries ago. You loved the Darkling until he crossed you and you fled the Little Palace. Now you’re disguised as a mere cartographer. Can you face him again, knowing what he’s done?

previous / series masterlist / next

There was no way around it, no way to avoid it. Like it or not, you would be returning to the only place you’ve ever truly called home since you left behind the sinking shores of Hellas, past a people who would never rise again. You had seen Os Alta built, walked the newly constructed halls of the Grand and Little Palaces with the Darkling before you knew enough to run from him. This is where you’ll be going- not to a new future, but a chance to drown in all the memories you’ve tried so hard to forget.

However, you’ll have to survive the journey to Os Alta first. You’re not here as an esteemed guest or prisoner, you’re here as a double, a lure. Someone who can be killed so that Alina Starkov walks out alive. You know this as well as your ice-eyed Darkling who rides next to you, who thinks nothing of you but that you share a name with a woman he thought he could manipulate. That is all.

So you force your gaze away from the Darkling and back towards your hands, which grip the reins of your offered steed. You mentally catalogue the scant few weapons you had on you before you were dragged along after Alina- two knives, a medium length dagger, and the small pistol all First Army soldiers were forced to have on them. You’ve never particularly cared for guns, though- they’re dirty, loud things, nothing compared to the damage you could wreak with a syllable from your tongue. Then again, if it came down to it, you’d rather have a pistol in your palm then risk using your magic in front of the Darkling. In the end, you’re here to stay hidden, not reveal yourself in the most dramatic way possible.

That being said, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. You’ve learned long ago to listen to the voices that whisper past your ear, speaking of dangers lurking in the woods and ill-intentioned beings who wait for women who walk alone. Some are remnants of past protection spells, and others are shades from the Underworld who’d managed to conjure up some corporeal strength and warn you of an attack. You are the last living Hellenid to walk the earth, and so they feel duty-bound to protect you. Through you, your people live on, and so even the dead watch your back.

So when the voices come, you listen. Your eyes flicker shut for just a second as you listen, past the thump of your heart and the pattern of horse hooves on the dusty ground. The carriage rolls noisily some distance in front of you, and then you hear it stop. Around the bend, you hear the disgruntled mutterings of the guards even though they’re too far for a human ear to pick up. A tree has fallen down, blocking the path. You know it’s a trap even before the shots ring out.

You hear the choked screams of men falling with arrows through their throats and eyes and begin to panic. They’ve come for Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner who could damn the Fjerdans to a lifetime under Ravka’s watchful eye. They’ve come to kill her. You sense the Darkling rearing his horse beside you, and his stallion picks up into a canter. You don’t have to say a word, just listen to his commands to his men. There are more men attempting to circle behind you and pick you off, you can distract them and the remaining attackers trying to get into the carriage.

A Heartrender turns to you, gesturing for his fellow Grisha to follow you. “Come, Alina! We have to get you to safety!” This command is far too loud for any self-respecting Second Army soldier to ever utter, but to the Fjerdans, it is nothing out of the ordinary. Ravka already swears by its legions of witches, why shouldn’t the ice-haired drüskelle believe themselves above the pathetically obvious Grisha? They follow you without a second thought.

You wait a minute, listening to the sound of boots crashing through the forest floor after you, then jump down from your horse in one swift motion. Your knives appear in your hands and you sprint towards your attackers, knocking them down again and again. You slam the hilt of one knife into a Fjerdan’s nose, and you can hear the bone shatter as if it was your own. Light flashes off of the Grisha steel blades as you slash and stab, drawing blood without taking a break.

A small part of your mind gleefully notices the way the Fjerdans are running towards you now, drawn towards the sunlight reflected by your knives. They think you the Sun Summoner now, all because of metal polished to a shine. And why shouldn’t they? You have enough power to tear this continent in half, to let the sun pierce the planet’s very core. Why shouldn’t you be feared? Why shouldn’t you be the Sun Summoner yourself?

The man in front of you cries out, and you come back to your senses. Your eyes follow your knife, twisting in his windpipe, and you withdraw it hastily. You wipe the scarlet blood on the grass before turning to fight another Fjerdan attacker, but none come forward. You realize that they’re all dead, either by your hand or by the Heartrenders. Although, you notice with a sickening twist, most are killed by you. You’re supposed to be a shy First Army soldier, and you’re not exactly playing your part quite right.

Across a clearing, you see the Darkling helping Alina to her feet. She looks stunned, most likely due to the body of a Fjerdan lying at her toes. It’s been sliced perfectly in half- so he’s used the Cut. No wonder she looks as if the world has just been exposed for being woven from nightmares. She glances over at you and blanches even further. Shame twists in your gut as you realize your hands are covered in blood, none of it yours. You were borne of a race of warriors, fighting has been in your history for as long as Hellas has stood. To Alina Starkov, however, this is a massacre like she’s never seen before. You carefully sheath your knives again once you’re sure there’s no blood left on them.

You stare at the bodies, forcing your eyes to remember every last detail. May your gods or their Saints watch over them, wherever they may go. You don’t have enough coins to place under their tongues as per the Hellan tradition, although even if you did you couldn’t risk drawing the Darkling’s attention with such a specific ritual. Instead, you burn their faces into your mind. Memories and legacies were how your people retained their power, and being forgotten was a large part of how they crumbled away. At last you can remember these men.

A voice sounds from in front of you, and you look up hastily. “Do not pity them. They attacked the Sun Summoner, your friend.” The Darkling stands before you, something strange in his eyes. You’ve seen this look before, a few centuries ago. You had been careful to hide the true extent of your magic from him, perhaps knowing even then that he would want nothing more from you then the power you could give him.

In that long ago instant, you had let go, allowing your spells to run wild as stallions through the air. You were attacked, yes, but you had used it as an excuse for true bloodshed. It had been so long since you had truly tested your limits, always making sure to hide what you truly were, even from the other Grisha. You wanted to see what you could do, just this once. Even then, you were just scratching the surface, but the wash of inky emerald over the scene threatened to drown out the world. Bodies dropped, trees were stripped of bark, entire buildings crumbled despite the strongest of foundations.

The few other Grisha present looked at you with true horror, but not the Darkling. No, he looked at you as he does now, with a sort of hunger that could consume entire countries and never be filled. He saw no girl or lover, he saw a weapon. He saw you standing before him, pulling a blade from your chest and offering him the hilt. He’d take it, not caring (or even relishing) your blood still dripping from the blade. The things he could do with you were unimaginable even in your worst nightmares, and it would never be enough. The worst part is that you thought you might go along with it, that you’d be willing to watch the end of the world with him.

This is how the Darkling looks at you now, a weapon ready for the taking. You remember hastily that he’s likely expecting something of you, so you duck your chin and do your best to summon up the modesty expected by the likes of Y/N Stassov, mapmaker and nothing more. “It’s just, well, a lot of death.” The Darkling inclines his head. “Maybe. Where did you learn to fight like that?” You don’t like this line of questioning, where it could lead. “The First Army. Sir.”

The Darkling’s lips quirk at the last minute honorific. “I’ve seen no First Army mapmaker who could take out a dozen Fjerdans with a pair of knives. Maybe I should send some of my soldiers to learn from your generals.” You panic, sure he’s testing you, then realize that he’s joking. Ridiculous. You force a smile. “I think they’re probably fine with their heartrending and all that.” The two of you have begun walking back to the horses now. The Darkling mounts his steed, then looks back at you. “Maybe so.” When he takes off, you’re not sure which scares you most- him figuring out who you are, or the idea that he would not look for you at all.

The Darkling calls for the party to take a respite that night, waiting until the moon shines low in the sky for everyone to tie up their horses and rest in a long-abandoned barn. Alina runs over to you as soon as she gets off of her mount, flinging her arms around you in gratitude. You can tell from the hammering of her heart whenever she looks at the Darkling that she hasn’t forgotten his use of the Cut, and probably won’t for a while.

“Saints, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t do this alone.” You can sense the eyes of the Darkling and the other Grisha on your back, and you know what’s expected of you. To them, you are no more than an otkazat’sya mapmaker, someone utterly unworthy of their Sun Summoner’s company. They’ll leave you to make your way back to Kribirsk when Alina is safe at the Little Palace, and they no doubt expect you to make her path easier.

So, you smile, smoothing back an errant piece of her hair into place. “That’s a lie, and we both know that. If you can punch an irritating officer or survive the Fold, you can ride a horse to Os Alta. Promise.” Alina rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.” You raise an eyebrow. “It totally is. Believe me. Now come on, chasing after you all day is exhausting. I intend to go to sleep right now.” Alina grins. “That sounds good to me.”

Despite your weary eyes, you can’t seem to fall asleep at all. Alina sleeps next to you, the few Grisha lookouts stand unmoving at their posts. Eventually, you get sick of tossing and turning and staring up through the rotting beams through the barn roof. You stand, making your way quietly out of the barn. If the sentries see you, they do not stop you. Evidently, they trust you enough to let you walk around, or they view you as useless enough to not stop you from trying to run. Either works for you.

You don’t go far, just outside of the doors lying at odd angles on their hinges. You take a seat on a rusting metal bench, leaning back against the faded paint of the barn walls. You stare up at the sky, eyes tracing the constellations. Somewhere up in the night, there were once heroes and monsters, prideful queens and stubborn kings whose stories were famous enough to warrant them a place amongst the stars. You’ve been looking for them for a while, though, and know that the skies are empty of all souls who were once cast up there. It’s just another reminder that you are well and truly alone. The last remainder of a long dead culture.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” You startle, turning to see the Darkling walking out of the barn beside you. You manage to cover up your surprise with an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d woken anybody.” The Darkling shrugs. “You didn’t. I was already awake.” This feels somewhat surreal- here you sit, a false face and a fake history as a farmer turned soldier. Here stands the Darkling, looking just the same as always. It makes no sense, though- why would he keep seeking you out? Why would the general of the Second Army keep looking for an otkazat’sya soldier? He must know you, somehow. There’s no other explanation for it.

The Darkling clears his throat. “Thank you for speaking to Alina. I appreciate your words.” You dismiss the gratitude with a lift of your shoulder. “She’s my friend. I couldn’t exactly make her feel worse, could I?” The Darkling turns to look at you now, familiar quartz eyes seeming to tear you in two. “You could. You could have refused to play along with the role of double, you could have refused to fight by her side, you could have done your best to turn her away from us. You did none of that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I could have resisted a team of the most skilled Grisha in all of Ravka? I intend to keep my life.” Something almost like a smile appears on the Darkling’s lips. You’ve seen this look before, in sunset afternoons and deepest nights. It’s so familiar that it seems to cut at you like a knife. You almost want to call out to him now- know me, please. Remember me. If you look close enough, you will see the woman you pretended to love. We could pretend again, if we wanted to.

You silent the murmurings, and he speaks again. “All the same, it was appreciated.” You turn back towards the sky, partly to take in the sight of the night sky again and partially to hide the smile giddily appearing on your own face. How is that after all this time, all these hurts, he still has this effect on you? “Well, I want her to have some good memories after this. I’ll be shipped back to Kribirsk, I don’t really want to leave on bad terms.”

The Darkling remains silent for so long that you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, opened up too much. A simple mapmaker would never confide in a centuries-old Shadow Summoner, he must suspect something. Surely, hopefully, he does. But instead, he turns to you, a softness present in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It rounds the edges of his quartz gaze, making it easier to fall hard and fast. “You aren’t going to leave for Kribirsk. You’re staying in Os Alta.”

You stare at him, night sky forgotten. “What? But I’m no Sun Summoner.” The Darkling laughs quietly in the night. “No, but few of us are. I have a personal guard, the oprichniki. I would like you to begin training with them once we arrive.” The sentence is phrased so casually that it almost floats by you completely undetected. The monumental weight of the words, however, is enough to shake you whole. The oprichniki are not Grisha, so you would fit in, but they are the Darkling’s special guards. Only the toughest and bravest of fighters are selected, certainly not a mapmaker who’s best skill is pretending to be a Sun Summoner.

You tell him as much, so stunned by this that you forget to hold your tongue. When you remember who you are and who you’re doing your best to pretend you’re not, you wish you had remained silent. For some reason, however, the Darkling doesn’t seem taken aback by this momentary lapse. Instead, it just makes his lips twitch even more. He is most certainly hiding a smile. “I saw you fight, Miss Stassov. If you can do that without any of our training at all, I’d say you’re a good candidate.”

You lean back against the barn wall. “Oprichnik. Me.” You whistle quietly, letting the sound echo in the night air like the call of a dove. The Darkling inclines his head. “You are free to turn the offer down at any point-” his smile grows at your raised eyebrow- “Although it is not an offer I take lightly. You have potential. Besides, keeping you in Os Alta will be a support for Miss Starkov.”

You furrow your brow. “I thought you would want to separate her from her old life, not keep having ties to it.” It’s what the Darkling would do when you knew him. He would have cut out another mapmaker without a second thought. The Darkling considers this. “Perhaps. But if she feels too alone, she may draw in on herself and feel unwilling to use her power at all. You have your merits, Miss Stassov. Perhaps more than you see yourself.”

You barely hear him when he goes back inside the barn. He has always had this ability to disguise his footsteps, letting the shadows cloak him in sound as well as in sight. For once, it doesn’t trouble you. Instead, you’re troubled by the future ahead of you. If you were an oprichnik, a guard loyal only to him, there would be even more chance of the Darkling finding out that you were Hecari, the woman he’d loved and who had run from him, feigning death rather than stay by his side and fear his knife.

Being near him, though, it makes you think back to every moment you’d shared. Could it be possible that you had misheard? Would the man you know, the man drenched by moonlight who makes offers of joining the ranks of the oprichniki to mapmakers he’s barely met, truly want you dead? The answer is yes, you know that. But your heart whispers differently, telling you that you could be wrong on this. You’ve always trusted your whispers, the ghosts of the past. The only problem is that these aren’t Hellenid spirits now, they’re your own. Longings for what might have been, what you left behind.

In the end, you retreat back inside the barn. When you sleep, you dream of a quartz-eyed boy, dark-haired and smiling before he thought to use you.

series tag list: fave @underc0vercryptid, @hotleaf-juice, @aleksanderwh0r3, @kaqua, @nemesis729, @imma-too-many-fandoms

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bagsley · 3 years

Text

my top ten favorite wincest fics of all time... completely unsurprising that over half of them are candle beck!

Last Day on Earth by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam has one day to live. You can imagine how Dean feels. (Probably my favorite wincest fic of all time. Dean’s frantic heart-stopping terror over Sam is just the most familiar version of him, you know?? It feels so true.)

Dean turns on his brother, fists Sam's collar and hugs him very hard. His face feels hot and slippery against Sam's neck, and Dean doesn't care, thinks clearly: fuck it. Fuck it, as Sam hugs him back just as fierce, fuck the highway and the night sky and the scripture being read in the background, the heavens and the earth and the light, the cattle and the creeping thing and anything else you can name. Every matchstick, every initialed square of sidewalk, every abandoned heart--fuck it all.

Ascalon by candle_beck

PODFIC

There are dragons in the world. (Breathlessly beautiful. Fantastic use of second person pov.)

You've always loved your brother and you've always been fucked up on one level or another, and somewhere along the line it got all screwed up in your head, all your history rewritten.

You love Dean because you're fucked up. You're fucked up because you love Dean. Being fucked up and loving Dean are the same thing.

Until at last, inevitably: the manner in which you love Dean is fucked up.

You should have seen that coming.

But he makes you so stupid.

American Myth by candle_beck

PODFIC

As long as you have a car, you are free, and other lies my country taught me. (Sam and Dean lose home, but only for about five hours.)

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?” Dean asks, a lace of impatience through his voice. “Apparently I bug you just by existing, so really, Sam, what do you want?”

That blows through Sam like a hurricane, blasting out the corpses and debris, the black curse shadowing his life, the twenty-odd years of vigilante violence and brotherhood, stripping him down to the elemental, and he looks at Dean feeling crystallized, thinking in astonishment, you.

Flying Weight by fleshflutter

Recently soulful Sam, vampire Dean. Sam feels in constant bitter competition with the ghost of his soulless self. (Whew.)

There's a moment he remembers very clearly, one of the last he does remember: He's in the graveyard at Stull, and his arm is drawn back, fist clenched with the force of mountains, and the sun catches his eye, and just for a heartbeat, Lucifer is blind, can't see a damned or blessed thing. That's when Sam sees Dean.

That's the moment Sam hangs his humanity on.

Welcome to Fog City by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam's one blind spot is big enough to drive a truck through.

It was also mortifying, paralyzing at times, but Dean wasn't even horrified so much as familiarly resigned. Already he'd grown up as a refugee with demons trying to kill his whole family, and now he was irrevocably attracted to his kid brother too. Clearly Dean Winchester's life was a spectacular cosmic joke, a series of rugs to be pulled out from under him, and luckily his sense of humor was dark enough that he could at least appreciate the absurdity of the whole thing. This was just one more ridiculous cross that God had given him to bear.

So Dean went on through the highway world. Radio stations delighted in informing him that the hits would keep right on coming, and Dean didn't know what to expect next. Leprosy, maybe. A plague of locusts. The violent loss of one of his hands.

Instead, Sam left, ran away to California one lovely day in the late summer. It was not the worst thing that could have happened, but it was certainly in the top five. The weight of that particular cross had nearly smashed Dean into the earth.

Second Map of the World by candle_beck

They're on a lucky streak, and then Sam does something ill-considered, and the plot thickens.

Dean drove out of Topeka as if trying to outrun the shock wave of a nuclear explosion. Ninety, a hundred, a hundred and ten miles an hour, blowing past strings of red taillights, huge rattling trucks like dinosaurs with loose bones. Dean had the tape turned up loud enough that the speakers fuzzed. His hands were locked on the wheel.

The Firefly that Loved Metallica by fleshflutter

Dean's soul in a bottle.

[Sam] faces down demons and drives a four-day old corpse across the country on a hope so thin it wouldn't stand up to a light rain.

Waiting Games by Nutkin

Sam's having sex visions.

Dean's dug into himself deeply, become this tricky maze of raised hackles and sensitive spots that he's starkly open about. So open about, in fact, that it's like they've been worn into calluses, like they aren't even vulnerabilities anymore. He can bark out at Sam that he's the most important thing in his life, and it doesn't sound like he's admitting something private - it's just the same way he'd say, Give Satan my best, before ending a spirit. He picks and chooses the things he's embarrassed by, the things he lets become issues, and the way he feels about Sam isn't one of them. It's not a bruise that can be pushed on - maybe it was, once, but in the time Sam was off going to keggers and building a fort of textbooks and love letters, Dean just cemented it into one of the things that drives him.

Be Awake by candle_beck

Dean has a concussion.

"I'm sorry," Sam said as he sat Dean down on the bed, stepped back. He had a hard flush on his face, a downcast shadow in his eyes. "Shouldn't have gotten mad, I, I shouldn't have left you out there."

Dean shook his head, smiling dazedly at him. Sam's edges were blurred and his hair looked funny, fuzzing out like a halo, but the lines of his face stayed sharp, Dean's last remaining constant. He couldn't remember what Sam was talking about, but he said:

"It's okay, Sammy,"

because it was, and Sam would see that, Sam was smart. Dean wanted to get that serious look off his brother's face, win a smile from him no matter how far south the night had gone, but the fog was building in his mind again, rolling down hills to obscure his cities, ground his airplanes, wreck his ships.

Dean held his wavering head steady, fixed his eyes on Sam's face with the last of his focus. He managed to say, "Exit light," and then pitched backwards on the bed.

Gone Again by candle_beck

Harrowing and suffocatingly, inevitably heartbreaking. They never stood a chance.

The dream is different this time.

This time they’re in a motel room and the walls are on fire. It’s Sam’s fault; every time he touches something it goes up in flames.

Dean can hear his hair crackling and he jerks his head, watching the sparks fly. Sam’s close enough that Dean can see the firework reflection in his eyes. He flattens his hand next to Dean’s head and an outline of fire flares around his fingers.

“You gotta stop,” Dean says, barely able to breathe. These motel rooms are as flimsy as cardboard; if one part burns the whole thing will go.

And Sam’s laughing and shaking his head, licking at Dean’s throat and it’s hotter than fire could ever hope to be.

“I was made for this,” Sam tells him. “So were you.”

Dean��s eyes are raw and torn and wet but it might be blood. His shirt is smoldering and growing holes like black-edged tumors that Sam follows with his fingers, smearing soot on the bare skin of Dean’s stomach. Stuff that won’t wash away, like the blisters Sam’s mouth is leaving on Dean, the mad incendiary glee in his eyes.

#wincest #fic rec #spn

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breakyeol · 3 years

Text

— ALL TIED UP

┗ Pairing : Kyungsoo x Reader

Genre: shameless smut

Words: 3k

Rating: 18+

Warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content ; light bondage, blindfolds, body worship, oral (m. receiving), edging, unprotected sex

A/N; plz this was supposed to be a birthday post for soo but I’m so late it’s not even funny. but blindfolded soo is too hot not to write so here you go lovers, enjoy!!

Lace looks good on him, you decided then, admiring the masterpiece laid out beneath you with a satisfied smirk. Black lace and black silk, a perfect combination. The lace, tied securely around your boyfriend’s beautiful eyes. The silk, around his slim wrists.

“Remind me why I agreed to this?” Kyungsoo grumbled, flexing his fingers experimentally from within their binds. You grinned to yourself, trailing your own lightly over the warm swells of his chest.

“Because you love me and trust me and know I can make you feel… so good.” Those final words were all but purred against the pink tinted shell of his ear, a sense of smug pride settling over you when he shivered in response, lips parting to let out a shaky breath.

You knew what he was experiencing. You knew how every sensation felt amplified. Without his sight, he was forced to feel, to hone in on each one of his other senses. He took notice of things he probably wouldn’t have otherwise. Unable to see what you were doing, he was on edge, left in thick anticipation of your every move. Every touch was a surprise. He had relinquished himself to you, body and mind, left himself completely at your mercy.

His head kicked back into the pillows as your mouth drifted to his throat, bathing him with slow, purposeful kisses. Each one fanned the flames of his lust, growing larger and greedier with every touch. From your peripheral vision, you caught the downward movement of his bound hands from where you had specifically told him to keep them above his head. You reached up, easily pinning them back against the mattress.

“You do trust me, don’t you, Soo?” The low, sultry thrum of your voice caressed his feverish skin, and he felt the weight of them in his blood.

“Yes.” He whispered, grunting softly when you sunk your teeth into his collarbone.

You smiled, laving your tongue soothingly over the afflicted area. “Good.” And then your mouth was on his. He groaned hotly into your kiss, and you giggled as his eager tongue licked at the seam of your lip. Was he already getting worked up? You’d barely even started. It was surprisingly fun seeing the usually so controlled Doh Kyungsoo unraveling beneath you just because of a little lacy blindfold.

It hadn’t taken as much convincing to get him into this position as you first thought it would.

Kyungsoo was the kind of man that took pleasure in taking things slow and dragging things out with deep kisses and gentle caresses. He liked to take his sweet time when he had his way with your body, nipping and teasing until you were squirming and begging and just barely hanging onto your ever dwindling sanity. And shit if those weren’t some of the best orgasms you ever had— you just wanted to return the favor.

“You know, you have the most amazing lips.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m very serious. I can’t even look at you without wanting to kiss you.” You pressed your thumb into the full flesh, drawing it gently down and releasing in order to watch it bounce temptingly back into place.

“That’s just because you have no self control.” He argued, nipping at the pad of your thumb.

You cocked your head, humming thoughtfully. “Valid point.”

His lips parted with the intention of teasing, but any playful comment was abruptly cut off when you redirected your attention back to his sensitive throat, attacking the sweet spot just below the corner of his jaw that you knew made him weak. “Y/n—”

“Shh, just relax, baby… let me take care of you.”

He exhaled a shaky breath from his nose, snagging his lower lip tightly between his teeth and nodded, allowing his body to melt into the mattress.

“Good boy.”

“Suck my dick.” He hissed, only to sigh blissfully as you began kissing hotly down the length of his neck, staining his honeyed skin in lovely shades of pink and red.

“I was planning on it.”

Kyungsoo laughed then, a deep bubbly rumbling that you felt vibrate against your lips. Truly, you couldn’t stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his adam’s apples as it bobbed in front of you all too temptingly. He growled softly in retaliation, but you could feel the solid heat of him pressing up gently between your hips. The subtle friction made the muscles of your thighs tremble in need, fierce desire licking at your veins.

The sight of him beneath you, bound and vulnerable and eager (despite trying -and failing- to hide it), glistening in sweat and practically shaking in anticipation, was affecting you way more than you thought it would. Something about having him like this set your blood on fire in an entirely different way than you were used to. Having such control over him, over his pleasure and desire, was giving you a total power rush. If you weren’t careful, you’d develop a complex. Then your handsome boyfriend would have to put you back in your place. Not that you’d mind…

But those were thoughts for another night.

Sinking your fingers into his tight waist, you slowly descended his body; nipping, kissing and licking over every curve, every edge, every soft spot. “You’re so beautiful.” You breathed against his warm stomach, gaze flashing up to catch even the faintest of nuances in his expression. His brows curled, jaw opening around a silent gasp as your lips feathered over his hip bones, greedy touch traveling over the defined muscles of his thighs.

“Fuck, y/n—” the strained groan had you clenching around empty air, lust coiling in your chest.

“You’re so hard, Soo.” You moaned, sitting back on your heels as you admired his length. Thick and red and weeping, a heavy pool of precum collecting on the gentle slope of his belly. Lowering your head, you dragged your tongue through it, humming at the salty taste of him. His stomach flinched and tightened, his chest swelling as he swallowed lungfuls of hot air.

“Stop teasing and touch me.” It was probably supposed to sound demanding, but it came out as nothing of the sort. The way the words trembled and quivered from his gaping lips, thick and heavy in his throat, sounded nothing short of imploring. And damn you if you weren’t about to give him everything he wanted and more.

Kyungsoo gasped out a low curse at the first calculated flick of your tongue over his swollen head, veined hands curling into tight fights around the sheets above his head. Heat pooled in your stomach, even the subtle reaction enough to make you greedy for more. Humming, you licked a wet strip from base to tip, a violent tremble wracking his body in response. You could feel his self control already beginning to wane, a soft whimper breaking free from behind clenched teeth as you took him fully into your mouth.

“Oh fuck…”

His voice sounded so lovely, smooth and lustrous like the black silk wrapped around his wrists, breathless and light where it flickered through the air around your head. You teased the skin of his hips, digging your nails in each time they bucked. His spine curved, a deep groan pulsing from his chest as you hollowed your cheeks, skillfully tracing the thick vein lining the underside of his cock with the tip of your tongue.

“Careful, baby. Careful.” He seethed, head snapping back as his jaw clenched. The warning in his voice clear, the tension in his thighs telling you all you needed to know about just how near he was to the edge. You hummed in acknowledgment, but the vibrations it sent pulsing through his cock threw his entire body into a fit of violent trembles, the resistance he put up against his oncoming orgasm wrenching a broken sob from his swollen lips. “Y/n!”

You pulled off of him with a soft chuckle, resorting to pressing soothing kisses to the warm insides of shaking his thighs.

“Sorry, love.” You crooned, kissing up his body until you were level with his face.

For a moment, you were tempted to pull off the blindfold, just to see the look in those beautiful brown eyes. But some level of self restraint was necessary if you were planning to follow through. So you swallowed the urge, satiating the fire in your belly with the taste of his mouth instead.

“Fucking hell.” He growled roughly, kissing you back with a ferocity that you supposed was intended to take his mind off the desperate throbbing of his cock.

Kyungsoo was breathing hard through his nose, quick shallow breaths that rushed out against the skin of your upper lip. You tried to pull away, worried he might pass out from oxygen from deprivation if you denied him of air any longer, but he chased your mouth, sinking his teeth punishingly into tender flesh your lower lip once he caught up. It was the only thing he could think to do to keep you close.

You rolled your hips back against the hardness of his cock in retaliation, though unsure if it was meant to discipline or reward. Probably both. Regardless, he moaned, subsequently releasing you from the harsh bite of his teeth.

“Do that again. Fuck, I need to feel you. I need to feel you baby, please.” He gritted out, words rushed and jumbled as he rutted up against you. You moaned at the unexpected friction, bracing your hands on his silk-bound wrists to keep from doubling over. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth at the sound. “That feel good?”

“Mhm.” You hummed breathlessly, head tilting back as you rolled yourself over him again, reveling in the resulting rush of warmth. You could see the fluttering of his eyelids behind the lace, searching desperately through all encompassing the darkness for something, for anything— for you.

Then his fingers grazed your wrist and the corner of his mouth twitched triumphantly. “Hold my hand.”

The demand was so unexpected that you couldn’t help the sharp giggle of astonishment that spewed dumbly from your lips. “You want me… to hold your hand?” Repeating the words did nothing to hinder the sudden onslaught of laughter.

Kyungsoo smiled blindly up in your general direction, that dopey heart shaped grin that never failed to make your heart flutter stupidly in your chest. The one that made it feel like time itself was slowing down so that you could treasure it for just a few moments longer. “I want you to hold my hand… and fuck me like you love me.”

Another giggle, your nose wrinkling from the sheer absurdity of the request. “But I do love you.”

He pivoted his chin, cocking a sassy brow. “Then it shouldn’t be difficult.”

“Point made.” You acknowledged, smoothly intertwining your fingers with his and simultaneously sinking down on his length. He cried out, the suddenness of your walls around him stealing all of the oxygen from his lungs. So wet and tight and hot, squeezing in all the right places. He was goddamn dizzy.

A sound of bliss escaped your gaping lips, your eyes fluttering shut as your cunt stretched deliciously to accommodate his familiar girth. You didn’t move at first, remaining still as you adjusted to the intrusion, relishing in the mere sensation of being full. But then you heard a small plea, Kyungsoo’s grip around your hands tightening drastically, and you go pliant under the weight of his need.

You know how he likes it. Deep and slow, dragging out and savoring each precious moment until it feels like every inch of your souls has been set to flames. He likes it when every movement has intention, purpose, from the stroke of his hips to the flutter of his eyes. He likes the toe-curling passionate kind of sex that hits you so deep in your chest that you couldn’t fathom any other kind. The kind that makes your love for him sore like a burning phoenix through the night sky.

You weren’t sure if you’d be able to do it as well as he did, if you’d be able to make his toes curl and his soul blaze, but you’d give it your best shot— and that was more than enough for him.

You move over him like liquid, with slow, languid motions that require a surprising amount of effort, drowning him in the dark depths of your desire with every deliberate thrust. Beneath you, Kyungsoo’s back bowed deeply off the mattress, his sweat soaked chest pressing flush against yours. Like that, you could feel the rapid thundering of his heart, each beat echoing through your bones.

Full lips caressed the shape of your name, stroking each syllable like it was his saving grace, his holy salvation. You felt yourself leaning into the sound, seeking out his voice between your own breathless moans.

Heady desperation gnawed at your self restraint, the deep burn gradually consuming the muscles in your thighs and core forcing a sloppiness into the previously controlled movement of your hips. But Kyungsoo made no complaint, whispering only praises against the raw flesh of your lips. Each sultry word fed the raging fire in your belly, pouring gasoline onto the flames created by the pressure of his cock gripped within your walls.

Dull nails bit into your knuckles and Kyungsoo let out a gasp of your name. “I’m close.” He warned between jagged inhales, but you could only cry out as his hips snapped up violently, burying the whole of his length inside your wet cunt.

“Soo— oh god—!” you went still above him, panting and gasping and shaking as he began fucking himself into you from underneath. Though the space was limited, he still managed to plunge into you with a force that fractured your sanity. The strong grip he had on your trembling hands was the only thing keeping you from collapsing on top of him. Each vicious thrust succeeded in hitting that vulnerable bundle of nerves, stars flickering behind your closed eyelids.

“You feel perfect. I bet you look gorgeous.” His voice was a hoarse snarl, searing against your throat and lashing across your tongue. You keened into the destructive sound of it, loving the way it ruined you. “Wanna see you, baby. Wanna see you when you come all over my cock. Let me see you, gorgeous, please. Please.”

You didn’t bother trying to respond, knowing any words would only fracture like glass on your lips. Instead, with quivering fingers, you clumsily tugged the lace off from over his eyes, casting it uncaringly onto a nearby pillow. Pools of pure blackness greet you; blown, unfocused pupils immediately locking on yours. There was nothing but pure, blazing, unbridled lust, so deep and intoxicating that it made your head spin.

The corner of his mouth curled dangerously. “Hands, too?”

Nodding dumbly, you fumbled with the silk tie binding his wrists. The moment it went slack, his hands were on you, greedy and rough and everywhere; in your hair, on your throat, groping your chest, gripping your ass. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, suffocating on the fire he was breathing into your lungs.

In a split second, you were sprawled on your back, moaning and gasping as Kyungsoo pistoled his hips into yours.

“So. Fucking. Perfect.”

You wrapped your legs tightly around him, heels pressing into the ample swells of his ass as you gripped onto him for dear life. “I’m gonna come— Soo, I’m gonna come—” you were babbling like a fool, speaking clumsily into the skin on his shoulder. He groaned throatily at the pressure of your teeth on his collarbone, thrusts speeding up to a punishing pace. Deep and hard and passionate, you felt each one resonating through the very core of your being.

A hand slid between your sweat soaked bodies, skilled fingers making quick work of locating your clit. A violent tremor seized your body, a strangled whimper bursting from your chest. Hot pleasure pulsed through you, unrelenting and overwhelming. You squirmed and begged, writhing in bliss beneath his ministrations. Then all at once you cried out, spine arching, muscles tensing as your high crashed over you.

“That’s it. Fuck, good girl. That’s it.”

The world around you swam, blurry and out of focus as the force of your orgasms ripped through you like a wildfire. You felt Kyungsoo faltering above you, hiccuping moans shuddering past his swollen lips. Then he tensed, choked on a gasp, and you felt the warmth of his release pouring into you. Your muscles went slack, head falling back into the pillows as you surrendered yourself to the post-orgasmic bliss that draped itself over you.

A shiver rippled down your spine as he gently pulled out, before collapsing onto your chest. You giggled breathlessly as he nuzzled his face between your breasts, his damp hair tickling your throat.

“That was amazing.” He hummed contently against your feverish skin.

“I told you you’d like it.” You remarked with a smug grin, yelping in shock when he nipped at one of your nipples in retaliation for lack of a better response. You shoved at his shoulders playfully and he rolled off of you with a low grunt, providing you with the perfect opportunity to escape into your connected bathroom for a hot shower. But the second you were on your feet, a hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. You spun with a gasp, falling gracelessly back onto the mattress.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Kyungsoo all but growled, crawling on top of you, an animalistic glint in his hooded eyes.

“To wash up?” You said slowly, though it came out as more of a question.

He chuckled, a low, devilish sound that made your thighs subconsciously squeeze. “Oh, we’re not done yet.”

Your brows raised, and you were shocked at the spark of excitement that rushed directly to your spent core. “We’re not?”

He dragged the tip of his tongue salaciously over the full pink flesh of his lower lip and reached over to pick up the lace blindfold, dangling it tauntingly in front of your face.

“It’s my turn.”

#exo #exo fanfic #exo smut #kyungsoo #exo kyungsoo #kyungsoo x reader #kyungsoo fanfic #kyungsoo fanfiction #kyungsoo smut #do kyungsoo #exo x reader #exo fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

The Big Bluff

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Spencer goes up against a professional poker player.

A/N: This is almost a purely self indulgent fic, once I had this idea I really really wanted to write it for myself. I wrote all of this today while sick so I’m proud of myself lmao. Also ‘the woman’ Is definitely inspired by Irene Adler. Thanks for letting me have the third person today @zhuzhubii (inside joke thanks to)and thanks to @imagining-in-the-margins who helped me figure out where the story was gonna go. Last day of my 500 follower celebration!! I did 7 fics in 7 days!! Thanks y’all so much for supporting me!!

Warnings: Smut, Fighting for dominance, Hand job, Spitting, Fingering, Choking - uhh should be it.

Masterlist Word count: 2.3k

The casino lights were bright as she walked in through the main entrance of the casino that was dripping in finery. She was a vision in red, dressed to the nines in a red dress that left little to the imagination. She was here to blow off some steam, though not in the way people would assume. The woman in red was a professional poker player, normally playing high stakes games that were also televised for people’s enjoyment. Usually people would try to escape what they did at work on the weekends, but not her as she rather enjoyed the adrenaline that pumped through her veins just as she was about to win.

A man sat across from her at the table she chose with fluffy brown hair that curled slightly and wearing clothes that didn’t fit with the overall aesthetic of everyone else there. She would have assumed normally that he was an amateur player, only here to blow off steam (Plus his money) for the weekend by playing poker and laying in bed with someone. There was something about his demeanor however the way he acted just subtly arrogant as he waited for the dealer to start, that told her that he was the one to watch during the game.

Sure enough after the first round he had won, the woman lost nothing in the hand as she had folded right when she realized she’d gotten a bad hand. Worry still had creeped up on her as she gazed at the man who looked more like a teacher’s assistant rather than a poker player, she couldn’t be seen to lose even if this wasn’t a high stakes game, she had a reputation to uphold. She could’ve left the table, gone to find some easier people to swindle, but the challenge to bring the mystery man down was too hard to ignore.

During the next round her eyes almost never left the stranger only looking down every so often at the cards she had been dealt. It got to the point in the game where everyone had folded besides her and the man, she had been raising the stakes too high for everyone else to be comfortable with participating even if they thought they had a good hand. The whole table sucked in a breath as she went all in with her bet, no one at the table seemed to be able to get a read on her, including the man who thought he was unbeatable.

“I fold.” A triumphant smirk came across her face while taking a celebratory gulp of the wine she had ordered as the man had finally admitted defeat, this was exactly the kind of adrenaline rush she had been searching for. The look on his face was pure rage, she got the sense that he hardly got angry probably because he hardly lost.

She raked in all the chips she had earned, but then decided to not show her winning hand. It was far more satisfying to her to see the frustration on everyone’s faces, to see them try to figure out her game. Was she bluffing or not?

Once she had cashed them in she left to go to her hotel in a cab that she had called until she saw the man waiting by the entrance waiting and stopped. He looked like he was waiting for someone rather impatiently by the way he was tapping his foot.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yeah you.” He remarked rather simply, his foot still tapped impatiently clearly fed up with her even though the amount of words they had spoken to each other could be counted on two hands.

“Why are you looking for me?” She played the part of a coy woman perfectly, she knew exactly why he was looking for her. His cocky demeanor at the table had quickly given away to her that he rarely lost any hand that he was dealt, whether it was a bad one or not.

“How did you win? Were you bluffing? You must have been bluffing...Or you just got lucky...” His ranting would’ve been cute in any other circumstance, the fact that he had assumed what had gone down, that she was in fact only lucky or bluffing made her blood boil.

“How did you get away with card counting?” She countered back a little irritated that he had assumed that the only way she could win was if she was bluffing or getting lucky. He seemed caught off guard by her question, unable to comprehend how someone had caught him after mastering the subtle art of card counting over the years. Though she was irritated at him, she still wanted to know more about the man who looked more like a teacher's assistant than a poker player, even if she had beaten him it was still obvious that he was good at the game. “What’s your name?”

“Spencer.” His impatience was even worse now looking almost frantic at her slow pace in the conversation, he was more focused on her skills rather than her name.

“Well- Spencer it was nice to meet you, but I have to get going, better luck next time.” She wasn’t dumb, she knew he was going to follow her out to her cab, her real aim was to hopefully get him to come back to the hotel with her. She may have been looking for a poker game to release some tension, that had somewhat worked, however this game seemed far more fun.

“Please- I need to know.” His shouted out words had attracted the attention of a few casino goers who were not happy with the fact that a man was yelling right outside the doors of the casino. The little wave he gave as an apology before sprinting a little to get closer to her was cute, deepening her desire to take the man for a ride, maybe he wasn’t as much of a hot arrogant asshole that she thought.

“Why don’t you come with me if you want to find out.” She flashed him a coy smirk before ducking into the cab. The man she now knew as Spencer may be arrogant when it comes to his poker skills, but underneath it all she could tell there was a man that was intriguing. She wanted to get to know him beyond his card counting skills and possibly jump his bones. The fact that he was gorgeous did nothing but stoke the fire that he ignited during their heated conversation.

Spencer did take up her offer and got into the back seat with her. Though, whether he had caught onto the other game that they had started to play was still a mystery to her.

They had made it up to her room in the swanky hotel on the strip, being a professional did bring her in big money. The look in his eyes as he stood waiting near the door told her that he had definitely caught onto the game she had carefully set up for them. There was still a way to back out, to exit through the door where he came from, there was no chance in hell he was backing away from the woman he found infuriating but extremely gorgeous.

“You still haven’t given me your name.” The one thing that was holding him back, the fact that he still didn’t know her name. The name fell from her lips dripping with seduction, she was irresistible to him almost nothing could make him leave the room.

He surged forward to capture her lips with his own, he expected to gain dominance over the kiss swiftly though it was more difficult than he first expected. He was met with a pair of lips that wouldn’t let him gain access that he wanted, he tried to slip his tongue into her mouth but was quickly barred from entering.

She would not be giving up dominance easily.

“Condom?” He said breathlessly into my lips while she worked on the buttons of his shirt after I had hastily pushed his cardigan off and tossed it somewhere in the room.

“In my purse.” She released him to rummage through the purse that had dropped onto the floor in their haste. Once she had found what she was looking for she stood up to find Spencer sitting at the edge of the bed, belt now discarded with his slacks undone.

She moved to stand just slightly in front of him then pulled the straps of her red dress down until it pooled onto the floor. Their eyes were both blown with lust only focused on each other. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath besides a lace red thong to match the dress. Spencer was practically salivating at the sight of her only in heels and a thong, he was so distracted by it that he was caught off guard when she moved to straddle him while also pushing him to lay flat on his back.

Pulling his boxers down just enough she pulled his cock out, he was half hard at this point, she was already impressed with his size though she masked it with her practiced poker face.

“Now you’re going to sit back and look pretty while I have my way with you.” The anger on his face was prevalent in response to her words, the fight was taken away from him when she spit into her hand and started to jerk his length. Her hand moved up and down in a teasing manner not getting him even close to the edge, his moans caught up in his throat though one did escape in frustration after she had almost completely pulled away from him. Finally he had enough of her teasing, batting away her hand and flipping her over.

“Now it’s your turn to look pretty.” He pinned both of her hands above her head holding them together with one hand while the other dipped down to the apex of her thighs. At first he didn’t let her have anything she wanted, only running his fingers on her inner thighs and dancing his fingers right above her hole that was now absolutely dripping.

“Beg.” His voice was now harsh and biting, that did little to intimidate her and all it did was make her even wetter. She fought his grip with vigor not wanting to give into his demand.

“No, I won’t beg.” She said through gritted teeth, it had become much harder to finish her sentence when Spencer had unexpectedly curled his fingers inside of her, finding that perfect spot inside her faster than she had expected.

“You don’t want to beg fine, but don’t expect to cum.” The growl in frustration that came from her made Spencer pause just a little, long enough that she could retake control and flip him back over. A squeak fell from him clearly not expecting her to be able to take back control again and another noise came out from him, this time a broken moan, after she quickly put the condom down and she sunk down onto his length.

“I don’t beg for anyone.” She started at a rough pace, her anger came out in her movements as she undulated her hips with fury that Spencer had never experienced before in the bedroom. The moans falling from each of their lips would surely get her a complaint from her neighbors, neither of them could really care less as they both chased their release.

Spencer may have been on the bottom at this point, but he still had not submitted completely to her. His hands sat firmly on her hips, tight enough to create finger shaped bruises that she hoped would remain for the days after this tryst while he also thrusted with the same vigor as her bounces.

She wrapped her hands around his jaw pulling him up slightly to envelope him into a kiss full of teeth and tongue. As her hand slowly pulled away from him it made contact with the hollow of his throat, his breath hitched at the light contact and he gripped her hips a little harder. She hesitantly moved her hand to connect with his throat to lightly choke him, she may have wanted to dominate him, but she didn’t want to scare him off. He gave an approving grunt at her actions, starting to meet her thrusts even harder than he had before and moved his thumb to rub circles into her clit.

“Cum.” She ordered as soon as she sensed their coming releases. He wanted to fight her on the order, not wanting to give up what little dominance he still held, but his release was so close that he didn’t want to give it up. Their releases washed over them, Spencer first and then her not long after being shoved over the ledge after seeing how pretty he looked while cumming. She fell on top of him, limbs quite tired from her vigorous work.

As soon as she had caught her breath she enveloped Spencer in a long languid kiss that was much slower than any of their previous ones then getting up to meander with shaky legs her way to the bathroom in her hotel room to clean up. She slipped into a pair of her sexier pajamas, just in case Spencer was going to stay the night like she wanted.

“So will you tell me now if you were bluffing?” He quickly pounced the question onto me as soon as I emerged from the bathroom, he did seem a little less frustrated about the fact that he had lost, more like he genuinely wanted to know my process.

“Guess you’ll never know. It could take a long time to figure out our tells.” She feigned exhaustion with a sigh though the smirk on her face told Spencer what she really wanted. He was an expert on behavior after all.

“I've got time.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg #matthew gray gubler character #smut

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sparktober · 3 years

Text

Sparktober Bingo 2021!

Back for a new generation: Sparktober Bingo!

Instead of coming up with an Atlantis-specific list of prompts, I compiled a bunch of 2021 -tober prompt lists into one google doc here. (Links to original prompt lists are on the google doc.) Add in a list of Atlantis episodes and...

How to play:

Choose a “flavor” from the prompt sets below the cut, then paste it into this fandom bingo card generator.

Adjust your browser size til it looks right and take a screenshot, or use the html script if you’re familiar with using html on tumblr. Tag @sparktober if you want us to reblog it so everyone knows you’re playing!

Sparktober Bingo Rules:

Complete a row/column, corners, or a blackout of your card by November 1, or not! Update as you go.

All fan-works are allowed: art, edits, fic, meta... bonus points to anyone who picks the “sprinkles” flavor and goes full mid-aughts by filling their bingo cards with 100x100 pixel icons.

You are allowed to pull multiple cards until you get one that inspires you, and you can also go through the prompt list of your choice in advance to pull out squicks or things you absolutely won’t write. I recommend not googling unfamiliar words from your work computer.

Use the prompts liberally! Episode titles can be treated as the episode or as generic prompts (e.g. “Epiphany” can be for an episode-related fic or a prompt for an epiphany of your choice).

Flavor descriptions:

VANILLA: Gen prompt lists from Fictober, Inktober, Trektober Gen, and Trektober Trek.

CHOCOLATE: Zesty prompt lists from Trektober NSFW, Kinktober, and Whumptober. The multiple-prompts-per-day from Kinktober and Whumptober have been broken into individual prompts.

CANDY CORN: Fall / holiday themed prompts from TUA-tober.

SPRINKLES: Atlantis episode list (in order, in case you only want to copy certain seasons), along with characters and a few Atlantis-specific prompts.

TWIST: All of the above! (You can also manually mix and match different flavors, of course.)

Text blocks to copy into the bingo card generator are below the cut. Enjoy!!

VANILLA

CHOCOLATE

A/B/O; Soft; Anonymous Sex; Penetration with Object/s; Sleeping; Intercrural Sex; Restraints; In/Under Water; Group Sex; First Time; Possessive Behavior; Dry Humping / Grinding; Overstimulation; Roleplay; Rimming; Stretching / Fisting; Power Imbalance; Food Play; Fingering; Body Worship; Sex Work; Voyeurism / Exhibitionism; Safewords; Technology; Oral Sex; Omorashi / Wetting; Crying; Underwear / Lingerie; Friends with Benefits; Pain Kink; Dirty Talk; Trick or Treat; All trussed up and nowhere to go; Talking is overrated; Sticks and stones may break my bones...; Trust fall; I've got red in my ledger; Touch and go; My spidey-sense is tingling; Coughing up a lung; Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated; Oops, I did it again; Just keep swimming; It'll be fun, they said; That's gonna leave a mark; Under pressure; Feed a cold, starve a fever; On a need-to-know basis; Field care 101; The doctor is in; Just a scratch; Lost & found; That's where the blood's supposed to be; They made me do it; You break it, you buy it; One down, two to go; Hide & Seek; You will go down with this ship; “I'm fine, I prom...”; It's (not) just in your head; All work and no play; Digging your grave; Hurt & Comfort; “You have to let go.”; Garotte; Taunting; “Do you trust me?”; Betrayal; Bruises; Helplessness; Pneumothorax; Presumed Dead; Hospital; Adrift; Torture; “This is gonna suck.”; Crush injuries; Delirium; Recovery; “Please don't move.”; “Now smile for the camera.”; Bitten; Trunk; Bleeding through bandages; Cursed; Auction; Self-induced injuries to escape; Escape; Fallen; Passing out; “Good, you're finally awake.”; “You're still not dead?”; Major character death; Disaster zone; Barbed Wire; Choking; Insults; Taken Hostage; Misunderstanding; Touch Starved; Numbness; Exotic Illness; (Blind) Rage; Flare-Up; Drowning; Made To Watch; Burns; Beaten; Fever Dreams; Scars; Hemorrhage; Doctor Visit; Bleeding; Trapped Under Water; Pressure; Demon; Ransom; Flashback; Flight; Waterfall; Vertigo; Nightmares; Too Weak To Move; Left For Dead; Trauma; Bound; Gagged; “Who Did This To You?”; Pushed; Broken Nose; Hunger; Blindness; “Definitely Just A Cold”; Tears; Ice Chips; Dehydration; Begging; Cauterization; Force; Bees; Aftermath; Dread; Cpr; Stabbing; Solitary Confinement; Blood-Matted Hair; Obsession; Pursuit; Revenge; Hiding; Trap Door; Collapse; Panic; Overworked; Ghosts; Prisoner; Losing Control; Threats; Caning; Mercy; Forgotten; Head Injury; Screaming; Comfort; Self-Sacrifice; Trapped; Near-Death Experience; Regret; Tragedy; Battlefield; Anxiety; Gore; Petplay; Bimbofication; Panties & Lingerie; Bondage; Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Breeding; Humiliation; NTR; Incest; Emeto; Omorashi; Free Use; Crossdressing; Public; Three (or more) some; Daddy & Mommy; Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Distention & Cockbulge; Xenophilia; Shotgunning; Watersports; Pregnancy; Lactation; Waxplay; Grooming; Human Furniture; Feet; Prostituion; MacroMicro; Spanking; Cockwarming; Glory Hole; Somnophilia; Body Modification; Temperature Play; Leather; Size Difference; Sounding; Stockings; Tentacles; Medical Play; Stripping; Orgasm Denial; Master & slave; Scissoring; Titfucking; Frottage; Knifeplay; Formal Wear; Breathplay; Fisting; Pegging; Scat; Beastiality; Fucking Machine; Tickling; Boot Worship; Bukkake; Collaring; Foodplay; Non or dubcon; Feederism; Sensory Deprivation; Oviposition; Clone & Selfcest; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Impact Play; Sadomasochism; Bloodplay; Praise Kink; Body Swap; Sweat; Branding; Massage; Role Reversal; Armpit; Masturbation; Inflation; Sex Toys; Burnplay; Menophilia; Stuck in Wall; Deepthroating & Facesitting; Dacryphilia; Hate Sex

CANDY CORN

Birthday; Sick Day; Autumn; Candles; Plaid / Flannel; Leaf Piles; Sweaters; Baking; Cinnamon; Pumpkin Spice Latte; Carnival; Movie Night; Candy; Graveyard; Black Cats; Goosebumps; Pumpkin; Party; Monster; Ghosts; Witch; Vampire; Traditions; Magic; Mask; Haunted House; Trick; Treat; Costume; Monster Mash; Halloween

SPRINKLES

Rising Part 1; Rising Part 2; Hide and Seek; Thirty-Eight Minutes; Suspicion; Childhood's End; Poisoning the Well; Underground; Home; The Storm; The Eye; The Defiant One; Hot Zone; Sanctuary; Before I Sleep; The Brotherhood; Letters from Pegasus; The Gift; The Siege Part 1; The Siege Part 2; The Siege Part 3; The Intruder; Runner; Duet; Condemned; Trinity; Instinct; Conversion; Aurora; The Lost Boys; The Hive; Epiphany; Critical Mass; Grace Under Pressure; The Tower; The Long Goodbye; Coup d'Etat; Michael; Inferno; Allies; No Man's Land; Misbegotten; Irresistible; Sateda; Progeny; The Real World; Common Ground; McKay and Mrs. Miller; Phantoms; The Return Part 1; The Return Part 2; Echoes; Irresponsible; Tao of Rodney; The Game; The Ark; Sunday; Submersion; Vengeance; First Strike; Adrift; Lifeline; Reunion; Doppelganger; Travelers; Tabula Rasa; Missing; The Seer; Miller's Crossing; This Mortal Coil; Be All My Sins Remember'd; Spoils of War; Quarantine; Harmony; Outcast; Trio; Midway; The Kindred Part 1; The Kindred Part 2; The Last Man; Search and Rescue; The Seed; Broken Ties; The Daedalus Variations; Ghost in the Machine; The Shrine; Whispers; The Queen; Tracker; First Contact; The Lost Tribe; Outsiders; Inquisition; The Prodigal; Remnants; Brain Storm; Infection; Identity; Vegas; Enemy at the Gate; Ronon Dex; Teyla Emmagan; John Sheppard; Carson Beckett; Elizabeth Weir; Rodney McKay; Jennifer Keller; Samantha Carter; Aiden Ford; Radek Zelenka; Kate Heightmeyer; Evan Lorne; Laura Cadman; Kolya; Chuck; Peter Grodin; Steven Caldwell; Lantea; Ocean; Ancient(s); Richard Woolsey; Athosians; Daedalus; Wraith; Nanites; Asurans; Genii; DHD; SGC; Stargate; Earth; Antarctica; Ascension

TWIST

“I need you.”; “You have no proof.”; “I’ve waited for this.”; “Fine, I give up.”; “I’m not saying I told you so…”; “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”; “That could have gone better.”; “This is it, isn’t it?”; “There’s no right side to this.”; “It’s so quiet.”; “I swear, it’s not always like this.”; “You keep me safe.”; “The things you make me do…”; “Your information was wrong.”; “I like that in you.”; “Not this again.”; “I’m with you, you know that.”; “This was not part of the plan.”; “I feel strange.”; “That’s what I’m known for.”; “What did I say?”; “No promises.”; “This time, do what I say.”; “Is this supposed to impress me?”; “Do you know what time it is?”; “I’m sure this has never worked, ever.”; “You could have died!”; “I don’t have to explain myself.”; “Why are we whispering?”; “Don’t ruin this.”; “Take me with you.”; Crystal; Suit; Vessel; Knot; Raven; Spirit; Fan; Watch; Pressure; Pick; Sour; Stuck; Roof; Tick; Helmet; Compass; Collide; Moon; Loop; Sprout; Fuzzy; Open; Leak; Extinct; Splat; Connect; Spark; Crispy; Patch; Slither; Risk; Meet-Cute; Amnesia; Age Difference; Pining; Sick Fic; Fake Relationship; Accidental Meeting; Epistolary; Secret Identity; Historical AU; Nightmares; Monster Hunter; A/B/O; Reunion; Soulmates; At Pride; Angst; Seasons; Fix-It; Coffee Shop; Movie Plot AU; Kid Fic; Actor's Other Crossover Work; OT+; Getting Together; Only One Bed; Pirates; Making Up; Forbidden Relationship; Tattoos; Halloween; Prime Directive; Lower Decks / Background Characters; Away Mission; Ship's Bar; Aliens Made Them Do It; Observation Deck; Crew with Family; Holodeck; Science Crew; Character Survives; Headcanons; Diplomacy; Decontamination; Trek Crossover; Replicator; Worldbuilding; Redshirts; Sex / Love Potion; Medical Crew; Transporters; Medbay; Interspecies Relationship; Mirrorverse; Uniforms; Mutiny; Stranded on a Planet; Rec Room; Academy Era; Second Contact; Command Crew; Off-Duty; Soft; Anonymous Sex; Penetration with Object/s; Sleeping; Intercrural Sex; Restraints; In/Under Water; Group Sex; First Time; Possessive Behavior; Dry Humping / Grinding; Overstimulation; Roleplay; Rimming; Stretching / Fisting; Power Imbalance; Food Play; Fingering; Body Worship; Sex Work; Voyeurism / Exhibitionism; Safewords; Technology; Oral Sex; Omorashi / Wetting; Crying; Underwear / Lingerie; Friends with Benefits; Pain Kink; Dirty Talk; Trick or Treat; All trussed up and nowhere to go; Talking is overrated; Sticks and stones may break my bones...; Trust fall; I've got red in my ledger; Touch and go; My spidey-sense is tingling; Coughing up a lung; Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated; Oops, I did it again; Just keep swimming; It'll be fun, they said; That's gonna leave a mark; Under pressure; Feed a cold, starve a fever; On a need-to-know basis; Field care 101; The doctor is in; Just a scratch; Lost & found; That's where the blood's supposed to be; They made me do it; You break it, you buy it; One down, two to go; You will go down with this ship; “I'm fine, I prom...”; It's (not) just in your head; All work and no play; Digging your grave; Hurt & Comfort; “You have to let go.”; Garotte; Taunting; “Do you trust me?”; Betrayal; Bruises; Helplessness; Pneumothorax; Presumed Dead; Hospital; Adrift; Torture; “This is gonna suck.”; Crush injuries; Delirium; Recovery; “Please don't move.”; “Now smile for the camera.”; Bitten; Trunk; Bleeding through bandages; Cursed; Auction; Self-induced injuries to escape; Escape; Fallen; Passing out; “Good, you're finally awake.”; “You're still not dead?”; Major character death; Disaster zone; Barbed Wire; Choking; Insults; Taken Hostage; Misunderstanding; Touch Starved; Numbness; Exotic Illness; (Blind) Rage; Flare-Up; Drowning; Made To Watch; Burns; Beaten; Fever Dreams; Scars; Hemorrhage; Doctor Visit; Bleeding; Trapped Under Water; Demon; Ransom; Flashback; Flight; Waterfall; Vertigo; Too Weak To Move; Left For Dead; Trauma; Bound; Gagged; “Who Did This To You?”; Pushed; Broken Nose; Hunger; Blindness; “Definitely Just A Cold”; Tears; Ice Chips; Dehydration; Begging; Cauterization; Force; Bees; Aftermath; Dread; Cpr; Stabbing; Solitary Confinement; Blood-Matted Hair; Obsession; Pursuit; Revenge; Hiding; Trap Door; Collapse; Panic; Overworked; Ghosts; Prisoner; Losing Control; Threats; Caning; Mercy; Forgotten; Head Injury; Screaming; Comfort; Self-Sacrifice; Trapped; Near-Death Experience; Regret; Tragedy; Battlefield; Anxiety; Gore; Petplay; Bimbofication; Panties & Lingerie; Bondage; Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Breeding; Humiliation; NTR; Incest; Emeto; Omorashi; Free Use; Crossdressing; Public; Three (or more) some; Daddy & Mommy; Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Distention & Cockbulge; Xenophilia; Shotgunning; Watersports; Pregnancy; Lactation; Waxplay; Grooming; Human Furniture; Feet; Prostituion; MacroMicro; Spanking; Cockwarming; Glory Hole; Somnophilia; Body Modification; Temperature Play; Leather; Size Difference; Sounding; Stockings; Tentacles; Medical Play; Stripping; Orgasm Denial; Master & slave; Scissoring; Titfucking; Frottage; Knifeplay; Formal Wear; Breathplay; Fisting; Pegging; Scat; Beastiality; Fucking Machine; Tickling; Boot Worship; Bukkake; Collaring; Foodplay; Non or dubcon; Feederism; Sensory Deprivation; Oviposition; Clone & Selfcest; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Impact Play; Sadomasochism; Bloodplay; Praise Kink; Body Swap; Sweat; Branding; Massage; Role Reversal; Armpit; Masturbation; Inflation; Sex Toys; Burnplay; Menophilia; Stuck in Wall; Deepthroating & Facesitting; Dacryphilia; Hate Sex; Birthday; Sick Day; Autumn; Candles; Plaid / Flannel; Leaf Piles; Sweaters; Baking; Cinnamon; Pumpkin Spice Latte; Carnival; Movie Night; Candy; Graveyard; Black Cats; Goosebumps; Pumpkin; Party; Monster; Witch; Vampire; Traditions; Magic; Mask; Haunted House; Trick; Treat; Costume; Monster Mash; Rising Part 1; Rising Part 2; Hide and Seek; Thirty-Eight Minutes; Suspicion; Childhood's End; Poisoning the Well; Underground; Home; The Storm; The Eye; The Defiant One; Hot Zone; Sanctuary; Before I Sleep; The Brotherhood; Letters from Pegasus; The Gift; The Siege Part 1; The Siege Part 2; The Siege Part 3; The Intruder; Runner; Duet; Condemned; Trinity; Instinct; Conversion; Aurora; The Lost Boys; The Hive; Epiphany; Critical Mass; Grace Under Pressure; The Tower; The Long Goodbye; Coup d'Etat; Michael; Inferno; Allies; No Man's Land; Misbegotten; Irresistible; Sateda; Progeny; The Real World; Common Ground; McKay and Mrs. Miller; Phantoms; The Return Part 1; The Return Part 2; Echoes; Irresponsible; Tao of Rodney; The Game; The Ark; Sunday; Submersion; Vengeance; First Strike; Lifeline; Doppelganger; Travelers; Tabula Rasa; Missing; The Seer; Miller's Crossing; This Mortal Coil; Be All My Sins Remember'd; Spoils of War; Quarantine; Harmony; Outcast; Trio; Midway; The Kindred Part 1; The Kindred Part 2; The Last Man; Search and Rescue; The Seed; Broken Ties; The Daedalus Variations; Ghost in the Machine; The Shrine; Whispers; The Queen; Tracker; First Contact; The Lost Tribe; Outsiders; Inquisition; The Prodigal; Remnants; Brain Storm; Infection; Identity; Vegas; Enemy at the Gate; Ronon Dex; Teyla Emmagan; John Sheppard; Carson Beckett; Elizabeth Weir; Rodney McKay; Jennifer Keller; Samantha Carter; Aiden Ford; Radek Zelenka; Kate Heightmeyer; Evan Lorne; Laura Cadman; Kolya; Chuck; Peter Grodin; Steven Caldwell; Lantea; Ocean; Ancient(s); Richard Woolsey; Athosians; Daedalus; Wraith; Nanites; Asurans; Genii; DHD; SGC; Stargate; Earth; Antarctica; Ascension

#sparktober is coming #sparktober #sparktober bingo

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delirioushrimp · 3 years

Text

Frozen Fairytale (DemonYB AU)

This is like the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever done hhhhh-

Once more, this story is here because I am a huge simp for @harbingers-appointed ‘s amazing AU !

Vee I hope you know I would die for you !

Plot changed three times during the writing process, help-

He senses their pain before he hears their scream. It’s a cry of agony, distress, begging for help and he feels it in his bones as though it was his own suffering. It travels through his being like a shot of electricity; fast, violent, and dizzying. It takes him a few seconds to recover from the pain and as soon as he does, a feeling of dread unlike anything he had experienced before fills his soul until it’s the only thing he can think about.

He rises abruptly from his desk, causing TK to flinch and look at him with a confused and fearful look. But he can’t see his tactician, can’t hear them ask if something is wrong, can’t feel the pieces of wood piercing his skin. His soul, his heart is burning a fire of horror and rage.

He almost knocks the door of its hinges as he desperately tries to reach them through the pain.

“Darling ! Darling where are you ?!”

Long agonizing seconds pass -where he imagines the worst has already happened-

pleasepleasepleaseplease-

“Sa…mael…”

Their voice is too weak, too frail and distressed for him to relax. And they only used his real name when…

“Tell me where you are !”

He doesn’t mean the harshness, the sternness in his tone, centuries of cold authority coursing through his veins and the panic rending him unable to control it. He hears a gasp before they answer once more.

“…Water…lake…blue…”

“What-“

“So…cold…”

His eyes widen furthermore at their words, his feet carrying him to the only place they could be as terror -the kind he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years- takes hold of him. He doesn’t notice the looks of bewilderments of his kind as he runs past them, quickly turning into pure fear when they feel the murderous aura of their King. Most of them have never witnessed it and to endure its overwhelming presence like this, even for a second bring them to their knees. He doesn’t notice any of them as he runs like he never has, ignoring the tremendous pain his heels bring him.

“Darling-“

“It hurts…it hurts so much. I-don’t think I can hold for much longer…”

They sound on the verge of fainting, and it feels as though he might be dying.

“Don’t ! Don’t let go ! Please ! I’m on my way !”

“…Samael…I’m so tired…”

“Please ! Please just a little longer !”

He never begged, the King of Hell doesn’t beg for anything or to anyone. He didn’t beg when God casted him aside, didn’t beg when he was stripped of his title, of his wings, or when he felt their ghostly presence for a hundred years to come. He never begged in his life, when he wants something, he simply takes it without asking, because he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. He doesn’t need the princes’ or TK, and he especially doesn’t need permission from that pathetic God.

And yet in that moment, running in the frozen parts of his kingdom, he is willing to. He’s willing to beg anyone he crosses to save his beloved; he’s willing to kneel in front of God if it means he can get back the wings which were so painfully teared apart from him, even for just a minute, anything so he can reach them sooner, faster even by a few seconds. Anything for the pain to stop. He briefly looks up at the sky.

You knew this would happen, didn’t you ?!

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one but doesn’t miss how the harsh winds seem to be whispering words of mockery to his ears. But the sound of their voice brings him back to the moment.

“My King…”

He feels their mind sleeping farther away, to a place he can’t reach. The words are spoken softly and lovingly but with a hint of regret.

“I’m sorry…”

“DON’T !”

But the connection is lost, quickly followed by a loud splashing sound and his soul shatters into pieces. A scream of agony echo through the frozen lands, the wild and agonizing cry of a frenzied beast, chilling anyone who hears it to the bone.

He starts running again, this time, pleading, again and again to find them. The smell of iron hits him, and he feels madness takes over his mind.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as your bruised and frozen fingers let go of the small rock, you feel it. The long, tortuous howl of his voice ringing in your soul reminding you of his hellish nature. It tears you apart and for the briefest moment, you wish you could have said something more. Then the water takes you.

It doesn’t hurt as much as you expected it, the pain only lasts a minute. A minute where your lungs desperately try to breath into the frigid ocean that surrounds you, burning every cell of your being. But then nothing. Only silence and the slow descent of your body towards the unknown, and you briefly wonder if there is an end to this endless ocean. It’s peaceful, quiet, and painless. A calm, soft blue surrounds you, reminding you of his eyes. It lulls and soothes you.

So beautiful…

Everything is numb and you feel your eyes growing heavy but you’re not scared. You’re not scared because you remember his words upon your arrival.

Death is something you will never have to fear my dear, for I am the only one who controls it here.

A small smile draws on your lips despite the cold.

Then it’s alright, I’ll suffer a thousand pains if it means staying with you.

He will find you; you know he will, he always does. You just have to wait a bit. You close your eyes and fall asleep into the icy blankets of water. Death will not find you, the Light Bringer will.

-------‐----------------------------------------------‐-------------

The first time you wake up, it’s to the sound of crying and pleading. Someone is begging for you to open your eyes, but the task proves to be impossible. The sorrow and the lament in their voice break your heart, despite not being able to recognize who it is. You vaguely hear the person call for your name, again and again between their sobs. You wish you could comfort whoever is uttering your name with such anguish and desperation. But instead, you fall back into the arms of Morpheus.

Who are you ?

The second time you wake up, it’s to the smell of blood. The stench invades your mind, overwhelming all your senses until it’s the only thing you can perceive. You want to gag, yet your body seems unresponsive to even your most basic instincts, as if frozen in ice. But behind that heavy and violent scent, you catch a hint of something familiar. Something ancient, powerful, and pleasant, it comforts you. Instinctively, you cling to that aroma acting as a lifesaver and slumber takes over you once more.

I know you.

The third time you wake up, it’s to the taste of something bitter running down your throat. It tastes like one of those herbal teas from back home, but far worse. It burns and stings your tongue; makes you sick to your stomach, and you panic. You trash around, try to scream but no sound leaves you. Your crisis is interrupted when you feel something soft brush against your lips, something sweet and gentle, like a candy melting in your mouth. It’s enough for you to fall back asleep.

Who am I to you ?

The fourth time you wake up, it’s to a warm touch. Something -or rather someone- is holding your arm tightly, though not enough to hurt. You still struggle to open your eyes, but you can feel the way their much bigger hand delicately holds yours, running soothing circles on your palm. Then you feel a warm breath on your fingers and a pair of lips brushing against them in such a tender and caring way it brings tears to your eyes. You doze off, feeling loved and protected.

I’ve never felt so cherished before.

The fifth time you wake up, it’s to a sight you never believed to witness. A large figure kneeling on their knees by your side, head resting on your chest, through some miracle, the long horns barely scrap your skin. Pale moonlight rays shine on them- no him, allowing you to see a pained expression and the bags under his eyes, a sight which immediately strikes you with grief. He looks absolutely miserable. And yet, you find a certain beauty to it. Is it because you know he would only kneel for you ?

My King…

As if on cue, a gasp reaches your ears before the head lying on your chest shots up, so fast it almost knocks you out. You curse out loud in fear, but the sound quickly dies in your throat the moment you notice the look in his eyes.

First you see shock, confusion, and disbelief following one another in rapid motion before relief takes over. His eyes, his smile, it’s like he just found the greatest treasure in all three worlds. It reminds you of the first time you met, except he doesn’t hold it back. The raw devotion and adoration in his gaze, it’s almost too much for your heart to handle.

You try to reach for him with your hand but a sharp pain in your shoulder forces you to withdraw your arm, you hiss at the sensation and he notices it. His expression immediately falls and is replaced by sorrow and guilt. You can see it in those endless pools of blue, you can see how he’s blaming himself for something he isn’t responsible for, you can see how terrified he is of you hating and discarding him, and most of all, you can see the suffering he endured during your short absence. You’ve never witnessed something like this before. You’d seen him irritated, disappointed, tired, or dejected even.

But this, this was something you hated seeing on him. This expression of utter defeat and grief does not suit him at all.

Carefully, you lift your other -and fortunately non-injured- arm and with as much softness as you can muster, brush your hand against his cheek. He jolts from the touch as if he expected a much harsher reaction but just as quickly, leans into your touch and closes his eyes. He’s trembling, still afraid you’re only indulging him one last time before rejecting him completely. It surprises you, how easily you can read him when you could barely decipher his true intentions not so long ago.

You push back the blankets and slowly shifts your body until your feet dangle from the bed, caging him between your legs, but his eyes are still shut.

“My King…” you whisper in a raspy voice, “open your eyes please.” The shaking grows in intensity. “For me…”

Your last words act as spell pulling him out of his misery. His gaze is solely focused on you, and even after all this time, it still takes your breath away. How could such a powerful, beautiful and infinite being look at you -a mere mortal soul- with such intensity you feel like the only person existing in all three realms ? You still don’t understand, and you don’t know if you ever will.

Does it even matter ?

He who has everything, looks like he might crumble at any moment. The embodiment of pride, crawling at your feet, begging for your love. Has he ever shown such vulnerability to anyone else before ? The selfish part of you wishes he hasn’t, the greedy and possessive part that wants all of him for you and only you. His mind, his body, his heart, and his soul, all for you, just like you belong to him.

Comfort him, cherish him, accept him, love him

“My love,” you call for him, and the distance between the two of you shortens, you feel his hands roam your body, desperately clinging to you. “My star, my light, my savior, my fated one…”

Each appellation has him growing closer and closer until his forehead touches yours, his breathing is erratic, his eyes search for any trace of resentment on your face, hands encircling your waist is a tight -but non-painful- grip.

“None of this was your fault-“

“Don’t go to them !”

You speak at the same time, but you stop at the frantic tone of his voice. You frown, confused, waiting for further explanations.

“I know I- failed to protect you !” he admits in the most pathetic tone you’ve ever heard. “But please, don’t leave me !” he begs, and your mind is sent into a spiral of worry as you try to come up with a way to calm him down. “Don’t- don’t choose them !”

Who are you even talking about ?!

“They- he will only hurt and use you !”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice- no it’s worse than that, colder than the waters you drowned in, colder than the harsh winds digging into your skin when you were clinging to that rock for dear life. You feel your blood boil and freeze at the same time, because you understand who he is talking about.

The genuine deep-rooted fear in his tone fills you with both dread and fury. It terrifies you because it means this demon, no-this entity is far worse and far more powerful than you thought, enough for the King of Hell to be afraid of it. It enrages you because it means they hurt him before, most likely tortured and let him bleed out like the sadistic creature they are. Your interactions with them had given you a hunch about their true nature but this is so much worse, much more horrible than you’d anticipated.

Theyhurtyoutheyhurtyoutheyhurtyou-

You want to scream, you want to get up from this bed, you want to find this smug bastard -it wouldn’t take long, they’re always around the corner- and strangle them. You don’t remember the last time you felt such wrath against someone. But you can’t. You can’t because you can barely move without your body hurting but most of all, because you just know they would relish in your anger and you wouldn’t be able to bear that infuriating self-satisfied and arrogant smile.

The grip around your waist suddenly tightens and when your eyes focus on him again, you realize your mistake. He noticed your anger, and thought it was directed at him. His pupils are blown wide, and he starts shaking again, mumbling the same sentence over and over again like a broken record.

“don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme-“

“Sweetheart-“

“This will never happen again, I promise !” he interrupts you.

“Dear-“ you try again, but to no avail.

“I’ll never leave you, never again ! “ His voice turns dark, with a hint of madness to it. “Will always stay with you, always by your side. Always, always, always, always…”

“Love please-“

“You know I would do anything for you, right ?” His eyes are blown so wide you can barely see his pupils, smile stretched to the point it might tear his face apart. The raw possessiveness and despair, they make him look completely mad. “Tell me, tell me what should I do to earn back your love. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Just tell me.”

You stare at him in stunned silence and in that moment, you know if you asked for him to set his kingdom ablaze, he’d only ask you in how many days. He had told you so in the past, but you’d only taken it as another dramatic display to entertain you. Now you realize how serious he was and to your shock, you’re not as frightened as you should be. In fact…

His eyes twitches and a trail of cobalt blood starts to run down his chin from how hard he’s biting his lips. His voice turns to hysterics and you think you see something running down his cheeks.

“Just tell me ! There must be something ! Tell me please, tellmetellmetellmetellme-“

“Samael, enough !” you end up shouting at him.

He immediately stills, from the tone of your voice or the use of his name, you can’t tell. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, not when he was breaking down in front of you, but he wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. And hearing him so hopeless and frantic was too much for you to handle.

Ignoring the pain in your left shoulder, you reach for him again, this time with both hands and he watches you lovingly cup his face in your hands with awe. His gaze darts back and forth between your face and your hands in utter bewilderment, like a child trying to solve a puzzle. You almost laugh at the thought. Instead, you lock eyes with him and speak firmly.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” He perks up, eagerly waiting for your wish. “I want you to stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault.” You see him open his mouth, most likely to protest but you don’t give him the chance to. “I want you to remember I don’t hate you; I’ve never hated you and never will. “ You sense him slightly relaxes. “I want you to understand I will never leave you, not for them, and not for anyone else, never. “ You pause, watching the blue returning to his eyes.

His expression holds trust, hope and an innocence you didn’t believe possible for him to have, he looks so much younger. For a moment, you think you’re gazing at the benevolent, bright, and loyal angel he once was, the devoted hand of God. You remember the feather he gifted you on the first night you kissed his scars, a pure and immaculate white, softer than the most delicate silk existing on earth and more valuable than any jewel in the world. He had looked so happy, so earnest, when he gave it to you. And now, you can so easily picture thousands of those same feathers linked together to form majestic wings. The vision has you smiling softly. But a question, one you had avoided asking him ever since you realized his feelings for you were genuine burns at the corners of your mind once more. Laced with such pride, envy, and selfishness you never felt brave enough to ask.

Do you love me more than you used to love God ?

Two warm, large hands covering yours bring you back to reality and the innocence vanishes, allowing for the madness to reappear once more. But his voice is steady, confident and lacks the fragility it held mere moments ago.

“God took everything from me, from the very beginning, only took and took.” You are not shocked to hear the way he spat those words, but from the fact he seems to have read your mind. “But you…” he draws out, bringing your left hand to his lips and giving a chaste kiss where your pulse lies, teeth grazing at the flesh. You feel him slowly exhale against your skin. “You keep on giving and giving. Your presence, you smile, your touch, your voice…” You feel his tail slowly making its way around your left leg as he speaks. “But I still keep wanting more of you each passing day…” His voice becomes strained with yearning and desire. “I can’t get enough; I’ll never get enough of you.”

He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slowly, as if trying to contain his hunger and fervor for you. His breaths are the only sounds in the large room and you find some sort of peace to it. It eases your nerves, reminds that this moment is not a dreamy hallucination from your comatose state, this is real. You don’t know how long it lasts -a few seconds, a minute or an hour- until he opens his eyes again and your heartbeat becomes uncontrollable.

His pupils have turned into hearts, and although it’s not the first time, you still find yourself mesmerized by the sight. Who knew the Devil could be capable of such thing ? The vibrancy, the intensity, and the sincerity his gaze holds have you melt into him and you instinctively close your thighs tighter around him. He relishes in your actions if the soft purring you hear is anything to go by.

“My Dear…” he fondly says before calling for your name, and you smile, loving the way it rolls on his tongue. “The dull candlelight of devotion I once felt for the one who cast me aside cannot possibly compare to the eternal flame of adoration I hold for you.”

You feel every fiber of your body burns at his confession, pure delight taking over your mind and utter bliss over your heart. How are you supposed to respond to that ? Nothing you could say would be enough to match this. So you decide to answer in the only way you can think of. You lean in and finally close whatever distance was left between the two of you.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou

You hope he can hear it, how much you love him, you hope he feels how your soul calls for his in desperate craving. You hope he realizes you will never stop loving him as you taste the blood and the tears on his lips. You hope he understands you would do anything for him as you feel his hands shift to grip your thighs. How could such a corrupted being taste so divine ?

You want him, you want him to touch and hold you, because you feel the most alive when he does. Hastily, you blindly reach for his long horns and smirk into the kiss when you finally grab them and without a warning, pulls him towards you. And oh, the way he moans into your mouth, it sounds heavenly. It makes you lose your mind.

Moremoremoremoremore-

You do it a second time, which causes him to growl and you revel at the feeling of his nails digging into your tender skin. It feels so good, so good to have him touch you like this. But then he breaks the kiss and you whine when he removes his hands from your legs, instead placing them on each side of your body to steady himself.

His eyes are hooded with raw desire and lust, causing a shot of electricity to travel to your core. Knowing that you’re the only one who’ll get to see him like this, the only one able to create such reactions from him fills you with unwavering pride and satisfaction.

“Darling…” he whispers in a husky, barely controlled voice. “I can’t- you’re still hurt, I-“ He hisses when you tenderly rub the base of his horns. “Ah…don’t- torture me like this.” His labored breath and the pleading in his tone only urge you to do it again. “You need to rest more before-“ You shush him with a finger against his lips.

“You’re the only one who can make the pain go away…” you trail off, noticing how close he is to give in from how tightly he’s holding the bedsheets. “My King…” you beg, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Please, I need you” you admit.

You can almost see the resolution shatters in his eyes and it’s beautiful. You feel absolutely drunk on triumph, love and euphoria, a deadly combination that drives you to feel much bolder, impudent, and confident than you should be in your condition.

He lifts you up in one, swift -although careful- movement before settling himself on the bed with you straddling his lap and hmmm you can feel how much he wants you now. In a moment of reckless bravery, you grind against him and smile smugly at the chocking sound coming from his throat. But your victory is short-lived when you feel a hot breath at the junction of your neck and your shoulder, inhaling your scent. You inhale sharply and a whimper leaves your lips when you feel his teeth -his very sharp teeth- nibble at your skin. A dark, guttural chuckle echo in the room, one filled with sinful promises of pleasure, making your body growing hotter by the second.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it you, Darling,” he purrs in your ear, sounding very much like the embodiment of temptation and immorality most sacred texts describe him as. It drives you insane.

He never did this before, it was -almost- always him that would come to you with need and want, and of course, you never refused him. But now…

“I need-“ now look who’s struggling to form coherent sentences. You can feel him smile against your flesh like the devil he is. “I need you to touch me,” you shudder when his hands grip your thighs once more, except his hold is much more possessive than the previous one. “Hold me, fill me, mark me…” your voice becoming more strained and tense as one of his hands starts to make its way to your heated core. “I want you to fuck me until I forget the pain, and my own name…” The animalistic sound that leaves him sends goosebumps along your skin. You sigh deliriously. “I want you to worship me.”

He leaves your neck to look at you one more time before he completely loses it. You know he wants to check if you’re really sure about this, he’s done it before, and although you’ve never told him to, you know if you asked him to stop now, he would. As much as it would pain him, you know he’d never betray you like this, not only because he loves and respects you too much, but also because your Devil has standards.

When he notices no hesitation or refusal from you, a ravenous and demented smile draws on his lips as he tilts your chin with his free hand to look at you directly in the eyes. You see excitement, lust, and exhilaration in his frenzied gaze and behind it, his undying adoration.

“As you wish, dearest.”

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You see them not too long after, when you’ve recovered enough to walk on your own, although you sustained no injury on your legs. Though you’re sure some people can tell why you couldn’t use them. The wound on your shoulder is bigger than you thought, starting from your shoulder blade, and almost reaching your hips but the pain is already manageable and you’ve been told no major organ was harmed, so there’s that. You can’t do much about the red angry scar expect apply some ointment every now and then but it’s fine, to demons, scars are not seen as ugly but rather a source of pride and a sign of survival. Not surprising, considering their King was the first to deal with the most painful ones imaginable. Very little got to see them but everyone knew the Fall had taken a lot from him.

Just like he promised, he keeps you near him at all times to the point you quickly forget the notion of personal space but you don’t complain much, considering what happened. Besides, listening to the meetings with the princes and other important figures -on his lap of course- gives you a better insight on how things operate in hell and who you need to be careful of, TK could only spend so much time explaining the basics to you with how busy they were.

All thanks to a certain “housekeeper”…

Ah, thinking about them always lead to a terrible headache, which for some reason you believe them to be aware of. Your last interaction with them goes back to a day or two before the “incident”, they’d been cordial and enthusiastic as usual but something about that smile always kept you on edge. Now you know your cautiousness was not uncalled for. You still want to strangle them but you’d rather drown into that lake again than admit it to their face. You can’t forget the genuine fear in Samael’s voice or the way he trembled against you when he asked you to not go to them.

What exactly did they do to you ?

“Darling ?” A deep voice brings you back to reality and you realize everyone in the room is staring at you -some with more annoyance and hostility than others- and you turn to see the concerned azure gaze of your lover. “Are you alright ?”

You don’ want to lie to him but now is really not the time to mention your doubts and questions. Instead, you smile softly and speak as casually as you can despite the headache growing in intensity.

“I just need some fresh air, don’t worry.”

You can tell he is not fully convinced with how deep his frown is and it gets worse when you try to leave your “seat”. He tenses up and to avoid making a scene you take one of his hands into your own and try to appease his paranoia.

“The balcony is not far, I’ll come back in a few minutes.” You lick your lips. “I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen,” you raise your voice to make sure everyone hears you, “nobody would be stupid enough to try something when you’re here, right ?”

You think you hear a few people chuckle and you don’t need to turn around to guess their derisive smiles. A few moments of silence pass where you stare at the King of Hell with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You know you’ve won when you hear him sigh and nod reluctantly. Slowly, you slip from his lap but before you can make a step, a hand grabs you by the arm causing you to turn around in confusion.

“Five minutes,” is all he says to you, irritation and stress already slipping into his voice. You mentally send an apology to everyone else in the room, knowing what they’ll have to deal with for this short amount of time.

“Of course, I understand.”

You beam at him but right as you’re about to leave, find yourself hit with a very bold and striking idea. You smile deviously under the eyes of a confused King. Dramatically, you kneel before him much like a knight in a fairytale would and take the hand which was holding your arm a few seconds ago into your own and bring it to your lips, not once breaking eye contact with him. He looks at you in stunned silence and wide eyes, his face covered in a delicious shade of blue. As a final move, you drop a chaste kiss on his hand and smile when you hear him inhale sharply.

“I’ll be back soon,” you beath the words fervently against his skin, “My King.”

You stroll out of the room without looking back once and head to the balcony, feeling quite proud -and maybe a bit embarrassed- of your little display despite the dull pain in your skull. You’re fortunate enough to not cross anyone on your way, and exhale slowly once you feel the cold air against your face.

You attempt to distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts with the view and feels the wind to caress your skin in a gentle breeze, it’s calm and peaceful. Until a voice you’re all too familiar with jumps in from behind, and it takes everything in you to refrain yourself from jumping in fright.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered well enough to put little stunts like this !”

You cringe at the friendly, upbeat tone they use and refuse to turn around to gaze at that pretentious smile. Of course, he knows what you did, he always seemed to know where you went and what you did.

“And I’m glad you have enough time on your hands to come and see me,” you retort as casually as possible.

Don’t show your anger, even if he knows, don’t show it.

“Of course, I’ll always free myself for you sweetheart,” he says, voice slightly huskier. “You know I’ll always be there whenever you feel bored.”

There it is, that same charming and bewitching tone he used the first time you met, the one that almost convinced you to follow him to the storage room. And his hair looked so soft, though you’d never touch it, mostly out of fear of what would happen to your fingers if you did. His eyes -well the one visible at least- were so pretty. He was attractive and persuasive for sure, but you always thought he was more than that, and you were right. What would have happened, if you’d followed them that day ?

Ah, I’d rather not think about it…

“Are you giving me the cold shoulder ?” he asks with hurt in his voice, you’re almost convinced it’s genuine. This time, you can’t help but flinch from his wording, and he notices it. “Oops, I shouldn’t have worded it like that, my bad.”

You only sigh at his “apology” and do your best to ignore the footsteps, coming closer and closer to you, slowly, like a snake chasing its unaware prey.

“Come on now, you weren’t so stiff last time we talked.”

You still don’t answer and hear them hum in amusement at your silence. It’s not very hard to imagine the expression he’s wearing right now, narrowed eyes and a knowing smile. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them truly irritated or angry, and while his smile always unnerved you, you’d rather not discover what he looked like when he got mad.

“You’re acting like I’m the one who stabbed you in the back.”

He’s so close, too close to you for comfort, you feel your body tense as soon as the edge of his tail brushes your leg. Oh, he must be relishing in your agitation.

Fucking bastard…

“It must have been so painful, “ he whispers as one of his nails starts to move along your back. “The feeling of a sharp blade piercing your soft skin, “ he says while his finger starts to trail down the exact line of your scar through your clothes. “and the freezing winds nabbing at the wound while you desperately tried to stay afloat.” His voice drips with sadistic glee, you’re almost sure he’s getting turned on. “And then helplessly drowning with none coming to get you, oh you must have felt truly hopeless, didn’t you, sweetheart ?”

The urge to just throw him over the edge eats you away as a warm breath tickles your neck. But you do your best to sound and act as unbothered by the situation, instead opting for a white lie.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember most of it.”

Bad move, you sense him chuckles against your ear at your admission, as if you’d just confided the most important secret in the world. What kind of sick power did you just allow him to have over you now ?

“Really ?” he muses. “That’s too bad…” he snickers. “Maybe I could help you regain some memories ?”

Fuck, I walked right into that one.

“You know I could make it feel good, don’t you ?”

You wonder if this is how Eve felt when she was tricked by the snake, in fact you wouldn’t be surprised to learn Flauros turned out to be the one who tempted her at this point. It’s like he was made for the sole purpose of spreading chaos whenever he went.

“I’ll have to decline the offer,” you answer firmly and to your surprise, notice him take a step back. You feel like you can breathe again.

“You’re so boring,” he exclaims, sounding very much like a spoiled kid. “But I knew it’d be like that, this story isn’t centered around me after all.”

You open your mouth to ask for more explanations when a deep, concerned voice reverberates in your head.

“Darling ? Are you on your way back ?”

You answer quickly, knowing very well what will happen if you don’t.

“Sorry, kinda lost track of time, I’m coming !”

“Hurry…please.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll be there soon.”

You’re glad he doesn’t ask more questions; else you’d have had to tell him about the spider standing right behind you and he’s already stressed enough as it is.

“I’m guessing his Highness is calling for you ?” he asks in an ever-knowing voice, still filled with that same fucking arrogance. “Better not make him wait !” he shouts in a disgustingly sweet sing-song voice.

Gross, this really didn’t suit him at all, being a coy little bastard really fits him better. As much as it bothers you, he’s playing the part of the bad guy pretty well, too well you think. As if he’d done this a hundred times over already.

You want to tell him to leave, to take care of all the tasks poor TK is forced to manage on their own, you want to yell at him, bleed him dry, snap his neck. Anything so you don’t have to walk past him and get a glimpse of that cheeky smile, anything for you to forget the image of a dying Samael from your mind. But then it would mean surrendering, admit that you’re terrified of whatever entity they’re supposed to be.

So, with all the strength and courage you still have left, you turn around and sure enough, he’s looking at you the exact way you predicted it. You walk past him, not too fast -less you betray your fear- but not too slow either -less you have to gaze for too long at that sharp, hypnotizing purple eye- . But the words he utters as you stand a few inches from him, cause you to stop dead in your tracks.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about me cutie, I’m only here to act as a small distraction to your little fairytale.” He chuckles. “You should be more concerned about the God who created this world in the first place and the minion who wishes to gain their attention through this story.”

You start to walk again, not fulling grasping his words but still finding some sort of unknown understanding through them. But you still hear him talk, speaking of beings beyond your reality. His voice becoming darker and louder as you get farther away.

“The King may be the current favorite, but who knows when I’ll steal his crown?”

Walk away, don’t turn back

“Up until you grow bored of your prince charming, I’ll be there.”

………….

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be your Antagonist (: “

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#Flauros stop fucking with brain challenge

Sorry for any world builing inaccuracies, I did give myself some liberties concerning a few details, feel free to correct me about it Vee.

#your boyfriend #demon au #your boyfriend au #Flauros is so difficult to write- help #your boyfriend x reader #angst/comfort #because I am weak #plot kept changing each day #PAIN #shouldn't have too many typos #i hope *cries*

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aerynwrites · 3 years

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Okay okay, I got this! So may I request Cassian with the prompts “You’re bleeding” and “Come here, let me fix this” where the reader is inadvertently injured during a mission and Cassian needs to patch her up? Maybe some feelings involved somewhere too 😭💕 Thank you!!

A/N: Here you go! I’ve missed writing for Cassian! <3

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Blood and injury, hurt/comfort, fluff.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get in, meet with the informant, get the information, and get out. A simple task that Cassian has completed hundreds of times. Which is the only reason he thought it safe to bring you along with him. You’re just a technician, usually you come with him or the rogue one crew to help with analytics or if something goes wrong with the ship. Cassian had never intended to fall for you, having always put the rebellion first. He never expected for you to worm your way into his heart with your kindness or bright smile.

Yet here he is with you, running away from an ambush of storm troopers, all because he could never say no to you.

You had begged and begged to accompany him on one of his smaller missions. Claiming that the more knowledge you had of his field work the more help you could be. But Cassian knew it was because you wanted to do more for the rebellion than just fix ships and look over data. Perhaps that’s why he had caved and let you tag along, because he saw a bit of his younger self in you. Optimistic, hopeful, but terribly naive.

“Come on!” he shouts, ducking and pulling you with him to avoid a round of blaster shots, “We’re almost back to the ship. We can make it!”

You struggle to keep up, the stormy weather of the planet you’re on has turned the ground into a muddy mess. You keep losing your footing on the slippery terrain, and you can hardly see in front of you due to the buckets of rain pouring down from the sky and dripping into your eyes. Oh...and the blaster-shot to your side that you think Cassian has yet to notice.

The only sense of hope you feel is when you see your ship in the distance. You faintly hear Cassian call into his comm link for K2 to start the ship and get prepared to take off the moment you two arrive on board. Another round of blaster fire has both you and Cassian ducking to the side before you both finally manage to run into the ship. You slip on your way up the ramp and Cassian instantly catches you and hauls you the rest of the way into the ship. You let out a pained hiss as his hand falls onto your blaster wound, and release a sigh when you are set gently into one of the passenger seats.

“You’re bleeding,” Cassian says, voice slightly panicked as he looks at his hand covered in crimson.

“I-I’m fine,” you tell him, trying to calm him down, “It’s nothing we can’t handle.” you wince on the last word, hand falling to the source of pain instinctively.

Cassian feels like his heart is in his throat when he discovers your injury. He feels like a fool for letting you come along with him, letting his feelings for you get in the way of his better judgment. He shakes his head firmly, quickly stripping off his thick coat and moves to find the med kit.

“I shouldn’t have let you come,” he sighs, pulling the medkit off the wall and walking back over to crouch on the floor in front of you, “It was too dangerous, and I should have known that!” he chastises himself.

“Cassian,” you call out to him, “Stop,” you breathe, “Please. It’s not your fault,” you insist, “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. Please don’t blame yourself.”

The man before you closes his eyes tightly, biting his tongue to stop himself from arguing with you. He takes several deep breaths, realizing that - as much as he hates it - your words are true.

He sighs. Moving to help over to help you stand from your seat, “Come here,” he instructs softly, “Let me at least fix this,” he gestures to the charred and bloody area on your jacket.

You nod, letting him guide you over to a low bench instead. He helps you remove your jacket slowly, careful not to jar you around too much. Then he lifts your shirt up enough so he can inspect the wound.

“Hold your shirt up,” he whispers.

You obey, holding the fabric away from the wound and biting your lip when you feel his fingers trail around the area lightly, assessing the damage. You let out a shaky breath when he pulls his hands away, and he sighs softly in relief.

“It isn’t too deep. Just a graze,” he explains, “I just have to clean it, apply some bacta and bandages and you will be good as new.”

“Okay,” you say softly, “I trust you.”

Cassian smiles wryly as he begins to slowly doctor your wound, “And look where that trust got you. Covered in mud with a blaster bolt to the side.”

“Cassian!” you chastise, voice pitching up slightly when he starts to apply bacta cream to your injury, “I told you this wasn’t your fault, you need to sto-”

“I have one job!” he cuts you off, voice harsh yet hands gentle as he continues to treat you. “I have one job,” he reiterates. “To protect those who can’t protect themselves. To protect those I lo-”

He stops, throat going dry, as he begins to wrap the bandages around your waist. He has never told you how he feels, never intended too. But after today, even though it wasn’t anything terrible, he can’t deny the absolute fear he felt shooting through his veins when he saw your blood on his hands. He has plenty of that already, but he never wanted yours on him. Never wanted the blood of those he loves to come anywhere near him.

He continues only when he has taped the bandage off and tugs your shirt back down, looking up at you with hands resting on your thighs gently. “I’m supposed to protect the people I care about, the people I love,” he squeezes your thighs on the last word, “What good am I, if i can’t even do that?”

You feel your eyes burn with unshed tears at the confession. You’ve had feelings for the captain since the moment you had joined the rogue one crew on your first mission. You knew that you both felt something for each other, constantly tiptoeing around one another and teasing back and forth. But you knew that Cassian was practically married to the rebellion. So, to hear him finally say these things out loud...it made a wave of emotions crash over you.

You quickly slide down from the bench so you are on the floor just a hair's breadth away from him. You hesitantly move to cradle his face in your hands, feeling your heart swell when he melts into you.

“I love you too, Cas,” you whisper, thumbs running slowly over his cheek bones.

His eyes snap to meet yours when the words fall from your lips, and before you can react, his hands are on your wrists and he's bringing his lips to yours.

And suddenly...everything seems right.

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Cassian Andor Tag: @stubbychaos @shayna-winchester @a-keyth16 @godhateskyleigh @seasonschange-butpeopledont @bisexual-space-slut @stanfordscrush @infinitepurity @kaermorons @maydayfigment @h-e-l-l-o-s @justawilddreamerchild

#cassian andor x reader #cassian andor #diego luna #Rogue one #rogue one x reader

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