#@pulse-of-maggots

[outlying-hyppocrate]

de sade fucks actually 10/10 song

REAL AS FUCK ABSOLUTELY IT SO DOES YOU ARE SO RIGHT.

[rastronomicals]

3:45 AM EDT March 13, 2024:

Slipknot - "Pulse Of The Maggots" From the album Vol. 3: (The Subliminal Verses) (May 21, 2004)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Vermin Songs

[juhnkit]

Motivational Music in the Morning ... #Slipknot, #PulseOfTheMaggots ... from #Volume3, #TheSubliminalVerses [Official Audio Track] (2004) MMitM1

[vanweezer]

slipknot was sooo right. what the fuck is up , get the fuck away

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Slipknot - Wait and Bleed 1999

"Wait and Bleed" is a 1999 song by American heavy metal band Slipknot, released as the their debut and lead single from their 1999 self-titled debut album. After being remixed to replace the screamed vocals in the verses with more melodic singing, it was released as the lead single from the album in July 1999, and peaked at number 34 on the US Billboard Hot Mainstream Rock Tracks chart in February 2000. It remains one of the band's most popular songs.

"Wait and Bleed" earned Slipknot a first Grammy nomination in 2001 for Best Metal Performance, and won the Best Single award at the 2000 Kerrang! Awards. The song enjoyed a degree of commercial success, reaching number 34 on the Hot Mainstream Rock Tracks chart and number 27 in the UK Singles Chart. It was also ranked number 36 on VH1's "40 Greatest Metal Songs" list. This track, along with "Left Behind", "Pulse of the Maggots", and "Snuff", were released as downloadable songs in the Rock Band series. A remix version of "Wait and Bleed" by Terry Date was featured on the soundtrack for Scream 3.

"Wait and Bleed" received a total of 50,6% yes votes - phew, just barely managed to avoid a tie! 😲 Previous Slipknot polls: #100 "The Blister Exists".

[magicdustsworld]

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader; tw - Fellatio, cum swallowing, adultery; divider credits - @saradika-graphics

Imagine sucking off Yakuza boss!Sukuna while he is on a call.

Forced down to your knees, red tongue darting out to swirl over his frenulum—eliciting a lewd groan from him. Sukuna peers down at you, a corner of his lip curling up into a provocative sneer while maroon gaze scorches with an erotic desire.

"Yeah and? mhmm... what the fuck did Masume say?"

Holding the phone with his left hand, he brings up the pointer of his right to his lips—gesturing you to keep it low. (As if he really wants that?) You return his gaze with a leacherous one of your own—an invitation cum challenge he recognizes all to well. You pass a smirk and not a second later, you're eagerly accepting the glans penis inside your mouth. Lapping up at the tip, you proceed downwards, coating his entire cock with your saliva before readily sucking him off.

Sukuna's attention is allegedly on the call at hand. A blissful expression clouds over his eyes s he hums and murmurs curses under his breath while speaking to— whoever the fuck it is. However, as you go down on his cock, bopping your head in a to and fro motion, all to please him like a good girl, he just seems to not notice it. Taking it for granted, is he? Unknowingly, you scoff under your breath, trails of his musky precum settling on your tongue; you gulp them without much of a second thought.

You look up again and the same sight greets you. Yes, you know it may be an important call and you know you shouldn't do it. You still do it.

Your teeth grazes over his prepuce.

"Ngh Fuck– Huh? Nothing, just uh, don't worry. Whatcha' saying again?"

He glares at you, threading his fingers through your luscious strands; he tugs them back firmly. Mouth filled with cock, your protest only comes off as a jumbled mess. Leaning down, momentarily he retracts the phone from his ear, "Do this shit properly or this will be the last thing you'll be sucking." Said so, he is back to his call.

The threat lingers in the air—he isn't lying. You know. Countless times you have seen him snap the string of someone's life without an exchange of words. The grip of his Beretta M9 peaks out of his pocket, the looming peril and the sheer power he holds over you in this situation(and all the others) making itself stark clear. Despite the eminent danger oozing off of his body language, the thrill of it all sends a pulse to your core.

You clamp your legs tighter, the fabric of your panties brushing with your clitoris. Regardless, the warning does the job and as much of a desperate whore you can be for the man above you, you still want to watch and experience this charade play out.

Besides, you already got his attention, didn't you?

Gaze fixated on you, with both pair of teeth out in a menacing display akin to a ravenous beast being served, he watches you. You move your head back and forth, aiming to just give him a stellar fellatio while your cunt starts to drip with wanton need. You nibble on his his foreskin, forcing more of his girth inside your hot cavern, the wet muscle licking over the glans—raunchy moans escalating from you.

"Got over with– Ah shit! Where did you learn that? Wasn't speaking to you, just some maggots."

Seriously, maggots?

You deserve something more than that. However, before you can retract yourself from his cock, Sukuna’s strength comes to play. He, quite literally, forces you down on his cock till your smeared mulberry tinted lips wrap around his base. He buckles his hip, fucking your face on his own as he sets a relentless pace making tears to spring up your eyes. His cock head reaches so far and so deep that it hits your uvula. Manicured nails digging into the fabric of his pants, you try to balance yourself on your knees—task proving to be futile.

Guttural moans start to escape Sukuna as well. Struggling either to make sense of the speaker or let himself find reprieve with the way your mouth welcomes him.

The latter seems to win by a large mark.

"Heard ya' the first time, what the ahh– shit! You little minx," A smirk curves up his lips, forehead creasing as the product of erotigenic act knots in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck– wasn’t talking to you, bitch. Hang up."

No sooner he utters the last two words, the phone is discarded on the leather couch. He cages you in his grasp, lascivious noises releasing from him as the sweatbeads start to cling and drip down. The acrid smell of arousal and the squelching sound of mouth meeting flesh reverberates through the corners of his office.

His cock twitches in your mouth, your eyes have only partially widened when he is shooting thick ropes of cum down your throat. He holds you his place, tip of nose, pressing against his pubes till you swallow each and every seed he has to offer; something you find yourself doing alike second nature.

His grip loosens and you retract your mouth from his cock with a pop sound. A string of saliva connects your glistening lips with his cock. Trails of ecstasy running down your lips—Sukuna, extends his hands, gently wiping it away with his thumb. An act proving to be a stark contrast to the names he called you while he was bullying your throat.

With name calling, something flickers in your mind...

"Who was that?"

"Don't you wanna know?" He snickers, grabbing you by the bicep as he pulls you up on his lap so you're left to straddle him. "Just my dumb wife filling me on what she did today."

[dvchvnde]

excerpt; hitchhiker au | Simon Riley x Reader gore. graphic descriptions of decomposition. implied noncon.

“You’re not real,” she whimpers, words a rough scrape out of her raw, torn throat. “You can't be real.”

He doesn't answer tonight. Silent in his appraisal, his hatred; the bloodlust rolls off of him in waves, a suffocating deluge that tangles in her chest. Heart pulsing at the base of her throat, clogging her airways. She can't breathe. Can't move. Can only watch as the man cocks his head slowly to the side in a mutated parody of consideration. Confusion. Taking her in as he stands in her doorway, massive body filling the frame in an outline of black, making him more shadow than man. An apparition that haunts her at devil's hour. Always.

The moon's glow casts a line through the open window. A pale meridian between them. 

Childishly, she thinks of hiding under her blanket. Bad things can't touch you under the covers. Curling into a ball with her eyes squeezed shut, fingers plugging her ears. Wishing for her mother. Howling for her dad. Waiting until morning when the thing haunting her finally leaves.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. 

And she knows if she tries to hide, he'll just crawl into the bed next to her—

“Fix your bumper yet?” He asks, measured in his mockery. The weight of his words makes her stomach churn. Nausea a cold, familiar comfort that tethers itself to her ribcage. “Better get that fixed before someone comes askin’ questions, pet. Clean the blood off it, too. Caused quite the nasty spill.”

His directive makes her want to curl into a ball. “I–I didn't mean to, I didn't—”

“What'd you tell everyone? Hit a deer? Left ‘im in the bushes to die? And now he's got maggots crawlin’ all around ‘is ‘ead. Eatin’ his brains clean outta ‘is skull—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up—you’re not real! You're not real—”

The man—Simon Riley, her mind supplies bitterly, brokenly; tinged full of regret and sorrow and hatred—lashes out in an instant, moves like water, like shadows on the wall, the too bright flicker of a moving car, until he's in her face, looming over her. A massive, unclimbable wall. And she hates it. Hates when he's this close to her. Close enough to smell the stench of rotten blood that dries on his chest, the side of his head. A brown stain that sinks into the too-large frame of his chest. 

He smells of death. Sickening. Tainted with a noisome sweetness that glues in her nostrils, leaks down her throat. She can taste him there, right on her tongue. Him. Simon Riley. 

Missing, the newspapers say. But only she knows the truth. Stowed away in a facsimile of a grave by the swamps, left to rot. Here, in her bedroom. Waiting for her whenever she tries for a modicum of sleep. A veteran. A drifter. Homeless, they write, and he barked out an ugly laugh as he read over your shoulder, but said nothing else as you scrolled. Tense. Shivering in your seat, waiting for the day the police show up and arrest you. You did a terrible thing. A horrible thing. Pay for what you've done—

His hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around the delicate arch of her throat. The width spans the entirety of it until the bone china, the vulnerable slope, is clenched tight in his slick, slippery palm. Moss, she knows; it grows over his hands and feet now. The earth reclaiming the body she threw into the swamp—

“Not real?” He mocks, wrenching her closer by her throat. Pulse thudding like the wings of a hummingbird against his thumb. “Oh, pet. M’very real—”

He leans in, too, until his horrid face is lit by the sliver of pale blue moonlight. Scraps of tissue slough off of his head, skin purpling beneath the balaclava that peels off in patches. Animals, he'd told her idly, like talking about his body being eaten away by creatures was piecemeal. The jaundiced bone of his cheek pokes out from raspberry skin. It shifts when he speaks, and draws her eye to the devastation of his mouth. Jawbone visible; muscle blackened, clinging by a strip of thin tissue to his lower mandible. His teeth gleam in the light. Yellow and crooked. The rest of his face is covered under the blood soaked fabric of his mask. A small mercy, she thinks.

But the worst is his eyes. 

Once black, midnight grey, is now filmed over. Milky. And the other—

Something moves in the cherryred chasm. A long, thin black line slinks out of the gaping hole. Another. Another. From the rotten socket, a large spider emerges, crawling over the craggy pieces of his broken nose, making his decomposing body her home. 

She whimpers as the bile surges up, swallowing it down when the blue skin of his mouth peel back in a horrifying grin—

Something white falls from the corner of his eye, rolling down the slick, damp skin of his oily face in a mockery of a teardrop, the image glueing to the bone deep remorse that coils like a noose around her neck. Tighter, tighter. 

His tongue lulls out. Cold, slimy, when it flickers over the trembling ridge of her jaw. Fingers digging into her skin, stealing the warmth from her flesh. The air from her lungs. 

He'll have her like this, she knows. Always does when he gets in these moods—the kind that makes him touch her more, sink boney fingers beneath the hem of her pants, and cooing in her ear about how much he wants to eat her alive. Buzzing with some strange, electric energy. She can't run. Can't scream. 

Going to the police isn't an option when she buried a body under loose rocks and sticks. Hit and run. Vehicular manslaughter. Life over in a blink—

No. No—

She just has to wait, she thinks, her eyes slipping shut as his rancid breath curdled over the tears on her cheeks. Wait until his body rots all the way. 

Until he's nothing but bones—

Only then will this ghost finally leave her alone. 

[rastronomicals]

2:46 AM EDT September 7, 2024:

Slipknot - "Pulse of the Maggots" From the album Vol. 3: (The Subliminal Verses) (May 21, 2004)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Vermin Songs

--

[f1nalboys]

Reunion - Frank (Adam Barrett)

Frank x Fem!AFAB!Reader

hiiiii guys >:)) i promise ill get to requests soon!!!!! i just was mentally being attacked by this freak and Needed to write something super quick for him!!!! lmk if anything is ooc for him, i did my darndest writing for him!!!! i hope u all enjoy and lmk if youre interested in me writing more for him!!!! ALSO!! i know his real name is adam but to make it easier for myself i just called him frank in the fic, lmk if u guys prefer that or using his actual name 😝 <3

WORD COUNT: 3190

WARNINGS: nsfw, vampire!frank, human!reader, oral (afab + amab recieving,) choking (to the point of nearly passing out), biting, slight blood play, slightest bit of scent play??, degradation and praise, handcuffs, restraints, face fucking, multiple orgasms (afab,) creampie, this was meant to be short and then i was attacked...., pain play, mating press, implication of more sex, brief mentions/threats of being fucked until you pass out but you are fully concious the entire time, proofread but u guys know me by now

Frank tilts his head, tongue gliding across razor sharp teeth, a sinister grin gracing his normally soft features. You watch him from your spot on the bed, handcuffs tight around both your wrists and the bedframe. Tugging at the restraints, you wince as the cool metal digs into your warm flesh, squirming when you feel Frank's gaze finally land on you. 

“Keep struggling and you’re gonna make yourself bleed.” Frank grins, the bed shifting with his weight as he sits down beside you. He’s still fully clothed, a far cry from your bare skin still covered in healed-over bite marks and a layer of sweat. He leans in, hand trailing up your stomach lightly, too lightly to feel good, his nose brushing against your wrist. Frank breathes in deeply and you watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck. Y’know what? Keep doing it. I want you to bleed.”

You whine, shaking your head. “Frank, c’mon, please!” 

“C’mon, please,” Frank mimics, fake pouting. You stay silent. When he was like this, all sharp teeth and sharp tongue, it was better to take whatever he was going to give you. A fight wouldn’t stop that. His hand trails up your chest, fingers calloused and rough, before landing on the base of your throat. His grip is loose, for now. “You always been this damn whiney or did this vampire shit give me better hearing?”

You swallow heavily. “I’m sorry.” You squeak and he grins, shaking his head. His hand grips your throat a bit tighter, feeling your pulse pumping heavily under his fingers. You watch his face as his eyes close. His breathing, which you learned he had to pretend to do after getting turned, matches your own. He stays like this a while, feeling your heart beat and the air fill and leave your lungs, feeling the humanity and life pump through your body on instinct. 

Frank didn’t miss many things about being human. He was stronger, faster, more agile, smarter, more ruthless, and so fucking powerful it could make your head spin. The things he didn't have anymore he could, for the most part, recreate it well enough. Breathing was now a conscious decision, one he only did when around other people. The sunlight thing didn’t bother him, only resulted in him moving to a city where the nightlife was more important than the daytime. The bloodlust was easy to satiate with his job. 

The one thing that he couldn't ignore or replicate, however, was a heartbeat. 

His chest felt empty, a dead thing lying there doing nothing but rotting away, maggots and fungi eating away at the carcass that was his humanity. On occasion, he’d find himself laying down, eyes closed, hand over his heart, imagining the thump of it, vibrating his chest, telling him and anyone who touched him that he was something, that he was alive. Your heartbeat was the closest thing to his own he could get to anymore. Frank loved to hear it quicken, skip a beat, change in its normal soothing rhythm, all due to him. Him and his hands, his tongue, his teeth, his words. 

Him.

Frank’s eyes open again, blue eyes dark, and he sighs, letting go of your throat. “Spread your legs.” His voice leaves no room for argument and you listen, your face growing hot from embarrassment at the wolf whistle he lets out. “So fuckin’ sexy, you know that? S’why I keep comin’ back.” He murmurs, leaning over and kissing you roughly. 

It’s too much, but everything Frank did was too much; he sprayed cologne until you felt like you were suffocating, he kissed you until your lips were bruised, he went down on you until you couldn't remember your name, he killed until he was covered in blood, he betrayed anyone and everyone who was dumb enough to trust him. Everyone but you. The only person he had stayed (mostly) gentle with, loyal too, was you.

Sure, he wouldn’t ever call himself your boyfriend, but he’d kill any guy you talked to and leave their decapitated head on your doorstep, fucking you into your mattress till you couldn't walk, and tell you that you were his. For now, that was enough.

Frank kisses down your neck, sharp teeth nicking at the thin flesh, a low moan being pulled from your lips. He loved the noises you made, could get drunk off them, could pull them from you for hours, and he has. “I need you,” you whimper as his mouth latches onto your nipple, his warm tongue flicking over the hardening nub. He hums around it but doesn’t stop. You can feel him relax over top of you, his free hand squeezing at your other tit, the days stress melting away. “Please?” 

“I’m takin’ my time.” Frank says, narrowed eyes flicking up to meet your own, but he lets go of your nipple, sliding down the length of the bed. “Bet you’re fuckin’ soaked though, aren’t you? That’s why you’re begging me.” You can’t deny it even if you wanted to because his hand is cupping your cunt, thick finger prodding at your slick opening to see, and you’re moaning so loud you know your throat is going to be sore tomorrow. “Fuck, you are. Guess it has been a bit, hasn’t it? Missed me or something, sweetheart?”

“Missed your cock.”

“Just my cock?” He asks, rubbing your wetness on your clit, a shiver going down your spine. “Not my fingers? The ones on your sloppy fuckin’ pussy right now, you didn’t miss them?” He asks, a smug fucking grin on his face, his fingers moving expertly against you. “Not my mouth? Bet your pussy misses my mouth. Shit, last time we fucked you didn’t seem very happy when I stopped tongue fucking you, so what changed, huh?”

His voice is sharp, working himself up the more he talks, his eyes focused on yours. He loves the microexpressions you make when you’re trying to hold back; the furrow of your eyebrows, the twitch of your lips, the flare of your nostrils. It's so incredibly human, so incredibly sexy, he wants nothing more than to bite into your neck and drain you, keep you inside him forever. But, he can’t. He’d miss you. Instead, he slips two fingers inside your hole, the stretch making you gasp, eyes widening, heartbeat picking up. “O-okay, okay…missed you.” 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did.” He says, sliding down the rest of the bed, strong hands on your thighs, tongue swiping across your clit. Your legs try to close, your back arching off the soft mattress, the clang of the handcuffs bringing a smile to his face. Frank moans against your cunt, his fingers massaging your thighs as he enjoys himself. 

You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair and tug, bringing him closer, but these damn handcuffs keep digging into your wrists and it hurts and his fingers won’t stop pumping and scissoring inside your cunt and his lips are wrapping around your clit and he’s sucking and suddenly you can’t think of anything as you cum. Your legs shake and your eyes roll into the back of your head and all Frank can do is laugh against you as he draws it out. 

“S-stop, hang on,” you stutter after what felt like hours, your body going limp. Frank listens for once, moving his face off of your cunt but he leaves his fingers inside you, curling them just to pull a whine from your throat. You watch as he runs his tongue over his teeth and lips, tasting you, cracking his neck to stop himself from bending you in half and shoving his cock inside you. It’s been a while, almost two weeks, and he wants to savor this. Or, he wants to try. Self control has never been his strong suit. “Can you take the handcuffs off?” 

“They hurt?”

“A little.”

“Not yet.” Frank crawls over top of you, pressing his lips to yours. He’s gentle now, but you know he’s holding back. Despite how rough he gets with you, he’s always holding back from the primal urge to rip you to shreds. When he pulls away, he moves forwards even more, his knees just under your armpits. You stare up at him and he knows you’re nervous. His smile is gone, his eyes dark as he works on undoing his belt. “I’ll take ‘em off you real soon baby. I just need you to earn it first.” 

You swallow heavily, your heartbeat spiking as you watch him take his belt off. He tosses it to the side, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them down to his thighs. His pants rub against your bare chest, scratching you, but you can’t be bothered to care, not with the way your mouth was filling with saliva at the sight of his bulge. Frank laughs as you try to sit back onto your elbows, an annoyed whine stuck in your throat, and he pulls his underwear down, sighing as his cock springs free.

His cock is hard and he strokes it slowly, just out of reach. “Fuckin’ look at you… you ain’t embarrassed acting like this?” He asks, clenching his jaw to keep from moaning at the sight of you. You didn’t know it, or, at least, he hoped you didn’t, but he was addicted to every fucking thing you did. Your voice, your facial expressions, your movements, your back talk, your anger, your sadness; he was obsessed with it all. It was all for him, even when you were alone. 

Smiling slightly, you shake your head no. “Were you embarrassed eating me out?” You counter and he smirks, rolling his eyes slightly before leaning his hips forward, the tip of his cock brushing against your lips. Your mouth opens, your eyes laser focused on his dick. Frank teases you, rubbing his cock across your wet tongue.

“Mmm, fuck, I wasn’t,” he answers, tilting his head as he watches you strain your head forwards in an attempt to take him into your mouth. “But I wasn’t doing that.” You roll your eyes and look up at him, doing your best to look doe-eyed. His eyes narrow; he knew what you were doing, and he knew it would work. “So slutty, aren’t you, sweetheart? All for my cock.” As he talks, his voice low, he uses his hand to press his cock against your cheek, thrusting shallowly. His precum smears across your cheeks and you moan softly, your tongue rolling out of your mouth to slide against his shaft as he does so.

Finally, Frank pushes his cock down your throat. He does so slowly, hissing as he savors the heat of your mouth as your lips wrap around him. Your eyes close and you hum, enjoying the weight of his cock on your tongue. His cock was perfect for you; long, thick, and curved upwards, it always filled you to the brim, hitting that spot inside you to make your eyes roll into the back of your skull. 

“There you go, Y/N,” he grunts, his hips flexing. The rhythm he sets is slow and deep, making you gag each time and giving you enough time to recover before he repeats it. “Fuck, your mouth is so good, you know that? Just wanna, fuck,” his hand comes to rest on the headboard behind you, leaning over your head, plunging his cock deeper into your mouth. You hear the metal headboard creak and you know the grip he has on it is nearly enough to break it. “Just wanna fucking shove it down your throat till you pass out.” 

You gurgle around his cock, heart jumping at the thought, and he grins. “You want that, slut? Huh? Missed me so fuckin’ bad you want me to fuck your tight little throat? Make you take it even after you’re fuckin’ knocked out, using you like my own little fuck toy, my little puppet to do whatever I want with?” His thrusts get harder, deeper, and now you really are finding it hard to breathe, but you don’t want him to stop. Not yet. You have no way to stop him even if you did, and the realization is almost enough to send you into a panic. But you know Frank. He knew your body better than you did, knew what you could handle and what you couldn’t, knew what would make you cry in pain or pleasure; you were safe with him, even if he was bruising your throat. 

The edge of your vision begins to blur, the lack of oxygen making your head spin, and right when you swear you’re about to pass out, your tugging at the handcuffs finally stopping, he pulls out. You suck in a harsh breath, sputtering and coughing, not registering as Frank gets off the bed and kicks his pants the rest of the way off. It’s only when you feel his hands pressing your knees to your chest that you realize what he’s about to do. “Wait!”

“What?” He grumbles, swiping his cock through your folds, focused on the way you coat the tip. “Don’t tell me you don’t wanna fuck… that’ll be cruel...” You respond by tugging at the handcuffs again, clanging them against the bed frame, and he nods, tsking, a grin on his face. “Ah, right, right. Forgot about that. My bad, baby.” 

He grabs the key from his pants pocket, wetting his bottom lip as he unlocks them, tossing the handcuffs and keys to the side. Your wrists are raw, a few droplets of blood bubbling up along the skin. “You made me bleed.” You say softly, no venom in your voice. He grabs your hand gently, bringing it to his mouth before he licks the cut. It tickles.

“Fuck, your blood…” Frank says, giving you a look you can’t quite place before he’s back at the task at hand. Your knees are pushed to your chest, your hands positioned to hold them back as far as you could, and before you know it his cock is bullying its way into your hole. “So fucking tight.” He grunts as he sets a brutal pace, each noise of pain you make only fueling him onward. 

He doesn’t ever want to hurt you, but it’s hard not to when you sound and feel and taste so fucking good when he does.

“My cock too much?” He leans over your body as he fucks you, using his weight to keep your legs trapped above his shoulders. Frank's face hovers above yours, his eyes locked onto every twist of your face. “Too fuckin’ big, too fuckin’ thick, it hurts, Frank.” He mocks, emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust. Your arms, now free from the restraints, wrap around his shoulders tightly. “Too fuckin; much but you don’t want me to stop, fuck, ain’t that right?”

“Yes! Yes, fuck, don’t stop, please!” You cry out, the pain of being stretched out finally beginning to melt away into toe curling pleasure. The fire in your stomach is burning white hot, his stomach bumping against your clit with each thrust, his grunts replacing your own thoughts. Every word he said, every name he called you, it all blended together perfectly.

He begins to kiss at your neck, sucking marks onto your flesh only to soothe them with his tongue. “Missed you too, y’know?” He whispers against you. “Missed this fuckin’ pussy, the way you get so god damn tight. Couldn’t, shit, couldn’t even play with my cock ‘cause it didn’t feel as good as when you do it.” He laughs at this, shaking his head at himself for admitting it. He missed the other stuff too, like your smile and your laugh and the way you smelled when you were curled up in his bed asleep. He’d never tell you that, though. 

Franks thrusts grow sloppy, his patience finally snapping. “You better fuckin’ cum on my dick, Y/N.” He grunts, lifting his head for a brief moment to look you in the eyes. When he sees them squeezed shut he growls, one hand wrapping tight around your throat. “Fuckin’ look at me.” Your eyes pop open, your gasp of shock stuck in your throat. “Your greedy little cunts gonna milk me dry, you understand, bitch?” 

“F-fuck,” you gurgle, your hand grabbing onto his as he tightens his grip again. You do your best to nod, feeling spit collect at the corner of your mouth, your heart beating so quick you think it’s going to burst. You can’t breath but he’s fucking you so well you don’t give a shit; you just hope if you pass out he’ll hold off on cumming inside you until you were awake again so you can feel it. 

“There you go, baby, fuck, cum for me.” Frank grunts, feeling your orgasm just before you do. His hand lets go of your throat as you cum, shoving your head to the side to sink his teeth into your flesh. Somehow, someway, he’s able to hold off for a few moments longer, savoring the feeling of your cunt spasming around him before he cums, the sweet taste of your blood pooling into his mouth tipping him over the edge. He doesn’t let go, groaning into your shoulder as he spills inside you.

Your gasps come out shaky as he feeds. He swallows a few times before finally letting go, your blood covering his mouth. He kisses you roughly, his hips flexing, making sure your cunt gets every drop. “Gross,” you tease when he pulls away, your tongue swiping over the blood he had left behind on your tongue. Your face screws up at the metallic taste but Franks changes to be softer. He runs a finger down the side of your cheek, taking the sight of you in. “What?” You murmur, feeling your face grow hot. 

“I did miss you. For real.” He admits, corner of his lip twitching upwards at both the look of shock that crosses your face and the way your heart skips. He never admitted that to you before; it was always about how much he missed your cunt or your mouth or your hands, how he missed fucking you and making you his, and you always accepted that this was the way it would be. Sure, you dreamed about this moment time and time again, but you never actually thought it would happen. “Being away, you know, made me think some things through.”

“What kind of things?”

“Well…” He tilts his head slightly, surveying your face. “I’m thinking maybe it’s time you joined me.” His hips flex again, pushing his cum deeper inside you, and you gasp, back arching off the bed slightly. Frank moves your legs down off his shoulders and you wrap them around his waist. “Hm? How’s that sound, sweetheart?” Frank purrs, kissing you gently, his cock plunging in and out of you slowly. He pulls back, lips hovering just above yours, a smirk on his face. “You want me to turn you?

[astvrook]

洪水 | YANDERE THEMES | HEESEUNG.

much has been speculated about "sloman", whose uniqueness lies in his emergence from the sewers of south korea. known as lee heeseung, during his school years, he faced bullying because of his poor eyesight and dependence on glasses. his extreme shyness also made him the target of cruel teasing and aggression that often left him injured.

he possessed introspection and anxiety about his surroundings, revealing disturbing signs of violent instincts. yet, over time, the constant belittling undermined his self-esteem, despite his submissive nature.

once heeseung met you, his vibrant life became monotonous, losing interest in social activities and group events, along with the appearance of unfounded rumours of criminal behaviour swiftly circulating around campus. he was once arrested for assaulting a former classmate and in a cycle of obsession that drove him to extremes. through charitable acts and sexual encounters, however, he sought an escape from psychological overwhelm. because, although exhausted, heeseung gave himself body and soul, with his obsessive thoughts weaving a dangerous web, and the burning desire drove him to act violently.

when they began a relationship, heeseung always looked completely exhausted, with the scratches on his back telling the story of unbridled passion the night before, and "obsessed bitch! i'd attack anyone and gouge their eyes out for you." he told you, as desire enveloped him and he moved with fervour, exploring every corner of your body with deep movements.

his breathtaking, heart-stopping kisses remained etched in your memory with astonishing clarity. being honest with yourself, you never did not enjoy the exquisite sensation of his soft tongue delicately exploring your mouth, and heeseung, for his part, felt truly alive when you were near. your presence was vital in his life, as essential as the skin that covered him.

you personified, for him, the idea of an inner danger.

it was in late 2019 when officials discovered an alarming scene in his basement: nine bodies devoured by ravenous maggots. and ironically, each individual present had had some sort of interaction with you. for example, one of them was a young man who rudely interrupted heeseung once to ask for your phone number.

that's when you realised that lee heeseung saw each individual as a potential threat.

happily, through numerous investigations to unravel the motives behind sloman's crimes, none of them managed to effectively delve into the killer's malevolent inclinations. you alone knew that you were his source of inspiration, his muse, and never mentioned it.

(…)

and now, years have passed since what happened, and as you slowly regain consciousness, you become aware of the cruel grip of the chair beneath you. while your eyes grow accustomed to the darkness, a grisly scene reveals itself to you: a once pristine wall was now stained by a dense, clotted mass of blood, surely witness to a heinous crime from the distant past.

you attempt to inspect the abandoned chamber and spot some barely visible traces of blood, which makes your skin crawl. even the sound of laughter in the gloomy atmosphere was a clear sign of trouble, because you recognised it.

it's lee heeseung's distinctive laugh.

your pulse quickens and a wave of panic sweeps over you with unfathomable intensity.

"all individuals, no matter how repulsive, deserve a dignified representation and a final feast to bring solace. my choice would be an exquisite feast, to be shared with you… my loved one (y/n)".

our eyes fall on heeseung, and though you don't initially recognise him, a flood of memories sweeps over you with force. his appearance remains as striking as ever, but since you last saw him, he has undergone a remarkable physical transformation. he's grown in stature and gained muscle mass, which is reflected in the greater definition and prominence of his muscles, and you also sense an additional level of maturity in his appearance, now with a seriousness he didn't show before. moreover, he demonstrates a new talent: his remarkable artistic skills in using unconventional materials, such as paraffin wax, to recreate his famous clown make-up.

being near him, a wave of negative emotions sweeps over you, sending shivers down your spine at the mere sight of his presence. meanwhile, heeseung's words echo in your mind. he leans in for a kiss and the simulated blood that gushes from the wounds near his eyes stains your face. as a result, bit by bit, your thoughts become confused.

his relentless, passionate kisses saturate your mind, leaving little room for anything else, and the touch of his hand on the inside of your thigh sends an electric shock through your entire being, confronting you with a harsh reality.

"your striking beauty and the fear you provoke within me lead me to act undesirably, (y/n)".

just then, an intense anxiety causes a piercing tingling and pain throughout your body, bringing you to the brink of a fiery explosión. and heeseung feels an intense fury bubbling up inside him, making his hands throb, just as the burning desire to wield his knife and pierce hearts burns in him, as powerful as the instinct to breathe.

at the same time, a burning anger buzzes in his ears, burning his chest and clouding his vision with a red haze. "absence plunged me into madness, but now that you're back and I feel whole again, (y/n)." knees bent, heeseung's soft kisses dance over the contours of your legs.

feeling his thumb brush against your pelvis, an instant tightness in your stomach overwhelms you. scorching heat spreads through your being and descends in a wave that tightens your muscles, as the pounding of your heart and the trembling of your legs intensify as you watch his lips roam over your body. in seconds, you gasp as you feel the touch of his tongue on your exposed skin, unleashing a roar in your throat and awakening an unbridled passion in heeseung that spreads.

with passion, heeseung caresses your silky legs with his hands and lifts them to rest on his strong shoulders. In spite of the immense pleasure that almost consumes you, find the strength to resist and not succumb completely as suddenly you begin to feel self-conscious with two men standing out behind you, unable to ignore when open your eyes.

looking recognisable, you find it curious how the simple use of similar cosmetics can make people appear more attractive. then, in a moment, you can clearly distinguish them.

both jay and jake are watching you calmly and attentively. and you realise that all three of them were present in this specific place: the triad of failures.

"honey, see… this tradition of having dinner together as a family of three is something so… special." heeseung elaborates as he feels the tension, and you inwardly curse.

because there was no place safe enough to hide from heeseung indefinitely.

ENHYPEN MASTERLIST.

[navysealt4t]

a poem on a transgender kid & a mourning mother (transcript under read more)

poem:

with tears and trembling, you claim my death

mourning for me, crying for me, peace in the despair 

a pamphlet for my funeral, a headstone over my neck

while i stand in front of you, glowing, shining

feel my neck, place your hand on the crook which you held as i was a baby

do you not feel my pulse? my love? my heart? my life?

you look at me as to tell me i’m dead

but the flowers i hold are not a mourning bouquet

i pulled each flower from the ground, root and all

i tied them together with fine twine and hope

i made this body, i made this name

i am more alive with the breath of summer than you could ever know

my heart is not rotting, my hair is not falling

but you bury the maggots into my flesh as too speed the process

do you not hear my cheers? my laughter? my love?

I AM ALIVE 

with raw fingers from digging at the dirt

i pulled myself out of a self-made grave

you did not bury me, you did not save me

with no savior in sight, no hero on a horse, no sunlight through the clouds

I PULLED MYSELF OUT

there is only light here

love where there was despair

when i was hopeless, when i was lost

YOU WERE NOT THERE

do not claim to be at peace or subdued or mourning

feel my hair, feel my skin

I WILL ALWAYS BE HERE

[thegnomelord]

Congrats on 500! #28 with Gaz?

Thanks anon! Play the game HERE

Prompt: Forehead Kisses

CW: SFW, GN Reader, forehead kisses, light hurt/comfort, fluff

God, you hate flying. You don't just hate flying itself, but everything that comes with it, turning every flight into your own personal hell; The roar of the engines turning you near deaf and the hum of electricity bearing down on what hearing you have left, the metal shaking all around you like you're riding on an abandoned rollercoaster, the harsh lights overhead turned into tiny needles that stab your eyes.

But worst of all is the migraine you get each time you fly, pain pulsing and banging against your skull like a maggot growing fat off your brain. The loud US marines you were squished between certainly didn't help, making your trigger finger twitch before you clenched your hands into fists. Luckily the flight was coming to an end, the plane shaking as it landed, and you got up, trudging behind the marines.

Gaz is waiting for you on the tarmac, standing on his tippy toes to try and find you, biting on his lip when he sees you, head down, shoulders tense and his legs move before he even notices it.

"Hey," Gaz says in a hushed voice, reaching out to hold your hands. His hands are warm against your own.

You push closer to him, groaning as you bury your head into his neck. Kyle's wearing the cologne you'd gotten him, the sweet peppery scent filling your senses and easing the pain just a bit, but not enough.

"Migraine?" Kyle asks, fingers running across your scalp, his other hand wound around your waist.

"Migraine." You admit, your eyes closed, shifting your head to shield from the light and noise into his neck.

You let out a discontent sound as he pulls back, tugging on your sleeve. "Come here," He says, soft, sweet, barely a whisper to not grate on your ears. And like a lost lamb you follow after him, both of you ignoring the wolf whistles you receive from the rowdy marines.

You're a little surprised when he leads you to a janitor's closet, keeping the lights shut off as he guides you inside. "Really? What are we, teenagers?" You manage a small huff of laughter, dropping your pack on the ground, the darkness soothing the ache in your skull.

"You're certainly moody like one." Gaz cracks a grin you can't see, his eyes acclimating to the darkness quicker than yours. He guides you to sit down on a chair, clever fingers unclipping and pulling off your Kevlar vest.

"Am not." You argue, his hands settling on your cheeks making you melt. You part your legs and pull him closer so he's standing between them, resting your chin on his chest.

"What's this then?" Kyle's tone is teasing and warm, gently massaging the sides of your neck. He cups your jaw in both hands, his heart fluttering at how you just melt against him. You're always so guarded, but you tear down your walls for him, only for him.

"Me missing you." You say, honest, your eyes closing without notice, not that it makes much of a difference.

"Oh, sweetheart," Kyle coos, voice sticking to your ears like honey. He leans in, placing a soft kiss between your brows where the pain is the strongest. "I missed you too-" he does it again, the second kiss barely above the first one. "-so much."

His words birth a giggle in your chest, your body moving on it's own to hug him around the waist, to keep him close to you. "I don't believe you," You hum, just about able to make your voice sound teasing. "I need more proof."

"Yeah?" Kyle's voice is equally as teasing, his hands moving up to cup your cheeks, thumbs rubbing soothing circles above your brows, massaging the ache away like only he can. "Well, we can't have that."

He assaults you with affection from your hairline to your brows, leaving constellations of kisses across your forehead from one temple to the other, muttering soft 'I love you's and praises into your skin. Both of you start giggling like children at a random time, the sound of his laughter driving the ringing from your ears.

"Is'at 'nough proof for you?" Gaz whispers against your brow, kissing down the bridge of your nose, soft lips making your skin buzz pleasantly as they brush against your eyelids, coming closer and closer to your lips.

"I could use just a bit more." You tease him, your grip around his waist tightening; as if he'd even think of leaving you.

"Oh you cheeky shit," He giggles, pushing his head closer, "but how can I refuse?" He kisses you on the lips, slow and sweet.

You feel like a fish thrown back into water, leaning into the kiss, feeling his soft lips against yours, all of your senses consumed by him. You feel his tongue brush against your lips and you part them easily, swallowing his pleased groan as his tongue explores your mouth.

The growing lack of oxygen forces you to part only a fraction of an inch to catch your breaths, his warm breath washing over your face. You can't see his face, but you'd bet everything you own on how handsome and pretty he must look right now.

"Well?" Kyle pants against your mouth, and you feel him smirk, "Got your proof?"

"I certainly did," You chuckle, almost entirely forgetting about the migraine for a few seconds, leaning in to catch another kiss.

You both jump when someone knocks loudly on the door. "Yea bettah not be snogging in there!" It's Soap, and your lips pull in a snarl before Kyle kisses it away.

"Come on lovie," Gaz chuckles, tugging on your sleeve again. "I'll help you shower."

And you follow him, like you'll always do.

[flowercitti]

Hi!! I loved your Tav/Astarion fic where they draw his face, it was so good and tender ; ; could i request something sweet where Astarion does something selfless for Tav? presumably after the graveyard scene in Act 3 where he's finally free to be himself! thank you!

Thank you sm im glad you enjoyed my other fic! 🌸🤍 And thank you sm for sending a request! Took me a little while to figure out what i wanted to do, but I hope this fits the theme!

Fluff/Angst/Gender-Neutral Tav

Astarion taking care of a sick Tav post-canon.

🌸

It has been a very long time since Astarion has cared for another living soul outside of his own.

What would he have done with compassion during those two centuries of torture? What good would it do him, to find himself caring, to find a morsel of kindness in his rotting soul? It would not have allowed him to escape Cazador, it would not have stopped the ache in his bones, the gnawing pain that ate away at his un-beating heart. Any softness inside of him quickly died with his screams of agony—or perhaps it had died the moment his heart stopped and his throat was ripped out, a corpse left to bleed out into the unforgiving dirt.

Astarion had woken up in his own grave, choking on congealed blood and forced to climb out through the dirt until his nails had fallen off. When he found Cazador there waiting for him, he knew that his life had ended a second time.

All he had was himself—trapped in his own body as he was, barely scraps of a person, skin and flesh that was named but left vacant.

He did not care for his supposed siblings. There was no point in feeling a thing for the poor, pitiful creatures that were just as trapped as he was. Unwilling perpetrators in his torture, but perpetrators nonetheless—sorry sacks of flesh that were just as fucked as he was. He thought—knew, for a long time, that none of them were going to make it out of this.

They were going to die here, enslaved and starving and empty, or tortured for the rest of eternity.

It was death that Astarion yearned for most after so long, when freedom seemed like the dreams of someone far younger and more naive than he was. It was barely a decade before he gave up, before he knew there was no point anymore. His body had been twisted, changed, and something wicked and burning pulsed through his veins—like the thick sludge of tar, like the foul stench of sewer water and waste.

Whoever Astarion was before—they were long gone now.

There was nothing left, no family, no friends, no lovers that lasted longer than a night. Perhaps he had a mother, perhaps not. He couldn’t remember after long enough, drowning in a cloud of pain, his mind swimming, thoughts and memories sliding out of his hands like water. Flashes of soft hands, of a motherly voice and the hum of a gentle melody to greet him at the deepest recesses of his mind. Maybe he had just come up with such a thing for comfort, he doesn’t know.

Days would pass in episodes of complete dissociation, his mind so utterly disconnected from his own body, eyes only catching flickers of lights and colors before he retreated again. His body would move and he would not know why, he would hear voices and he could never make them out, his mouth would move with noise that he could not hear.

Cazador hated it most—when Astarion was too gone to feel it.

“My sweet Astarion. Where have you gone, boy?”

Astarion was not sweet—his flesh felt putrid, like the peeling of rotten fruit, like he were flayed open and bare for picking. His mouth tasted like the blood of rodents and maggots, or the spit and release of another body he could not remember the face of. He felt like a retched thing, his blood poisonous and his mind infested, a disgusting thing that Cazador owned—a kept thing that did not remember what it felt like to be alive.

Other times, Astarion felt everything in bright, startling clarity. Every starburst of pain, every touch, every drop of his own blood spilling onto the floor. Cazador loved it when he screamed, when he was brought to pathetic tears, too broken to scramble for a semblance of dignity—but never so pitiful as to bother with begging. It would have done nothing, would have granted him no mercy, and would have only served to please Cazador’s sadistic whims. It was a lesson he had learned early, that he held no power, no control. What was done to his body was done, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Inescapable—pressing over his skin like a sticky film, keeping him trapped, keeping him present when all he wanted to do was slip away. It was a cycle, unending, and it went on for over two bloody centuries.

Any remnants left of Astarion’s heart had been carved out and eagerly feasted upon before his own eyes. He believed that he was never going to get it back, that he wouldn’t even want it, should it be offered. He had no use for it now, had no use for more weakness, more pain.

And then he finally tasted freedom again—and then there was Tav.

After two centuries of pure shit, of torture and existing as the barest sliver of a person, Astarion began to remember what it felt like to care.

It was fucking terrifying. It was exhilarating, gratifying, like waking anew. Astarion hasn’t even felt alive in the past two-hundred years, and now he feels like he’s been washed clean and left a different person. Hopefully for the better, this time around, and so much of it is due to Tav and their persistence. They helped him wipe Cazador’s sorry face off the planet, and stayed at his side every step away, patient and kind when Astarion didn’t deserve a bit of it.

He cares about them, even when he had thought he’d forgotten how to, and he can’t help but be grateful for even having the chance to try.

And right now—Tav is sick.

They’ve barely left their bed in two days now, curled under thick furs and shivering, little more than a head that peaks out from under their cocoon. They only leave to piss or puke their guts out, before crawling back under the comforters and passing out.

It isn’t fatal, and it will pass within the coming week, even with the discomfort and pain. Tav is resilient and tough, has been through far too much to be taken by simple illness. Astarion knows that they’ll make it out of this just fine, that they’ll be back on their feet soon. They don’t need a bedside nurse, and surely not in the form of Astarion of all people—but.

He’s cradling a bowl of soup in his hands. Its heat is stark against the natural frigidness of his skin, and the chicken broth makes his stomach turn, food that would expel itself immediately should Astarion venture for a taste. But the soup is for Tav, prepared to the best of Astarion’s ability, and surely edible. He hopes.

He places it on Tav’s bedside table, perching himself delicately on the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t eaten anything today, darling.” He says quietly, his hand brushing gently over Tav’s shivering shoulder. It’s nearly noon now, but the room is bathed in pitch black to protect Astarion from the sun’s rays. He misses the warmth of it, now that he is unable to traverse under its watchful eye—but he dispels the thoughts quickly lest it sour his mood.

Tav makes a small noise, turning over to face Astarion, blinking up at him blearily. Their eyes are glassy, their face tacky with sweat, lashes fluttering as they try focus.

“Huh?” They mumble dumbly, tongue thick in their mouth, a hitch catching in their throat that’s immediately followed by wracking coughs.

Astarion winces, placing a hand on their forehead and almost flinching away at the temperature, “You’re nearly scorching, dear.”

Tav blinks, their brows furrowing, “Thank you.”

Astarion resists the urge to allow his head to sink down into his hands.

He only huffs instead, “Come now, I need you sitting up for this. If you spill all this soup on yourself after I spent so much time preparing it, I’ll be very—upset with you.” The words are stilted, far softer than the terse tone he was going for. True, genuine threats used to slip off his tongue so easily, even in regards to Tav—if he was pissed off enough. Now, he just sounds like a doting hen—a loving husband, maybe.

But Tav looks nearly worried, though moving easily with Astarion’s urging hands, propped up against the headboard, cushioned with pillows.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Tav asks suddenly, their hand wrapping around one of Astarion’s wrists. They hold him there, a feverish looks in their eyes. “You—you haven’t fed in a while.” They pout, tugging at their shirt collar, as if they were preparing to bare their neck right then and there.

There’s something that twists behind Astarion’s ribs—tight and heart-shaped.

He pushes Tav’s shirt back up, lingering briefly over the warmth of their skin, “You’re sick, darling. I’m not feeding off of you when you’re like this. I shan’t starve without you, I promise.” He says lightly, taking the cooling bowl of soup in his hands, ignoring the violent churn of his gut. Tav looks nearly teary-eyed when he turns back to them, their lips twisted in discomfort, their gaze burning with fever. Astarion sighs quietly, taking the side of their face in one palm, silently delighted when they sink in to the gentle touch.

“Come now, don’t look so sad. How about this—I—I’ll feed you this time, hm?” His thumb traces over their cheekbone, “You needn’t be the one looking after me.”

Tav sniffles, “I like taking care of you.”

Astarion takes a measured breath, trying not to stare blankly at such a bold-faced admission. He thinks Tav may come closer to killing him than Cazador ever did.

“Yes, yes, I know dear. Now eat, and once you’re all better, you can be your perfect, doting self again.” He pulls his hand away reluctantly, but the warmth of Tav’s skin stays pressed into his palm.

But Tav seems to hum happily at the thought, gratefully accepting the spoonful of soup that Astarion brings to their lips. They make no obvious face of disgust, so Astarion decides that it truly is edible. That, or they’re too delirious from fever to even notice—but they eat the whole bowl regardless. They can barely keep their eyes open by the time its empty, their chest rising and dropping with slow, deep breaths.

“Lets lay you back down before you pass out. You’ll whine about the crick in your neck if you fall asleep like this.” Astarion tells them, bullying them back under the covers as they groan sadly, looking far too small and breakable against the large mattress.

“I feel awful.”

Astarion swallows, gently brushing his knuckles over their forehead. “You’ll get better soon, love. You needn’t worry.” The words sound as if they were meant more for him, a strange tightness in his throat.

He knows that they will be fine, he knows that. They’ve both been through worse. And yet—

He leans down, lips brushing over their forehead, far too hot and sweaty. He lingers for a moment longer anyways, listening to the soft murmur of contentment that leaves Tav’s mouth.

“I love you.” They mutter drowsily, their eyes flickering open for just a moment before they slip closed again.

Astarion breathes out, weak and shuddering.

“I love you too, darling. Now sleep, I’ll be back soon enough.”

🌸

Thank you sm for reading! If you wish to send me Astarion-flavored requests for fic or headcanons, they’re still open! ☺️🤍

[magicdustsworld]

Honour

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Synopsis: You've heard tales of the infamous humanity's strongest soldier – Captain Levi. The first time you meet him, you come to know how wrong they are.

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Warnings: Graphic description of violence, injuries, bit of something I can't add, gn!reader, Canon AU, no mentions of y/n.

Word count: 1.9k

Event: Submission for the prompt day 6 - Love at first sight on @levievent

“Square up, cadet!”

The terse call from one of your fellow soldiers instantly prompts you to straighten your spine. Footsteps serenade before halting right beside you, he scrutinizes the area you were assigned to clean. A hefty sigh leaves your lips, hopefully you’ve done a good job enough considering you’ve been on it since the last twenty minutes.

“Is this what you call clean?”

Just like that all of your hopes are shattered.

He presses the pad of his finger on the glass pane, dragging over the surface – a speck of dust grazes his skin. You swallow a lump, “I- well…”

“What are you mumbling like a maggot, now?”

Chewing on your bottom lips, your eyes flickered from him to the window “No, I- I thought it was clean-”

“Don’t get cocky, newbie.” He leans towards you. “I don’t know what the hell is up with you freshly out trainees-”

“Oluo, stop trying to imitate Captain Levi!”

A third voice chimes in, soon a hand is placed over your shoulder and you are met with a concerned mien of an auburn haired woman. “You okay?”

You nod and Oluo lets out a grunt. “Did I do something wrong?”

A corner of her lip curls up, “Not necessarily.” Her eyes flicker to the window pane then back at you. “You just need a little… guidance.”

You blinked, “Guidance?”

“Yeah, I will help you out around here.” She muses. “Its just- the captain can be quite a clean freak so if you want to be in his good books, you should get used to spotless and abrupt cleaning sessions.”

-

“Hm? Captain Levi?”

“Yeah,” You affirm, sitting beside Petra in the mess hall. “What is he like?”

She tilts her head – taking a second to conjure a proper response for you. Her spoonful of porridge has halted near her mouth before it is put down. “The true captain Levi he is well… cold, irritable, violent and always has a poker look on his face.”

 “Was he always like that?”

“As far as I’ve seen,” Petra answers and you nod. Silence for a second stretches the table until she starts again, “I’ve heard rumours that say he was a thug but he joined the scouts after Commander Erwin pulled some strings. He hails from the underground so-”

“From the underground?”

“From the underground.”

A pang of unease surges through you. Although you’ve lived your entire life on the surface, you aren’t elusive to the underground district. A region where no sunlight permeates, a hub for the criminals and the thought of such an enigmatic figure of the military being from there happens to cause an apprehensive pang.

She chuckles, “Pretty conflicting for you, right?”

“Well uhm,” You try to suppress the coy smile from forming on your lips. Running your fingers through your hair, you answer, “To be honest, I had a rather different picture of humanity’s strongest soldier.”

“Don’t let that title deter your eyes, cadet.”

This time, it is the soldier sitting across you who intervenes in the conversation. You shift your gaze to him, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t get all blinded by that strength and titan kills,” He replies with venom lacing his tone. “He doesn’t care about any of his comrades.”

“Duran!”

.

You try to twist your body, wincing from the pain that surges from your ripped abdomen.

Warm blood gushes out from the ghastly wound, hands coated with blood of yours – it’s a futile attempt to stop the bleeding by pressing on the area. The pressure only causes the backflow of blood causing it to rise up your throat and akin to bile, you throw up. Consciousness slips in and out of you by each passing second and the way your shredded intestines coil in fingers, the smooth pulsing flesh grazing your skin sends tremors up your shoulders.

A splitting headache shoots through your mind and you grunt. You can feel the anxious yet despondent stare of the medic by your side. The rather slow paced bandaging of your torso helps little. It’s almost like they have given up. Honestly, you can’t blame them for their surrender, the injuries you’ve sustained from almost being chewed up as titan fodder is far from curable. Even if you manage to not lose your life now (which is impossible with the amount of blood you’re losing), you’ll only be a burden to bring back to the walls (a factor which would risk the loss of more lives).

Either way, there is no win.

A zap of the ODM gear momentarily distracts you from the pain. Sooner than you can comprehend, there’s another figure kneeling beside your worn and moribund form. You are greeted with a lingering warm touch on your shoulder and just like that, your ragged breath ceases.

“What’s the condition?”

“The organs are ruptured and I can’t stop the bleeding, Captain Levi.”

The quivering voice of the medic stalls you that this is in the infamous Captain.

You don’t know what comes over you but you try to speak; resulting in a coughing fit with blood dripping down your lips, marring your skin with its tint.

Levi’s attention shifts to you, his thumb brushes a slow circle over the fabric of your uniform, “Easy there, Soldier.” He says, tipping his head as a sign. “You don’t need to speak.”

You gesture your understanding with a scuffling nod. Significantly, your vision is blurred due to obvious reasons. Yet, it’s not impossible to mark raven bangs fanning his forehead, sharp features, steel blue eyes that gaze down at you with… is that concern?

“Don’t get blinded by all that strength and titan kills, he doesn’t care about any of his comrades.”

Didn’t they say he doesn’t care?

“If you want to know does your sacrifice make any difference or not,” He starts, voice lowering yet a newfound grit ignites. “It does.”

It doesn’t. You want to say. It doesn’t make a difference. It is only your first expedition and just like the average rate of sixty percent of the new cadets who traverse beyond the walls for the first and last time – this is your last as well. 

It’s what they are obliged to say in the last moments. The same words will be spoken to your family as well. Just a responsibility.

“You will be remembered,” He tells you, his shoulders turn rigid as he turns his full attention on you. “If not by anyone else, by me you will. Your will and memories will live on as long as I live.”

Never did you think you’d be put in a situation where mere words of assurance would prove so much to you. Never did you even think that you’d receive them from the proclaimed stoic captain. It had been a cloudy today, for the reason the sight of an aberrant circling the region near your flank was unnoticed. Till the time a messenger had rode off to relay the news, the destruction had commenced. You had given up as soon as the titan got hold of you, even after you were released from its hold, the sustained wounds and the pain rippling through your gobbled up gut wall were toppling you down into a spiral of decadence.

 The storms running in your head were ruining the garden of clarity until a ray of sunshine pierced through the clouds in the form of Captain Levi.

Humorously, the gloomy sky clears up – the soft warmth of the sun mingling with the air of death falls upon you.

“It’s just the captain can be quite a clean freak so if you want to be in his good books, you should get used to spotless and abrupt cleaning sessions.”

Maybe the vast amount of blood loss was affecting your capability of rational thinking; you hold up your bloodied hand. Without a second thought, Levi seizes it.

“I will kill each and everyone of those bastards who did this to you.”

For reasons unknown, you find tears prickling up your eyes. You choke out a sob as the tears fall down. Your body is weakening but Levi holds your hand in his – interlocking the fingers. The blood drips down from the conjoint to the cufflinks of his shirt; he doesn’t let go. Instead, you are met with a tender touch of him wiping away your tears.

“The pain will end soon enough.”

It will. You need to accept it.

Through the impaired vision, you can make out his beautiful steel blue eyes staring back at you. Tears have not collected over his lashes but the silent intentions evoked by his gaze is more than any emotion you’ve known. It’s a good enough sight for a last sight.

“So will your suffering,” He continues with a cinched determination. However, the grave voice is coated with a tinge of sincerity and an emotion you can’t decipher. “Wherever you go now, you will be free so-” He pauses, swallowing a lump in his throat. “So forget about this wretched world anyway. You are destined for peace.”

It’s ironical but you crack a smile.

Since you were a child, you had perceived death to be scary. Then… Then why was it so beautiful?

It’s so cruel – all of it. It’s the first time you are meeting him but why did it also have to be the last? Couldn’t you be granted just more time for this fateful meeting to happen? But- you assume- but not meeting him ever would cause you a lifetime of regret. Even in this little moment, even with the life slipping from your fingers, even when the illusion of a reaper starts to stall near, you know it’s him. You know it’s him because you couldn’t give any reason. It’s Captain Levi and he’s like the moon you’ve found amidst the veil of stars.

You part your lips and Levi gets the clue that you’re about to speak so he intervenes. “Don’t-” You shake your head, gesturing for him to lean in.

He complies but it’s getting too hard for you to keep your eyes open.

Therefore, you say your first and last words to him.

“Thank you, Captain Levi.”

.

It’s an empty tomb but Levi still stands before it.

Due to urgent reasons, most of the corpses couldn’t be retrieved. Besides, the gloominess of the day which serenaded just after your death made it rather difficult to bring back all the bodies. It doesn’t matter really.

Levi heaves a breath, kneeling down before the tombstone. Like a fever dream he reverts back to the moment when he saw you for the first time. Worn out and clinging to life while your blood stained the grasses red.

He doesn’t know why, neither will be fret himself over knowing the reason. Yet, when he saw you drowning in the ocean of despair, he found himself suffocating as well.

He reaches into his pocket, grasping an object before he sets it over the stone. It’s empty. He knows. You aren’t here. He knows. He had to leave you behind. He knows that as well. Sunlight falls upon the ivory and azure wings of freedom – your insignia of the Survey corps. Levi has never understood the concept of bringing home the corpses. It wouldn’t change a thing. The dead is the dead after all. Dwelling over the past would only affect the present and future. In a way which rarely proves to be good.

However, the memories thrive. They always do. So keeping the brief encounter with you in his memories, he speaks to you for one last time.

“It was an honour to meet you.”

[fishyvamp]

Day 3 of Kinktober 2024

"Such a brat"

Dead by Daylight Pairings: Evan MacMilian | The Trapper X GN!Reader Rating: M | Mature | NSFW 18+ MDNI Word count: 1.3k+ CW: CNC, negotiated kink, Reader gets blue balled Summary: It's that time of year and your normally sweet boyfriend isn't feeling quite himself. Prompt: CNC | “God, you love it like this, don’t you?” Ao3

The Trapper was a blighted monster at this moment. Seemingly fueled by mindless rage. Hook after hook, Each survivor downed in minutes not a single gen completed as he came for the last one, you. The Beast barreled towards you as you ran for the shack. You needed to get out of his way already. You need to find the hatch and escape. There would be no escape however as the moment you ran under that damn pallet you screamed loudly. The sound bounced off the walls of the empty shack the gen only half finished. A painful reminder that none of you had been quick enough to keep him away from the gens, Your leg screamed in pain as you desperately pried the trap off of you. The trial was brutal and pure carnage as you had fought to keep everyone alive as long as possible, but it was all for naught. With a grunt and another scream, you fell to the floor dying. Honing stone, of fucking course he used today of all days to sharpen the traps. He was leaving nothing to chance.

The Trapper, agonizingly, walked toward you picking you up slowly. Basement was right there and all he’d have to do is take you down into the heart of The Entity and she’d be happy. You struggled as he picked you up, but The Trapper pushed you against a wall, Blighted serum dripping from his open sores, his mask oozing and dripping down onto your torn bloodied clothing. The Killer holding you up by the curve of your ass against the wall. Feet instinctively wrapping around him causing a hardness to press against your groin. “God, you love it like this, don’t you?” the usually familiar voice comes out monstrous and hollow. “I can make you feel so much better like this than I ever could as that spineless maggot you call a lover.” a trembling growl ran out. His hand pressed you further into the wall, the wood groaning under the extra weight. 

You wanted to speak and defend him, but you were in the trial and only killers were allowed to talk and be heard. So you just let out an indignant grunt, which earned you a hand around your throat. Trapper growled in your ear, “You know I’m right.” his words felt like a threat as you gasped for air feeling lightheaded from the lack of it. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it felt unfair. Why was he allowed to taunt you and make you feel this way? Please, You mouthed. The Trapper pulled his hand away, masked face leaning in pressing against your pulse as he took a deep breath. “You know I can smell you, right Brat?” It was a threat laced with lust and wanton need. “I can feel your arousal. That delicious hole, begging to be speared on my cock.” he inhaled deeply, the hand on your ass kneading the flesh drawing out more whimpers. It didn’t help as he began to grind into you. “You like this don’t you? You like feeling helpless.” His clothed cock rubbing against you the large member grinding into you rubbing your aching sex. He was right, there was something about being made helpless under the weight of a monster that excited you. You had begged for this in a way, but that didn’t mean you were ready to admit any of this.

Seeing you getting flustered the killer relaxed pausing for a moment before throwing you over his shoulder. “Don’t fight or I’ll hook you.” He chuckled darkly smacking your ass firmly as he walked to the foundry. The monster’s boot echoed against the grated stairs as you climbed to the control room. A beaten-stained mattress on the floor. Without much care he dropped you onto it tearing at his own clothes, his coveralls falling to the floor exposing his heavy cock. Even being erect it could barely hold itself up under the sheer weight. His balls were covered in thick coarse hair, large, and heavy as he moved in on you. You lick your lips without even thinking, The trapper noticed this of course, and held the erection as if showing it off just for you. “You want to be a good Brat and suck it already?” despite being posed as a question, you didn’t think it was.

You got on your knees and opened your mouth, hands in your lap as you felt brainless at this moment, The action itself seemed to please the beast, he closed in on you cupping the back of your head as he brought your mouth to his length. The monster growling as you licked the slit of his cock. The smell was like honey and flora, no doubt thanks to serum. Taking a moment you worked your way along the length taking it in little by little jaw stretching to accommodate the sheer girth. The monster was impaint though, pushing in harshly causing you to gag around the length as it pressed into your throat. The cock mostly sheathed inside your mouth he began a steady pace growling lowly, “built like a proper slag.” his grip tightening as he kept a slow but aggressive pace 

“That’s a good Brat, take it just like that.” He grunted. Your hands moved one palming the front of your pants the other cupping his balls as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. You could feel the veins as he twitched in your mouth the man leaning forward to brace against the wall directly behind you. He was getting into it his hands running through your hair tugging harshly to keep you in place. The mask twitched and shifted as The Trapper fought to maintain his composure. Poor guy must’ve been pent up all trial. His pace became fervent. “God, look at you, no self-respect. Nothing but an obedient hole.” The words coming out strangled as he neared closer and closer to the edge, “Shit, I’m…” He gasped for air pulling out abruptly glowing orange cum spurting forth covering your face as you obediently held out your tongue to catch what you could. Trapper stroked himself as he leaned back closing his eyes, letting the waves of ecstasy wash over him. Panting he fell to his knees knocking you over as he forced the both of you on the mattress.  His arms wrapped around you for just a moment.

“Spit it out,” he growled into the mattress. A smirk graced your face as you looked at him with a shit-eating grin. “I’m not joking, Spit it out, I don’t know what it’ll do to you.” His words came out like a genuine concern. The monstrous facade was gone. He knew you too well, you knew that you would happily eat his release even if it had been tainted. However, the fact that it tasted like honey probably didn’t help. “Just do it.” he sat up mask contorting into a scowl. You just laughed Rolling your eyes you complied, spitting out the blighted fluid before leaning to kiss Evan on his cheek. Mouthing the words, I love you, Evan.  “Hatch is just east of Shack. Get out before the entity starts clawing at the walls,” he warned, lying spread out, his naked form on full display, the blighted serum glowing under the dark light. The statement caused you to sit up offended. 

Don’t you deserve the chance to get off? After all, Evan was only like this for a short time. He was extra big all over and you had agreed to this in hopes of getting your hands on all of him. As if reading your mind The Trapper folded his arms sitting up straight. “I don’t particularly like getting blinded four times in a single chase, Brat. remember that next time and maybe then I’ll indulge you.” The Trapper just stared you down laughing as you pouted. “Now git, before I decide to hook you anyways. I’ll see after trial.” You nodded your head grumpily walking out of the foundry down the steps towards where he said the hatch was knowing you’ll get payback later.