#tw torn flesh

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 7: Lyric Inspired

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of fear/panic, claustrophobia, implied abduction, mentions of pain/suffering, death, blood, torn flesh, eye-loss, descriptions of decay/rot, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

(A few months ago, I was able to pre-order a signed copy of Nate’s newest album, Scrap Heap; it should be here any day now! And in honor of such a heavy addition to my collection, I created a brand new NateEgo. You can find more information about him here.)

Day 1  Day 2  Day 3  Day 4  Day 5  Day 6

___

Goosebumps prickled over [REDACTED]’s arms at the sound of dull, heavy footsteps proceeding down the corridor behind him. He knew he had to keep moving, but his heart sank once he realized that he’d reached a corner of the maze. A dead-end.

The only way out was to turn around and go back the way he’d come. But he couldn’t do that.

Because a large, metallic hand was suddenly grasping at the threshold he’d just passed. A familiar figure loomed in the entryway.

This animatronic had been following [REDACTED] throughout the maze for almost ten minutes now. [REDACTED] knew that he probably should’ve expected this—he was in a haunted house, after all—but he figured that the animatronic should’ve stopped pursuing him at some point. Hell, he’d already passed a few other animatronics during his visit, but none of them had tried to do what this one was doing.

Wasn’t this particular one supposed to be on a stage somewhere else in the building? 

[REDACTED] stared up, up, up at the glowing red eyes that probably should’ve started burning a hole into his head by now. The animatronic wasn’t talking or singing like it had been earlier. It was completely silent, just leering down at him with that maniacal, hungry grin.

The animatronic took a step forward. [REDACTED], acting on instinct, took a step back.

He was forced to keep backing away until he hit the wall behind him.

The animatronic slowly came closer and closer. It almost appeared to be getting even bigger and taller than it already was.

___

S̷C̸R̵A̷P̵ ̸H̶E̶A̴P̷!̵

Mechanical engineering didn’t always make for glamorous work. The jobs in that field paid well, sure, and taking the necessary courses in college to get such a degree meant you might be able to participate in the odd round of robot combat or two.

Even so, being a technician didn’t guarantee you a spot at some classified robotics laboratory. More often than not, your best bet would be to start out at a place like Ransom Recycling, and while the work done in such a place was indeed important, it didn’t change the fact that it was literally a junkyard.

Your current job hasn’t been as exciting as you’d hoped, but you know better than to complain. A dirty, boring job is still better than no job at all. Besides, there’s always the occasion that you get to work with things more interesting than the usual scrap.

Like tonight, for instance.

You stroll down the dirt n’ gravel path, pushing a large, empty industrial cart along. You scan the hills of scrap, taking time to look over the rubble carefully. You see remains of several cars—some were still intact but had obviously decayed over time, and some were smashed in a way that suggested their drivers may or may not have found licenses inside cereal boxes. You see corroded hubcaps, broken metal rods, and too many unrecognizable cubes (the form trash took on when it was put through the compactor on the west side of the yard) to count.

The junkyard’s latest client had come not from a dealership, but an entertainment service. Just a couple weeks ago, a local haunted house—Panic Plaza, to be specific—had been forced to close its doors. You had read news articles about this, but you just can’t remember the exact reason for the building’s shutdown. Panic had been a hotspot for thrillseekers around town, and the fact that it’d been open for more months than just October attested to that.

And while Panic had employed several people to dress in grotesque costumes in order to frighten their visitors, its real strength had come from a series of animatronics.

Animatronics that, wouldn’t you know it, had been dropped off at the junkyard earlier this week. Why they’d been brought here instead of being sold off to a similar business, you have no idea. The representative from Panic hadn’t said much about them; hell, he’d only stuck around long enough to discuss the delivery with your bosses. Maybe the animatronics had malfunctioned in a way that Panic somehow just couldn’t recover from?

Whatever the case, the bosses had made it clear that they wanted at least one animatronic to be salvaged before they returned (they’d just left to haul some repaired cars the next town over).

Now, if they’d only made it clear where said animatronics had been placed in the yard. . .

Your foot suddenly strikes something hard, something that catches around your ankle. You don’t even have time to register the pain before you lose your grip on the cart and go sprawling down. You hit the ground with a thud, and after catching your breath, you turn over to sit on your haunches and glare at the offending object.

Your frustration quickly transitions into anxiety as you realize that the offending object is in the shape of a human arm. One that just so happens to be lying close to something that’s shaped like a human head. . .

You gape like a fish as you hurriedly get back to your feet. Thankfully, before you can really start panicking, you notice how a dim ray from the setting sun shines against the arm and head in a way that is very clearly metallic. They still stand out against the coppery grime that surrounds them, but they definitely haven’t experienced the horrible decomposition that unattended human corpses are infamous for.

Right, you think, trying to stop shaking. We just received a bunch of broken-down robots. That’s all this thing is.

You calm down, but not completely. The fact that the head and arm are positioned in a way that suggests their owner has been crushed and is desperately trying to crawl out of the pile isn’t what you’d call assuring.

I̷ ̴r̵o̵t̶ ̸a̶w̴a̴y̸,̸ ̸a̷n̴d̵ ̵I̷ ̵l̴o̷o̵k̶ ̴d̴e̵a̷t̶h̵ ̶i̴n̷ ̷t̴h̵e̶ ̶f̴a̸c̸e̸

I̴ ̷s̴t̴a̶r̴t̷ ̴t̵o̴ ̷w̸i̴t̵h̶e̵r̸,̷ ̴a̴n̷d̶ ̵I̵’̵m̵ ̶t̴r̶u̸l̵y̷ ̴a̴f̸r̴a̷i̴d̸

You place your hand over the head, just to make sure it’s smooth, cold and hard instead of oozing, soft and decayed. Now that curiosity has overridden your fear, you grasp either side of the head and give it a tug. It does budge, but only by a couple inches. You grab the arm around its wrist and pull again, being a bit harsher this time. The screech of metal scraping against metal crashes against your ears.

You pause, frowning at how you’ve only made a bit more progress. You spend  a minute or two pushing chunks of scrap away from the head, managing to reveal a metal neck and shoulders, but the rest of the robot is well and truly stuck.

You pace around the pile and eventually come upon a long, flat piece of metal that has been bent near one end. You pick it up and slide it in between the robot’s back and the rest of the junk on top of it. You leverage it, pulling it to and fro. The ensuing chorus of scraping is less than pleasant, but you can see that this new method is working. Slowly but surely, inch by inch, the robot is coaxed out into the open.

Finally, you’re able to grab hold of the robot’s waist and pull it free. Or, attempt to, at least. It’s out, but it’s also heavy as hell. You can only hold it for a moment before you’re forced to drop it.

You turn it over on its back, then straighten up to finally get a better look. You recognize the animatronic and instinctively brace yourself for it to start belting a morbid verse.

This is Scaredy, Panic’s official mascot.

The animatronic is missing one of his arms, as well as both of his legs. His remaining forearm, neck and head share a silvery-white finish. A black bowtie is attached to his throat, where a person’s collar bones would’ve met. The casing on his torso alternates between black and blue in a way that looks like a vest being worn over a separate shirt; though it’s all one piece, certain areas are slightly raised, having been carefully designed in order to sell the illusion of Scaredy wearing clothes. Some kind of 3D printing process, maybe?

Plastic on top of Scaredy’s head seems to have been given the same treatment—it matches his blue “shirt” and resembles short hair, to the point where it looks like an undercut with side-swept bangs.

You focus on the animatronic’s face and can’t help but freeze.

A long, thin, straight opening runs down the center of Scaredy’s mug, which is comprised of six segmented plates that all fit together perfectly. Hell, they almost seem to be floating. The crevices between each of these plates offers a small glimpse of wires and frames here and there. His mouth has been crafted as a perpetual, wide-open smile, like the robot is in the middle of laughing or singing.

The expression would’ve looked innocent enough, but not if the several teeth lining Scaredy’s maw have anything to say about it. Said teeth are all long and sharp, catching the light like actual blades—you have no doubt that, if you were to brush your hand against them, blood would easily be drawn. There’s a bright red circle on either side of the animatronic’s jaw. It reminds you of the rosy cheeks that would’ve usually been seen on a clown, but somehow, it doesn’t take away from his design.

The teeth would’ve looked threatening enough, but apparently whoever had constructed this thing had given a resounding Fuck it, I can do better! Because you feel a legitimate chill run down your spine as you gaze into Scaredy’s eyes.

A pair of red pinprick-pupils stare up at you from black-as-oil orbs. Eyebrows can be found above them (since when did a robot even need eyebrows?), the same color as the robot’s hair and narrowed in a way that makes it feel like the animatronic is judging you—no, sizing you up. His grin makes that feeling even more prominent.

Worse still, his eyes are glowing. The illumination is dim, but it’s still there.

You hold a hand over Scaredy’s face, waving it from side to side. His eyes don’t follow your movement. The glow remains, but that’s it.

He’s not alive, you remind yourself, shaking your head. He’s a machine—one that’s not even in working order. Get a hold of yourself!

You know this has to be the case. Scaredy hasn’t moved at all, hasn’t made any noise. He’s definitely seen better days. He’d clearly been here for a good while. And if he was still functional, then why would he have ended up at the junkyard in the first place?

A̷ ̷g̵r̴e̵a̷t̶e̴r̶ ̵p̸u̶r̶p̴o̴s̸e̶ ̶l̵e̵f̵t̷ ̶m̷e̶ ̸a̵l̶l̴ ̸n̸o̴t̶ ̴t̶h̴e̵ ̴s̸a̶m̸e̸

M̴y̸ ̸t̸i̵m̵e̵ ̶i̷s̴ ̷r̴u̸n̴n̴i̷n̴g̶ ̸o̶u̵t̵,̸ ̷b̸u̵t̵ ̷y̶o̸u̸ ̷c̴o̷u̷l̸d̴ ̴n̶e̵v̴e̴r̵ ̷f̸o̵r̶g̸e̵t̴ ̷m̶y̵ ̸n̷a̴m̷e̶

You continue searching through the heap until you recover a stray, artificial left arm, which matches Scaredy’s right arm perfectly. The next ten minutes are taken up by even more digging. During this venture, you happen upon more abandoned, dismantled robots; no doubt they’re Panic’s other attractions. 

They’re all just as dirty and ruined as would be expected. But you can’t salvage them all at once, and Scaredy already has your attention. These other ones will have to wait.

 Apparently it’s your lucky day, because you manage to discover two mechanical legs; first the right one, then the left. Both are black and end in what honestly looks like a pair of blue combat boots. You hold the legs close to the empty sockets at the bottom of the animatronic’s torso just to be sure they belong to him.

That’s it. You’ve officially found all the pieces of this neglected, unnerving animatronic.

Using all your strength, you load Scaredy into the cart and wheel it around, beginning your trek back to the maintenance warehouse.

The animatronic is in a position that forces him to stare at the sky, but the way his eyes glow does a great job at making you feel like he’s watching you whenever you look away from him.

___

The animatronic towered over [REDACTED]. It didn’t take up the entirety of the space here, but it would’ve been impossible for him to slip past it without brushing against it.

[REDACTED] been in a group when he’d first entered the building—and obviously, they’d all been separated from one another. Something in his gut insisted that that wasn’t supposed to have happened. In fact, it almost felt like he was the only person in the maze now. He knew that couldn’t be right. . .but he couldn’t hear any other footsteps nearby. He couldn’t hear the voices of any other visitors. Pre-recorded screams and whispers were echoing throughout the maze via intercom, but that was it.

Why? Had he wandered into a restricted area somehow? Was that why the animatronic had been stalking after him?

The animatronic slowly turned its head from side to side, though its eyes never left [REDACTED]. But other than that, it was standing perfectly still. It almost gave [REDACTED] the impression that the animatronic was listening for something.

Like it was wondering if the two of them were truly alone, too. . .

[REDACTED] wasn’t at the point of hyperventilation, but his anxiety made his lungs feel heavy. He was trying to keep his breathing slow and even, but it just seemed so loud.

[REDACTED] swallowed the lump in his throat, then lightly shook his head.

The animatronic wasn’t an actual threat. It couldn’t have been—if that was the case, then this place would’ve been investigated and subsequently shut down a long time ago.

He shifted in place, planning to sidle past the animatronic.

The animatronic’s arm was a blur. He’d only realized it was moving after it’d slammed into him.

Spots flashed in [REDACTED]’s vision. The air was immediately knocked out of him. He crumpled against the wall, sliding into a heap on the floor. Pain bloomed throughout his chest. His instincts told him that nothing had been broken, but he automatically knew that his ribs had nearly bent when the animatronic struck him.

[REDACTED] shakily tried to pick himself up, but a pair of large, cold hands materialized around him. One arm snaked around his waist to clutch at his stomach; [REDACTED] could feel a set of digits dig into his skin through his shirt. The other harshly grasped the back of his neck as though he was a misbehaving kitten.

All the while a strange, unnatural hissing crept into [REDACTED]’s ears from somewhere directly behind him.

___

W̴e̷ ̸w̷i̷l̴l̴ ̸n̷o̶t̸ ̴b̴e̵ ̷s̴p̸a̷r̵e̷d̶,̶ ̸w̸e̵ ̷w̵i̴l̴l̸ ̶n̸o̸t̵ ̶b̵e̷ ̴s̷a̸v̵e̵d̷

S̵o̸ ̸t̵a̷k̶e̷ ̴t̵h̵i̷s̸ ̴t̵o̷ ̵y̶o̸u̸r̸ ̵g̷r̷a̵v̴e̶ ̴w̷h̷e̶n̵ ̶y̷o̷u̵’̷r̸e̸ ̴j̶u̷s̴t̷ ̷a̸ ̵k̷i̶d̷ w̵h̶o̴ ̴l̷o̵s̸t̸ ̶t̷h̵e̷i̴r̴ w̷a̵y̵

Panels suspended from the ceiling flicker, humming and buzzing as they bathe everything below them in bright, artificial light. Roller tool cabinets are sequestered in the corners. Six large, steel worktables have been lined up in two rows of three at the center, with a generous amount of space between each of them. Three of the four walls are almost entirely covered by pegboards—the hooks lining said pegboards support a variety of different tools and mechanical parts. The fourth wall is taken up by a garage door, which is currently open and allowing the fading sunlight to peek in.

You push the collection cart through that same garage door, pausing to type a code into the keypad on the wall beside it. The huge door rumbles as it lowers itself to the ground. The soles of your shoes squeak against the interlocking rubber mats that cover the warehouse’s floor. You wheel the cart over to the nearest worktable, then take Scaredy by his shoulders and drag him on top of it. His arm hangs limply over the edge, his fingers brushing against the floor.

You pause, then walk to that desk in the corner of the warehouse, which is currently covered in papers. Those papers are blueprints and specs outlining the designs and functions of the robots that have been dropped off here. You flip through them, searching for the ones on Scaredy.

Your sibling had worked at Panic Plaza while it’d been open; you can recognize many of the animatronics from the trips you’d taken to pick them up after hours.

A precious few were similar to Scaredy, but most of the robots had been vaguely shaped like animals, with claws, fangs, and puckered, snarling snouts. Some had boasted matted, tangled fur while others had rubbery scales. According to the blueprints, however, those robots were pretty simple: their endoskeletons looked almost like those wooden, poseable figurines that were used for art reference. Their monstrous appearances, while surprisingly elaborate, had been nothing more than costumes.

Finally, you find what you need and bring it over to your table, setting the papers down by Scaredy’s head.

You examine the ends of Scaredy’s severed limbs. . .well, the damage around his connecting joints isn’t too bad. You lift Scaredy’s left arm and peer into the area where it’s obviously supposed to connect to his shoulder. You see a group of rectangular caps positioned in a circle. The interior of Scaredy’s shoulder matches this perfectly.

Those things are specialized magnets. Scaredy’s already been here for a couple days, and the scrap that had been heaped on top of him would’ve definitely soaked up some heat when the sun was out. The changes in temperature must be why the magnets in his joints lost their strength. You check the blueprints, then poke at the short cables that are hanging out around the magnets. These must be here as a precaution; to help the arm move without pulling the magnets away from each other.

You set the arm down next to Scaredy, then cross the room to push one of the roller cabinets closer. You open it up and search through its drawers. Looks like you’ve got some spares to work with.

The next few moments see you removing the ruined magnets and replacing them with some brand new ones. You clean up the ends of the cables, then carefully hold the arm close to Scaredy’s shoulder. The magnets immediately snap together with a series of loud clicks, which would’ve delivered quite a painful pinch if you hadn’t been keeping your fingers out of the way.

You take hold of the cables and, one at a time, guide them about inside the shoulder until you feel them securely catch onto something. You then lift Scaredy’s forearm and slowly maneuver it this way and that. The arm remains snugly in place, but the parts aren’t grinding against one another. That’s good.

As you get to work repeating the process with Scaredy’s legs, memories begin flooding your head.

You’d been a paying customer at Panic once or twice. You’ve seen the haunted house for yourself, seen how each of the attractions had their own unique way of frightening guests. Scaredy’s schtick had been singing, and it had been surprisingly effective. 

That’s actually why your sibling ended up getting a job over there: they’d helped write the songs that were recorded for Scaredy to perform. Aforementioned songs were played on an intercom throughout the building so customers could always hear him, no matter where they were.

Now, you wouldn’t blame anyone for doing a double-take upon hearing that, because seriously? People got freaked out. . .over singing, of all things?

However, to say something like that would be to ignore just how much of an edgelord your sibling really was. You couldn’t remember Scaredy’s songs word-for-word, but you definitely remembered how they sounded like GWAR and Creature Feature had created a lovechild. Scaredy sang about twisted stuff all the time: murder, torture, general insanity. . .

He’d even been programmed to threaten customers in the intervals between his songs. (You were still kind of surprised that Panic’s owners had drawn the line at swearing.)

T̷o̴o̸ ̴d̸a̵m̷n̶ ̷l̴o̵n̶g̴ ̷t̸h̷a̶t̷ ̶I̴’̷v̸e̵ ̸r̴o̵a̷m̶e̵d̵ ̶t̴h̸e̶s̶e̸ ̶h̵a̵l̷l̶s̴ B̶u̴t̸ ̵s̴o̸o̴n̵ ̵y̷o̷u̸’̷l̴l̸ ̶j̷o̷i̶n̴ ̷u̵s̶ ̸f̷o̵r̸ ̶a̴ ̷b̴i̷t̶e̶ ̵a̴n̴d̴ ̷y̶o̶u̸ ̷c̴a̸n̶ ̸l̴i̵v̶e̴ ̴w̵i̷t̵h̷i̷n̶ ̵t̴h̴e̶s̴e̷ w̸a̷l̵l̶s̵

Time passes, and look at that! Scaredy is whole again.

You’ve made good progress, but holy shit, this guy is huge! How the hell did you not notice that before? You saw how his head was bigger than that of a human’s, but still!

You scan the animatronic’s blueprints—eight-foot-three? Who decided that was necessary? Then again, it has been quite a while since you last saw him. And in any case, perspective is just really weird.

Scaredy’s back and neck are supported by the table, but he’s clearly taking up every inch of space; if you try to move him forward to accommodate his lower half, then his neck will probably hang over the end and leave his head to touch the interlocking mats. Like his arms, Scaredy’s legs are draped across the floor in an awkward way. Had he been a flesh-and-blood person, his current position would’ve promised terrible future back problems.

The animatronic is still, unsurprisingly, filthy. So, you take a can of Acetone from the cabinet, then find a clean rag in one of the storage tubs and begin the long task of wiping down Scaredy’s front. It seems his metal hasn’t started rusting yet.

In just a couple moments, Scaredy’s finish is practically gleaming against the lights above. The silvery-white could easily be compared to cake makeup or deathly pale skin, and either way, he looks appropriately creepy. The dark blue and black of his clothes and hair help to compliment it. And his dark, piercing eyes really pull the look together. He really looks like he could still be functioning. . .

But he isn’t, because you’ve still got work to do. You decide to start opening him up now; if you can’t see any issues on the outside, then they’ve got to be on the inside. You glance back at the animatronic’s blueprints. There should be some small buttons around his face and arms. They can disengage some parts of his casing.

You peer down at his face and can’t stop yourself from shuddering at his grin. You gingerly hook a finger between two of Scaredy’s teeth and pull his lower jaw down, further opening the animatronic’s mouth to reveal a small device inside. It’s a custom-built fog machine. You remember how, when he was still active, it always looked like smoke was pouring from his jaws whenever he talked or sang. That, and the way his teeth would gnash together like some unhinged cartoon character, had added a definite coolness factor to his intimidation.

The slits between Scaredy’s faceplates culminate into a hole that bares an uncanny resemblance to the nasal septum of a human skull. When you discover a small button inside, you start giggling. Scaredy is supposed to be all unnerving. . .and one of his features is booping his nose? You shake your head happily. Whoever designed him knew exactly what they were doing.

You then carefully reach down, keeping your hand well away from Scaredy’s jaws, to tap at the newly-discovered button.

KA-PSSSSSSSSsssssss!

Though you’d barely put any pressure behind your touch, the faceplates pop open so violently that the animatronic’s entire head jerks back, as though he’s been struck.

Your laughter quickly transforms into a startled shout as you rip your hand away and back up a good few paces. A few long seconds dragged by as you warily stare at Scaredy. When he fails to spontaneously combust, you hesitantly move closer to continue the examination.

. . .So that’s what the prints meant when they said not all his systems are electricity-dependent. . .

That’s probably why his eyes are still lit-up after all the time he’s been out of commission.  

Scaredy’s faceplates are folded back on hinges, surrounding the head in a way that  almost resembles the petals of a flower. . .or the remnants of someone’s face having exploded from the inside out, but with a lot less viscera.

The interior of the animatronic’s head shines with dark gray metal. His expression can’t really be called an expression anymore. His teeth have been arranged to form a smile, and his eyes are still glowing brightly. But without his face plates, Scaredy just looks like he’s blankly gawking at whatever is in front of him. A nest of thick wires has been organized into rows and layers that vary in length around his eyes and mouth.

Galvanized cables: some of the strongest materials you can work with. There must be even more inside the rest of his body—if the rest of his systems are as complex and unique as you think they are, then they’d need as much support as possible for him to move around and keep his balance.

You had taken a Human Anat & Phys course in back college. You remember a particular diagram, one that displayed different parts of the body without any skin. Now that you think about it, Scaredy’s wiring looks shockingly similar to human facial muscles, excepting the lack of eyelids and lips.

You press the nose button again, flinching at how Scaredy’s faceplates snap back into place as quickly as they’d opened. Following the blueprint’s guidance, you push the black button on Scaredy’s plastic bowtie.

Hssssssssssss.

Right above it, a rectangular segment on Scaredy’s throat slides open.

As you’d suspected, more galvanized cables are coiled about, making the animatronic almost look like he has more than one esophagus (which, logically speaking, would put his harmonization module in the role of his vocal cords). 

The module in question is in the shape of a tube, covered in rows of small buttons and dials. It’s connected to cables at bottom and top, but there’s an empty socket in the center of the controls. Which means it can either be charged along with the rest of Scaredy’s body, or just charge independently.

You retreat to the back of the room and wheel over a small, compact, multi-adaptive generator. You’re confident that it won’t fry Scaredy’s systems when it’s hooked up to them. The generator rumbles to life as you turn it on, and after some cautious examination, you take hold of one of the extending cords and plug it into the socket. The module gives a small, muffled hum at first. You figure it’ll need some time to warm up, so you return your focus to the specs to find out which button does what.

It turns out you were very wrong about that, because out of nowhere, the animatronic starts screeching.

You jump at least a foot in the air as it drills into your ears, reminding you of that type of TV static that’s always unnecessarily loud (this is even louder. To the point where you’re sure it can be heard all across the junkyard). Not only that, but Scaredy’s recorded voice is there, clearly trying to fight its way up through the shriek, which results in a garbled mess that sounds like nothing you’ve ever heard before.

Your hands fly to the module, pressing every button and turning every dial in a panicked attempt to make the distress call stop.

You manage to lower the volume. Still shaken up, you look back and forth between the specs and the animatronic. Chunks of dialogue start popping up through the static. It takes a couple minutes of trial and error, but eventually, you find the right combination.

The static subsides, and after about ten seconds of blissful silence. . .

“NE-EXT VICTIM!”

Although your heart is still hammering in your chest, you smirk. That was Scaredy’s signature catchphrase. The animatronic’s voice has a slight echo to it—it’s scratchy around the edges, but not so much that his singing would’ve been jeopardized. His tone is snide, as though he knows things about whomever he’s speaking to despite it being impossible for him to know aforementioned things.

W̶e̴’̷l̴l̸ ̷o̴n̶l̸y̵ ̷w̸i̶t̴h̷e̷r̷ ̷a̶w̷a̵y̵,̶ ̴w̵e̷’̵r̸e̸ ̶g̷o̸n̶n̷a̴ ̷f̷a̷l̶l̶ ̶t̸o̷ ̷d̵e̴c̶a̵y̵ ̶I̶ ̵a̶l̷w̵a̶y̴s̷ ̵c̶o̷m̶e̸ ̷b̵a̴c̶k̷,̷ ̵y̴o̷u̵’̵l̵l̵ ̴n̷e̴v̷e̵r̶ ̷s̴e̷e̴ ̵t̷h̵e̵ ̸l̶a̸s̵t̶ ̶o̷f̴ ̴m̶e̵

Tiny lights begin blinking on the harmonization module. You toggle with it some more, but apparently Scaredy’s musical-performance mode isn’t functional right now. (Not that you mind. You need to focus, and Scaredy’s songs are. . .distracting, to say the least.) The animatronic can still speak, but that’s a bit easier to deal with.

At the press of another button, Scaredy lets out a sardonic cackle.

“Well, well, we-ell! What we have here—more adrenaline-junkies, huh? It’s been way-ay too long since I’ve had an au-audience to murder!”

Considering how the rest of Scaredy’s body is still without power, his jaw isn’t moving up and down as he talks. You aren’t sure whether that makes the animatronic’s words more or less creepy. You decide that you might as well go through the rest of Scaredy’s audio. That way you can take note of any hiccups before you start working on the animatronic’s other systems.

“Trying to escape? Well, you’d b-better do it fast; listening to my music comes with a high risk of your brains spla-a-attering on the walls!”

Panic Plaza’s building had been designed as sort of a maze; every section had more than one entrance or exit, so customers couldn’t really predict what order they’d be visiting each of the attractions in. And that wasn’t even mentioning how the sections were treated like escape rooms. Customers would have to solve certain puzzles in order to advance towards the end, and the length of their visit depended on what they did and how they did it.

From your experience, Scaredy’s section had been littered with hidden tools for guests to use. Scaredy would pace around his stage as he performed; he’d lunge at those who strayed too close, but to your knowledge, that was all he did besides singing and taunting.

“Can you believe how sharp this mic st-tand is? I think I’ll make a shish-kabob out of you with it!”

“You need to get away from this thing.”

You find yourself pausing. You think you’d just barely heard. . .something after Scaredy’s line. But you can’t be sure. Are your ears playing tricks on you?

You turn one of the dials, listening more carefully than before.

“You can knock-k-k on that door all you want. . .but the button to open it is on my guitar! Come up onsta-age and press it! I DARE you!”

“You’re in serious danger.”

Your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. There’s definitely another voice piping up in time with Scaredy’s words. The new voice is weak and raspy; you really have to concentrate in order to hear it.

“Where will you go if you stick around with me for too long? EVERYWHERE. You’ll go EV-EVERYWHERE. ”

“What happened to me. . .wasn’t an accident.”

Was this part of Scaredy’s programming? You supposed it would be a clever mechanic, but you can’t remember hearing anything like this back at Panic. And why would you? Not only have you not visited that place for such a long time, but Scaredy’s music had always been so loud. Anxious that you might have done something wrong, you turn the generator off and remove its cord from the module’s socket.

“They knew what happened.”

Scaredy is no longer speaking. But that doesn’t seem to stop the other voice. And now that you don’t have to dissect its words through Scaredy’s lines, you realize just how miserable it sounds. You obviously can’t see the other voice’s owner, but just by listening to them, you can instantly tell that they’re exhausted, that they’re sickly, that they’re in terrible pain.

You unconsciously rest your hand against Scaredy’s face. . .and something suddenly gives way beneath your palm. A chorus of metallic clicking suddenly sounds off from what could only be further inside the animatronic.

Vvvrrrrmmm-sssssssshhhhhhhh.

You turn your head just in time to see a rectangular panel on Scaredy’s stomach slowly start sliding open. You blink, then peer down at the animatronic’s face. It takes you a few seconds to realize that the bright red circle on Scaredy’s right cheek is actually a button of its own.

How could you have missed either of those things earlier?

You look at the specs, and they. . .don’t say anything about a cheek-button or a stomach hatch? Why?

“They saw it for themselves, but they didn’t do anything about it.”

The words hang in the air. The other voice suddenly seems much louder and clearer than it was before. In  fact, it almost seems to be echoing. . .from inside Scaredy’s stomach.

W̷e̴’̴r̸e̴ ̷j̵u̵s̵t̶ ̷a̵ ̶h̵u̵s̶k̴ ̴o̸f̴ ̶o̷u̸r̴ ̵n̶a̴m̷e̴s̵,̶ ̵a̶ ̷r̷o̵t̵t̷i̶n̶g̴ ̸p̴i̸l̸e̵ ̷o̶f̷ ̶p̴a̵i̸n̶ ̶I̴’̷l̷l̷ ̴s̴e̵t̷ ̶y̵o̶u̷r̵ ̵w̶o̴r̴l̸d̵ ̸o̸n̴ ̶f̴i̴r̷e̷ ̴a̴n̴d̷ ̴s̶e̸n̸d̶ ̸y̸o̴u̴ ̶s̷t̶r̸a̵i̴g̶h̵t̸ ̶t̵o̵ ̴t̶h̷e̸ ̵s̸c̴r̶a̶-̶a̶-̴a̷-̴a̴p̷ ̴h̸e̸a̵p̵!̴

You fish a small flashlight from the cabinet and turn it on. You spend the next moment staring at the animatronic, listening for the other voice, trying and failing to make yourself move. Eventually, you creep over to the middle of the table. You aim the beam over Scaredy and peer down into his stomach. You’re shocked to discover that the animatronic’s interior is hollow. You can see Scaredy’s inner systems—his wiring and endoskeleton—but they’re being held in place by metal frames.

Due to Scaredy’s size, his stomach seems to offer enough space for a person to fit inside, so long as they kept their knees to their chest. Not comfortably, but plausibly.

But why? You expected to find some kind of engine or calibrating device. Why would a singing animatronic need what can only be described as a storage tank?

“They didn’t even try to get me out. Even though they were covering their tracks, they still just left me in here.”

Well, the answer is technically right in front of you. On one hand, it’s impossible for you to know what has happened inside Scaredy. And on the other hand, you’re desperately trying to convince yourself that the reddish-brown stains covering Scaredy’s interior are only rust.

But you can’t exactly ignore the other things you’ve found in Scaredy’s stomach.

The stench that’s working itself into the air is metallic, but it’s also. . .moldy. Fleshy. It’s not as strong as it would’ve been while fresh, but it’s definitely still there.

Your hand is trembling, but the flashlight somehow isn’t distorting what you’re looking at.

Scraps of fabric are caught between gears and prongs—and those scraps are covered in dark stains. Tendons are criss-crossing up the walls like roots. Strands of torn, discolored, mummified skin are practically melded into metal, along with clumps of matted black hair. Your vision lands on something that looks like a withered grape. It’s cloudy and veiny and—

An eyeball. It’s a human eyeball that has flattened and liquified with decay.

This is the point where your muscles finally start to disengage. The flashlight falls from your hand to clatter on the floor. You stumble back, not stopping until you collide with the wall behind you. You cling to that wall, as if it’s somehow going to help you get further away from the animatronic.

Your stomach has always twisted at the thought of what would happen if someone got their hand caught in a garbage disposal. You never thought you’d have to actively avoid thinking about what it would be like for one’s entire body to be caught in a garbage disposal.

But it looks like Scaredy makes for a pretty good example of that, huh?

You hadn’t eaten much earlier today, but you still can’t stop yourself from retching. You head is swimming, your throat is closing in, you have no idea why this is happening—

“You shouldn’t have taken me away from the others,” the voice inside Scaredy whispers fearfully. “It’s not fair that I get away from the pile and they don’t. They’re going to look for me. They’re going to take me back. . !”

___

The floor suddenly disappeared from under him. [REDACTED] reflexively started floundering for purchase, but the animatronic’s grip didn’t falter in the slightest. It barely had to make any effort in order to lift [REDACTED] up.

For a brief few seconds, [REDACTED] was simply being held in a parallel position.

And then, air was rushing past him as he was quickly moved backwards. He felt his shoes collide with something solid, and his legs were instantly forced to buckle as the animatronic continued shoving him back.

[REDACTED] heartbeat rang in his ears. Now acting on pure instinct, he began writhing against the animatronic. He frantically punched and kicked, barely even feeling the dull pain that came with striking something made of metal.

“Hey! S-stop!” [REDACTED] cried. “Let me go! Let me GO!”

The animatronic didn’t respond. Why would it have?

The room was a blur as [REDACTED] craned his neck, trying desperately to look at his attacker as if that would do anything to help. The animatronic’s blood-red, glowing, unmoving eyes were still fixated on him. Despite its expression, there was absolutely no emotion in those eyes.

Somehow, that only made this worse.

[REDACTED] also managed to catch something he definitely hadn’t seen before—a section of the animatronic’s stomach was gone. A gaping cavity had appeared in its place.

The animatronic was steadily forcing him into that cavity.

[REDACTED] didn’t stop fighting, didn’t stop screaming. His throat quickly grew raw, but he could barely hear himself over the sound of his own pulse.

His sides grated against the edges of the animatronic’s torso. His body was involuntarily contorting, constantly being forced to shift.

In what felt like no time at all, [REDACTED] felt his back collide with the same area his shoes had first touched. He was crammed into a seated position with only his head and arms outside the animatronic. [REDACTED] braced his hands against the animatronic’s exterior, trying desperately to pry himself out.

The animatronic reacted to this via connecting its palm to his forehead and violently pushing him back. [REDACTED]’s head slammed against the wall inside the animatronic. His skull throbbed. Everything was spinning.

Before [REDACTED] could even try to reach out again, a large, rectangular shape slid into place before him, quickly cutting off his view of the room outside and turning his new holding cell pitch-black.

The next seconds dragged by in a painful way, feeling like hours apiece.

Despite his panic, [REDACTED] could only sit in silence.

This animatronic—this thing that wasn’t even sentient—had just hunted him down and stuffed him into its stomach. There probably wasn’t anything outside the animatronic to suggest that [REDACTED] had ever been there in the first place.

He vaguely felt rhythmic motion around and beneath him; the animatronic was moving, seemingly unaffected by the new weight it was carrying.

Why had this happened? How had this happened? Had the animatronic done this before—done this to other visitors? Was this supposed to be some fucked-up part of the experience. . .or was the animatronic malfunctioning somehow?

That was the thing to finally snap [REDACTED] back into reality.

The animatronic may have been enormous, but its stomach was cramped, tight. [REDACTED] could just barely fit inside; there was simply no room for him to kick. But that didn’t stop him from squirming as much as possible, as aggressively as possible.

“HELP ME! HELP ME!” [REDACTED] screamed. “SOMEONE TURN THIS THING OFF! GET ME OUT OF HERE! PLEASE JUST LET ME OUT!”

The chamber shook and rattled around him, but the animatronic didn’t pause its movements.

Outside, [REDACTED] could hear the muffled sounds of screaming.

He knew it had to be part of the maze’s special effects.

And, although his instincts were begging him to deny it, [REDACTED] also knew that his own voice blended in with those screams perfectly. . .

___

I̸ ̶a̶l̸w̴a̸y̶s̷ ̴c̶o̵m̶e̵ ̴b̴a̴c̸k̶,̶ ̸y̷o̴u̵’̴r̸e̷ ̷n̶e̶v̵e̵r̷ ̷g̸e̴t̴t̸i̵n̵g̵ ̷r̸i̵d̸ ̴o̷f̷ ̶m̷e̸ ̵I̸’̸l̶l̷ ̸s̶e̸t̶ ̸y̷o̷u̵r̴ ̷w̵o̵r̸l̷d̷ ̶o̶n̶ ̶f̶i̴r̵e̵ ̶a̵n̸d̵ ̵s̸e̷n̵d̷ ̴y̴o̸u̶ ̷s̸t̶r̴a̷i̶g̷h̸t̵ ̶t̸o̸ ̷t̶h̷e̵ ̴ ̵S̴C̶R̸A̷P̶ ̷H̸E̶A̴P̶!̴ ̷S̴t̷r̶a̸i̵g̸h̴t̶ ̴t̷o̵ ̴t̴h̵e̶ ̸s̴c̵r̶a̶p̴ ̵h̸e̸a̷p̶!̷ ̶S̷t̴r̴a̴i̴g̴h̸t̷ ̸t̸o̷ ̵t̷h̷e̵ ̴s̶c̴r̷a̶p̷ ̶h̶e̵a̸p̶!̸

@that-bat   @sammys-magical-au   @ineedallofthehugs @captainrose35  @yancy1nancy  @sw33tst4rs @echoing-night  @dungeon-dragons-dragons @pumpking1sheepy  @whumpitywhumpwhump

[manhandlememando]

i’ll beg whatever gods i need to. | cregan stark

cregan stark x f!wife!reader

format: one-shot

tw: MDNI warning (oh boy here we go) in depth descriptions of gore and bodily injury, blood, ANGST, cregan crying and in pain, mentions of religion and praying, hurt/comfort, more angst, angry cregan, insecure!cregan, unprotected piv, oral (both receiving), face riding, cowgirl, breeding kink (duh he’s a stark), uncut cregan. (written in 3rd person POV) (she/ her pronouns)

word count: 5,539

excerpt: Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging anyone who could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

- or -

cregan gets mauled by a direwolf.

song inspirations: youth by Daughter, human by Daughter, i gave you all by Mumford & Sons, heavy in your arms by Florence and The Machine, i found by Amber Run, roslyn by Bon Iver and St. Vincent, work song by Hozier, family tree by Ethel Cain, in the woods somewhere by Hozier, glory by Dermot Kennedy

The hour of the owl came passing over Castle Black, and still Cregan had not returned from his patrol of the Wall. Her worry had grown tenfold, the knot in her stomach was now a heavy stone. She knew something was amiss. Moving from their shared chambers to the corridors of the small castle, she decided a short walk may alleviate some of her anxiety, allowing her to clear her head.

However after only several minutes of beginning to wander, she heard commotion coming from the direction of the courtyard. Yelling and shrieking, men could be heard barking orders at each other, calls for the maester were loud, but the one thing that rose above it all was the most blood curdling roar she’d ever heard. Not wasting any time, she ran through the narrow hallways towards the source of the noise, only to come to a dead stop, the beating of her heart doing the same.

There he lay on a gurney in the middle of the courtyard, thrashing against the hands trying to hold him still. Crying out in agony as the maester tried his best to assess the situation at hand.

“Oh gods…” she gasped when the source of his pain became clear to her. His armor was covered in deep crimson streaks of blood, the leather ripped to shreds revealing the metal beneath. His face, contorted in pain, bore two long gashes from above his right eyebrow and trailing down his temple into his hairline. It seemed as if a deep crimson curtain had been pulled over half of his face as the blood seeped from the deep, jagged cuts. However the worst of his injuries were to his left shoulder, which seemed to be attached only by the grace of the gods. It was so gruesome she began to feel ill. The bone of his upper bicep was exposed, the flesh hanging from it. Blood seeping profusely from the wounds, teeth marks littered his forearm and hands. The fabric of his pants torn and she could see more crescent shaped puncture wounds littered across his legs, and his right ankle was bent at a sickening angle. They were large, belonging to something much bigger than anything she had seen in the North. A direwolf.

A young knight was holding the Stark ancestral sword, Ice, which was now covered tip to hilt in blood. Another man standing next to the knight who bore her husbands sword, stepped towards her.

“My Lady you mustn’t be here, you should not witness this,” he said, trying to block her view of her husband.

“No! No, I must be with him,” she rushed forward, only to be stopped by the strong arms of the guard holding her back.

“Please! He’s my husband, I have to -,” she began to plead with the man keeping her in her place before Cregan’s loud yell stopped her sentence short. The maester and his assistant were beginning to pack his wounds with whatever clean cloth the other men could find, Cregan seemed as if he was trying to pull away. Arching at the contact to his arm and shoulder, neck straining and face red as another scream erupting from deep within him. Tears were streaming down his face as it crumpled into an expression she never thought she’d see from him; fear.

It took two full grown men to hold him still, even in his weakened state, as they began to move him from the damp ground. Although, consequently the motion caused his body to shift and in turn sent him into another fit of agony.

At the sounds of his screams getting even more broken and strangled, her knees fell weak, slumping into the man’s hold as the air left her lungs.

He could die, the thought crossed her mind when she caught a glimpse of the expanse of blood leftover on the muddy ground.

————————————————————————

They had placed him in their bedchamber and the maester had since given Cregan milk of the poppy to calm him. He had been cleaned up and mended as best as the maester and his assistant could manage. They had also taken measures to prevent infection, although they informed her that it wasn’t fail safe and to be prepared for any outcome.

“He will have an incredibly long recovery period… if he survives,” the maester said to her as he wiped his hands of her husbands blood, his voice lowering as he spoke of his Lord’s possible death. She only nodded, eyes wide, feeling as if she was submerged in water. All the words being said to her were muffled and distorted. Some of the men from the Watch had tried to pull her from the bedchambers when they had first begun to work on him, whispering false reassurances and pleading with her to not witness this.

She couldn’t look away from his limp form laying on their shared bed, smothered in white bandages that were slowly blossoming red. However, his torso was somewhat unmarked by the direwolf’s teeth and claws (save for several deep purple bruises beginning to show their full form) due to the steel armored chest piece he had adorned upon her request, just before leaving for his patrol.

This might be his deathbed, she thought to herself. Tears beginning to pool on her lashes.

“I shall leave you. I will return in several hours to replenish the milk of the poppy… if he wakes again,” the maester looked down at the floor in despair. Exiting the room, the maester bid his condolences.

Nearing the bed, she knelt down and lightly took his hand in hers, brushing her lips over his bandaged knuckles and letting out a shaky breath.

“Please, my love you must wake up. Heal well and return to me, do not leave me in this world without you,” she pleaded with the unmoving form in front of her. The tears beginning to fall as she placed her head upon the bed next to their interlocked hands.

She did not pray, she never had found an interest in paying much attention to the new gods or the old. But in this moment she found herself reaching out for guidance as she called upon the gods to help him. Whatever angelic being had blessed this world with his form, she begged of it to leave him with her. However broken or scarred, she didn’t care, she just needed him. With tears streaking her face she looked up to the heavens in anguish, begging any god that could hear her to please, let him come back to me.

————————————————————————

The night dragged on, as if time had been weighed down by the gravity of the situation, and on its continued trek forward it somehow had slowed.

The maester had come and gone twice before, but Cregan had not woken yet. She refused to move from his side the entire time, having wept for hours she now felt empty and void of anything at all.

“My Lady you must eat,” a guard had come in, trying his best to persuade his Lady of the North to eat something or else she would fall ill.

“I am not hungry,” she flatly responded to the young man, whose face fell as he nodded and exited the room.

It was several more hours before Cregan awoke, he was still deep within the fog of the poppy’s milk but he was whispering something. His mouth barely moving, the sound coming out more like a silent prayer than a word.

He spoke her name, breathed it more like. But still, through all the hell he had been through in the last several hours, his mind only fell upon her.

“My love,” she said softly, lifting his hand to her lips once more. “My love, can you hear me?” She asked, but was met with nothing. Cregan drifting back into sleep, leaving her in the silence once again.

He woke like this periodically over the next several days, the maesters visiting every couple of hours to assess his wounds and change his bandages. Still all the while providing him with an ample amount of milk of the poppy to ward off his pain. They were somehow successful in warding off any major infections to the wounds, which was nothing short of a miracle. They had spent hours on different herbal remedies to help the Lord of the North heal without a fever.

As the days passed, she still refused to leave his side. Six days had passed by the time Cregan finally gained enough consciousness to express his pain level.

She had been napping in a chair next to the bed where he lay. Waking suddenly to the sound of a loud, pained groan.

“Cregan!” She gasped, his eyes opened just slightly, and she saw they were bloodshot but open nonetheless. He hissed in pain as she touched his hand.

“What’s happened?” He asks weakly, looking down at the bandages still covering most of his body.

“There was an incident beyond the Wall when you went to patrol the perimeter several days ago. They say you and the men were attacked by a direwolf.” She explains softly. His face drops, his eyes going wide at the memory. With some effort he tried to look down at his left shoulder, and when met with the sight of layers and layers of white bandages, he grimaced.

“I remember,” he whispers. His eyes closing as he inhales deeply, wincing again at the movement. When he opens his eyes again she can see the tears gathered within them.

“I - I cannot feel my hand,” he said, his voice breaking as he looked down at his left hand once again, his dominant hand.

“I will fetch the maester, it must just be a symptom of the damage caused. They will mend it though, as they have everything else,” she reassured him and stood to leave and get the maester, but they both know her reassurance was empty of any fact.

Worry gripped at her stomach again as the maesters words rang within her ears; “he will have an incredibly long recovery period”.

But what if there was no recovering fully from this? What if he would never be able to wield a sword again? Or walk properly? The thoughts swam in her mind, each drowning out the other.

She returned shortly with the maester, who breathed a sign of relief at the sight of Cregan fully awake.

He tried to offer Cregan more milk of the poppy before he began assessing the healing progression of his injuries, but Cregan refused.

“My Lord, I do not wish to see you in pain. But I must remove the bandages -,” the older man tried to explain, but Cregan cut him off curtly.

“Then do it,” he said, his face stern.

“Cregan, please listen to the maester, this is going to be more painful than you think,” she tried to reason with him, but his jaw was set and so was his mind.

“As you wish, my Lord,” the old healer nodded solemnly, moving to remove the first bandage. Upon contact with his arm Cregan did not grimace or contort in pain, his brows furrowed as if confused.

“I cannot feel it,” he said, his voice sounding far away, as if was in shock at the realization finally setting in.

“What, my love?” She inquired, looking at his arm as the maester began to unwrap more of the white fabric. The stitches were surrounded by bruised skin, what couldn’t be stitched back together was healing under a protective salve the maester had prepared. It will scar badly, but it didn’t matter, they were able to save his arm when she was more than certain he would lose it. As the maester lifted his arm Cregan had no reaction, just staring blankly into space. She was sure he must be in pain but he wasn’t reacting to what the maester was doing whatsoever.

“My darling, are you alright?” She asked him quietly, placing a hand under his chin to turn him to face her.

“I cannot feel anything,” he said, still his voice was hollow.

“What do you mean?” She questioned, not fully understanding what he meant by that.

“In my arm, it does not hurt because I cannot feel it,” he explained finally meeting her eyes. That was where she saw the flicker of fear again come across his face, worry painting his features.

“This is my dominant hand, I must be able to use it whenever necessary. It is the hand with which I wield Ice. But now I am not even able to move it. I am no longer a sufficient warrior… or man,” he said, his voice shaking as tears came to his eyes. The maester gave Cregan a pitiful look that just upset the Lord more.

“No, no that is not true my love,” she rushed to comfort him, cradling his face, making sure to avoid the stitches on his brow and temple.

“Do not do this to yourself, my darling. Do you understand what you have survived? You were attacked by a direwolf, Cregan… and you survived. That is next to impossible, but here you are,” she said, her voice soft and dripping in empathy. Brushing a tear from just under his eye as it began to fall. He shifted his gaze away from her, his eyes hardening again.

“But what good is survival if I am no longer able to live how I am meant to?” He said, still not meeting her eyes.

“It will take some adjustment, but we will get through this. You will get through this,” she assured him.

“Cregan… look at me,” she says quietly, trying to get him to connect with her again and not sink deeper into his darkening thoughts.

“Look at me, now,” she commanded in a more firm tone, which caused him to finally look at her once more, a sheepish expression in his eyes.

“Stop this at once,” she said, still holding her firm tone. He nodded and sighed, knowing he would not win this one. But as he cast his eyes downwards and frowned slightly, she knew he couldn’t be swayed in this moment from the doubt that was consuming him.

This will be a long recovery indeed, she thought to herself.

————————————————————————

About thirteen moons after Cregan had been nearly killed by the direworf, the head of which now hung in the council room, he had recovered quite well by what the maesters had told her.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell had since moved back from their residence at Castle Black when Cregan was finally well enough to travel. Although his body was healing well with time, his mind only sunk deeper into the belief he was now not worthy of his station as Warden of The North and the Lord of Winterfell. He had become easily irritated and many days she wished to not spend time with him, however she understood this too shall pass. She had sworn to him in her marriage vows to be by his side through sickness and in health, and she had no intention of breaking those vows in her lifetime.

As the Winter continued on, and as Cregan's strength grew back and the feeling began to make its way back into his limb, he was insistent on beginning his sword work training. She understood his urgency, finally having hope after such a long time of uncertainty was an addicting sort of feeling. It was hard for Cregan to accept that he would have to relearn how to use a sword with this new complication, and not train as he once did, as if nothing had happened.

Once the maester overseeing the Lord's care had cleared him to begin his lessons, she asked him if she would be able to accompany him. He agreed instantaneously, he was going to ask her anyways, feeling much better in her presence than anyone elses.

She busied herself with a book, perching upon several barrels of wine that sat on the edge of the courtyard, waiting to be taken to the cellars. Cregan had begun his lessons, and within minutes was already frustrated at the difficulty he had with even just handling the sword, let alone swinging it. She watched from the distance with a frown painting her face as he continued to struggle and bark at the knight he was sparring when he would try to offer his help. After much protest, Cregan finally gave into the offers to get him a wooden sword to wield instead. It was easier for him to handle, however his skill had rusted over with time and lack of use. His frustration became paramount when the young man bested him again, Cregan threw down his sword and stepped forward, grabbing his opponent by the collar.

"Do you wish to humiliate your Liege Lord?! Get out of my sight at once!" he roared in the mans face, causing him to stumble back and retreat from Cregan as quickly as possible.

She sat watching the scene as her own anger began to surface, standing and coming towards Cregan once he'd let the other man go, still breathing heavily and fuming.

"Come with me, now," she growled as she wrapped a firm hand around his good wrist, pulling him along behind her like a toddler being scolded and hauled off for punishment. She thought it best to bring him to their bedchambers as the conversation they needed to have was private.

Once they had entered their shared chambers Cregan immediately started in on his defense, to which she put up a silent palm in his direction, causing his sentence to halt before it finished.

"I can not do this anymore," she said softly, trying to keep her voice level, but to no avail. Placing a hand over her mouth as she began to silently weep, still refusing to look at him.

He softened immediately at the sight of her tears, hating desperately to make her upset. He took a step forward and brought his hand to her cheek, getting her to turn to him. She did not lift her gaze from the floor, sniffling lightly and trying to keep her tears from cascading and overflowing.

"You cannot do what anymore, love?" Cregan asked gently, moving his right hand to place at the back of her neck, and the other moving under her chin. His fingers intertwined into her hair at the back of her head as he tipped her head back slightly using the finger beneath her chin to raise her face to his. Taking another step closer to her he engulfed her in his size, pressed against her body, in complete control. Cradling her head completely in his hands, he moves the hand below her chin to place on her cheek once more.

"What was it, hmm?" he hummed to her, bringing his lips to brush against hers. She had become putty to mold as he wished, letting out a small sigh as he continued to tease the possibility of a kiss.

But in that moment she remembered her anger and could not let the lust for her husband overpower something that was becoming a serious issue between him and the rest of the world. She pushes away suddenly, putting space between them again. Cregan lets out an exasperated sigh as his hands fall to his sides.

"I can not possibly understand the stress you are under, and the constant unease you must feel within yourself. But I can understand how that affects me, and how that has affected our staff and those on your court. You were not slain, Cregan! You still have so much to live for, even if it means you cannot see battle again. That is what your army is for. Your value lies more in your character and not your physical form. Allowing that of which keeps you on solid ground to be the demise of what lies within your head, when you are so intelligent, and kind, and humorous. That is a sin, and the more treacherous of fates to befall a Warden of the North, even more so than a direwolf." She said, silence filled the room as Cregan realized he had no rebuttal. She was right after all, he could have been killed, and the fact he is allowing his mind to destroy what a direwolf couldn't, well it just seemed downright mad.

"I am so sorry, I never saw it that way," he responded softly, his heart feeling some what heavy in his chest as he felt the onslaught of emotion begin to creep up his throat. He had repressed so much in wanting to keep a certain image, and with his own wife being able to see through his facade so clearly, he realized how much pain he was really holding in. With that thought the dam broke as he let out a choked sob, leaning on the back of a chair closest to him he began to fall weak to his emotions.

At the sound of his whimper she turned around again, seeing him holding the bridge of his nose as he wept uncontrollably. Barely keeping himself upright with the back of the chair next to him.

"Oh, my darling," she went to him, quickly gathering him into her arms and bringing him down to kneel on the ground as she sat in the chair he was using for support. With his head tucked to her breast and his arms tightly wound around her body, hands finding purchase in her hair, he finally began to rack with sobs. She just let him collapse into her, stroking the hair from his face, tracing the scar on his temple and kissing his hairline. All the while cooing sweet reassurances into his ear.

"I have you my love, I have you," she whispered into his hair as he began to regain his breath. Not letting her go in the slightest, but relaxing nonetheless, Cregan began to breathe normally again, silent tears still coming from his eyes every now and then.

But he knew he was safe, and above all, he knew he was loved unconditionally.

————————————————————————

“Cregan, we cannot you aren’t healed properly yet,” she breathed out in a sigh as his lips traced the column of her throat.

“Your shoulder… and your ankle, it is too risky,” she tried to protest but the affect he had over her was undeniable.

“I am fine, my love. I am in need of my wife. It has been many moons and I cannot refrain any longer, injuries be damned,” he said, scoffing at the last part of his statement. Her skin was set alight with his touch as she leaned into him more. Laying in their bed, beneath a mountain of furs, he began to move atop of her, but she stopped him.

“If we are to do this, you will not lift a finger, is that clear?” She said firmly, and Cregan’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his wife’s sudden dominance, his cock twitching within his small clothes. He nodded quickly as he moved to lay back against the many pillows, eyes darkening as she rose from the bed to lean back on her heals. Very slowly she removed her shift, revealing the whole of her body to him.

“It is as if you are a goddess yourself, there is no need for religion when you are the alter I pray at, and the deity I pray to,” he whispered as he took in the sight. His mind putting to memory every curve, every inch of skin he laid his eyes on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, but after such restraint it is like they are newlyweds once again. With her help he removed his tunic and small clothes, breath shaky as he looked down upon her naked form crawling up his body.

She was gentle with her touch, ghosting it over the small scars that now cover each of his legs. He shivers at the contact but does not pull away, allowing the sensitivity to wash over him and settle within his groin. He reaches with his good arm to touch her face, but she retracts to his disappointment.

“No touching,” she said with a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips. The mischievous look in her eyes was enough for him to understand it would be better to not protest. Leaning down she places soft kisses across his thighs, moving closer to his stiff member, his hips buck involuntarily as she finally takes his tip into her mouth. Swirling her tongue around the top just before pulling down his foreskin to lick at his sensitive slit.

A groan erupted from deep within his chest, wavering at the end as he gasped and sputtered. She had taken him fully into her mouth at this point, beginning to move up and down his length in a rhythmic motion.

His chest flexed as he threw his head back, his right hand hovering just next to her jaw. Knowing she would stop if he disobeyed her direct instructions, he held himself back from caressing her face. Broken gasps and whimpers were falling unabashedly from the Warden of the North’s lips, his strong, muscled body molding into putty in her hands.

Suddenly she rose and removed her mouth from him, to his disappointment. Breathing hard he kept his eyes on hers as she began to move even further up his body. His brows knitting into one another as he wondered what exactly she was doing, until it clicked, and the biggest smile graced his handsome features. He understood and shifted himself to be fully lying down, moving down the bed slightly to give her room as she moved to take her rightful place on his face. He hummed happily at the sweet taste of her on his tongue once again, having not indulged in his most favorite delicacy in far too long. She let out a sharp gasp as his lips wrapped themselves around her sensitive pearl, sucking lightly before exploring her deeper. She looked down to see his eyes closed and the most blissfully content look upon his face as he continued to ravage her with just tongue. Switching between broad strokes of his tongue along her cunt to small kitten licks upon her clit that had her panting and grinding her hips down onto him. The scruff on his unshaven face added to the sensational feeling against her as he sank his tongue within her finally. Moaning uncontrollably and quite loudly, she found herself leaning against the headboard for support as her body began to give into the pleasure he was bringing her.

“That’s it, my darling. Fall apart for me, I have you,” he coaxed, breath hitting her clit, causing her to groan, which shortly turned into the most obscenely moan. He hooked his left arm around her waist and continued to guide her to completion. With his tongue in her cunt and his nose teasing her clit, she came apart with nothing short of a scream of his name. Throwing her head back as she felt her muscles go limp from the intensity of her orgasm.

“So perfect for me,” he whispers to her, kissing the inside of her thighs softly.

She smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief as she had been just as pent up as he’s been, and finally getting some form of release was euphoric to say the least.

As she moved from his face she could see the way his lips shown with the remnants of her. She looked down to see his cock almost impossibly bigger than when she had first taken him into her mouth. She couldn’t wait any longer, and neither could he. Grabbing ahold of her hips he quickly shifts her down his body back to his waist. The tip catching at her entrance ever so slightly and they both moaned loudly in unison.

With his right hand having an iron grip on her hip, he helped her position her on top of him. As she began to sink down on his length it was as if all the air in the room had suddenly been removed. The sensation punching the air out of her lungs.

Cregan thought he was seeing the gods, his vision almost going completely white as he feels her tight, hot cunt envelope him. Arching his spine while his eyes roll to the back of his head as soon as she is fully seated on him. Staying still for a second to give them both a minute to catch their breath, she regains her strength and begins to shift her hips.

“Touch me,” she commanded softly, he didn’t need to be told twice. He moved to sit up, his forehead resting on her sternum, placing open mouthed kisses between the valley of her breasts before taking one into his mouth. His left arm secures her hips in his hold while the other hand snakes its way into her hair. Grabbing at the roots he tugs her head back to expose more of her neck to him. Laying hot, wet kisses upon any expanse of skin he could reach. As his grip around her waist tightened slightly, he kept guiding her to ride his cock slowly, thrusting up every so often causing her to choke on a moan.

“Cregan…,” she moaned his name, groans continuing to slip from her mouth as he moved to suck on her other breast. Gently lapping at the nipple as she whimpered.

“So gorgeous, my love. So good for me. Taking me so - nnnggh - well,” he grunted out, groaning when she squeezed him as his words sent a shock wave to her core. She threaded her fingers into his chocolate strands, pulling slightly earning another pleased noise from her husband.

“I’ve missed this, I’ve missed us,” she pants, looking down at his face. As he looks up, her breath catches at the sight of her fucked-out husband and his pink cheeks and kiss swollen lips.

“I know, me too,” he responds breathlessly, she cups his face and brings her lips to his. It’s messy, he crushes his mouth to hers and suddenly begins thrusting upwards, hitting that one spot deep within her.

Her gasp causes him to pull away from the kiss, but not from her. Their mouths still close, breathing in each others air as he continues to thrust into her. Tipping his head back as his face scrunches in pleasure and groaning loudly, he then ducks his head into the curve of her neck as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. His right arm still snaked up her back and his hand tangled in her hair to keep her close. She was reaching the precipice of heaven for the second time that evening, and he could tell. The way she began to squeeze him, how she fluttered around him, he knew.

“I know, my love. Give yourself to me,” he begged, whispering the pleas in her ear before kissing the shell of it. With several more thrusts she was coming undone around him, moaning and gasping as she collapses into him. With only several more thrust he too was coming undone in the most beautiful way. Flushed and groaning, he is the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Only moments afterwards, still basking in their post-coital glow, he lays back against the pillows once more. Placing a hand directly over her womb, he mutters something about “seeing her round with child in several moons” and she felt his cock jump within her as he continues to cradle his hands around her lower stomach.

“I can’t wait for you to bare my children, my love,” he states, looking into her eyes with such adoration. Resting her hands atop his she nods.

“I can’t wait to be the mother of your children, I’m sure I will be soon,” she responds, equal adoration radiating off her.

————————————————————————

She missed her moon’s blood the following month, and he was the happiest he had been in a very long time.

Although the feeling never fully returned in his left arm and hand, he had re-learned how to wield Ice with just as much skill as he did before the incident. His ankle and legs did recover after more than a year of rehabilitation, but eventually he no longer walked with a limp.

The gratitude which he felt was immeasurable. Thinking about how many ways his life could have been different if he didn’t have her to keep him sane through the most difficult thing he had ever faced; losing his physical strength and health. Most days feeling as if he couldn’t go on, but then she would be at his side to aid him in whatever he needed. Never wavering in her love or loyalty to him.

He woke every day from then on thanking the old gods and the new for sparing one of their angels to be his wife.

[chososrightnipple]

❝𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗽!❞ → c.k.

: ̗̀➛ overview: what starts out as a pussy job rarely ever ends that way. {1.5k words}

: ̗̀➛ tw; afab!reader w/no gendered language, pussy job turned more, praise, biting, choso is a liar but it's okay because he's choso, mentioned creampie.

── დ ──

"Please, baby, I jus' needa feel ya,"

Choso mumbled the saccharine words the second you had returned home from a mission. Honey coated tone luring you in, gentle touches draping a soft sense of security over you. A large hand grabbing at your waist and another cupping your chin. Tilting your head up and up and up until his pleading gaze was all you could see. Such a sight that it was almost impossible to deny him, his pleas, his promises.

"Just wanna feel your pretty pussy, don't even gotta put it in, just need'ta feel it," He had swore up and down, his half lidded eyes blinking lazily down at you. Lips ghosting over your pulse point and hands tugging at the waistband of your pants.

You were still so sore from the other night. But Choso had promised he'd give your body a break- if you just did this one thing for him, just this one thing. And you, stupidly, believed him.

And that's how you ended up were you are now.

Draped across his bed with your bottom half completely bare, the garments strewn messily somewhere in the hallway floor. Hands on either side of your head, fingers tensing and gripping at the wrinkled bedsheet. Your legs wrapping around Choso's waist as he thrusts upward, hips stuttering aimlessly.

His cock bullies its way between your soaked pussy lips, sinking into the pink flesh. Leaking tip just barely brushing your aching clit with every jerk of his hips. Your slick coats his cock so deliciously that he's practically vibrating above you, whines and soft gasps spilling from his lips like a mantra.

"Hah, fuck, so wet f'me, sweetheart." Choso whines against the crook of your neck. He licks at the bruised skin, sucking at various spots and sinking down his canines.

You groan at the feeling, torn between the subtle pleasure and the sharp pain. He brushes against your clit again and again and again. Choked exhales and small whimpers tumbling from your throat because even if he's not inside of you, his cock is somehow always hitting just the right places.

"Y/N," Choso gasps, and you can feel him twitch against you, "I.. Please,"

And now you're whining at that tone because you know that tone- and you know exactly what's coming next.

"Baby, 'm sorry, please," He pulls himself up from where he had been latched onto your neck, eyes glazed over as he coos, "J-Just the tip, I just- need it, need you,"

Choso's hand snakes down between your rutting bodies. Trailing down your chest, your stomach, your pelvis. Goosebumps following his touch, all the way down until his fingers are wrapping around the tip of his cock and lining himself up at your sopping entrance. The pressure feels fucking delicious.

"Cho', you promised," You smack a hand at his shoulder as his pointer fingers trails a faint circle around where his cock meets your skin.

He nods shakily, knowingly. He leans down, pressing chaste kisses across the expanse of your collarbones. An apology. "I know, I know, jus' can't take this, need more,"

You can feel the tremble of his hips against yours, the tense muscles of his thighs, the way his hand grasps at the bedsheet. He's like a man starved, and you're a buffet laid in front of him. He can't help but want more, more, more, more. Until he's taken everything you can give him and even then some.

The wave of desire that rolls over you has you nodding your head before you can think about what you're actually agreeing to. "J- Just the tip, okay?"

Choso damn near preens at the words. He rocks his hips into yours, a gleam in his eye that wasn't there before. "Pr- hah, ah- Promise."

He slowly, achingly, pushes past that ring of muscle, until you're squeezing around his tip- just the tip. His eyes fall shut, a shutter wracking his whole body. Fuck. You were going to be the death of him.

Choso stills himself for a few seconds. Forcing his hips in place as he sucks in a stuttered breath. He savors the feeling around him- you're needy pussy practically begging for him to sink in further, until he's balls deep inside of you and stretching you to the brim. The way you clench around the most sensitive part of him is terrifyingly addictive. He'll never get enough of it- never.

"Shit, gorgeous, y'feel that? Feel how tight your squeezin' me?" He purrs, and your walls clamp down around him even harder. You let out small ah! ah!'s that only spur the man on even further.

"F- Feels, hah, feels good, right?" Choso hums, and grinds himself into you. In and out, in and out, thrusts so small he's visibly shaking in the way he's trying to keep himself together. It's barely anything, but at the same time, it's too much- too much, you're pussy is too much, sucking him in too well, making him feel too good.

Choso's eyes swivel from your relaxed face to further down. Watching the way his head disappears inside of your walls, the way it pops out, only to greedily be pushed back in again. He watches how every thrust only gets you even wetter, to the point you're practically dripping around him.

He brings two fingers down, gathering the slick that pools around his cockhead. The sight is almost enough for him to cum on the spot. "S'wet for me, fuck,"

Choso slips his coated fingers past his lips and on to his tongue, sucking off your arousal like it's a drug and he hasn't had his fix in weeks. You watch the display with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, unwillingly to admit just how much he can do to you with such a simple gesture.

But that's okay, you don't need to say it- Choso groans as your cunt clamps down around him- he can feel it.

"You're so n- nasty," You stumble over the words. Your boyfriend laughs above you, bringing down his spit-slicked fingers and smearing them against your lips.

"All cause of you," He hums, languidly pushing the tip of his cock inside of you once more.

And he's content with this for awhile- really, he is, Listening to your hushed moans and stuttered words, eyes training on how hard you're pussy is clenching around him. It's enough for him, more than enough, he swears.

Until it's not.

Until you're hips are grinding down back against him and he's sinking inside just a little bit deeper- barely a centimeter, barely anything at all. But it's enough, god it's enough. For those floodgates to open and his thoughts to run wild and his cock to twitch at the mere ideas.

"Baby," He coos, and you're eyes are snapping open and looking up at him so pathetically that he could lose it right there, "Just- Lemme in some more, just- ah- Lemme make your pretty pussy feel good, baby, please,"

Choso is sinking deeper into your weeping cunt before you even have the chance to nod your head. It's like a switch flicking inside of him- finally getting a better taste of you, of how well you always take him, despite the burning stretch his cock always gives you. It drives him absolutely crazy. And despite the nails currently leaving red trails down his back, he's fully seated inside your perfect pussy in no time.

You always take him so fucking well.

"S'good baby, you're, hnngh- perfect," He babbles, back to licking and nipping and kissing at your neck. His twitching dick bullying its way inside of you over and over and over again, each time bottoming out just for a second before pulling back out again, only to slam back in.

And you know he promised, he swore just a touch, then just the tip. And if you were in your right mind you'd be scolding him for being such a liar- but when he's fucking you like this, it's hard to think of anything but his cock burrowing inside of you.

Stretching you to the brim, filling you up in ways that always leave you breathless and wanting more, more, more, until he's practically molded your walls to the shape of him.

"Cho!" You're grasping at anything you can, trying to find any semblance of reality. Tugging at his hair and scratching at his shoulders, pulling him closer and closer to you. A lifeline.

"I know, baby, I know," He soothes, apologetically pressing chaste kisses to your forehead. He feels so bad, turning you into such a mess on his cock. He just can't help it, he never can. You're too easy to eat up. And he's always hungry for you. "Takin' me- hah- so well."

Every clench of your walls against Choso is torturous. He can feel every curve, and inch of your pussy, clamping down around him so hard that he's practically being milked dry. It's dangerous- he's being dangerous, playing a dangerous game, he knows that, he really does. But your pussy is fucking heavenly, and it's enough to break a man. Break him.

"L- Let me... Hah-, darling, don't be mad," Choso whines against your skin, and it's enough for your pussy to start weeping, knowing what's in store, "Need to cum inside, baby, let me fill you up, please,"

[yanderestarangel]

✧ HEADCANONS FNAF | SMUT VERSION | MIKE SCHMIDT

★ TW: afab anatomy, pet names, degradation, dom!mike, v!sex, rough sex, blowjob, overstimulation, little praise.

˚｡⋆.☆Do you want to make a request? Read my blog rules in the pinned post, comments and reblogs are welcome♡

★ A/N: some people asked me in inbox if I watched the fnaf movie and the answer is: yes! I watched it with my boyfriend and it was a lot of fun, so I decided to write something about Mike yey >ㅅ<

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike is a stressed man, with all the pressure of taking care of his sister, the nightmares and a bad job - which can consume a lot of his energy - he will just want to be in your arms at the end of the day and preferably, between your legs.

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will arrive home tired, with a smell like men's cologne faint from the hours he spent at work, and a thin layer of sweat covering his face and back, while he desperately looked for you in every corner of the house, shouting your name. Schmidt won't even give you time to ration, as he lifts you onto the nearest firm surface and spreads your thighs - if you were wearing any shorts, he would desperately tear them off while he glues his face to your pussy, lubricating it with saliva and making circular movements with his tongue on your clit, enjoying every moan you made, every time you ran your fingers through his hair - pulling him even closer - Schmidt would moan against your sensitive flesh, looking you in the eyes before continuing to pleasure you.

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will fuck you all over the house when Abby is out or at school - kitchen, living room, balcony or anywhere that is empty enough - covering your mouth with his hand, while he shoves his thick, pulsing length into you , without any protection. He's the type of man who likes to spill every drop of his seed into your womb, painting your spongy walls pearly white, while grunting and praising you, telling you how good your pussy is for his dick, he likes to call you a "hungry little slut" with each hot jet that comes out of him, while he smiles and growls when he sees your expression of lust.

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will leave you breathless, pushing you against the cold bathroom sink as he forces you to look in the mirror, you can see the dark circles under his eyes, his naked body against yours, how his cock slides against your wetness easily as he grabs your chin with his fingers - putting enough force to turn the tips white - He would see every reaction, every moan or scream that came out of you through reflection, roughly grabbing your hip with his other hand. His balls would already be wet from your juices with his, while the sounds of skin against skin could be heard echoing out of the room. "-Yes...Ah- Fucking hell my darling, your pussy swallowing my dick... just like that, keep it up please." he moaned hoarsely, as he looked at the sight of your wetness swallowing and repelling his shaft, with each rough thrust he made. "-You're such a good little thing for me, I'm going to give you every last drop of cum, right?"

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will make you get ready for him, putting on your best clothes, putting on perfume and makeup for him, just for him to fuck you doggystyle on the bed, pulling your hair to expose your neck while deeply marking your soft skin with his teeth - From the intensity of his hips, you could tell how angry he was at everything and everyone that night - you could hear him grunting and grumbling about some pay cut or how he didn't get a promotion to improve your life. He will take out all his anger on your pussy, leaving you a mess, your makeup was smudged, your clothes were messy or even torn in some corner of the room, you were at his mercy, while his fingers roughly rubbed over and over again on your clit - making a delicious combo with each violent thrust deep into your core. He will degrade you while fucking all your tight holes. "-You're my favorite slut." "-You asked for this didn't you? You're a needy whore for my dick- Mmm-" "-You're a cumdump for me, needy and a quivering mess for my dick."

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike will love putting you between his legs, your knees hurt from the weight and hardness of the floor. His dick pulsed as you forced yourself to swallow everything, looking at him relaxing with each provocative yet relaxing and hot movement, while the head of his dick beat rhythmically in your throat. The wet sounds and muffled moans about his member made him grunt, throwing his head back, grabbing your head with his left hand while his right hand held the side of the chair, he was going to encourage you to go deeper. "-Please baby, be a good boy/girl and make me cum... Swallow it all for me ok?"

✧ 𑂴 🫧 Mike loves lying in bed completely naked, with his cock exposed to you, while watching you rub your pussy over him, he would be sleepy and tired, but the sight of you rubbing your wet pussy over him, looking for a release for everyone Your repressed lust was enough for him to stay awake for up to a few hours, resting his hands on your hips and squeezing the soft flesh of your ass as he moved down. Their eyes would be seeing the cum leaking from the tip of his dick, his crotch totally dirty, as he smiled at you, closing his eyes. "-Keep having fun baby... I'm here for you."

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[acapelladitty]

bereft of grace

Summary: Defeated by Messmer, you find that his plans for you, a mongrel tarnished, are far different than what you might expect.

(tw: non-con, humiliation, forced stripping, restraints, mild tit torment, rough sex, size difference, stretching, vaginal fingering, creampie, overstimulation, pain)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

You feel the infernal chill of his helm pressing against the side of your face as he lowers his head to your own. His words, soft-spoken and laced with cruelty, brush across your ears as your naked back remains pinned to his chest - restrained by both the strength of his arm pulling tightly across your stomach and the unshakeable wrap of the snakes which lace across your wrists to keep your hands useless and pinned against your sides.

"Mongrel tarnished." He growls the words like a slur, silken hatred pairing with the predatory knowledge that you were truly helpless in his arms. "Thy kind are good for naught."

A serpentine tongue slips free of his lips to stroke a languid line across your neck, tasting the sweat of your battle and the fear that had long since laced your skin since he had deprived you of your torn clothing; the shredded materials laying in a discarded pile below your suspended frame. His tongue is warm, wet and the sensation of it brushing along the sensitive skin of your throat is as arousing as it is repulsive.

"Stripped of gold."

Thin fingers force their way between your legs, widening your thighs as they push at and grope the skin there so roughly that you know small, circular bruises will be left in their wake. His hand slides further, your breath hitching with despair as he presses against your most private flesh; lengthy digits stroking along your slit to test the skin there as they tease your slightly-wet hole before slipping up to graze across the ultra-sensitive nub of your clit.

"Stripped of grace."

Gasping as he pushes two of his fingers within you with little preamble, the sudden stretch of the intrusion burns like hellfire and you cry out as he starts to pump them inside your walls. Your body responds despite itself, his long digits stroking areas which were quick to ignite a warmth in your cunt that made your brain feel fuzzy despite the hollowing discomfort.

"Stripped even of thy paltry linens."

The heat is oppressive, the flames which he was able to conjure in an instant making his body feel like a furnace where it touches your own - even through his armour - and it pairs with the shameful warmth which rolls from your own body as you find yourself pressing down into his hand like a bitch in heat.

As soon as he had robbed you of your weapon, you assumed death was to swiftly follow and a genuine fear of being impaled like so many of the corpses which littered the road to the Shadow Keep immediately made you compliant to his commands. You had dropped to the floor and awaited a swift death which was not to come as his hand had stayed, something almost like amusement playing in his drawn face as he noted the instant submission and ordered you to approach him.

He had ripped your clothing from you, tearing it with a demigods strength as you shivered and ignored the hot shame which paired with the fear in your heart. His snakes followed their masters will without verbal instruction, the infernal heat of them as they slid across your skin making you gasp as forked tongues tasted their way across your shuddering frame to lock your hands in place.

After that, it didn't take long for Messmer to make his move. His gaze, split between hues of gold and the abyssal void, had taken its time in your appraisal - peering into your anguish and fear-laced expression before roving across your ample breasts and lower half. A rail-thin hand had struck like one of his many serpents, harshly gripping at your upper arm to spin you in place and allowing him to scoop you close as inhumane strength lifted you from the floor as though you weighed nothing.

Nothing in the face of a demigod.

Thoughts snapping back into the moment as a third finger breaches your hole, a pained howl slips free of your lips as you writhe in place - attempting to pull away from the pleasurable pain with a futile struggle. Sex and bodily pleasure wasn't unknown to you, but the sheer power which rolled from the demigod who seemed determined to amuse himself with your flesh made it difficult to focus on anything outside of the humid air and the sensations he was forcing upon you.

"Thy kind are fit for use as a fleshly pleasure. No more. Strip all thoughts of lordship from thy desires before my hand is pushed to strip thy skin from such soft flesh."

Fresh snakes slither across your chest, the thin bodies wrapping around the globes of your breasts and tightenening to the point of true discomfort - the rope-like restraints making a wicked pressure quickly build up in your abused chest. Sinking their fangs into the sensitive skin just below your chest, the snakes showed no sign of letting up their firm hold and you almost sob with relief as Messmer's thick fingers pull free of your cunt.

It's a short-lived peace though, as his slickened fingers are quick to establish how tight the hold his snakes have achieved and a guttural cry breaks free of your throat as his large hands move to pinch at your chest roughly. Nipples perked due to the pressure and arousal which is rolling through your stimulated frame, he's careful to snatch the sensitive nubs between his fingers, one at time, until fresh tears spring into your eyes and your back arches violently into his chest while your lips form a constant stream of pleas and whines.

"For one so cursed and devoid of all, thy voice is surprisingly sweet." And although you cannot see his face, you can hear the predatory arousal which accompanies the words.

He was enjoying himself, attempting to force you to do the same.

"You are the cursed one."

Finding your voice, you yelp out the words like an accusation - arousal, shame, and mild horror sparking a momentary boldness which you immediately regret as his body stiffens and a sharp chill replaces the cruel warmth of his earlier tones.

"True, little tarnished. My curse is borne in the void of the abyssal serpent. Naught more than a monster, I will force thee to embrace thy oblivion and know such suffering."

Something blunted presses against your hole and your panicked struggle renews as you feel just how big he is, the girth making genuine fear lance your spine as you realise that his earlier rough treatment with his fingers was a necessity more than anything else. Aside from the stretch which his fingers provided, you were horrified to feel just how wet you were as his cock grazed along your slit; collecting your arousal to ensure an easier entry as he forced himself inside such a tight-fit space.

The noise that slips free of your throat is inhumane, guttural and raw, as the head of his cock breaches past your hole. It feels like it's going to split you apart and the sheer burning ache of the merciless stretch instantly overpowers any other feeling in your body - your toes curling as a wracked sob shakes your trembling frame.

"Please! Please, st-stop." The words are a babble, stuttered and broken, as you try to force yourself to relax around him, to adjust to his infernal size. "My lord, please."

The unexpected use of his title earns a rumble of approval and his lips are hot against your neck once more as his sharpened teeth graze across the sensitive flesh while he considers the plea with a low hum.

"Thy slickened folds tell of a differing desire, little tarnished." Messmer growls, keeping his cock still as he allows himself to acclimatise to his gripping tightness of your spasming cunt. "But I am not a rutting beast, devoid of all mercies. Ask it of me and I shall see to thy own pleasures."

Fresh shame flushed through your frame, adding another layer of heat to the already sweat-slicked skin as you listen to his offer. He would force you to ask this of him. To make you accomplice to your own unmaking. A cruel mercy, but a mercy which you would take him on as the alternative seemed impossible to bear.

"I beg you, my- my lord. Please, use me."

His chuckle is victorious and wicked in its joy as Messmer pulls you lower on to his cock, forcing another two inches of him within your aching hole. However, true to his word, his free arm, the one not pinning you to his chest, slips down between your legs and you gasp as his finger circles itself at the top of your cunt, seeking out your most sensitive flesh.

He knows he has found it when you jerk in his arms, an electric bolt of pleasure arcing across your skin as his calloused finger grazes your swollen clit. It sparks him to pick up a slow pace, his cock breaching your hole until it presses flush against your cervix before pulling free until only the head remains. A slow pace, but a brutal one as every thrust makes it feel like he is pulling your walls free with him - the friction immediately sending your body into overdrive.

His finger never lets up the pressure on your clit; alternating between grazing along it directly and gently thumbing circles around it as the dual manipulations forced your legs wider, your body seeking more pleasure to offset the ache of the stretch. Pain and pleasure, both sensations at war within your tortured flesh until his thumb presses just a little too roughly against your nub and you came undone.

Clenching around his cock, your release brings with it a low scream as waves of pleasure roll across your body. Messmer seems to appreciate the forced pleasure, if the growing pace of his cock is anything to go by, but the continued stimulation of his thrusts only serves to make your orgasm draw out until your body twitches from the aftershocks.

"So easily pleasured. Were it not for thy warriors garb and weaponry, I would have assumed thee a courtesan. A temptress, well-versed in the pleasures of men."

Messmer grunts the insult as he continues to fuck you without mercy but his humiliating words barely register within your overstimulated mind as your whimpers fill the large room. His voice is full of excitement and you can hear the slight gasps which exist between the words and how they speak of his own coming release.

His cock having ruined your most sensitive walls, the dull ache of the stretch now only serves to enhance the pleasure and you cannot help but clench around him, pulling him to his finish as his cock twitches within you.

The arm around your stomach tightens, as do the snakes which remain bound across your suffering frame and you feel the heat of his release as it scorches you from the inside out, much hotter than any man you had been with before. Seeking his own pleasure, Messmer pulls you tight, forcing his cock up hard against your battered cervix as his mouth buries itself into your neck - teeth and tongue making a mess of your skin as he marks the territory like a beast.

It all proves too much and you come again, your cunt fluttering and squeezing his cock as low, animalistic noises break free of your lips. Your strength leaves you in an instant after the initial high and the loose limbs of your frame are only supported by his arm and snakes as he keeps you suspended like a puppet until he's finished with you.

His cock pulls out, the movement slow and certain, and the moment his cockhead slips free you feel the heat of his release trickle down your thighs as a gaping emptiness seems to fill the space between your legs. Despite the heat, you feel cold and you whimper anew as his snakes unlatch themselves from your chest and retreat back to their master.

Messmer's breathing is heavy and his chest feels as hot as ever against your naked back, even his armour having lost its metallic chill, as he continues to hold you in place. Aching, twitching, and thoroughly fucked you lay passively in his arm, your entire body feeling loose and untrustworthy.

After a minute has passed, Messmer speaks once more and his hoarse words are delivered to your ear as he lifts you slightly higher.

"My vague amusement with thee requires further consideration." As silken as before, you shudder at the close proximity as you rub your mess-slickened thighs together. "And so my offer is thus: remain in the Shadow Keep as a personal courtesan to myself, a role in which no other man nor beast shall lay hand on thee, or choose to return to ash and I shall grant thee a swift death until thy body is restored by the grace of gold which thee are unworthy of."

Your breath hitches, both options relaying in your mind as you recover from the shock of the unexpected offer. Messmer, however, did not appear to be a patient man and his arm jostled you slightly as he instsntly pushed for a response.

"Well, little tarnished, what is thy choice?"

[lordprettyflackotara]

who’s afraid of little old me? || eyeless jack

smut minors dni 18+ ! tw: primal!eyeless jack, tall!cryptid!cannibal!reader, descriptions of gore/cannibalism, unrealistic predator/prey tendencies, blood kink, biting kink, breeding kink,squirting

full credits to @miss-multi45 for this concept <3

Strength. Skill. Stealth.

These were the traits that made Eyeless Jack believe he was at the top of the food chain. He had fought grizzlies before for fun, just to test his limits. The wolf pack that hunted in Slender woods steered clear of him. His scent was everywhere, along with the screams of his victims still echoing throughout the trees. Jack never had any issue hunting, a deer becoming a treat if campers hadn’t dared to wonder into the forest. With his heightened senses, he could smell or hear any living thing with no troubles. Truthfully the older he got, being an immortal cannibal was making him cocky. The self deprivation and depression was beginning to fade away. He was the best of the best. The only member of his kind. And better yet, he lived like a goddamn champion.

Hunting always put Jack in a good mood, the trill of the chase his favorite part. The potential of the victim, the variables he couldn’t control always made things so exciting.

So he did what he did best, shoving his scalpel in his hoodie and walking into the Slender forest. He was barely twenty feet in, when the sweet scent of metallics hit his nostrils. Jack frowned, lifting up his mask for a moment to deeply inhale. It wasn’t uncommon to smell blood in the forest, after all, Jack wasn’t ignorant enough to think the circle of life didn’t exist without him. But as he inhaled deeply, his eye sockets widened. Copious amounts of blood had been shed on his land and he hadn’t caused it. It could only mean one thing: there was an intruder lurking on his territory.

Not only were you lurking, you were hunting. You might as well have slapped Jack in the face. Jack gritted his teeth, darting into the direction of the scent. He zipped effortlessly through the trees, ignoring all of the curious gazes the forest’s creatures gave him as he zoomed by. Usually Jack stalked his prey effortlessly, he never ran unless he was chasing something. Little did those little chipmunks and squirrels know he was hunting, just something much more dangerous than normal. You.

When Jack had hit the clearing, that’s where he saw you. A secluded campsite that once sat in the open field was now painted crimson red. Tents were barbacilbly torn open, blood trails splattered across the grass. It was something straight out of a horror movie. Dont get him wrong, Jack loved horror movies. But only when he created them. He walked past the abandoned tents, the wind blowing past him only increasing the sweet stench of exposed organs. That’s when Jack saw you. As ethereal as the internet and story tellers had described. Your hair was long and luscious, braided down your back. Your eyes were bright and snakelike, the golden color focused on your meal. You held a young man in your grasp, the life drained from him ages before you had gotten him in this position. His eyes were lifeless, his body slumped over as you bit into his neck. Jack watched silently as you ripped out a chunk of flesh, chewing on it quickly before swallowing it. Jack was puzzled, were you even enjoying the flavor? He watched as you continued to eat the scraps of flesh that remained on the corpse. Blood trailed down your chin, thin splatters of the red liquid were drying across your cheeks.

“Are you going to stand there or are you going to join me?” You asked suddenly. You were very aware of Jack’s presence, the notion alone freaking him out. “I don’t dine with trespassers,” Jack stated plainly. He stepped fully into view, your eyes briefly flickering up and scanning him briefly. “You’re not human, what are you?” You asked. Jacks hands were tucked in his pockets, his height giving away his species. “I could ask you the same. Thought you were just a myth,” Jack replied cooly. You finally looked up from your meal, ignoring the dozens of other ripped apart corpses that laid between the two of you. “And I thought one could only have sight if they had eyes. I guess we both thought wrong,” You quipped. Jack tried to conceal the animalistic growl that boiled in the bottom of his throat. “Allow me to cut to the chase, you’re hunting on taken land,” Jack spat, venom placing his words. Curiously you rose to your feet, the demons eye sockets widening. You were just as tall as him, without shoes. You were bare foot, your long legs glimmering in the sunlight.

The pastel yellow sundress you wore was stained with dry and fresh blood, rising up just above your inner thighs. “The Operator owns this land,” You answered, slowly. It occurred to you that Jack may look human like, but his animal instincts were overriding any sense of humanity he had left. “Right, but I hunt here. My scent is everywhere, I know you smelled it when you decided to slaughter my cattle,” Jack snarled. You narrowed your eyes, momentarily blinded by one of the corpses being reanimated. The young woman was barely clinging to life, her intestines hanging loosely on the ground. Both of you could hear her shallow breathing. “Oh for fuck sake,” You mumbled, stepping over your previous meal. Jack growled, watching you pick up the slumped over body. You grabbed her neck, twisting it to the side. A sharp snap rung through out Jacks ears. “I like my organs fresh,” Jack snapped. You dropped the fresh corpse. Rolling your eyes, you straightened your back. “Her organs were quite literally coated in dirt, is that the freshness quality you were searching for?” You asked sarcastically. Jack’s patience was thinning. In a swift motion he took off his mask, baring his shark like teeth.

“Enough chit chat. I am an apex predator. You are quite literally no where near me on the food chain,” Jack yelled. You blinked, your mind spinning as you contemplated your next move. “Are you really afraid of little old me?” You questioned quickly. Should you laugh? He couldn’t quite possibly be serious right? “Um, I mean we can share the leftovers..?” You asked slowly, unsure how to respond to his animalistic behavior. Jack snarled, throwing himself at you. You were a threat. Jack knew how to handle threats, he did it for Slender on occasion. He was proficient in his ability to kill. Killing you was no exception. You narrowly dodged him clawing at you, his sharp claws ripping through your dress. He was huffing as you both watched the fabric fall to the ground. Shreds of the pastel yellow cloth hit the dirt, a cool breeze sending goosebumps across your freshly exposed skin. Jack’s eye sockets widened at the sight of your exposed breast, a creamy silk lingerie covering you. Jack couldn’t quite remember the last time he had given in to his primal urges to mate. He never considered a human being, due to the likelihood of him breaking them by mistake. But you, you were just like him in an odd way. Your breast were nice and perky, your cunt covered with a thin fabric that he could hardly consider to be undergarments.

He had anticipated you to rush to cover yourself, as the average person would do. But if anything you stood taller. “One minute you want to kill me, the next you’re staring at me like a pre teen boy. Are you bipolar?” You asked. Jack snickered at the question. “I’m a doctor, i’d know if I was bipolar,” He answered. Something about your unwavering confidence only made you more attractive. You were a threat surely, but you seemed to have much more potential as a mate. The primal urge to breed was clouding Jack’s judgment, his temporary territorial rage completely subsided. “I’m no doctor but i’d say you’re animalistic then human,” You say. Jack furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh really? How do you gather that?” He asked. You pointed at his pants, your hands still covered in fresh blood. “Your cock is straining against your jeans,” You say. Jack felt heat rush to his cheeks, before looking down. He hadn’t felt embarrassment for the first time in a long time. Yet here you were, flustering him beyond belief. “You’re cute when you’re flustered. I get the sense that neither of us have had the privilege of mating in a long time,” You said. Jack nodded, trying to seem cool and level headed. “May I make a proposal?” You asked.

Jack agreed, trying to keep his voice steady and even. “I’d say one thing we have in common is the fact we have pent up stress due to what we are. Now, I think leaving you these delicious leftovers as well as allowing ourselves to indulge in our more primal urges with one another is more than fair,” You offered. Jack ran the offer in his head, calculating all of the different possibilities. “And after you’ll leave?” He asked. You nodded affirmatively. “I never stay in one place for too long,” You answered. You walked towards the demon, bringing your index finger to under his chin. You lifted his head up, examining his neck. You could hear his pulse up close, it was beating much faster than the average human. “I will admit though i’ve broken my previous toys in the past. Are you sure you can handle me?” You questioned. Jack chuckled darkly, grabbing your wrist and moving your hand away. “I could ask you the same question,” He grinned. Quickly you brought your lips to his, allowing yourself to shudder under his warm touch as he grabbed your waist. His hands were large and warm, pulling you closer towards him. You could feel his aching boner as you kissed him deeply, the demon on cloud nine.

Your height complimented his if anything, his large hands grabbing your ass. You jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. The dampness of your panties was already soaking through, leaving a wet spot on his crotch. You whined as you bucked your hips against his, the demon unfazed by your height. You briefly pulled away, nibbling teasingly at his bottom lip. You tasted like blood, as well as faint bubblegum. “You’re stronger than I thought loverboy,” You complimented. Jack roughly brought you to the closest tent, your back hitting a forgotten sleeping bag. “Yeah? Let’s see how you handle me,” He replied smoothly. He kissed down your neck, purposefully nibbling at the sensitive skin. His hands wondered down to your hips, pulling apart what remained of your dress. “I assume you’ll be acquiring me some clothes?” You questioned. Jack shrugged off his hoodie, carelessly tossing it at your face. “Here, that should fit you,” He grunted. Tearing away your panties and tossing them aside, your bare slick drove the demon into a frenzy. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, keeping them pried apart as as began to lap at your cunt.

Your hand instinctively flew down to his hair, tugging harshly at the roots as he stuck two of his tongues inside of your aching entrance. You gasped in surprise, moaning in delight as he curled them upwards. “At least that mouth is good for something,” You panted, grinding against his face. His third tongue flickered and swirled at your clit, pushing you closer to the edge. Your human lovers could never compete with this. He had been buried in between your thighs for mere minutes and you already could feel the knot in your stomach tighten. Jack grunted in response to your comment, delivering a sharp slap to your thigh. A whine escaped your lips, your thighs squeezing around his head. His tongues were merciless, your juices so delicious Jack found himself humping against the tent’s floor to help relieve his aching cock. He could feel your gummy walls squeezing his tongues, a concealed smirk spreading across his lips. You were just as delicious as the chaos you caused. You gave his hair one final tug, releasing all over his face.

Jack contained to lap at your slick until he deemed you clean. You were dazed, but repositioned yourself quickly. Your mouth was watering at the idea of sucking his cock. You’d never wanted something more. Jack quickly pushed you back down, the clinking of his belt sending a shiver down your spine. “Not this time. I can’t go another minute without being inside of you,” He snarled. His sudden dominance only made you more wet, his hands roughly shoving you into a mating press. Jack licked his lips as he pulled out his cock, slowly pushing it inside of you. You whined at the stretch, Jack not failing to notice your claws digging into his arms. “Not so big and bad now are we?” He teased. He let out a groan as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The way you were gripping him, the way your nails were digging into his back. You wanted this just as bad as him. You needed this just as bad as him. He fully bottomed out inside of you, his tip brushing against your g spot. “Holy fuck,” You whimpered. Jack couldn’t help but grin devilishly as he slowly moved his hips. “It’s like you were made for me,” He grunted. He began to pick up the pace, snapping his hips into yours.

His thrust were rough and desperate, his body craving to release into yours. He had never felt such a raw and intense connection before, his body demanding more. “You’re mine, all mine,” Jack grunted. He continued to fuck you, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You gasped at the sensation, a moan escaping his lips and being muffled by your skin as he sucked at your blood. The metallic taste was euphoric, your cunt squeezing him tighter as he marked you. “Fuck leaving. You’re mine. My mate,” Jack moaned. His thrust became more aggressive, his cock abusing your cunt as he claimed you as his own. You felt your eyes roll into the back of your head, your thighs shaking. “Oh my fucking- fuck! Jack!” You moaned. Jacks thrust were uncontrolled, his body demanding to fill your cunt to the brim. He released your neck, his three tongues lapping at the wound. “This feels nice huh? Being knocked down a peg?” Jack snickered. The feeling of your gummy walls milking him dry was euphoric, the demons orgasm coming closer.

“Gonna fill you up over and over and over. My little mate. Your pussy’s like goddamn heroin,” Jack rambler. You forced yourself to prop yourself up on your elbows, crashing your lips against Jack’s. “You talk too much,” You teased, nipping at his bottom lip. You groaned in his mouth as his cock abused your g spot, your eyes fluttering open as you squirted around his cock. Your juices coated his lower half, the demons hips finally stuttering and coming to a halt. His warm, thick cum flooded your cunt, filling you to the brim. You both were panting messes, Jack utterly surprised when you flipped the two of you over effortlessly. You straddled him, managing to keep his cock buried inside of you.

“So loverboy, wanna go for round two?”

You had so much stamina it was scary. Jack could see it in your eyes, you were ready to go as many rounds as he could do.

Maybe Jack should’ve been afraid of little old you.

[serpent-benediction]

[TW: SAGAU Imposter stuff, death, some detailed descriptions of wounds and stuff. Don’t expect anything amazing].

Some would call this development a cliché of sorts, wrapped in the illusion of perfection. You knew better than to allow yourself respite in the face of trickery.

———————————————————

Chains and ropes entangled and dug into your limbs, keeping you stationary under the gaze of thousands of people. A majority of them were unknowns - real somehow, but never essential to your eyes. Blanks with no sense of self before you got here.

Other than the ‘NPC’s’ ; numerous vision holders from across the continents were here to witness this display.

The more prominent members of the Knights of Favonius were present, alongside the Adepti watching from the sidelines. Itto’s Gang were barely spotted from your position,

Roaring cheers echoed from every side, like waves crashing against a sea. Drowning. Even like this, you couldn’t gather the will to make out words as your body was dragged down dirt and concrete, scraping skin against the ground. The pain was numb, though perhaps that could be attributed to the amount of drugs they put into you — or the blood you’ve lost on the way here.

An abrupt stop forces your head upwards to finally observe where they’re taking you - and the sight is not pretty. A statue of gold wearing your face stretches into the sky ; a teasing reminder that this world was made for you.

Venti and Zhongli stayed within the confines of the crowd, keeping their identities hidden whilst the puppet Ei stood ahead, her signature blade at the ready. . . That costed a pretty penny out of your pocket.

“Do you have any words you’d like to say in your final moments, Imposter? Perhaps our Lord will take mercy upon you.” The nobody that was dragging you eventually speaks up. A Millelith member - Yan-something.

Venom seeped throughout every word spoken, only being comparable to the poison-tipped arrows that nearly nicked your skin on numerous occasions. If you were younger, more naive, you’d answer with pleas for your life - begging for forgiveness or some half-assed mercy.

The current you knew why this was happening. It was like a bad joke, akin to all those ‘self-aware’ stories you had the ‘pleasure’ of reading all those years ago.

Years in this hellhole. The memories of your first day here were engrained in your mind and the reason you survived this long. Suspicion was your ally in the first weeks, allowing your continued survival up until now.

Until you got sloppy. Careless. Attached.

An attempt at gaining a friend unfettered by deceit. A slow and gradual process at first, but the results were expected. Betrayal in the middle of the night, after months of back and forth, between moments of care and affection - only to have it ripped away. Perhaps you should have stayed in Snezhnaya. At least the Fatui were direct in what they were doing, and Childe was a good friend before. . . all of this.

You held valid, human emotions, but they treated you like an animal. Your rights were stripped in an instant, and you were forced into a cage - trapped amongst the worst dredges of society for what seemed like an eternity. Food was scarce, water even more, and the punishments. . .

Even if you survived, the scars would never fade. Flesh torn asunder with blades and scalpels, subjected to inhumane torture as they froze, electrocuted and burnt skin away ; red blood adorning the walls in a sickening mockery of your false form. The healing afterwards was just a formality, just so you wouldn’t die in their ‘humble care’.

You held the same face as their beloved idol, the being of all their affections and worship, yet they couldn’t handle the fact that your blood wasn’t a precious golden. Truly ridiculous to have the next best thing, but treat it like a third-rate gift, no?

“You and your… God, can go fuck themselves.” Vulgarity came easily, and sarcasm came next. You had no love for these… false people. They weren’t real. This was all a mere dream, or perhaps a coma, or maybe even the dying remnants of your brain already coming to an end.

Pain enveloped your face in an instant ; blood immediately trickling from the newfound wound. It wasn’t a crushed nose this time around, but it still fucking hurt.

“Don’t ever disrespect The Creator!”

How ridiculous. Aren’t you supposed to be ‘God’ here? Where’s Nahida? Where’s Xiao? Where’s the plot point in where you’re safe and sound with unbearable, psychological trauma?

Where’s your savior?

Was. . . was this really it? Years of your life wasted, struggling to survive in this backwater hellhole? You forced yourself to change just to fit in with the rest of these… people. You didn’t have a vision or some godly set of skills honed by A Player — you were normal.

What a damn joke.

— More of your crimson blood splattered against the ground as you were forced before the Shogun ; her outside face neutral, though you could sense that she was seething on the inside. A useless puppet through and through.

“For your transgressions against The Creator for daring to masquerade as them, I hereby sentence you to death.” — She didn’t even offer you a moment to say a final word. Tsk. Worthless bastard.

“KILL THEM! KILL THEM! KILL THEM! KILL THE IMPOSTER!” The chants roared louder and louder.

. . . But, you weren’t going to grant them the satisfaction of begging. You were scared, deathly so, but maybe release wouldn’t be that bad. . .

“When I get down to the abyss, hell, or whatever it’s called. . . I’ll make sure I give Makoto my thanks for being such a shitty sister.”

A singular movement, and everything shifted.

The sensation of having your head severed from your body ended quickly ; the disconnection of your brain from your spine bringing your story to a close. In the last, fickle moments before inevitability kicked in - only then did you notice the anger and sadness on Ei’s face.

It was. . . beautiful to see her cry.

. . . Perhaps they’d wonder why you died with a smile on your face. Perhaps they’d discover you were their God after your demise, grieving over your body with the fervor that only a cult could do.

Or maybe you were never special. A nobody like the NPC’s who happily spat and kicked you when you were down, insulting you with no end in sight.

Was this real—

——————————

You’re awoken to another cold breeze ; akin to the first time you’ve had the displeasure of arising here.

[cutiecusp]

One last call.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x König x Reader.

TW. Talks of death, rivalry, filthy language, angst, betrayal, an established relationship, NOT a HOA! kissing, mild inappropriate boundary crossing. MDNI! (Also, I couldn't find the credits to this image, if someone does, lemme know!)

You were bleeding out.

A mission gone wrong.

Bad Intel means you were the only one left alive.

Hiding behind a crate, you manage to drag your body out of the snow, using the wood as a shield from the elements. Teeth chattering, you call Simon, your ex fiance.

"Ghost." He answers.

The breath gets punched out of you by the cold, so you take a minute to gather your breath, and your thoughts.

"Si." You murmur, just loud enough he can hear you.

"Why are you calling me?" He answers bluntly. Your relationship has been rocky for months, missed dinners, birthdays, missed milestones, the anger issues after a tough deployment... You had regretfully called things off before this deployment.

"I.. I got hit, Si. Dodgy Intel." You explain, pain low in your body.

You hear him grip the phone in his hand, his voice gruff.

"Fuck! I can get Price to get Nikolai-"

You interrupt him, wincing as you shake your head.

"No, It'll be too late, Si. I just wanted to hear your voice."

"I'm on my way." Came the clipped reply.

You let out a dry chuckle.

"Always so bossy."

You pause, your breathing shallow.

You manage to roll onto your back, your eyes glossy with tears.

"Sorry, we never got to fix this." You say softly.

A gunshot rings out in the silence, before heavy footsteps crunch in the snow.

"I'm not alone." You whisper.

"Stay on the line, love. Don't leave me." Simon replies.

Over the next few minutes, the sound of singular gunshots ring through the snowy compound. A single pair of boots crunch through the deep snow that's piling up on the ground.

"Whoever it is, they are making sure people are dead." You whisper, fear taking over you as you realise you can't move, your injuries won't allow you to escape quickly.

Simons heart sinks.

"Play dead, hide in the snow, stay alive till I come for you, I'm getting in the chopper now.. please love. I'm coming."

All you can do is lie there, tears frosting down your cheeks as you realise you are next. The door to the storage room you are next to is kicked open, but you are silent.

Large footsteps sealed your fate as the imposing figure spots your boots.

"Oh, I forgot one." Came a thick accent, causing you to freeze.

"Ah, a little maus... far away from home."

He kicks your boot, pain throbbing through your body as you swallow a scream.

"Such a pretty one, too.." in your eyeline, you see a behemoth of a man, a hood covering his face, blood staining his entire front. He pauses when he sees your face.

"Ah, I've been looking for you."

Fear grips you, but you dare not move.

Your phone falls from your hand as he stands on your wrist, and your eyes finally meet his. Deeply dark, crazed and focused on you.

"Who's there with you, love?" You hear Simon say over the phone.

"Ah, Geist..." the masked man calls out.

"König?" Splutters the reply.

"In the flesh."

"Leave her out of this!" Simon yells, his voice loud through the call.

König laughs, squatting over you, pulling you by your tactical vest to pull you flush against him, his eyes roaming your body.

"She's a pretty one, would make such a lovely trophy." He calls out, antagonising Simon more.

He traces a gloved hand down your cheek, and you can't look away from him. His body is pressed tight against yours, and you can feel every inch of him.

"She's pretty broken, too. It looks like my men did their job in getting her to me."

Your eyes widen, he was behind this?

"Why?" You whisper out, cursing your shaky voice.

"Why? He took everything from me, my wife, my future... so I'm here to repay the favour. An eye for an eye, you call it?"

He removes his helmet, uncovering his face, scarred and war torn, pale and seething.

"Beg for your life, I want him to suffer like i did."

You shake your head, refusing to play his game.

"Don't touch her!" Simon roars down the phone.

"I'm on my way to you, and I'll finish what I started." He continues.

König laughs dryly.

You try and pull away, pulling his fingers off your vest. He grips harder, forcing you closer, his breath warming your cheek.

"I like a struggle, little lamb." He warns, his eyes deadly cold. You pause, your body limp.

"Ah, there's still some fire in you. I see why he likes you." He pulls out his pistol, the metal shining in the low light.

"I won't tell you again. Beg."

You spit at him, his cheek coated in your fluids. Scoffing, he swipes it from his cheek and brings it to his lips.

"So. Fucking. Defiant."

His gloved hand slaps your cheek hard before pressing his fingers into them, tilting your chin up, demanding him to look at you. He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, surprisingly soft. Marking his territory, claiming a victory.

"I didn't want to do this, but he left me no choice. I wanted you for myself. I even tried recruiting you to my team a few times, but you were his.." he spits.

"Now, I want to give you the opportunity yourself. Come with me. I'll get you medical treatment. I'll give you a good life. Or you can die in the snow, I'll make it quick."

You hesitate. You weren't ready to die. You had unfinished business with Simon. But you were tired of being second to everything, tired of making excuses for him, tired of being let down. Your vision was starting to get spotty, and you knew this was the biggest choice of your life.

You look at König, and realise you two were the same. Your lives had been taken apart by a common denominator.

His eyes soften. He nods, understanding your unspoken answer. He picks up the phone, addressing his rival for the last time.

"I won." He says simply, while shooting into the wooden crate behind you, the loud gunshot echoing the painful cry from the phone.

Hanging up, he looks down at you, your shocked gaze never leaving his.

He gathers you in his arms, striding back to his vehicle.

"Time for a new life, little lamb."

Your eyes flutter as your body relaxes for the first time in what feels like forever. Almost missing the way he snaps a picture of you, sending it to Simon via your phone.

"An eye for an eye. She's mine now."

...........................

A/N I wasn't sure about this one. I'm not good at angst, but I hope I did the idea justice! Back to matchmaker later! Xxxx

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations

@evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-love-letter

[emmcfrxst]

Say Logan has a vampire partner (can be from a mutation or they’re just like that)

Do you think he’d let them feed from him?

blood tw, afab!reader

oh my god yes. he’s always up for it because the act associates two of his favorite things; being useful to his beloved and experiencing pain (in a consensual, safe environment). his healing abilities really make him the perfect feeding partner, because there’s no risk of taking too much blood from him; his blood cells regenerate pretty much as soon as they leave his body, so there’s no room for side effects like lightheadedness (he does get a little light headed while you’re feeding from him, and it’s a feeling he’s become addicted to), nausea or loss of consciousness. he loves doing things for you; any way he can make himself useful is satisfactory to him— especially if it brings him a little pain as a bonus. he’s moaning and groaning the whole time you’re feeding off him, eyes rolling back and hands flexing against your hips, gripping the skin there greedily. it genuinely arouses him to feel your teeth sink into his flesh; the stinging pain makes his hips buck upwards into yours, pushing his growing erection against your clothed cunt, making you moan around a mouthful of blood. the visual is also a big part of his excitement; the sight of you, pupils dilated almost to their full extent with his blood smeared around your swollen lips really gets him going. it affects him so deeply that it’s started to also feel like more than just a basic need for you as well; it’s an act of intimacy, both emotional and sexual, and more often than not you find yourself grinding back down on him, chasing the high of an orgasm, the sweet taste of him on your tongue bringing you closer to ecstasy. it’s important to note that he has come untouched more than once just from you feeding off him; the sweet pleasure mixed with pain making his cock throb in ways nothing else really ever has made it throb before— and he’s not ashamed at all to admit it; he’s absolutely greedy, mouth finding yours for a sloppy, desperate kiss once you’re done, the metallic taste of his blood flooding his senses as he feels the bite mark close itself up, a deep, depraved moan leaving him when your nails dig into the tender flesh as if trying to find traces of the wound that bound the two of you for a few blissful minutes. you always gasp into his mouth and arch against him, body trembling with sensitivity from drinking blood, trying to keep up with the erratic pace of his kisses, rolling your hips against his as you try to find your voice, a raspy “slow down, baby” leaving you— you don’t mean the words at all, simply overwhelmed by all of the sensations crashing down upon you, and he moans again and responds with a frantic, breathless “look so damn good covered in my blood” that has you soaking through your panties, feeling your abdomen clench with pure, unadulterated desire— one that will soon be quenched by the harsh, rapid thrusting of his hips up into yours as you ride him until neither of you can form words anymore, torn clothes scattered around the room.

[lilacgaby]

title: death is inevitable, but why you?

pairings: katsuki x reader, midoriya x reader, todoroki x reader

summary: each boy has to live through their horrors, the horror of losing you.

notes: tw: death! blood! violence! angst no comfort! i warned you!

katsuki bakugō❥

this mission had been the most horrific one for ages. left and right people were being lifted out in body bags, rubble covered the corpses of many scattered across the field, even heroes had lost limbs in the fight.

the stench of blood was everywhere. the shimmering of the sun unfit for the splatters all around.

he wasn't faring any better, his hands torn from quirk overexertion, his ears hurting from the loud explosions. no, that wasn't it.

the screams of the people he couldn't save rang through his head, the crushing of bones and flesh emgrained in his mind forever.

he was walking now. to say it was mindlessly would be a lie, no. he was looking for you.

he hadn't seen you since this all started. he'd texted and called you but you hadn't picked up. he felt guilty for walking past the sobbing civilians picking up their loved ones, or whatever remained of them at least.

he picked up his pace at the sight. where were you? why were you doing this now? now when his heart was straining with disgust, now when his mouth was holding back the bile that rised to the back of his throat, now when his mind was running with things he'd never want to consider happening to you.

he finally saw you, kirishima right next to you as you laid on a wall. he let out a sigh of relief, as he slowed down his pace.

as he got closer, kirishima covered your body from his sight, confusing him. "move."

"no. turn around."

"what's your deal? move!"

"i don't want you to see this, and she wouldn't have either, so please--"

"stop talking like she's dead!" he yelled, his heart in his throat as he pushed past kirishima. but he wished he listened at the sight before him.

you were slumped over, eyes wide open with fear, yet blank and unblinking. your mouth had strings of blood, some clotted up already showing how far gone you were.

your shirt was damp with not only blood but tears, the puffiness around your eyes signifying it. your hands were bruised badly and it looked like a part of your midsection was gouged out.

he fell onto his knees beside you, his hand shakily trying to close your eyes, to at least give you that final peace.

but he failed even at that. what kind of boyfriend was he? his hands shook with hopelessness and fear. he failed. he failed and you died a horrifying death alone.

what could he do without you? what was he supposed to do now?

he let out a guttural yell of pain, as he shook over your body. he didn't want to believe it. but as kirishima handed him a ring and your favorite hair pin that you, before you died, left for him,

he was left with the finality of your death.

and he was all alone once again.

izuku midoriya𑁍

it wasn't supposed to have ended like this.

he should've known that the fame from his hero antics would back fire one day, he should've been ready, he should've been there. he should've been prepared.

he should've been more cautious, taken more warnings from the stories he'd pay no mind to. he never thought this would happen to him.

he shouldn't be here, attempting to comfort you with shaky hands as you lay in his lap, bleeding out from where you were stabbed in the chest. he doesn't know of a place where you weren't stabbed though.

your dress now ruined and torn as the madman earlier had managed to get a hold of you, his promises of money meant nothing to him as he slit wound after wound into your skin.

he shouldn't have to hopelessly pray that the small ministrations he'd been doing to your face were helping relieve the pain, even though he knew it wasn't.

if he'd known the date he'd planned for you would end like this he would've never let you outside again, selfishly hiding you from the world. if he'd known he could've have taken the blow himself, if he'd have known-

his words were cut off by his very own gasp at the visual of you looking into his eyes. you reached your clean hand up to his face, running your unbloddied fingers over his freckles. wiping his tears.

you couldn't speak, though you were trying to. he was radio silent now, hoping to hear anything from you. you were still clutching the knife in your chest, your other hand right over the hilt.

he didn't feel right to ask you to stay awake, to stay in pain just for him. it was all his fault. always his fault, always something he didn't do right.

"i..izuku. 's not your fault, stop.. stop thinking that." your face was scrunched up in pain, it was obvious that it hurt you to speak. it hurt you to do anything, what was he kidding?

you always read him clear as day, or was he really that predictable? he put his hand on top of yours anyways, wanting to bask in this undeserved affection. he took your words to heart though, to say it was his fault was now an action of dissmissing your final thoughts, thoughts you'd dedicated just to him.

"i.. i love you. 'k?"

he nodded, he said it back to you. he'd say it a million times if it meant you'd stay for just a second longer. if it'd meant that you'd stay with him.

he bent down so you could kiss him one last time. it was the saddest kiss he'd ever have, he never thought he'd know when his last moment of affection was coming from you.

but he did, and as he came back up, your hand had dropped from his face, onto the blood stained ground.

he held you, he held you until your shallow breaths became no more, he held you until your body had gone cold,

he held you until his once white shirt had turned red from your blood.

he'd hold you until someone forced him to let you go.

it's what you deserved.

shoto todoroki✩

he always knew your presence in his life was too good for him.

fate had a funny way of messing with him. everything good in his life had a price, a price he'd pay willingly or not.

getting married to you must've been the best thing he'd ever done. but the price?

your left half being completely destroyed, just like his.

and the worst part? you were still awake, your breath heavy and pained as you collapsed onto the ground.

your flesh was mangled, the wounds reaching all the way up to your neck. you looked to be in so much pain, your tears only making it worse it seemed, as you let out a scream as you raised your hand, the only one you had left, to try and soothe yourself.

the destination of your honeymoon a haunting background to the death that was overtaking you.

shoto had never felt so useless. he'd never been the best at comforting you, only his presence serving to help. but now as you screamt in utter torment in front of him, he could do nothing but fall onto his knees infront of you.

the water from your tears burned your open wound, so he used his ice on your right to try and help you.

"is this helping?" he said, when you finally started to go silent. your eyes started to open and close, you were forcing yourself awake. why?

"mhm." he knew it was a white lie, to try and make him feel better about himself. but he decided to believe it, just this once.

you stared at his arm blankly. it took a lot of effort to word anything, to even stay up straight was a marvel in itself. you muttered, "is help coming?"

he wanted to be honest with you, he really did, but he didn't think he'd be able to live with himself if he told you nobody could make it in time. so, he told a partial lie. he hoped you could forgive him in another life. one where you'd get to live the life you always wanted.

"y-yes. someone's coming soon." he saw the way your eye lit up slightly with determination. why were you fighting so hard.

three minutes passed and nothing had happened. your eye was getting heavier, the blood was coming out in less and less spurts. your face became dejected.

he knew you caught him in a lie. they weren't coming to save you, only to pick up your corpse.

a bitter smile set over your lips, the throbbing of your skin under your tears a blur as you finally gave up. he had been holding your hand tightly this entire time, his hand over the pulse of your wrist as he refused to look you in the eye.

and now you knew why.

"i.. i love you shoto..

b-but don't lie to me next time, k?" you proclaimed, before falling over with a sickening thud as you hit the bloodied planks beneath you.

he stayed holding your hand for a while. the heroes hadn't made it for another hour. he was glad for the only reason of being able to scream and wail over you in peace. of being able to let all his built up emotions out,

of being able to mourn the loss of his one true love, who even in the end did her best to comfort him instead. who toughed it out for him.

"what a joke." he muttered as he stormed away from your body, leaving the heroes circled around your cold corpse.

plans to get back your honor brewing in his head.

[moonsaver]

Vena jugulară

War carries many things home. Jiaoqiu finds hunger. You find cures.

Warnings/tw; yan!jiaoqiu x reader, cannibal!jiaoiu, descriptions of gore, blood, veins, flesh, all of that nitty pitty, (slightly) suggestive scene, war, ooc definitely, rushed(?) etc..

A/n: 3.4k words. Not that big tbh. I kinda wanted to get it over w/ and thats all. I hope you guys enjoy. I kinda did.

- reader is a nurse who previously assisted Jiaoqiu on the battlefield to help wounded soldiers. I have mainly kept them gn, but i might have slipped up here and there.

"Doctor."

"Hm?"

Jiaoqiu hums and turns slightly to face you. His hands continue to fold the bandages. You eye the stain that's rusting on the off white shade.

"Another one."

"As usual."

A few men carry a stretcher into the tent soon after; dirtied from the filth of war. The stretcher has a man writhing and groaning in pain, but presumably passed out. His leg is injured.

Well, rather, his leg is torn.

A long tear. From the bottom of his knee, just shy of the curve, to the top of his foot. The flesh is almost cartoonishly pink, decorated with blood leaks and torn veins.

Jiaoqiu doesn't flinch, immediately getting to work, registering the anesthesia while guiding you to fetch rubbing alcohol and other surgical equipment. You silently oblige, as the other men leave, dredging on with their heavy boots riddled with mud.

A few moments later, as the last stitch tugs at the skin, Jiaoqiu sputters. You look up at him, concerned. A scruched, disgruntled look on his face, eyes still closed. You look down to see the slightest bit of mara leaking from the body.

"Even if I shall put him back together, what are the chances he may survive?"

He whispers, more to himself than asking you. You stay silent. You stare at his mouth, slightly covered in saliva, most likely from his sputtering.

He continues coughing a few moments more, handing the needle over to you as you hurriedly finish up a knot, then immediately leave to stand by him, shadowing him in worry as he continues coughing for a moment.

"Sorry. I choked on my spit."

You nod, before leaving and proceeding to finish up the work, leaving Jiaoqiu to catch his bearings.

You feel almost traitorous when you have such thoughts, however,

You've noticed an awful lot of things about your senior as of late.

His fur that's seeming to fray, split and gather on almost every surface, making it hard to disinfect and keep things sterilized for the most part. The stressful, or rather constrained look on his face when another soldier is sent his way – soldiers with flesh bursting at the seams of tight skin, blood flowering around the scene. The constant choking he feels from the heavy, thick scent of iron, and more spit dribbling down his chin.

Although, you feel it may be something else.

Granted, you don't ask. You hand him your handkerchief, and continue normally. You don't, however, miss the dilation of his usually thin pupils whenever he stares down at the man on the table. Like a starved predator upon a feast.

His eyes catch yours, too. Both of you stay silent.

–

"Hm, how.. disappointing."

You hum, Jing Yuan reverting to his pondering state, as you beat him at another round of the board game he'd invited you to.

"Battle strategies are your thing, General. I'm almost surprised. Are you letting me win, by any chance?"

Jing yuan laughs, a deep, curt sound that bubbles from his chest.

"Nurse, I would know how much fairness and certainty means to you."

"Hmm.. really,now?"

Your hand grabs his wrist, gripping onto the small guards of his arm, as you catch him trying to steal one of your pieces,

"Touchè".

You huff, letting go of his wrist, his hand languidly placing back the piece, before he repositions to lean the side of his head on it,

"Perhaps your instincts from then still remain."

"Mara struck are awfully dangerous."

"I've heard plenty. And seen, too."

"One tried to stab me with an empty syringe when I turned my back for a second."

Jing yuan hums, his hand hovering over the board decisively,

"Quite peculiar, such a trait."

"Strange indeed."

Jing yuan makes his move. It's time for you to think, now.

You lean slightly over the table, observing and calculating your moves. He continues to speak,

"Were you not infected as was the Chef?"

"Not sure why.."

You mumble out, fingers gently perched on a piece as you contemplate the move.

"You must have. That fever struck you for a month."

Your thoughts stop for a moment. Jing yuan almost smiles, watching the tension of your fingers over the piece,

"It's.. hard to remember what happened."

Your other hand creeps up to wrap around your waist, under the table. Something still faintly aches, but you aren't sure if you can fix it now.

"Chef cared for you quite arduously. That was the last time I'd seen a fox like him so ruffled."

You look up and click your tongue, as Jing yuan's fingers teeter around the pieces. He stays still and smiles, playing it off.

"I was the only one who could assist him. It's a given."

"Hm.. I've been driven to a corner."

You chuckle softly, jing yuan's eyes turning contemplative as you move your piece into position.

"Ah-ah, not so fast."

You blink, looking up at the General as he tuts, your hand hovering over your piece. Did you make a mistake?

He leans over, his hand reaching over to pick a stray hair off of your shoulder. It was short, and pink. Fur.

His hand retracts and languidly dusts it off his finger to the side. Ah, you realise,

"Must be Jiaoqiu's."

"I'd be surprised if it wasn't."

"I have been watching over that pink-haired girl.."

Jing yuan chuckles softly, shaking his head,

"He seems quite irritable since then."

"He's.. clingy. Ever since I.."

He hums, his golden eyes calculative as he decides his next move.

"What a shame."

You yawn, the settling winter thawing under the new sun making the atmosphere more comfortable than chilling, leaning back on your arms.

"I can never understand that man.."

Jing yuan makes his move, and waits for you, as he takes a sip of his tea.

"Foxians are quite interesting."

"Hm?"

Jing yuan's words pique your interest, as you slightly perk up,

"Really? What of it?"

"They react differently to mara."

The board is abandoned by now, as you listen intently, leaning forward,

"Do you know how mara works?"

He sets the ceramic cup down, the liquid in it ebbing gently from the motion.

"Foxians of his lineage have tendencies to act far too soon on their desires, from even a smidge of exposure."

..is he lying?

"It was a strange event he decided to treat such wounds in his past. With you on the line beside him."

"But, I was already working there before him."

"Indeed. That is why I.."

He stays silent for a moment. A small chuckle leaves him, as he shakes his head,

"You should be more cautious."

You blink for a moment, simply looking at him. Under the golden sunlight, it's hard to look away.

Wait.

You look down at the board, as he steadily gets up,

"Wait, you- stole the pieces-?!"

----

You sneeze, and cringe immediately.

Jiaoqiu's unreadable expression is pointed at you, as you look to gauge his reaction. You've always hated the taste of his medicine.

It was more peaceful than anything, other than the looming threat of catching the attention of your "mentor" (or as he insisted). The occasional thick scent of chili and sizzling meats settled into the air, along with the gentle draft of early spring, hints of the winter's cold lingering in the crisp air in the atmosphere. You sniffle and shift in your seat, as Jiaoqiu approaches you.

"Try."

He places a bowl of noodles in front of you. You eye it suspiciously.

"It took me a while to prepare. So don't waste it, disciple."

You look up at him, warily. His closed eyes and sly grin greet you back.

You eye the dark, rich broth that would have had your mouth watering just a few decades ago. The perfectly cut noodles paired with an assortment of seasonings of all kinds – cut meat, hints of vegetables, boiled eggs. It was perfect.

But you couldn't taste it.

Truthfully, after you became sick, nothing tasted the same as it used to.

Your palette must have dulled. You could barely taste anything. It was as though you ate the same food, everyday, every month, every year, with no change in sight. Jiaoqiu's made a bit of a personal mission to try and challenge your dull palette.

"Jiaoqiu.."

You start, softly trying to protest,

"[Name]."

He sits down across you,

"Do you remember when I first served this?"

He leans forward, his chin cradled on his interlocked fingers, knees pressing onto the table. There's a faint smile on his face.

You sigh,

"Yes, back when.. I had a terrible fever, which just wouldn't leave."

"Mhm. It was the only reason you had the energy to walk around."

You continue staring at the dish. A hint of sentimentality at least seems to spark some appetite in you.

"Hm, too soupy isn't it?"

You comment, looking back up at him

"We aren't scarce on resources anymore, are we?"

"You could learn to not alter a few recipes for sentimental value."

"And what? Feed you that ashen bowl of noodles with barely a scrap of meat or any spice?"

You sigh,

"..alright."

You pick up the stationed chopsticks from the side, and stir the noodles slightly. Jiaoqiu's smile widens, as he watches you.

"The broth looks.."

"Remember when your fever wouldn't go down at all? The high temperature was so stubborn."

You shudder at the reminder. You still remember it – the searing burn of the medicine you hastily applied, the following high temperatures and sweat, the constant discomfort of being so unutterably weak you couldn't even sit upright.

You suppose he doesn't like when you nitpick. You resign yourself to eating it quietly.

–––

The sheets are soft, and cold as your bare back settles against them, your head gently hitting the soft pillow behind you. Your fingers absentmindedly trail down to the bandages on your abdomen, tracing the tight-binded edges of it.

Jiaoqiu's back is turned to you as he readies a concoction. One of many he's tried to use to "fix" you.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. You would have felt more awkward, more embarassed about having to lay almost half naked in your 'mentor's bed, but considering the recent flare up a few days ago, you couldn't care less.

Jiaoqiu walks around the expanse of the bedframe, and gently settles down on the other, empty side. He placed the paste on the nightstand, as his fingers reach down to undo your bandages.

There is something tender, you think, about having to lay bare under someone who has seen something so ugly, yet persist regardless. Under his fingers, where your flesh seems to either rot, or bloom. Something beautiful, if it weren't for the past pains of war still haunting you two. Something tender, if it weren't for your own flesh rotting into you.

His nose scrunches up a bit as your wound is exposed at the removal of the wraps. Foxians, especially of his kind, tend to have sensitive noses. Specifically for blood, if it makes sense.

Your age-old wound has shriveled and ached for so long, you almost wonder if it's alive on it's own. How have you been? You almost ask, every time you see it for yourself. The tainted flesh almost searing every time another paste, another cure, is desperately smeared on it. Almost as though it is offended.

Jiaoqiu stays silent, for a moment, his eyes slightly opened as he stares down. His hands have moved to your sides, as though framing your outline.

They move up, slowly, as though encasing your ribs. They expand with each breath, skin stretching and moving with the flesh alive underneath. His face slowly dips down, as if in prayer. His lips ghost the dip between your lower ribs, in ancient reverence. You wonder if he might break you open and eat your heart from the cages of your bones.

His lips trace down ghosting over the edge of your skin, where the previously infected part begins. He inhales, slowly, before speaking.

"I don't know how to fix this."

You stay silent. Your hand comes up to the side of his face, his hair tickling the back of it,

"Jiaoqiu. It's alright."

"It isn't."

You watch his face retract, his troubled gaze on your wound. The flesh has been marred and sunken.

"This isn't something you can fix."

He moves, the bed dipping as his weight shifts, the side of his face resting on your chest, one of his hands moving to your stomach, the back of his fingers grazing your skin as it moves up to the centre of your ribs.

"Bitter, sour.. distasteful.."

He murmurs, his fingers absentmindedly tracing your skin,

His face shifts, his lips resting just above your heart,

"Your blood smells like poison."

You still for a moment. His teeth graze your skin. The hot, damp breath wets your skin.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your heart beats in his ears. He longs to feel it in his mouth. His other hand, still on your side, shifts, the fingers digging into your skin.

For a moment, you wonder what the scene will reel out as ‐ your limp body, a feast under his hungry mouth. Your arteries stringing from the cave of your flesh to his mouth like a bridge, thin veins scattering and puzzling themselves in the crevices of his teeth. You hope he doesn't devour you.

For now, he resigns himself to your skin. His teeth bite. They do not draw blood yet.

---

Jiaoqiu has had more peace, recently.

Here he sits, behind you, entangling the thin stems of flowers within themselves, braiding a flower crown. His nose scrunches, and his ears flit slightly whenever you hand him a fragrant one. You chuckle whenever he comments on it. His head leans forward and rests on your shoulder, as you continue to page through recipes in his book. Medicinal ones.

"Ah, look. It's stained here."

"Hm, gunpowder?"

Jiaoqiu asks, his tail swiping your back, the curled end of it tickling the side of your face,

"I think so."

You continue paging through the recipes, before stopping on a page.

Ah. There's blood.

"Dear, how did that happen?"

Jiaoqiu muses, his fingers paused as he looks at the blood stained page.

"I wouldn't remember."

"Hm.."

The blood smells sweet, despite having sunken into the page almost decades ago. It carries a hint of vitality, still. At least, in his foxian sense.

You turn the page.

---

"Jiaoqiu!"

"Not now–"

"The nurse..!"

Jiaoqiu stops in his tracks, taking his eyes off of his station with slightly furrowed brows, towards the person who's abruptly entered,

"What is it?"

"They're ill! They've fallen to the‐"

Jiaoqiu rushes with those few meager words, swiftly walking past as he asks where you are.

Unfortunately for you, you were trying to gain your bearings on the wooden floor.

This entire month of war specifically, had torn you both down to shreds. Your inventories were looted, leaving you with scarce medicine and many maimed to look after. The enemies were bolstering their presence harshly, and closing in furiously.

Upon stumbling on a rare sight of a wounded enemy soldier, you leaned down to check if they carried anything useful – medicine, maps, anything, when you realised in your haste you should have checked for their pulse first.

And it was in that moment of realisation did you feel a sharp plunge and sting, as the soldier's arm swiftly swung and stabbed you with a small knife.

You wanted to scream, but the overwhelming pain of the intrusion, the visceral splitting of your flesh far outweighed the need to scream. You jerked away, weakly, but hastily, retreating, leaving the enemy with their last bout of energy to laugh bitterly at you.

–––

Jiaoqiu still smells poison on you.

With war came many things. A lost locket on the vast field. A lonely sword in the quiet of the night. A child asleep in front of the door, forever waiting their parent.

And with war, came your eventual poisoning.

Perhaps it was the weapon. Knives edged with venom. It could have made for a lethal weapon.

But something felt odd.

Jiaoqiu's face presses into the warmth of your stomach.

Bitter. Sour. Distasteful. Rancid. Rotting. And Defiled.

Jiaoqiu's mind often wanders to wine reds. The pulling of sinew arteries, the sharp cut of a blade through flesh. The slow leaking of myoglobin or blood through the cutting board.

Sometimes, it had wandered while he tended to patients.

Blooming flesh, at incineration of skin due to sharpnel, or burnings. The vigorous pumping of the heart at the sight of blood draining down slowly, outside it's confinement, ever so oblivious to the lethality.

Jiaoqiu had craved flesh. Flesh beyond the slaughter of a Lamb, of a Cow, of any animal.

Flesh, right under the safe confines of human ribs.

Sweet, sweet viscera of the Liver. The expanse of Lungs. The tightly wound cartilage right above and below the muscles. Bones that leaked marrow.

The heart.

But he hadn't dare consume.

With war, came hunger.

Hunger he had not experienced like any other. Hunger that devoured him whole. Hunger so vast he could feel his insides churning and dissolving for the capacity of the appetite he would need to fulfill.

A hunger for you.

Poisoned, and permanently so. It's safe to say his attempts to 'fix' you, weren't necessarily innocent.

He shifts, his face moving to your neck, nose tickling the edge of it as his lips linger on your nape. Unprotected spinal cord. His canines expose and gently press on the tender skin, the pressure increasing, waiting for the breach of the skin.

You laugh, airy and sweet.

"What are you doing?"

Jiaoqiu retracts, slightly. Staggered, shallow breathing as he struggles to restrain himself.

He stays quiet. You grow nervous at the strange silence.

"Jiaoqiu?"

"[Name]."

His head turns slightly, eyeing the open recipe book on your nightstand. The night's gentle breeze wafting through the open window agitated the pages, slightly uncovering the blood-stained page for a second.

"What is it?"

You quietly ask, sensing the slight tightness in his voice,

"You poisoned yourself."

Your breath hitches, a shock rendering your body paralyzed for a second.

What?

You shift and turn to face him. His eyes are open, staring endlessly into yours. You break into a cold sweat, his slitted eyes almost cutting through you. Your heart beats harshly in your chest, as your breathing staggers slightly.

"Jiaoqiu?"

"While concocting that medicine for yourself.."

He whispers, his hand pushing down on the pliant bed as he leans forward, making you lean back in turn,

"What are you–"

"In your haste, did you ever think to use the right ingredients?"

He's towering over you, as you look at him, eyes almost blown wide, pupils dilated, breathing heavily. You don't notice it until you realise how out of breath you feel, despite the chill of the night air causing chills on your skin.

"The.. ingredients.."

You stumbled into your tent, almost meeting the ground, your arm on reflex grabbing onto something sturdy, as you gasped and panted. Your other hand presses onto the wound on your abdomen, as you cry out, abruptly interrupted by a sharp inhale at the pain. Tears singe your eyes, but your heart is beating too loud, and you're too pained to cry yet. You grunt as you pull yourself up, your bloodied hands sifting through the cacophany of items on your own desk, shuffling in haste for something,

Eventually, you hurriedly concocted a simple but powerful herbal paste, smothering it onto the blaring and irritated, bloody wound, seeping and crying incessantly of blood into your hands as you lathered it onto the wound in great pain. You ignored the uncharacteristic burning of the paste, hurriedly trying to wrap the bandage onto yourself, before too much blood was lost.

"Do you realise? That paste.. if you messed up a single point in the recipe, you'd poison yourself. Each ingredient was selected to neutralize the other."

Erratic, shallow breaths leave you as he looks down at you. What have you done?

This is poison. This is the curse.

The curse you carried after the war. It was never mara that could affect you.

And it was the poison Jiaoqiu had longed to taste.

His face dives down into your neck again, his fangs ghosting your jugular vein,

"Do you realise what truly courses in your blood?"

A cold bead of sweat drips down from the side of your forehead. Death could possibly taste sweeter, you imagine.

"I can't wait to taste it."

And his teeth sink.

--

[vigilante-3073]

Figure You Out

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

PART 1

Summary: Dean and Sam run into another hunter while working a case.

TW: Mentions of blood, injuries, death and murder. Dean's nicknames.

Concord, New Hampshire

Dean and Sam made their way through the woods towards a cabin owned by one of many werewolves in the area. The steadily rising number of mangled corpses turning up around town drew their attention quickly. The bodies were piling up and the situation needed to be dealt with.

Dean and Sam approached the house, peering at the large cabin from the treeline. The door was wide open and the front window was shattered, broken glass was scattered across the grass. Dean and Sam pulled out their guns as they slowly approached the cabin.

"Is that blood?" Sam asked quietly, shining his flashlight at the stairs.

"I think someone might've beat us to the punch here, Sammy," Dean said, approaching the treeline on the opposite side of the cabin.

Sam turned to see his brother standing over a man's body that was laying face down near the trees. The man's wide eyes stared off into nothingness, the ground around him slowly becoming saturated with his blood. The man had multiple bullet wounds in his back, no doubt silver bullets were used.

Dean and Sam looked up as they heard some rustling from inside the house. Dean quickly made his way over to his brother as they approached the house.

The pair climbed the stairs quietly, shining their lights inside the cabin. A woman held up her hand, blocking the light from her eyes.

"Shut those goddamn lights off or shine them somewhere useful," She snapped.

The woman huffed when neither of the boys moved, "I'm a friendly, assholes," She said.

Sam lowered his gun and flashlight, pointing them at the floor, "Dean, she's good," Sam said quietly.

Dean reluctantly brought down his gun and light. The woman lowered her hand from her blood splattered face, leaning back against the edge of the countertop with a shake of her head.

A small lantern was sitting on the counter beside her, casting a dim yellow glow across her injured side. A handgun, an open bottle of alcohol and the contents of a first aid kit were strewn across the countertop.

Dean whistled, "They got you good, huh?" He stated, shining his light at the claw marks slashed into her side.

"No shit," She huffed, pushing the needle through her torn flesh.

"Need a hand?" Sam asked.

"I'm good, thanks," The woman muttered, focused on closing her wound.

"Here, let me at least give you some better lighting," Sam said, changing positions to shine the light from a different direction.

"Thanks," She said.

"No problem," Sam nodded.

"I'm gonna check the place out," Dean said.

"It's clean," She replied, tying off a stitch.

"Not that I don't trust you, sweetheart, but I don't," Dean smirked.

"Asshole," She muttered.

Dean moved further the cabin, peering into the rooms as he passed them. He couldn't deny that he was slightly impressed by the sheer amount of werewolves she had managed to take down alone.

Dean made his way back out to the kitchen area as the woman grabbed the bottle from the countertop. She seethed as she poured some of the alcohol over her stitched up wounds before patting the area dry with clean gauze.

"You take all these wolves out by yourself?" Dean asked.

"Why?" The woman asked.

"Just wondering," Dean shrugged.

"Sure you are," She scoffed.

"Seems like a big job, is all," Dean said.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," The woman stated, pressing a large surgical pad over her stitches before wrapping gauze around her waist to hold it in place.

She cut through the gauze, tucking it in place before lowering her torn shirt and packing up her first aid kit.

"I'm Sam and that's my brother, Dean, by the way," Sam said.

She paused, "Winchester?" She questioned.

"You heard of us?" Dean asked, glancing over at his brother.

"Nope," She stated, closing the lid of her first aid kit. The woman grabbed her gun and first aid kit from the countertop, "Have a good night, boys," She said.

"You're not gonna tell us your name?" Dean questioned.

She smiled, "I'm sure this isn't the last time we'll be seeing eachother, Dean," She replied.

...

Louisville, Kentucky

Dean and Sam continued to run into the woman on and off through the years. They came to learn that her name was Y/N and that she always worked alone. She moved from job to job quickly and it seemed like every time they would go to start a hunt, she would have already finished it.

Y/N absolutely infuriated Dean. He and Sam would spend hours on their research and travelling to the location just to get there and have everything done already.

They hadn't seen her in a while and the brothers were beginning to wonder if something had happened to her. It wouldn't be unexpected in their line of work.

Dean and Sam made their way into a local bar to spend some time going over the details of a possible witch related case. They had barely sat down at the bar for a minute before the bartender set two beers on the bartop.

"Sorry, we didn't order these," Sam said.

"They're from the woman at the end of the bar," The bartender said, pointing off to the right.

Dean turned to look, "Son of a bitch," He muttered, a scowl quickly replacing his previous smile.

Y/N raised her beer with a smile, Sam laughed and raised the beer in thanks. Dean swiped his beer off the bartop and hopped off his stool before making his way over to her.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"Same thing as you, only better," She smirked, taking a sip of her drink.

"I'm just gonna save myself some time and ask if there's even still a hunt in this town?" He questioned.

Y/N sucked in a breath through her teeth, "No, just finished a few hours ago, actually. But I really appreciate you guys coming out," She said.

"Yeah, whatever. Thanks for the beer," Dean said grumpily before returning to his spot next to Sam.

"Well, that was-," "Shut up," Dean snapped, taking a sip from his beer. Sam shook his head with a smile, always managing to get a kick out of it when his brother was bested by Y/N.

...

Seattle, Washington

Dean and Sam made their way into an abandoned warehouse with packs of gear slung on their backs. This area had recently become a hotspot for demon activity in the last few days. The missing persons reports had also began to rise and there definitely had to be something big going on.

Sam and Dean scanned the dark warehouse as they made their way inside. Sam hesitated, "Dean, is that-?" He started, shining his flashlight at something across the room.

Dean looked up, following the beam of his brother's flashlight, "Oh my god," He muttered, racing across the warehouse and kneeling down in front of her.

Y/N's body was slumped against the wall, she had been beaten and there was a rusted pipe stabbed into her stomach.

Her clothes were drenched in blood, Dean held in his hand in front of her face, a finite amount of tension leaving his shoulders as a soft puff of air hit his skin.

"She's breathing," He stated.

Dean pulled back slightly, cupping her cheeks in his hands, "Hey, sweetheart, can you hear me? Open your eyes, Y/N," Dean said.

Her eyes fluttered open, "Dean," She mumbled. Blood splattered onto her lips as she coughed, dripping down her chin.

"We're gonna get you some help, okay?" He assured.

"I don't wanna die," Y/N whimpered.

"We're not gonna let that happen, alright?" Dean said, she nodded slightly.

"Good, now I need you to be as stubborn about not dying as you are about everything. Shouldn't be a hard thing for you to do, right?" Dean said with a small, reassuring smile.

"You're an ass," Y/N mumbled.

"You got me there, but I need you to listen to me for a second, okay? I gotta pick you up and I can tell you right now that it's not gonna feel good," He said.

"I know," She nodded.

Dean lifted her arm up to wrap around his neck before sliding his arms underneath her body.

"On the count of three. One... Two... Three," He counted before lifting her up into his arms. Y/N cried out in pain at the shift, fingernails digging into the skin on the back of Dean's neck.

"We gotta get her to a hospital. You drive," Dean said, Sam nodded.

They rushed her out of the warehouse, carefully setting her in the backseat of the Impala with her body propped up against Dean's chest.

Sam hopped into the driver's seat, taking the keys from his brother before starting the car and speeding off in the direction of the hospital. Y/N coughed up more blood, gradually becoming less responsive as Sam drove.

"Don't let me die," She pleaded softly. It was the first time Dean had heard her be this vulnerable and it terrified him.

"I won't... Trust me, sweetheart, you're gonna be back to annoying the crap out of everyone you've ever met in no time," Dean assured.

Y/N was only able to stay awake for a few more minutes before finally losing consciousness.

Y/N was rushed into surgery as soon as they arrived at the hospital. Dean told them that she was his wife and had been involved in a mugging. He could tell that they didn't believe him, but it didn't matter. As long as she was getting the care she needed.

"We're staying... It's non-negotiable, alright?" Dean said firmly, looking over at his brother.

"Glad we're on the same page," Sam nodded.

...

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, squinting in the bright light as her head pounded. She turned her head to see Dean lounging in the chair beside her bed as he lazily flipped through a magazine.

She gulped before speaking, "How long was I out?" Y/N questioned.

He looked up at her, "Three days," He stated, looking back down at the glossy pages.

"Shouldn't you be three states over by now?" Y/N asked.

"Well, I rescued a damsel in distress who got herself skewered by a metal pipe. I thought sticking around to make sure she didn't die would be the gentlemanly thing to do," Dean smiled.

"Sounds like a badass," Y/N muttered.

"She is," Dean agreed, eyes flickering up from his magazine to meet her's.

Y/N looked away, eyes scanning the small hospital room and quickly noticing the absence of the younger Winchester, "Is Sam around?" She asked.

"He went to get coffee a few minutes ago," Dean said. Y/N nodded, shifting with a grimace as pain radiated over her entire body, obviously numbed by medication to some degree.

"How are you feeling?" Dean questioned.

"Like I got my ass handed to me," Y/N sighed.

He huffed a laugh, "You kinda did," Dean nodded.

"Yeah," She huffed, leaning back against the pillows, "Did they say how long they want to keep me here for?" Y/N asked.

"At least another week," Dean said.

"Screw that," She scoffed

"We'll help you bust out in a few days," Dean said, flipping the page of his magazine.

Y/N stared at him for a second, "Why are you still here, Dean?" She asked.

"I already told you-" "Cut the bullshit," She snapped.

"I was worried about you," Dean said.

"You have to give a shit about someone to be worried, Dean," She said. The older Winchester remained silent, staring at her expectantly.

"Well, I'll be damned... You like me!" She smirked.

"I never said that," Dean stated.

"You might as well have," She teased.

"Just go back to sleep," He said, shaking his head as he returned to reading his magazine.

"I'm not gonna let this go, Dean," Y/N stated.

"Yeah, I figured," He sighed, flipping the page.

....

PART 2

[devieuls]

ˋ Haunted .✵

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 4.9k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

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Chapter I: The Abyss of Temptation

(The shuttle landed silently on the verdant surface of the planet Khofar, a wild jewel among the worlds of the Outer Rim Territories. As the hatch opened, a wave of humidity enveloped the Jedi, carrying with it the intense scent of damp earth and the exotic fragrance of the lush vegetation. The forest stretched out before them like an endless sea of green, where the trees rose like ancient towers, their massive trunks covered in layers of gleaming moss. The thick, intertwined canopies above them created a natural roof, allowing only faint rays of light to filter through, speckling the ground with golden patches. Khofar was a living, wild planet, and they were only temporary visitors, intruders in an ancient and balanced ecosystem. Every rustle among the leaves, every distant call, was a warning. A premonition or prelude to what the day would bring.)

If only you had known in advance that your teammates would die one by one before your eyes as you returned from the hut where Jedi Master Kelnacca lived, you would have thought twice before agreeing to the mission. You had fought against the Sith who killed your friends, battling with anger and bitterness, in a grief too fresh to fully comprehend. In the end, the pain of your body hitting the hard ground was nothing compared to the searing agony in your side from a nearly fatal wound. Your vision began to blur, and you could only see footsteps approaching before everything faded to black.

You awoke slowly, as if emerging from a hibernation that had lasted for years. Your eyes opened with difficulty, greeted by a nearly suffocating gloom. The dim light of a few torches was the only source of illumination within what seemed to be a cave. The rocky walls, uneven and cold, seemed to loom over you. You felt weak, every movement was a struggle, and a dull pain throbbed in your side. You tried to sit up, but your injured side forced you back down, a hiss of pain escaping your lips. You brought a trembling hand to the wound and felt the rough texture of the bandages wrapped around the torn flesh. Despite the agony, the wound had apparently been cleaned and treated with care. Someone had taken the time to tend to it, to ensure it would heal, though it was still far from being fully recovered. You looked around, trying to piece together fragments of memory that crowded your mind. You remembered your friends' deaths, Sol screaming, your lightsaber changing color, and a battle. You recalled the fierce confrontation with the Sith, your fall, and the darkness that enveloped you. But beyond that, nothing. You had no idea how you had ended up in that cave, nor who had brought you there.

Your heart raced, panic beginning to seep into your thoughts. Were you a prisoner? And if so, who had shown such mercy to tend to your wounds? The most unsettling question was the most obvious: why hadn't the Sith eliminated you when he had the chance? A shadowy thought slithered into your mind, and the face of the Sith echoed in the depths of your being. The idea that he might have been the one to save you, to care for you, was as chilling as it was improbable. Yet, you couldn’t shake the possibility from your mind, no matter how absurd it seemed.

You dragged yourself out with great effort, and through the blinding light, you saw the silhouette of a man, barely identifiable. You followed him stealthily, still holding your side and trying to endure the pain from the wound. For a moment, you lost sight of him, only to find him again shortly after, immersed in a pool of water in what seemed to be a coastal area with black sand you couldn’t identify. Your eyes fell on the figure facing away from you, submerged in the water, his muscles relaxed, his raven hair wet and slicked back. To your eyes, the man seemed completely unaware of your presence, though he appeared to have a vigilant awareness of the surrounding area. You moved silently among the rocks and vegetation, observing your target until your gaze fell upon a pile of clothes near the shore, where the deactivated lightsaber lay. With swift and somewhat precise movements, you approached the lightsaber. Tension mounted inside you as you crouched to pick it up, aware that any sound could betray your presence. You grasped the metallic object and assumed an attack position as the man began to speak, still with his back turned while he calmly washed himself.

"how does it feel?" he said, turning towards you. You recognized him immediately. The mere sight of his face sparked rage within you. "Pleasant, don't you think?" His tone was a piercing screech to your ears. You gritted your teeth, not responding, remaining in your attack stance. "Your stance is good despite the wound on your side, but your elbows are a real mess. I had my doubts when we fought last time, and now I see why it was so easy to defeat you. Your elbows are too low; you should keep one higher, you know?" he continued, observing you. "…To block more quickly and strike with more precision." He took a brief pause. "Since you don’t know how to use the Force, you should learn to block better," he concluded, stepping out of the water, now only a few steps away from you.

"Don’t move," your stance changed, now aiming the off lightsaber directly at him. Your gaze was sharp and cold. "If you don’t want to join me, at least let me put my clothes on" he said. You took a slight step back, allowing him to exit the water. You swallowed, trying not to let your gaze fall on the naked, wet defined body of the man, keeping in your mind that he was your enemy. You began to ponder whether it was appropriate to attack him now. But it was neither Jedi-like to strike a defenseless man nor to act in such a dishonorable manner. "Surely, you’re wondering if it’s honorable to kill me like this," he began, his tone different from the one used in battle. You swallowed. Your gaze fell for a second on his chest, and you cursed yourself for the terrible idea. "In battle it’s justified, but days later isn’t it revenge?" he asked with a sarcastic tone, as if he already knew the answer. "And now you wonder if I can read your mind… and the answer is… no. Anger betrays your thoughts" he continued, dressing himself as if you weren’t pointing a weapon at him. His gaze seemed oddly gentle, more delicate, almost innocent. So much so that he almost didn’t seem like the same man who had killed seven Jedi just a few nights before.

"Why did you bring me here? Why didn’t you kill me?" you asked, watching him sternly, uncertain of what to do next. "Am I your prisoner?" "Prisoner? You’re the one with a weapon" he said with an overly calm look and an obvious tone in his voice, as he walked back towards the cave, passing by you without fear. You followed him, teeth clenched. You wanted revenge on this man, but what a miserable person you would be to strike him from behind while he was unarmed. "If you keep me here, Sol will come for you. He’s found me before, and he’s powerful with the Force." Your voice sounded threatening, though not as forceful as you’d hoped due to the stabbing pain in your side. The man turned and looked at you with a puzzled expression. "Do you think he’s powerful with the Force? It’s you who’s powerful with the Force, y/n. Someone should teach you," he said. You were stunned for a few seconds, as he knew your name. To you, he was a stranger, but you didn’t seem to be as unknown to him. The stranger walked back into the cave, and you followed him, confused. "In what way am I powerful with the Force? You should know it’s something to be practiced. If you don’t train it, it fades" you said, your voice still sharp as you scrutinized the man who seemed so at ease in your presence. You had long abandoned being a Jedi, retreating shortly after becoming officially part of the Order. If it hadn’t been for your sister leaving a trail of blood wherever she went, you would have stayed far away from that world. You had lost every Force ability, not having practiced it for many years. You vaguely remembered how to use a lightsaber, thanks to Sol, who had helped you recall the skills during the time you spent together, training with his young Padawan Jecki.

The stranger was seated next to what appeared to be a small campfire, while you kept your distance. He tasted the food he was cooking. You didn’t trust him; something about him made you suspicious, aside from the fact that he had decimated your team. "You know… The Jedi teach that there’s only one way to access the Force, and if you don’t do it their way, it fades. But there’s another way," he said gently, turning his gaze toward you. "Beneath the surface of consciousness, there are powerful emotions." "Anger. Fear. Loss…" he slowly mentioned the emotions you had learned to suppress, as you had been taught in the Order during your time as a Jedi Padawan. "…desire." The last emotion was spoken almost in a whisper as he took on a more serious and penetrating expression. You swallowed, observing him with disdain, though you subconsciously held your breath as he listed the emotions. "That’s the path to the dark side," the words came out acridly from your mouth.

The man’s expression darkened for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a mocking smile. "semantics… You Jedi are so closed-minded," he replied, turning back to the fire, stirring the stew he was cooking. "The light side isn’t the only way to access the Force. The dark side… amplifies emotions. It’s just another way to access the Force. A way… to freedom." His convincing tone almost seemed reasonable, though it was contrary to your way of thinking. "You killed my friends," your gaze grew even sharper and more bitter, as your hand still gripped the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber, seeking comfort in the familiar cold metal. The Sith’s words were like poison seeping into your mind, exploiting the insecurities you had always tried to suppress. "Friends? That’s what you call people who come to seek you only in moments of need and then ignore your existence?" His voice was laced with a mix of disdain and feigned compassion. Every word from this man was a blade sinking into your soul, touching raw nerves you had tried to ignore. You had been trained to combat fear, anger, desire—all emotions that, if left unchecked, could lead you down the dark path. But at that moment, you felt the internal storm growing, fueled by suffering and loss, a mourning.

"War isn’t pretty, y/n, sometimes…" he began, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he stood up, beginning to walk toward you with determined steps, never breaking eye contact. "Sacrifices must be made for a greater good." He stopped just inches from you, his penetrating gaze studying you with a mix of cynicism and desire, as if challenging you to contradict him. Every fiber of his being radiated an irresistible force, a magnetism that seemed to envelop him like a shadow. He leaned slightly toward you, his warm breath brushing against your skin as his lips dangerously neared your ear. "Your friends," he whispered with a cold, almost contemptuous tone, "were just collateral damage." His words were like sharp knives—cutting and relentless—but the seductive tone with which he spoke betrayed an unsettling intimacy, as if he were confiding a dark secret that only you could understand.

The stranger leaned back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes, deep as an abyss, stared at you with an intensity that seemed to penetrate directly into your soul. His face was close, too close, and his expression was serious, almost sorrowful, but there was no trace of remorse—only a dark understanding. "Why do you love people who can only go so far?" His voice dropped further, becoming a near-confidential whisper. "Who can’t go as deep as you can?" His gaze was intense, his eyes locked onto yours with an expression that seemed to reveal far more than his words had. There was a hidden desire, a need struggling to surface, but the man skillfully masked it, maintaining a subtle balance between cynicism and seduction.

You held your breath, feeling the weight of his words and his proximity. You knew that behind those words lay a darkness trying to corrupt you, but his allure was dangerously real. Your mind was conflicted, torn between repulsion at the Sith’s cynicism and the irresistible magnetism surrounding him. The man gave you a slight smile, a smile that never quite reached his eyes, as he pulled back just a few centimeters, leaving you teetering between temptation and inner struggle. "Maybe, y/n," he added in a mellifluous voice, "you’re destined for something more… something greater… something that I can show you." "I’m not my sister. I’m not so easily corrupted," you said, looking him straight in the eyes, trying to maintain control over yourself. Every fiber of your being struggled to suppress the tumultuous emotions the stranger had tried to awaken in you. Your heart pounded loudly, betraying you, but your face remained impassive, covered by a studied veil of disgust. With a slow, deliberate motion, you took a step back, putting distance between you, your gaze charged with superiority and defiance.

Qimir observed you with an impassive expression, but behind his dark eyes was growing interest, a sort of admiration for your resilience. To him, you were not like the other Jedi he had encountered, too weak or easily swayed. In you, he saw a potential acolyte, someone with an inner strength that could be nurtured and guided toward an even greater power. A subtle smile appeared on his lips, a nearly imperceptible curve that betrayed his pleasure at seeing you so determined. "You’re not like your sister, that’s true," he admitted with a tone that seemed both a compliment and a challenge. He took a step toward you, closing the space between you once more, but this time with an even more calculated calm, like a hunter who knows its prey. "But don’t mistake your determination for invulnerability," he continued, his voice soft and sharp as a blade. "The force you suppress within you, the force you’ve learned to stifle, is what could make you great—much greater than the Jedi could ever imagine. I see in you a potential that goes beyond the limitations of their dogma, and that is what frightens them." He stopped just a few steps from you, his gaze locked on yours, trying to pierce through the mask you had erected. "I’m not here to corrupt you," he whispered, his voice almost persuasive. "I’m here to offer you a choice, a path that the Jedi have always denied you. A road to a freedom you don’t yet know." You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you refused to show any weakness to him.

"I don’t need your freedom," you replied coldly, your voice steady despite the internal turmoil. "Your whispers don’t touch me. I know who I am and what I represent." "So sure of yourself" he murmured, with a tone that seemed to appreciate your determination. "But what do you truly represent, y/n? A Jedi struggling against her own nature, stifling the potential that could make her truly powerful? Oh… perhaps I should say, ex-Jedi?" he asked with ironic amusement, towering over your figure. You clenched your teeth, pointing the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber at his stomach.

He tilted his head slightly, amused, his gaze growing more penetrating as he sought to reach that part of you he knew existed—the part that thirsted for knowledge, power, something more. “You feel the Force, you perceive it in ways that even the Jedi cannot understand. And you know there is a greater, deeper power calling you. It is not betrayal to explore that possibility. It is… evolution.” His words, spoken with such conviction, seemed to echo in the cave, breaking through the barriers you had erected to protect yourself. You raised your lightsaber to meet the man's neck. “Do it… light it” he ordered, his tone of challenge making your blood boil. The Sith, on the other hand, seemed delighted by your anger, his sharp and contemptuous smile only fueling the tension. Qimir merely tilted his head slightly to the side, offering his neck completely to you, his penetrating gaze fixed on the lightsaber you pointed at him, waiting for the moment you would decide to ignite it.

“A Jedi… does not attack the unarmed" you said through gritted teeth, your voice a murmur of frustration and determination. Your mind was a tumult of emotions, but your will to remain true to your principles was steadfast. “Do you still think you’re a Jedi?” he asked, his voice low and enveloping, almost hypnotic. “Don’t you remember how your lightsaber changed color the last time? Do you still believe you must adhere to a code you’re questioning within yourself?” Those words hit like a punch to the stomach, evoking images you would have preferred to forget. The blade of your lightsaber, once glowing a pure blue, had trembled, taking on red hues like those of the man before you. You took a step back, your heart racing, desperately trying to put space between you and that voice which seemed to read into you with ruthless precision. But the man gave you no respite. His hand moved with surprising speed, gripping your arm in a gentle yet firm hold. His fingers closed around your wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from withdrawing the saber from his neck. The contrast between the contained strength of his touch and the relaxed calm of his face left you breathless.

His penetrating gaze was fixed on your eyes, a subtle yet relentless challenge. “You know yourself that after what’s happened you couldn’t return to the Jedi even if you wanted to,” he whispered, his tone charming and confident, as if he had already won this silent battle. “Sol has seen it, don’t believe that after succumbing to rage and revenge you can return to a position that no longer belongs to you.” You felt trapped, not so much by his hand holding you but by the words resonating inside you. His words seemed to challenge every certainty you had until that moment. Every fiber of your being wanted to reject him, but there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made you doubt, even if just for a moment. Qimir moved closer, his warm breath against your skin, each movement calculated with lethal precision. “It’s not a matter of principles, y/n,” he continued, his tone now almost seductive. “That pain, that anger… this is what you are.” Your breath grew irregular, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain control. “Let me go.” you threatened, your voice a low growl, but you knew there was a shadow of hesitation you couldn’t hide.

“Sol saw it… the Jedi saw it” he continued, his tone now softer but laden with cruel truth. “And for that, they will throw you away, again.” His piercing gaze cut into you, as your eyes took on an expression of anger and fear at his words. You felt his words like a sharp blade piercing through your defenses, and your gaze hardened, but you couldn’t hide the flicker of fear in your eyes. The fear that, deep down, he might be right. The fear that your Order, those you would give your life to protect, might indeed see you as a threat, something to be eliminated. The Sith sensed that shift within you, and his gaze became even more penetrating, probing every corner of your mind. It was as if he could see every weakness, every hidden thought, and he used them with a terrifying skill. “You can’t hide from what you are, y/n. The dark side isn’t a weakness… it’s your strength. And you know it.” You gritted your teeth, disgust and anger mixing into an explosive blend that pushed you closer to the edge. He seemed to know exactly which buttons to press; every word, every look was a sharp blade striking at your raw nerves. The tension inside you grew, turning into a knot that threatened to snap. Until you could no longer hold it back, and it was in that moment that you ignited the lightsaber, the glowing blade just a breath away from his neck. “It won’t be like that,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper, desperately trying to stay calm, though your eyes betrayed the mask of confidence you wore. “I will not succumb to the dark side.”

The man remained still, his mocking smile slowly widening as his eyes stayed fixed on yours, as if he were looking through you, reading every hidden thought. He swallowed slowly, a gesture that seemed almost like an invitation, a further provocation. The blade of your saber illuminated his face, but there was no trace of fear in his eyes, only a cold calm. “It’s not something you have to give in to… it’s inside you,” he said with that velvety voice of his, each word a whisper insinuating doubt into your certainties. His words struck you like a blow to the heart, breaking that fragile barrier you were desperately trying to maintain. “Your potential is immense,” he continued, lowering his voice to a warm, almost intimate whisper. Your gaze grew sharper as the subtle poison in his words sought to seep into your consciousness. The lightsaber blade barely touched his skin without making contact, his calm expression only annoying you. It was as if the threat had no effect on him, as if he knew you would never have the courage to go through with it. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate, calculated to keep you on edge, playing with your emotions like a master puppeteer. Anger bubbled within you, a fire growing ever stronger, fueled by his words, his confident smile, the way he seemed to control everything. You couldn’t deny it; there was a part of you that wanted to give in, that wanted to let go of the anger, the pain that burned so intensely. And he knew it; you could feel it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

“I understand…” His voice was a seductive whisper, just above a breath, as his hand rose with studied slowness, approaching yours without ever touching it. His eyes, which had been filled with impenetrable confidence until now, took on a new light, something deeper, almost vulnerable. “I’ve lost everything, y/n…” His gaze now seemed sincere, almost pleading for some strange reason. “But when you lose everything,” he continued, his hand now resting on yours, which still gripped the cold lightsaber handle. The contact was surprisingly gentle, a light pressure, but enough to make you feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His grip was soft but firm, and the contrast between his words and the apparent gentleness of the gesture made you waver. “That’s when you’re truly free,” he concluded, his voice a whisper carrying an inescapable weight, an invitation to surrender, to let go of everything that still bound you to the light. His gaze locked onto your eyes, deep, almost pleading, but not for pity: for understanding, for sharing. It was as if he wanted you to see the world through his eyes, to understand that the dark side wasn’t a condemnation but a liberation. His words struck you forcefully, penetrating your defenses once again with lethal precision. It wasn’t just a mental game; there was something genuine in the pain that lingered in his voice, a shadow of loneliness that echoed your own torment. And in that moment, the Sith you had seen as an implacable enemy became a figure that seemed to understand your suffering, your anger.

“The anger you feel, the pain that consumes you… you don’t have to fight it,” he continued, his tone calm and inviting. The tension between you was thick, almost suffocating. You felt the dark side’s pull toward him, the promise of freedom shining like an irresistible temptation. But there was something more in that man, something human, making it harder to you to ignore. The sincerity in his gaze, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper, made you doubt your certainties. His hand, warm against yours, made you feel dangerously close to an abyss you weren’t sure you wanted to avoid. You remained still, analyzing his words in your mind. The lightsaber still tightly gripped in your hand, your teeth clenched as you swallowed before sighing, thinking about what you should do. You deactivated the lightsaber and stepped away from him, pressing the hilt of the now-deactivated saber against his chest. You wouldn’t be deceived by his seductive words. You knew who you were and what you fought for. But, inside, a small part couldn’t help but wonder: what if he was right?

“You don’t know me to tell me these things. And as I’ve said, I’m not corruptible like my sister,” You hissed, your voice charged with a tension the man couldn’t help but appreciate. He let his smile spread slowly across his face, watching with almost amused interest as you deactivated the lightsaber and then pressed the hilt against his chest. The determination in your eyes, the resolve in your gesture, fascinated him. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected, but there was something in you, an inner strength, a resilience that intrigued him deeply. He could see the internal struggle you were facing, the conflict between the Jedi code and the emotions he had deliberately stirred.

The Sith, with a slow and measured gesture, placed the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber on a nearby rock. The smile on his face shifted into a smirk of satisfaction. “Perhaps I know you better than you think,” he admitted, his voice soft and filled with an intensity that echoed in the silence of the cave, where only the crackling of the fire could be heard. “I see who you are… who you could be. Your strength, your will…” His steps continued to close the distance between you, and you took a step back, trying to maintain the space between you. He gently took your wrist and pulled you slightly towards him, towering over your smaller figure. He looked at you with what might have seemed like admiration or… desire. You held your breath, swallowing, paralyzed by what could be the gentlest yet most dangerous of predators. The man brought his face closer to yours, the distance between you reduced to mere centimeters, his breath mingling with yours, warm and slow. His touch was once again firm but never painful. His eyes, dark as the abyss, glowed with an intensity that slowly captivated you. You found yourself hanging on his lips, almost asking for permission to breathe regularly. “It is rare…” he concluded. You took a deep breath, and the tension between you was growing increasingly palpable. His tone was like sweet poison, flowing slowly through your veins, making you doubt once more everything you had always believed. His hand slowly moved from your wrist to your side, stopping just below your ribs, where the wound, though treated, still throbbed painfully. The contact, though light, made you flinch, a mix of pain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the tension between you becoming almost unbearable.

“You’re still loyal to someone who didn’t think twice about abandoning you to the enemy on Khofar some nights ago…” You swallowed at his words, feeling the knot in your throat that blocked every word and the weight in your stomach. “Deep down, you’re still searching for a master, someone to guide you… That life, you’ve never truly felt it as your own; they never understood you,” he continued, his gaze fixed on your eyes as if he could see inside you, reading every thought, every hidden emotion. “But I can.” For a moment, you felt yourself falter at those words. The tension between you was palpable, and you could not take your eyes off what must be your enemy, although your mind tried to keep lucidity. Your breathing was slow and irregular, each breath an attempt to hold back an invisible and unknown force that seemed to want to overwhelm you. The knot in your throat was getting tighter, blocking the words you wanted to say. Your eyes were mesmerized. There was an incredible intensity in those foxy eyes, a mixture of fear and fascination that left your heart inexplicably throbbing and mind confused. You failed to swallow trying to make words come out to counter his claims

“You are like me…” he whispered a short distance from your lips.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Notes :

Well, yes, the sexy hot af villain who will be the protagonist of the new series is Him. Qimir, from The Acolyte. If you don’t know him, go and watch that series because Manny Jacinto put all his effort to seduce us towards the dark side. This is just the beginning, still do not know how many chapters will have but I hope not many, I would like to write about more topics for him.

if you haven’t seen the series there will be some spoilers, so please watch the series first

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

[moronkombat]

Straight to it, Bi Han finds his wife dead 😘🥰😍

tw: character death, afab pronouns used

god this ask is blessed

Wind blows lightly, the breeze is warm and pleasant. Loose strands of pure ebony wisp past the curve of a cheek bone while eyes just as dark look to a gathering of flowers so perfectly planted. Bi-Han watches as petals fall limp and wrinkled, flora beginning the end of its life. There's a hand holding his, so much smaller than his own, yet the weight heavier than any mountain.

He hears her speaking and notices her adoring smile. She is beautiful, really, a grand masterpiece of humanity's kindness. Bi-Han loves her more than he can love anything else. She knows this, he never has to say it. He need only look upon her and his heart shines through his gaze.

They stood together in their garden as they always did before Bi-Han had to go. This their own little sanctuary where time stops. They should have never left that place.

Heart pounds in his chest, legs carry him faster and faster. Blood has spattered and drenched him while he runs through hallways that seem almost endless. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This meant to be between him and the Tengu and yet they have pulled that which is most precious to Bi-Han in its horrible grasp.

Ice continues to pierce those who stand in his way and the blood is so heavy upon his skin. He cannot stop, he must find her. Bi-Han knows the Tengu have her, they had told him as much. Their bodies are ripped and torn as the frantic man searches for his kidnapped wife.

The corpses have led him to some place dark but her light still shines through. There she stands, held by hands Bi-Han wishes to slice. Her eyes...she is terrified. She quivers and shakes while tears dirty her face. Bi-Han rages, an internal war erupts. Beast like eyes stare at the one who holds her from him and fingers twitch and become frigid.

"I'll kill you..." Bi-Han rasps through his bloodstained mask and everything within him begins to shake.

The Tengu looks at him, unafraid and resilient. He hums something that Bi-Han doesn't catch before eyes begin to crinkle into a smile.

"I know." He says. "But I will destroy you."

No! Bi-Han lunges forward, the ice that runs in his veins manifesting into life. Life really is a fickle thing. Blades catch the dimmed light of the room and beam with the strength of the sun. Sharpened and refined metal cuts through the air before it embraces flesh. Ribs begin to crack, blood begins to pour and her shriek lasts only but a moment before lungs are lacerated by a Tengu's wrath.

Blood flies through the air and paints a man most terrified. Droplets of her warm and scalding blood find themselves colliding onto Bi-Han's cheek as he reaches forward for her. Eyes widen while hers begin to fade dim. There's a scream. One inhuman and broken apart. As she falls, ice cuts through her attacker's throat and a life is ended.

Before that wretched Tengu body and even hit the floor, Bi-Han is cradling his dear wife who gasps and writhes in pain. His eyes look over her, blood is pooling from her wound even as his hands attempt to stop it.

"No, no, no, no-" Bi-Han panics, cold hands covered in burning crimson as a palm lays against her chest. "It's going to be alright, it's going to be okay-"

She knows he is lying but her words cannot form. Too trapped by the gasps for breath and cries of pain. Her blood is spilling faster now, it falls from her lips and runs down her chin like a flowing stream. The visage of him begins to blur until there is nothing but an obscured void.

"Stay with me now...!" his words all she has left to cling to but even they begin to echo and fade.

Her gasps, her pained whines...they are gone now. She is gone. An empty body is left in her place, limp and heavy. Bi-Han's eyes dart around her, a hand coated in red cups her cheek. He called out her name but she merely stares back at him with hazy eyes and bloody lips. Bi-Han's trembling body now crumbles apart and he cradles her just as he did when they were alone in that very special garden. The garden they never should have departed from.

He cries, he wails, begging her to speak to him, to hold him like she always did. She cannot, her body no better than the corpses he left behind. There's hurried clatter, the sound of footsteps approaching. Two younger brothers stand in the doorway, staring at the sight they should have never seen.

They stand together, Tomas and Kuai Liang looking at each other. Both are unsure of what to say as they watch their eldest brother sob and hold onto an empty husk of what was once the love of his life.

Bi-Han's mind is lost to him. He begs and pleads for her to awaken; he screams in the agony of pure destruction. The one he cries for cannot hear him. The wind blows lightly, the breeze cold and haunting.

[ashthemadwriter-archived]

So, I don't know where the hell this came from but I did something.

TW: NSFW content, Friends with benefits, Unstablished relationship, Vaginal penetration

Needy, needy boys.

He's always been taken for a playboy. He comes over in the middle of the night, gets what he wants and then you'll never hear of him...

...until he's in the mood again. Then he comes back with a straight face like nothing happened, everything's fine and he's not treating you like some kind of doll he only plays with whenever he feels like it. And you're stupid, so fucking stupid as your arms are always open, welcoming him into your little corner of solitude.

But after a while, something happens. His smiles are more genuine, his embrace feels warmer than before and most importantly, when you wake up in the morning he's there, already up, staring at your face with a somewhat unknown look.

Then he's gone again. His absence lasts longer than usual. You don't know if you should text him. Would you come off as clingy? This is probably a bad idea. If he wanted to hear from you he would have at least given you a ring. Are you done? Is he abandoning you for someone else? Someone prettier, with bigger eyes and a smaller waist... Doubts and insecurities fill your head, days turn Into months, hope gets lost in your sleepless nights until that night, that one night that makes you feel everything and nothing at the same time.

After receiving that one text "I'm outside", you run to the door to see if you aren't dreaming and this isn't just a figment of your imagination, and there he is, standing in front of you, looking all different. Good different or bad? You can't really tell, and you know what? You don't feel like putting much thought to it either.

He slams his lips onto yours, your clothes are taken, torn apart laying on the floor, you somehow find your way into the shower, the cold water makes you gasp and cling onto him even more. You're soaked under the water but you don't feel clean, body tainted with lust and desire.

Things are happening fast but it's not the same anymore. There's no mind games this time cause he's so needy and been dying out of starvation. Instead of his teeth sinking in your skin it's his kisses, penetrating your flesh, your blood, your soul. He's kissing your soul and you're holding him with a deathly grip, never having enough. Nobody talks. It's just meaningless sinful sounds and kisses, kisses, kisses. He's so needily passionate and it's beautiful; making you feel whole, significant. His lips trap your bottom one and suck it in. He's breathing loudly, you've been kissing for quite a while now but every time you try to part he doesn't let you. It's like he wants to die, drown in your kisses, or perhaps he finds them more addicting than oxygen.

It won't be long till you feel your release approaching and he feels it just as precisely as you, you've literally become one now and he knows your body like the back of his hand. He puts his skills into use and thrusts rapidly, taking his frustration out on your cunt and you're fine with it. He's been deeper than this before but it's never felt this intimate. All his actions are rushed and you know he's not going somewhere; he's just suddenly so needy and you adore it already.

You're shaking, he's shaking and with another thrust, you're gone. Your body is still caged in his strong arms, but your soul has fallen into the land of euphoria. Everything feels numb, the water that's now marking your skin red, the pain in your back, your chest, your heart. It's just him, him and you're in love, glad that he's in love too. You scream as he keeps thrusting through your orgasm and he moans in your mouth, loudly. It's needy, so needy, but so stunning that you can't complain.

When you come down from your high, he finally parts away. You're both panting and desperate for air but there's something miraculously. You look at each other and he's eyes are talking, it's proof that he wants, you needs you, can't get by without you. Looking at this messed up man under the cruel whips of hot water, you find yourself in love. Ah what a beautiful feeling it is, to be able to love and to feel loved. He's with you now, you won't be waiting for him anymore, he'll always be here, that's what you're thinking.

But the next morning he's gone, and this time for good; because you made him feel something,

That he doesn't deserve you.

DAZAI, Ranpo, NIKOLAI, OIKAWA, IWAIZUMI, Kuroo, SUNA, Osamu, Shinazugawa, UZUI, GOJO, Fushiguro, Geto, EREN, MELLO, Vanitas

[heartfullofleeches]

envisioning zombie yan suggesting his creepy loser lover to wear a condom when he fucks his other holes just in case but creepy loser lover just doesn't gives a damn.

He's going to get his dick wet with zombie boy's blood and other liquids!!

[18+, TW: Body horror, wound-fucking]

Zombie-Boy suggests it only to be mindful and not gross his partner out, but deep down he wants his creepy love dick-deep in his guts as badly and literally as they're inching for the same exact thing. This loser has never been shy about their wants, but Zombie-Boy still can't wrap his head around their depravity. Their twisted pleasures and labored breathing in his ears drive him absolutely mad - he always wanted someone who wasn't afraid of his.... "extra holes", but for his darling to want to fuck said holes with no remorse? It's all the proof needed that they're meant to be <3

[Tw stuff under cut

-

"Cheeeth-"

Posing his index and middle fingers at the camera, your boyfriend tries his best to smile while keeping his phone on the both of you. It's a little difficult to hold it steady with your hands wrapped around his head like that - and even harder to grin with the backs of his lips and teeth brushed by your cock head as it rams against the healthy wall of his left cheek. Saliva and precum drips from the torn flesh of his right - conjoining with the thick blood congealing from his gums. Light flickers distantly in his glassy eyes at the mixing of your fluids. Snapping his prized photo, your boyfriend's tongue measures the extent of your length as he sticks it through the hole of his cheek, the tip of the pale muscle reaching well past the norm for any normal human. You wince at the suction of his gash as you pull away from the side of his face - dick throbbing and dyed crimson.

"You're... such a freak...."

Your boyfriend flashes you a proper smile. "Says the guy sticking their dick through my cheek. Quit your whining and get down here and kiss me already~"