#‘i’m not going to fuck your empty eye sockets and make holes in your throat fix your sleep schedule.’

[gladiatorcunt]

i do like the dynamic of you being so into wound fucking and deranged freak kinks but your bf can barely stand to smack your ass with a fraction of his strength

[andrewkhurst]

SPA DAY II: A SPA TOO FAR & TICKLED BY A STREET FEATHER.

I never thought that a shortage of cucumbers would ever have an effect on me, but since Martha asked for giant African land snails named Fred and Martha for her fifth birthday, a cucumber a week has been added to the shopping list. Fred and Martha munch a slice each every night. The cold spell has led to our heroes in a hard shell forming a crusty doorway over their shells and going in to hibernation, despite me spending approximately £256.70 per night in electricity usage on a heating mat in an attempt to replicate the African climate in midwinter Doncaster. The big news of the moment is a shortage of salad items in all supermarkets, a tomato travesty, a a veritable cucumber catastrophe. We had managed to snag a cucumber on our last trip to the shop, but I was keeping a close eye on it, as I was sure that neither Fred nor Martha had a tiny ration book.

After picking Martha up from school, I was ordered to lie on the sofa. Martha swiftly told Alexa to play a soundtrack of horrific new age hippie dippy spa music, and removed all cushions so that it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. “You’re going to come to my spa”. I broke out in a cold sweat, having flashbacks to Guantanamo Bath and the Martha state sanctioned waterboarding incident. She trotted off to the kitchen.

“Dad, where’s the cucumber?” I heard the sound of some very sleepy snails panicking. It was a very quiet sound.

“It’s in the fridge, but please don’t waste it, it is all Fred and Martha eat”.

“I’m not going to waste it, silly dad. It’s for your eyes. To RELAX YOU”.

A minute later, the spa owner appeared with two slices of cucumber, and told me to remove my glasses and close my eyes. I was filled with dread. Martha gently placed the freezing cold slices of cucumber over my eyes, and then pressed down on them just to make sure they were set to maximum relax mode. I felt like a spangle leotard clad pro wrestler in the USA mid title match, getting his eyes gouged by the ‘bad guy’. Except this shit was REAL.

“Ummm, Martha, that’s enough now, it’s hurting my eyes”.

“No it isn’t dad. It is RELAXING you”.

I submitted to the latest torture session and lay still, hoping that feigning death would lead to a cessation of the brutality. Thankfully, the cucumbers rested.

I then felt something on my nose. Then IN my nose. Then in my mouth. It tickled. It was a street feather. You’ve never heard of a street feather? Let me enlighten you. Whenever we go anywhere, we do not return empty handed. At some point, Martha will spy a pigeon feather laid on the street. Martha fucking LOVES pigeons, going as far as becoming best friends with one called Pin. Pin was a pure white bird, who sat on our neighbours roof and looked in at Martha’s window every morning, then flew into our garden top eat seed at Martha’s feet. At some point, Pin the pigeon had been mauled by a cat (probably ours). She had lost an eye, and we feared for her demise. Somehow, she made it through, and lived a happy, half zombie faced life with an open eye socket. This led to a literal blind spot on her right side, and one day, our cat took full advantage and pounced. I screamed at him and chased him away, but pin was in a bad way. She managed to fly off, and came back into our garden the following day to see Martha, then vanished. Every white pigeon we see now is confirmed as an offspring of poor Pin.

Once Martha had accepted that Pin was not going to come back to the garden, she adopted another one. This poor bugger made made Pin look like Doncaster’s Next Top Avian Model. This one had been more likely mauled in the jaws of a dog, and had a gaping hole where its throat would have been. Martha took pity on this one, and kept feeding it. It kept coming over, and eating loads of seed, which instantly fell out of it’s throat hole onto the floor again. This went on for a few days. Martha even hatched a plan to cover the poor bird’s throat hole with either a bandage or some sellotape. I had thought of feeding it a spinach leaf, which would hopefully sit in front of the hole and allow seeds to pass to the belly. Neither happened.

Anyway, Martha fucking LOVED pigeons. If she saw a pigeon feather on the street, she grabbed it and wanted to take it home. I don’t know whether she was accruing spare parts for her own future robopigeon, or getting replacements for a pigeon hospital but, after initial parental protestations, I gave up and let her pick those germ riddled street feathers up and bring them home. That particular decision had well and truly come home to roost as I found a fucking street feather forced up my nostrils then tickling my tonsils, like some kind of eco Covid swab kit, all in the name of relaxing at Martha’s spa: where the torture never stops. As Martha got up to enhance the feather factor, the bloody cat came along and jumped on my chest. I felt many things, but none of those things were maximum relaxage. I was looking forward to being on a late shift at work for spa day part trois.

[muffindaddystyles]

Keep holding my hand.

Harry was in an emotionally abusive relationship before y/n, something happens that makes his insecurities float back.

Impetuous reel of dithery thoughts rapidly bustles on the wall, Harry stares at it blankly – he stares and stares and stares ..... yet it does nothing for what he wishes.

His stomach fills with acid and his mouth burns with foulness with each painful beat his heart gives realizing maybe this's the end ---- he doesn’t spare a glance to the dinner wafting off he cooked with much happiness looking forward to tonight.

Where did I went wrong?

Did I hurt her in any way? What if she didn’t like me popping up at her studio that day to remind her of tonight

Well Keat didn’t like it ..... She used to hate it Infact,

No! She’s not like keat —--

But, then why isn’t she picking your phone? She knew, promised and she still didn’t came tonight?

What if she’s sick? Fuck, then I should go to her.

He shuts his screaming conscience down, shoving the heels of his palm against his pop-sockets wearily to make him feel something --- to escape the hurt that’s looming around him, crushing and squeezing him to death.

He blows off the candles, melted to their base from being sorrowfully lit from three hours atleast --- mocking him and his sincerity.

You deserve this.

Why did y’think ye' deserved anybody’s love?

She doesn’t love you anymore --- just like keat....

The corners of his glossy eyes prickles with pearly tears and it drops down his clavicles, with blurry vision he dials her one last time and it goes straight to her voicemail alike past three hours.

Hiya, Y/N here! Leave a message ‘cos I mighty be busy or maybe lazyin' round the farthest corner of my home .......

He tosses and turns, does it manifold times --- his sleep betrays him too and he’s angry soaring with venom, if he could scream from a cliff and throw stones down the pound furiously he'd instead his eyes runs droopy.

His shuddering breath sulks to tranquillity, all he could hear’s a screech of wind that’s hitting the window and his guts.

His body jerks at the chirp of voice he’s oh so familiar with —- other days he'd be submerging in the honeyness of it but at the moment he bites down his wrist to keep him wrenching his empty stomach out.

“Happy anniversary, bub!” His brows clinches down into a grumblish frown and he presses his hand between his thighs turning his back upon hearing the careful steps treading in.

The creaking stalls and she stands at his doorway with heavy heart, her throat —-- uff her throat feels like as if someone punched it several times.

Not letting her tongue to utter any word —- anything that’d assure him and her, everything’s alright --- it’s not a big deal.

Ofcourse, it is!

Little things matters most to him – told you —- he .. — he told you himself and you hurt him, you hurt him just because you couldn’t stand to your boss.

She wanted it to be perfect for him, for them — winded up the work her boss hoarded on her mercilessly last minute demanding her to wrap it up in an hour --- felt giddy and motivated to do it speedily looking forward to their celebration. Bought his favourite chocolate moose cake standing in the line of his favourite bakery, since he doesn’t like any other flavour.

She stands at the side bed looking down at him, heartbreaking in million pieces seeing him torn, all teary cheeks and this stoic for the first time they’ve been dating.

“’M sorry -- I –- my boss trapped me and – ‘n I really wanted to call you —-- then it took me forever at your favourite bakery, I’m so sorry baby.” She rambles nebbish-ly and catches onto his shoulder when he tries to face away from her.

He mutters, “Forget bout it. Go back home ‘s getting late.” Though, his heart lurches forward to embrace her and shower her in kisses telling her “it’s totally fine.” And that “how bout we celebrate now,” but being an emotionally sensitive person has it's very cons and one of it is requiring space and time to recover for better thinking.

His eyes slips into abyss and he holds back a sniffle when he feels the mattress dip behind him, she sighs, coos in the softest voice she only keeps it for her lover, “Oh baby .... you’re my home.” She's well aware of the anxiety he goes through. He feels like everything crumbling but she's there to catch him and she rubs his back.

The many many reassurances he needs from his lovie to keep going for them, the praises for him for treating her like the most precious daffodil —- because he never got praised before; even though how much of the world’s luxuries he'd lay at his ex's feet was never assured that how much she loves him (because she never did).

Y/N would never want his insecurities to float back and sting his scars, she'd never want him to ever go through from what he did in past —-- to be used like a toy and manipulated, might sound weird and whumpy of her but she’d kill many dragons to keep him protected at any cost.

He sleeps with her body cocooning him from behind and his erratic breath syncs to her calm ones.

..

His dreams full of suffering, void and darkness violently clashing and swirling against eachother as the ugly creature takes Y/N away from him, leaving him in prison of his own pathetic head.

Fear of loss —- he fears loosing her and does it make him toxic? He was snubbed so many times – being told his behaviour was toxic that he’d hesitate before doing anything precisely very fondly caring —- but then Y/N came in his life and she'd tell him how much she appreciates him, how he’s like the best sundae in hot summer and he felt like she’s the sunshine he was waiting for in the never-ending rainy days.

Y/N stirs from her light sleep on hearing the broken whimpers, the valley of her chest moist as he cries into her and she cups his cheeks gazing down at him concerned, “What happened sunny .... baby talk to me ...” Her voice groggy and on verge of tearing.

She sits back a little with him still between her legs and wipes his tears away gently, “I’m so sorry ...” He mumbles –-- eyes bloodshot and she shakes her head pulling him closer, if she’d be able to cradle him in his lap she'd but apparently he’s too big.

Queasy hiccups, “f – fo'--... d —- dou...” sad sniffles and hiccups that tightens his chest.

She tenders his wobbly lip kissing his temple, “shhh. shhh, puppy I should be the one apologising yeah?”

“no .. I didn’t gave another thought before doubting --- that –-- that you’re about to leave, no person in right mind does this – I —-,” His body trembles with blue sobs.

“Harry ...” she tries to gain his attention and when he still doesn’t listen, “I know I don’t deserve y'n – ‘n maybe you don’t want me anymore —--” she raises it a bit, “Harry!” he falls quiet --- nibbling the corner of his cheek to hold back hiccups.

“Look at me puppy, yeah? Shh hold my hand and take a breather.” She smiles. Takes his sweaty hand and aligns his palm to her mouth for a deep kiss – then squeezes it.

“Keep holding it baby, keep holding my hand, you’re going to be fine --- we – see us here,” she points between them with gleamy eyes and he nods timidly wiping his nose with his sweater paw, “we are fine baby –- we are okay..”

How could someone be this dreamy? This gentle and sweet? What did I do to deserve my lovie?

“Better?” She inquires. Little worried that he'll fall back into rabbit hole and tucks his head under her chin, keeping him warm against her chest and he clutches the hem of her shirt nuzzling into her.

“Did you really think, I’d leave you and that on our first year anniversary? Sorry to tell you .... ‘m stitched to your hip for life time, there’s no exchange policy puppy how much you grump.”

She grins. Happy to earn a feeble chuckle from him and scratches his head, looping his curls around her fingers.

“I love you.” She startles when he speaks hoarsely after the longest time and it’s not like he's saying it for the first –-- but it still doesn’t fail to engulf her in warmth, so much of it.

“I love you too, you’re my only puppy and very loved one.” His eyes crinkles prettily at that and she kisses the tip of his nose.

“You want to rest? We could eat the dinner you dearly made for me and oh we got moose cake in fridge too, what a coincidence!” She giggles. The room fills with wet treacly noises of smoochy kisses she’s patching on his cheeks and his jaw.

Without a word he holds her finger and leads her to kitchen, she creates proud noises of “ooh!” and “ahh!” trying to sneak a glimpse from over his shoulder but he'd shoo her away as he heats the food; she gets out gorgeous smiles from him she cherishes so much.

“You did all of this for me?” She gasps sweetly, hand over heart to accentuate the love she's feeling and walks towards him when he nods timidly rubbing his socks feetsies one over the other.

His cheeks blazes peach and she giggles pinching them, “You’re so cute aren’t you?”

“Okay then. Let’s eat!” she claps her hands together and pecks his lips before pulling her chair beside him rather than opposite to him and his heart flutters at that --- each pore oozing with deep love for her and every insecurity and anxious ideas completely drains out of him when she pats his seat and wiggles in her own --- anticipated to taste what he made.

“Hmm. This tastes so good, H! Your hands are really magical, huh?” She passes him a smirk pecking each of his knuckle to make him feel better about himself and his lips quirks up softly, “Thank you – d’ya w'na umm eat the moose here o'in bed?” Her face beams at that, him speaking more than two words and looking forward to spend the night with her.

“On bed, please –-- would you like tea? Think ‘m running out of if —- proper jello ....” She cleans the table and raises her brows when he gazes her adorningly as she’s the nymphs of stary oceans.

He shakes his head, nose twitchy as she nudges him teasingly and he takes her off-guard --- hugging her by waist and kisses her soft tummy.

“Nothing just love you bleedin’ much.”

..

[sp00kworm]

Black Oak (Part 2)

Pairing: Alcott Glyn (Headless Horseman) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Body Horror, Murder

PART 1 

---

---

The police arrived about an hour after you had woke-up the whole village screaming. Peswick was far away from the nearest city’s response, and you sat shivering, wrapped in a blanket from the house, clutching it close as Mrs Shaw rushed to bring you a hot drink. She and her husband were dressed, but neither went into your house. They rushed back home, bringing you a cup of tea from their own kitchen along with a foil blanket for the shock. You weren’t allowed to touch the body, and you tried to ignore the swinging noise of the corpse as you sat perched on the front doorstep to your home, sniffling into the cup of tea. The police took off their hats as they stepped past your gate, and you watched as the crime scene investigation and forensic van pulled up behind them. The two officers nodded at Mr and Mrs Shaw before smiling as best they could.

“Would you like to come with us, please?” The male officer asked gently, “Lets go inside and we’ll get your statement of events, okay?” The female officer with him looked back at the tree and swallowed hard as Forensics suited up to remove the body and take evidence.

“Come on, Sully.” He ushered his companion as he helped you to your feet and nodded to your neighbours. He whistled and smiled as he opened the door for you, “Nice old place you’ve got here.” He complimented kindly, the corners of his eyes wrinkled with crows’ feet, “Mrs Finch used to live here. Are you a relative?”

 You shook as the officer led you gently into the front room, “It…She was my aunty, distantly.” You whispered as you eased yourself back onto the sofa, clutching the lukewarm tea tightly, as though it was a lifeline in your grasp.

“She was a kind woman. Made a lot of oils out of her garden, but she had nothing but trouble and vandalism with this place. Kids used to make a mess of the sides of the house regularly.” He tipped his head to the wall where the fireplace was, “It was always on the chimney. She never did anything, but the kids called her a witch and all that trollop.” He shook his head.

“You haven’t introduced yourself.” Sue gave him a lopsided smile as she pulled out the clipboards full of paperwork to be completed.

“Ah, so I haven’t!” The officer dipped his head, “I’m Officer Perks.” He pointed to the blond woman with him, “And this is my partner Officer Sullivan.”

You nodded shakily licked your lips, “It was nice to meet you. Thank you for coming. I know...Its far.” A breathy sigh left you as Sullivan took out her pens from her vest and smiled.

“We just need an account of what you did this morning and if you knew the victim.” Percy offered as he sat on your couch, “Spare no details. Even something small to you might be important to us.”

 Conflict burned in your throat and gut as you thought about what had happened, “I don’t remember anything of relevance from last night. I spent the night in bed. I’ve only just moved in, so I was exhausted.” You took a shuddering breath and continued, “I went out this morning to the tree and…and I looked up… and he was hanging there, without his head.” You looked into the tea in your hands, noting that it was now ice cold.

“How long have you been here?” Sullivan asked as she shorthand filled in the details on the paperwork, “You said you moved in recently?” Perks looked from the paper to you and smiled reassuringly.

“I moved in yesterday afternoon.” You whispered and Sullivan gave you a pitying look.

Perks shifted against the cushions, “Did you have anyone with a grudge against you or motive from where you used to live?” He asked.

“No one that I know of.” You answered as you put down the cup of tea, fighting the tears and upset.

“Okay so what time did you find the body?” Perks asked. You took a deep sigh and continued to answer the police officer’s questions well into the afternoon.

 Perks and Sullivan could drink their weight in tea, it turned out, and you offered them many drinks over the course of the few hours. They had a couple each, pens scratching papers as they took notes and an official account of the events for the records. You looked out of the window as Sue and Percy signed the bottom of the page. Crime Scene Investigations were hoisting the body down from the thick black branch of the oak, working to preserve the noose he was swinging by. Three people held the corpse up as they cut the rope carefully, keeping the knot intact and bagging the rope before they got the body down into the bag on the stretcher.

“He’ll need to go to pathology to determine cause of death…though I think I have a pretty good idea.” Sullivan whispered, trying not to be heard as she eyed you sat across from them. Perks rolled his eyes and elbowed his colleague.

“Here. Let me draw the curtains.” Perks stood and reached for the curtains before drawing them over the forensics team dragging the body into the bag, impassive to the blood that stained their tunics and gloves.

“I think we have everything.” Sullivan announced as she stood up and took hold of both their mugs, “I’ll put these in the kitchen for you.” She offered with a small, pathetic smile.

 Perks nodded his head as Sullivan as she left towards the kitchen. You heard her bang the cup on the countertop before you tugged the blanket closer and shifted uncomfortably.

“Thank you for your cooperation today.” Perks took his hat and tucked it under his arm, “I know these kinds of cases are very difficult to talk about. I have this card for you.” He held you out a green printed business card, “That’s the helpline for a couple of organisations and the other side has someone you can seek out if you would like some help talking through all this.”

You looked at the numbers vaguely before nodding and placing the card on the coffee table, “Thank you.” You replied quietly before Perks replaced his hat on his head.

“We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you once again and good afternoon.” He looked at his watch before he opened the lounge door and quietly exited.

Sue scoffed at him in the hall, “Come on. We’ve got these reports to write up.”

“Coming, coming.” Perks grumbled, “Nothing wrong with being nice. They just witnessed a damn corpse…” The voices trailed off as the front door closed behind the two of them with a bang.

 Silence.

 You looked to the curtains and stood up, letting the blankets finally fall from your shoulders as you fisted each side of the heavy curtains. They were old and embroidered with curling leaves. You tugged them open with a heave and watched the police vans trundle away back down the old stone roads, back towards the hills where they had come from this morning. With a deep breath, you tied the curtains back before taking one last long look at the gnarled, black oak in the garden, and heading towards the stairs for a shower and to get dressed. You hoped that a shower would wash away the sticky feeling of malaise on your skin and mind. Hot water usually purged bad thoughts, or so you hoped as you tried to erase the memory of the swinging corpse from the shrivelled branches of the old oak tree.

 You shivered through the house after your shower, wrapped in a jumper and heavy jeans as you tried to navigate the halls without looking out into the garden. The memory of the body lingered with the burning feeling of the heavy box in the other room, filled with an old skull. It was a skull inside. A perfectly preserved ivory skull. The teeth were yellow with age on the enamel, and you looked to the table where the muddy box sat with the key in the lock. The headless creature had moaned and groaned as its head screamed from the other room. You turned and looked at the ornate metal decorations before daring to turn the key again. The lid popped open and flew back to reveal the skull again.

 It sat perfectly still on the cushion, staring at you with empty eyes. With a deep breath, you dared to reach out and touch the skulls surface. It didn’t move. No magical energies tore out of the eye holes. It was perfectly still. It was just a skull. But the memory of it screaming and cursing inside the box was burned into your memory and you carefully picked the skull up, cushioning the bottom of its jaw before your strokes over the place where the eyebrows had once been when it was a man. It had to belong to the headless horseman, but why your aunt had it locked away in her home was another question entirely. You held the skull up to your eyes and peered into the bone of the eye sockets as you pondered your decision. There was a glimmer of gold inside the mouth which caught your eyes, and you dared to open the jaw wide enough to snatch at the shiny object. It was a single heavy golden coin which had been wedge between the back teeth. You looked at the old print and then quickly replaced it, wedging the jaw back shut as you placed the skull away on its pillow.

 It sat and stared at you, and you stared at it, wondering what happened last night as you clutched at your head and sighed. You slammed the lid closed and snapped the lock closed before you placed the box in the centre of the table.

“What the fuck were you up to aunty?” You asked the air as you rushed to the kitchen to make yourself another drink. As you set the water to boil you continued to curse, thinking about the headless man who what invaded your home chasing the poor man who had ended up hanging from the tree in your front yard. The head had screamed ‘witch’ from its confines, but you had no knowledge about what it could mean. You took the hot water and made a drink before looking at the last few boxes of unpacking and scoffing, deciding that the day would be better spent researching what had slaughtered the man and hung him from your tree.

 The village library was barely a few bookshelves put together and you sighed looking at the poor collection of books before you dated to approach the old librarian sat next to the desk. She had her own book open, some trashy romance novel set in the Victorian era, and she looked engrossed as she flipped the page and took another bite of her current tea cake.

“Hello?” You asked quietly in front of her.

The librarian jumped in her seat before she clutched at her chest and adjusted her glasses, “Dearie me! You scared the soul right out of me, love.” she took a moment to take a breath and close her book before she stood with a small wince and smiled, “What can I do for you?”

You could see the questions burning in her eyes. She no doubt knew you were the new person in town, and about what had happened at your home.

“I’m looking for some history books about the town. I wanted to try and get to know the place, but I don’t think there’s anything on the shelves.”

Her face pursed a little before she smiled again and pointed to the last one of the small walls of shelves, “There isn’t a lot but there’s a couple of books on the bottom shelf of the end one. For the records and such I’m afraid you will have to ask at the village hall. Rose keeps them in good nick there, lovely woman she is.”

“Ah, thank you.” You returned her smile and left her to her book as you went to the last set of shelves in the wall and started to rummage through the folklore and history books.

 There wasn’t a lot, she was right, and you sighed after about twenty minutes of pulling out books. You tugged the last, thick history book from the shelf and dusted the cover to reveal a history of the local mines and hills. It wasn’t what you were looking for. You peered at the shelf again and huffed before there was a glimmer of silver lining at the back of the bookcase. You squirmed your hand to the back and plucked the small book from behind the tattered paperbacks. It was a pocketbook, stencilled with an old name in cursive, faded and marred with cage.

‘Maria Theresa Glyn’

You dusted the front and followed the name before looking around and tucking the book into your bag. You felt bad just taking it, but obviously the Librarian had no idea it was there, and the name was familiar to you. You remembered the coat of arms on the old teapot. If this was the diary of someone with the same name it might have clues, or so you reasoned as you plucked a few books from the shelf and took them to the counter after replacing the rest.

 “Did you find what you were looking for, pet?” The librarian asked as you placed the books on the counter. She smiled and pulled out an old paper ticket to write your name onto. She poised the pen over the paper, and you told her your name before she copied it onto another for you and jotted the book codes down. She tutted at the date stamper and fiddled with it to get it to the correct date. Obviously not many people used the library.

“Yes, I found a few interesting things to have a flick through.” You told her as she stamped the tickets inside the books and stacked them in front of you.

“Well, you have fun...and be careful, huh? There’s a lot of weird and wonderful things that go on around here. It would be a shame if you forgot that, and something happened.” She smiled sweetly, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. I’ll try.” You smiled awkwardly back at her before you took your arm full of books and made a quick exit back into the chilly air.

 The village seemed to watch you as you wove between the avenue of trees, crunching autumn orange and brown leaves underfoot. The chill in the air mimicked their icy feelings. You were the outsider among them, and soon enough they’d come to hound you out of their home. You only hoped to solve what you had seen. There was no way a headless man was riding around taking heads...right? You tried to console yourself as you made it to your home, and past the gnarled black tree in the front garden. It was twisted and old, and the branches seemed to creak as a greeting on your return. A glare silenced it, or so it seemed, perhaps it was just the wind dying, but the tree went silent as you walked up to the door with your keys in hand. The door swung open when you unlocked it and you clutched at your books as the wind howled into the mouth of the house, screaming down the hall like a ghost before you kicked the front door shut, shivering. The old back boiler chugged in the background as you kicked off your boots and placed the books in the lounge on the small table by the chest.

 When the chest remained still and silent you left to place away your bags and get a drink. You returned, rubbing your eyes as you opened the little journal you had found. It was penned with ink and quill, that much was obvious, and you ran your fingers over the woman’s name again before you touched the crest and went to find the teapot. You grabbed the porcelain handle and placed the two together over your lap. They were the same. The Glyn coat of arms. You placed the teapot down and opened the diary to look at the first passage. It was dated back three centuries ago, back when the alliance was beginning to form between the different races, monsters and humans alike, though you could tell this village hadn’t had such luxury. The entire populace was human, apart from the dairy farmers four miles outside the walls of the village. They were large goblins of some kind, cave dwelling and gangly limbed from years in the dark, but you had only seen them.

 The first passage was written in neat, printed cursive, echoing the care the woman had taken to write her feelings and events down.

‘Today is the day of my birth. My birthday rather. I was given this journal by the kind Mister Glynn, as a gift, and so I find myself beginning to write down the events of my daily life, so perhaps I can look back on it and reminisce when I am old and grey.

 Mister Glyn is a kind soul. He is part of the King’s Royal Entourage and the Commander of a large cavalry unit. Why he is in this small village is unknown to us all, but my father suspects it is because of the Wood Witch. Perhaps he has been tasked with taking her head? It is rumoured the armour he has is enchanted against such magic, but I feel as though those are rumours made about a dangerous and powerful man to excite fear.

 He is nothing but polite to me. I suppose my father will want to marry me off to this one as well.’

 The passages were perhaps a couple of pages maximum, and you flicked through the dates quickly, watching her words change from cold and indifferent to soft and loving of the man see always called Mister Glyn. It wasn’t until a year later in the diary that you saw his true name.

 ‘Alcott escorted me to the capital atop Mallor, his beast of a horse, though the creature seems to like me now that I bring him sugar lumps. Alcott wished to show me the city and its fruits though there is rather less fruit and more muck and grime. I am used to mud on my shoes, but I despised the odour of the place, much to his amusement. As I write, I can hear him snickering at me across the table.’

 There was a few blotches of ink and another set of handwriting.

 ‘She stood in a man’s excrement.’

 Their trip seemed peaceful, and Maria even attended a gathering at court. It seemed well until you found the final page in the diary, written across a page in shaky ink.

 ‘They took his head.’

 There was no fond farewell at the bottom of the page or a cursive signature. It was stark and naked on the yellowed paper, like a bad omen forever preserved. You ran your fingers over the words before you flicked through the last pages seeing nothing but blood splodges and blackened dark blood at the corners. It smelt faintly of rot, and you recoiled from the smell as you looked at the empty bare pages. The back of the book was burned across the inside of the cover. It was mysterious but it seemed like Alcott Glyn had been killed. But by who? You had no idea but as you looked at the chest again and thought of the head inside you shuddered.

 Alcott Glyn. There had to be a grave. You tugged your bag open and stuffed the book inside before you rushed out of the door, locking it quickly as you rushed towards the little church. It was at the top of the hill, sat in a mound of earth, subsiding on one side with props and scaffolding to try and hold it up. It wasn’t used anymore, the town hall was used to any religious needs, but it was haunting. The stained glass was dirty, and the front doors bolted and chained to prevent anyone entering. You rushed around the side of the church and looked at the dates on the graves and the dates in the diary. It had to be the 1700s. You thought back to your history lessons and tried to recall the date of the alliance war. 1774. You rushed around the small paths and glanced at the years, 1770, 1772, 1773... you looked at the gap where the 1774 stone should have stood. There was nothing, just unchurned earth and a set of roses growing from the floor. A troubling feeling settled in your gut as you meandered down the path to the back of the overgrown graveyard. There were old stones, crumbling and forgotten under blackberry vines and leaves. It was chance that you leaned down next to a short stone and looked at the faded name.

 Alcott Glyn.  

 The name was chipped and faded, like the memory of the man. Vines grew in wild abandon over the grave, and the blackberry vines had taken over the base, winding around the whole stone with wide dying leaves. It was perfectly hidden and forgotten about. The village’s little secret in the secluded corner of the graveyard, forgotten and buried. Or apparently, not buried completely. The earth was turned over, like something had ruptured from the ground and burst free. It was a long patch of upturned soil, as long as you were tall, or even longer, and the earth and stones were wet, fresh with the rain from the evening and being upturned, as though someone had run a plower through it.  Carefully, you ran your fingers through the earth, feeling the soil between your fingers before you took a steadying breath.

“Someone came out of this…” You breathed into the chilly air, your breath making mist with the cold as you stood and looked over the grave. You said it again before turning and bolting from the graveyard before the night could fall over the village.

 When you reached home, you threw your bag onto the couch and grabbed the chest, prising the lock open to peer at the skull inside. It was sat, still as a statue, on the cushion, with the glimmer of gold between its jaws. You lifted it from the cushion, carefully, pulling it up to your face level as the sun set over the horizon, bathing you in a golden glow with the skull clasped between your hands. There was nothing but the distant hum of the hot water pipes in the old house to answer your stare. The skull did nothing. It sat in your hands as the sunlight died over the horizon and the night began to settle in. In your gut, disappointment settled with the cold reminder that you were holding a dead man’s skull. A real human skull. Carefully, you placed it back down on the cushion and sighed as you went to draw the curtains, ignoring the creaking of the gnarled oak tree outside your door.

 The wind blew as you looked back at the head in the chest, positioned slightly skewed on the cushion. You chewed your lip and sighed before you stood over it again.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered to the skull. Nothing. The old electrics flickered for a moment, dimming before they brightened again. Silence, except for the hum of the back boiler. The breath you had been holding escaped and you turned away with a grumble before the lights surged bright and yellow, like the sun, before the bulbs exploded in a sudden thunder of noise. Glass shattered and flew across the carpet in a shower, and you gasped, covering your ears before you looked back at the cushion.

 The head was sat, jaw agape, with two lights in the blackened sockets, rolling side to side. The little lights rolled like stoned before they settled on you and the open jaw began to jitter, chattering the yellowed teeth together loudly. The skull didn’t move, just snapped it’s teeth like a scared dog before it stopped, and the eyes dimmed. It was only a moment of silence before there were three heavy pounds on your door. With a gasp you rushed to draw the curtains, and gazed upon the creature stood on your doorstep, his steed kicking and throwing it’s head by the twisted roots of the black tree. The body stood there, breathing, its undead chest moving as though it needed the air.

“Alcott Glyn.” You whispered again with a dry mouth. All the moisture dried up from you and you tried not to shake as the skull slammed against the side of the box, it’s eyes glowing.

It shook and chattered its teeth before a voice screamed from between the open jaw, “Let me in, witch!”

Fear twisted your guts as you rushed to slam the chest shut on the screaming skull. It chanted inside the decorative metal, hollering about burning you at the stake before you took it to the front door. The horseman slammed his fist on the door again, repeatedly, as though he was going to tear it open, and you shivered as your fingers shook by the latch and keys.

 The horseman began to bang repeatedly and the head in the chest slammed around, shaking your arms as you struggled to keep hold of it. You took a stuttering breath and unlatched the door, turning the keys before you wrenched it open. The headless horseman heaved puffs of misty breath up from the stump of his neck, his trachea flexing with the movement as the nerves of his spinal cord twitched and thrummed behind it, imitating life in his corpse body.

“Witch!” the skull screamed again, his head you realised as you stepped back, and the creature followed. His boots left muddy smeared marks on the wooden floors, and you looked down to see the crushed blackberries over the soles. Your heart pounded as you realised, he had crawled from the grave you had sat by earlier.

“I saw you by my grave. I will not do business with you again.” His voice came from his body this time, contorted and dark as it leaked from his lungs like a wisp.

“Business? What business have you?” You asked, voice shaking with fear.

The skull laughed in its box, a malicious and evil noise, dark and tempting, as though you were truly stupid for asking, “What business did we not have? Have you forgotten in your age, crone? Death and blood, that’s what you wanted, and I delivered it.”

“Who did you have the deal with?” You steeled yourself.

“You, you pathetic soothsayer.” He droned before his dead fist slammed the door closed, “Now give me my head. Our bargain is met.”

“I am not my aunty.” You tried, “I have no deal with you.”

 The horseman stopped, his body stiffening as his horse brayed and screamed outside, kicking its hooves at the black oak with a great smash. The tree shook, shedding twigs, but didn’t fall. He stalked closer, the bulk of his frame blocking out the light from the moon and the electric fitting overhead.

“But you have my head.” The skull whispered from inside the box before he grabbed for the chest. He touched the metal of the latch and screamed, the noise escaping the corpse before you and the skull inside the box. It was an ear piercing, unholy noise which burned your ears and made your head swim in agony. The horseman clutched at his chest and the stump of his neck, his gloved fingers pressing into the gored wound of his neck as he wobbled towards the wall and grasped at it for balance.

 “Fuck.” You cursed before you whipped the chest open and grabbed his skull by its eye sockets, hanging it over him as he slid down the wall and screamed again in agony, twitching against the wood.

“If I give you your head, horseman, will you indebt yourself to me? Your previous contract will be null, and you will only serve me.” You announced.

The horseman writhed before going deathly still. He laid like a corpse for a moment or two before shakily he braced his arm against the floor and pushed himself up. With a shudder he got onto his knees and kneeled before you, his neck dipped to expose the sore, congealed wound of his decapitation.

“I... I will serve.” The horseman gurgled.

“Then I give you your head to end your torment, Alcott Glyn.” You promised before you held his skull between your palms and lowered it to the spinal column of his body.

 There was a great groan as the spine extended from Alcott’s body and snapped to the skull, holding it in place as the eyes burned bright with purple light, the colour of blackberries, rolling in his skull as he reached and clasped at the bone, howling as light burned from the base of his neck and enveloped his skull with a whoosh of purple fire. The fire abated quickly as the moonlight disappeared behind the curtains and the skull shimmered as muscle and tendons swarmed the bone, linking and covering the surface before the he howled, and skin crept from his neck to his face, covering the surface in a perfect alabaster coating. His eyes however, remained voids of black, the centres beautiful blackberry lights in the dimness of your home. Black waves of hair grew from his head, dripping over his shoulders like ink as he howled, leaned against the old wallpaper. They finished growing with a crackle of fire, purple flames licking at the ends before it disappeared, leaving a heaving, black eyed creature curled against the wooden floor.

 Your mouth hung open as you watched the horseman shake against the wood, heaving as he reached to clutch at the hair that draped from his previously naked skull. The inky waves slid through his gloved hands and was quickly marred with dirt and blood before he peered at you through the curtain, looking at you with the purple lights in his irises which were sunken back into his skull. His lips parted before he took a deep breath, wheezing out dust and muck, coughing like a goose before he kicked the chapped skin and crawled closer to your feet. He only looked at you, staring before one gloved hand whipped out and snatched your ankle, holding it tightly in an iron grip.

“Bound to your bloodline again...” he growled, “Humiliating.” Before he pushed himself back and stood, swaying on his legs like a new-born deer as his balance came back to him. Having a head was a heavy burden.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” You breathed as Alcott slammed the side of his head and beat dirt out of his ears.

“Of course, you don’t. None of you ever do. Now I’m bound here to you until the day you drop dead and rot. Why can you never let me die?” He growled in a worked-up fury, flinging his hands to the windows before he stalked to the door, his boots slamming against the wood. He swung it open, and his mount brayed in greeting, throwing its giant head back before it caught sight of you and snorted, bowing it’s neck like a graceful Swan.

 “You are all the same!” The horseman shouted before the moon was revealed, a cloud moving away from its white surface. He shuddered and you watched the skin on his face disappear with the muscle, revealing the purple lights in a bare, burning skull. As the cloud recovered the moon, the base of his neck flared with purple smoke and fire, revealing the scar where he was decapitated, and his face reappeared.

“I gave you your head back, Alcott!” You shouted after him.

The horseman shivered and turned back to you, looking at you with his haunting eyes, both hands gripping the pommel and stand of the saddle, “How do you know my name?” He whispered in questioning.

With a small breath, you locked your lips nervously and ducked back to the table, grabbing the little diary from you bag before you stood on your porch and held it out to the wraith, “Maria wrote about you.”

He growled and snatched at the book, and you let him take it with a painful smile, “I know the townspeople killed you. They betrayed you. I don’t know what happened to Maria.” You confessed.

Alcott opened the diary and flicked through it before he looked at the night sky, “She lived in mourning the rest of her life. They institutionalised her after they found her carrying my head, wailing through the town. She died, high on cocktails of medicines, with her head buried in the soft soil of a flower bed.”

 The revelation was something of a shock and you looked at the undead man in front of you with a bitter, pitying look.

“You watched her die, didn’t you?” You asked, barely above a whisper.

The horseman scoffed, “That was the curse after all. To terrorise the town for their betrayal. But not her. I used to try call to her from the window, but she never could bare to look at me. Eventually they gave her more cocktails and she stopped coming to the window all together.”

“Jesus Christ.” You cursed.

“Such foul language.” Alcott sneered as he snapped the diary shut in his gloved hand, “She died from the madness and grief. That is the fault of the town and its yet another reason to run into each of these homes and tear their heads from their bodies.” Alcott spat furiously. As fury overtook him you could see the white scarred seem of where his head had been replaced burning with smoke the purple fumes puffing from it like a new wound before his neck popped and cracked, sending his head to the left, hanging on by a thread of flesh to the other side. You let out a screech and clasped your mouth as the horseman gurgled and reached for his head, grasping it by the hair before he groaned and dragged it back into place, snapping the vertebrae back into place with a twist and a squelch of bloodied tissue. It cracked again quickly, and Alcott held the top of his hair tightly with a groan as the smoke poured from his mouth and his head twisted backwards like a ghoul, spinning on his neck before it snapped again and came free, rolling over the floor to your feet as a skull. The flesh and hair melted in waves of muck from its surface, and you shakily took hold of the skull again.

 The horseman stumbled left and right as he reached towards you for his head.

“MY HEAD, WITCH!” He howled at you, but you dashed back up the porch steps and held it protectively.

“You are under my command. Anything against my wishes is against our contract...so you lose your head. Do you hear me horseman?” You blagged, hoping you were right, “So there will be no killing.”

“Evil, corrupt creature. I'll hang you by your feet and bleed you from the neck!” Alcott threatened as fire and smoke poured from his throbbing trachea. The smoke puffed before he went sent to the floor in agony, the black oak behind him creaking and swaying left and right as though the roots were snaking towards him. Sure enough, the ground rumbled, and the black oak’s roots exploded from the ground, snagging the horseman by his wrists and ankles hoisting him into the air as the branches hissed and his mount, Mallor, brayed and screamed, blood spraying over the fence from the horses broken throat.

 It was a curse. You should have expected as much, but you shook as the tree cinched the man’s limbs, holding them tight before it pulled, making him scream in agony as his joints were pulled tight.

“Stop!” You screamed, and the tree stopped pulling, holding the horseman aloft still as it swayed and bent towards you, its branches touching your head as though trying to figure out who you were.

“He is mine.” You told the tree, “He will obey and submit to the laws of his contract.”

The tree groaned, it’s roots wiggling in the cold, hard earth for a moment before it dropped Alcott like a sack of grain and settled down quietly, smacking at the horse inching closer to its trunk.

Alcott touched at his neck as he rose, swaying as he cracked and snapped his joints back into place like a disjointed puppet.

“Are you going to play nice now?” You asked as the man wheezed in front of you. When he nodded you offered him his skull back and watched the skin and flesh cover its surface again before he snarled behind his curtain of overgrown hair, blackberry-coloured lights burning the void of his eyes.

“You truly are her kin if that disgusting thing listens to you.” He snapped as he headed for his horse and mounted the saddle with a quick bounce on one powerful leg, his thighs locking tight around the beast’s sides as it bucked and brayed. Alcott turned his horse and tipped his head with a wave of purple smoke and fire, “Call on me then, witch, and see what havoc I can wreak for you.” Alcott laughed bitterly as he turned Mallor onto the cobbled drive and rode onto the road, his face becoming bone and flesh intermittently as the clouds passed overhead.

“I’m not a witch!” You screamed after the horseman, but he was gone into the mist and the trees, unlikely to have heard you cursing against the stairs of the porch as you collapsed.

[perzawa]

→ happy birthday!

jumin han x fem! reader

desc: after a wonderful birthday spent with your family, you think that was all the night had to offer. that is, until jumin gives you just one more surprise. 

genre: smut

warnings: degradation, pet names, squirting, very very small mention of past trauma

word count: 2.8K 

“now are you sure i can’t drive you both home? i’d love to say goodnight to my daughter in law that way,” the chairman said, kissing your hand. you didn’t oppose him dropping you guys off at home, but jumin consistently pleaded that he’d call a cab for the both of you and that was it. usually, when jumin had his mind set on something - no one could change it. so why object?

both you, and jumin, stood outside - patiently watching multiple cars pass by on the road. subconsciously, you rubbed the side of your arm, still in awe from the afternoon you spent with your family. it was your birthday, after all, so everyone decided to surprise you by taking you out. jumin originally planned to take you out alone and spend time with you himself, but mr. chairman objected, deciding everyone assumed it would be more respectful to wish you a happy birthday to your face. 

who were you to say no? 

jumin must’ve cared a lot, because he could really care less about being anywhere with his father and his new girlfriend of the year. or, for the week, he would say when he complained to you. she seemed extremely sweet, though, and was equally just as pretty. her hair was a radiant shade of blonde and her body was curved, dress exposing every corner of her figure. you could see why he’d be attracted to her in the first place. not only that, but she spoke with such elegance. words flowing smoothly anytime she opened her mouth to take a sip of her red wine. maybe you were a bit naïve, but you’d trust her with your life. 

jumin didn’t share the same thought process, sneering at her whenever she so much as asked if he wanted the salt and pepper shakers to be passed to him through the air or slid on the table. you couldn’t blame him, especially with the history he bore with his father and his unique taste in women. now, Jumin would never call you an idiot to your face, but when you didn’t have a problem with the women his father courted that particular time, he’d make a few comments under his breath about how you needed a lesson in not being a fool to obvious tricks. 

what could you say? seeing the best in people was your forte - for better or worse. that is how your relationship with jumin evolved, isn’t it?

“what’s got you so lost in thought?” he inquired, peeking over at you after a moment of checking his watch. the same one you got him last christmas.it made your heart swell to see him still wearing it. 

“oh, nothing,” you smiled back at him, rocking on your heels. “just really grateful you guys took me out. thanks, baby. i could use this.” 

he scrunched his eyebrows. “of course. it's your birthday.” 

“i know, but still.” you stared at the sidewalk with a small grin plastered on your features. you never actually celebrated your birthday. growing up, your parents were too busy to even remember most days, so you’d spend that special day cooped up in your room with your sister eating whatever you could find in the refrigerator until they arrived at home, crashing in bed as soon as they stepped foot in the house. the cycle always continued, for both you and your sister. jumin knew this. it was the first thing you told him when he tried to have fun with you on your last birthday. 

“you’re sweet.” he muttered, feigning a nonchalant attitude - when really, he was ecstatic to spend the day with the love of his life. 

“the day isn’t over yet,” he spotted the car pulling up in front of you both and held his hand out for you to take, taking your hand gently. “there’s still one thing i wanted to give you before your day is over. okay?” 

heat rose to your face, inciting you to smile wider than before. “a surprise? aw, jumin. you’re so sweet.” you lightly tapped his shoulder to showcase your gratitude, demeanor changing. the man only nodded and opened the door for you, both of you walking in together. it didn’t take long before you arrived home, jumin paying the cab before he took your hand once you both left the vehicle. he reached for his keys, slowly unlocking the door. thin arms pushed the large door open, jumin now smiling over at you once he witnessed your calm demeanor shift into a happier one. one that was more excited and a bit confused. 

you walked in slowly, your eyes watching the red lights and roses leading up the staircase. sure, it was a little cliché, but if jumin did this for you, it was special. 

“how? h-how did you have time?” you choked on your words, expression lighting up as you viewed the lights - eyes gazing over every crevice covered. 

“i paid jaehee,” he stated plainly, observing you for any other movements or hidden emotions. 

you blinked at him. you’d really have to take her on a spa trip after this to apologize. hell, if you knew it was his sadly overworked assistant, you’d just prefer to decorate the house yourself. 

“go on,” he spoke, motioning up the stairs. with patient breaths, your feet slowly stepped up each stair, different flowers on each shiny step. daisies, roses, chrysanthemums. they were so pretty - your heart swale in awe. 

“baby…” you whined, reaching the first room, your bedroom. your shaking hands twisted the handle on the door and pushed it open. now, there were candles here. they illuminated the large room, floor full of roses. heavy hands found themselves clutched over your heart. your grin widened, imagining all of the effort put into this. into pleasing you. 

you bit your bottom lip, strutting closer to the large bed you shared with your lover. there, two different toys had been placed on the sheets. you blinked at them and then blinked at Jumin, turning to face the toys again. “i-,” you trailed off, a clear understanding of what the surprise was now. you gulped, face burning in embarrassment now - eyes wider than ever. 

the tall man walked closer to you, stopping once his body was pressed against your back. he held onto your waist gently, his fingers tickling your soft skin in the dress you wore. 

“you’ve been working so hard, kitten. every single day,” he whispered in your ear. observing your shy, but welcoming reaction, he continued. “let daddy relax you.” 

you breathed out. “o-okay,” you whispered back. your body twitched at his lustful words, eyes focusing on the vibrator and purple dildo that stayed still on the sheets again. jumin held on tighter to your hips, pressing soft kisses to the sides and the back of your neck, whispering a compliment with each kiss. 

“you’re so pretty,” he whispered, kissing your earlobe. 

“and you’re all mine.” his quiet voice tickled the hairs on your skin, a quiet chuckle rumbling from his mouth. he swiped his tongue along your warm neck. 

“i want you so much. every day, i promise...”the man with raven hair admitted, voice low as he assaulted your neck, kissing the sides while he left purple bruises to blossom along your skin. a small moan fell from your lips and you leaned your head to the side - allowing him access. 

“so glad to have you. i’m so happy this is the fourth birthday i’ve spent with my baby.” 

you could feel a rush of blood speed between your legs, pussy gushing with arousal. you rubbed your legs together to abstain some type of friction on your clit, whining when his hands freed themselves from your waist. 

“i wanna see something. do you trust me to make you feel good, y/n?” even after four years together, he always made sure you were comfortable with everything taking place and you couldn’t help but respect that. this wasn’t your first time with him, but every time was always so perfect and comfortable. words couldn’t describe the type of man he was to you. you nodded eagerly, crawling on the bed as the mattress croaked. 

“wanna watch you play with yourself. would you like that, too?” his sultry tone caused your breathing to hitch, “you want that? you wanna see me stroke myself to you playing with that pussy of yours?” you caught a chill from the vulgarity of his word choice, nodding again. your body burned with lust, face just as hot as the rest of you. you grabbed both toys and positioned yourself on your back. biting your lip, you spread your legs and slid your panties down, kicking them to the floor. your dress was pulled up, exposing the heat between your legs, slick trailing down your thighs. 

“you get this wet from me barely touching you? god…” 

his words were like serums full of pleasure, causing you to gush more slick from your cavity. you’d never used a toy a day in your life, but it seemed easy. even then, you were an avid porn consumer. your diligent fingers pressed the plus sign and clicked it until the vibrations were as high as you needed them to be. jumin’s breath died in his throat as he viewed your sinful act intensely. you pushed the head of the vibrator to your aching clit, screaming from the pleasurable shock. jumin, palm pressed to his clothed cock, chuckled darkly - as he watched your innocent face contort into pure debauchery. the touch sent electricity into your body, empty hole gaping over nothing. you were quick, prodding the artificial cock against your opening to gather enough slick before pushing it in, the stretch sending you into another shock. your body arched off of the bed, eyes rolled back into your socket as you moved the vibrator around your sensitive nub, twitching with each roll of plastic on your body. after finding a good pace to fuck yourself at, you bit your lip and looked down at jumin. 

the man was almost moaning himself, palming his hardening cock, eyes lidded and pooling with lust while he watched you stuff your wet channel, wishing it were him. the overwhelming drag of the plastic against your milky walls caused your eyes to tear up, small, salty tears falling as you cried out, toes curling and uncurling the sheets beneath you. you could feel an overwhelming shock build in your stomach as you forced yourself to stare into the dark eyes of your lover - husband watching you fuck yourself. thrust after thrust, your pussy almost reached its peak - body still lustful and needy. the tears on your cheeks began to dry as the bud in your stomach snapped, walls spasming while you came over the plastic. 

jumin groaned, throwing his head back after painfully watching you have your way with your own body. he bit his lip and crawled on the bed, snatching his tie and hauling it across the room - jacket and shirt following after. your breath had died down now, body still wildly twitching, vibrator still assaulting your overused nerves. you whine, drool slipping from the corners of your mouth, stomach bubbling with pleasure again just to witness jumin watching you with such intensity. you could cum again and again just watching him watch you. 

he snatched the vibrator from your grasp, turning the toy off as he threw it on the ground. the dildo followed. 

“you’re so good, kitten. so, so good. you want daddy’s cock this time? are you ready - you okay with that?” 

still buzzed out, the most you could do was moan and nod eagerly, fingers running through your slit to gather slick on your digits, bringing them up to your husbands lips. wet eyelashes blinked up at him, tears drying a bit while newer ones still damped your cheeks. he took them into his mouth, sucking your fingers clean. with his tongue swirling over the thick liquid, jumin groaned, palming at himself from your taste alone. 

“please, jumin. hurry, i’m gonna get so wet again, please. please, please, please, i want you so much.” the words fell so easily from your lips with little to no hesitation. in such a state of babbling, you could care less about what you were saying - as long as your husband played into your blissed-out fantasy. 

wasting no time, he unbuckled his black pants - slim fingers wrapping around his thick cock. you backed into the bed frame, legs still spread wide, eyes glued to jumin’s cock. he groaned, rubbing his cock up and down your pussy to gather enough lube, wetting his dick enough to painlessly slip in. you gaped over nothing, fingers traveling down to rub your sensitive bud. jumin scooted himself closer to you, lifting your ass up in order to line himself up with your wet pussy, cock slipping in slightly. his head filled you, body heaving while you threw your arms around him. he pulled you into his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist as he replaced your spot against the bed frame. “fuck…” 

you could cum on the spot just from feeling him inside of you. just from feeling the head of his cock hit against the hilt of your pussy, walls swallowing his entire cock in an attempt to draw the man in deeper. the shocks of your stretched walls made you convulse, body shaking in pleasure and agony. 

“shit, you feel so good. so right. always,” he spoke in fragments, huffing out his breaths with each word he attempted to speak. you buried your nose into his neck, his hips thrusting upward, cock continuing its assault inside of your pussy. loud cries of antagonizing pleasure rang through the home, your nose now buried into his shoulder, grinding yourself on his lap. jumin gripped your ass, thick length working inside of you while your slick dripped to the shaft of his dick.

“jumin - god, so good. you feel so good,” you grunted, slipping your arm between you both to snake a finger down to your sensitive clit, pussy spamming around his hard length. jumin moaned, both of your pants and gasps of neediness bubbling in the air, loud enough for you both to hear each other but not high enough to receive a noise complaint. 

“kitten… fuck, your pussy’s - fuck, a mess. did I get you this wet?” he asked through strained moans and quiet grunts. 

embarrassed, your mouth instinctively stayed shut, simply rocking your heavy botty along his - meeting each quick thrust. 

“answer, good girl. go ahead. shit - know you’re embarrassed,” he pressed his moist lips to your neck, gripping your hair with one hand. you released a small moan, edging him to go on. he gripped the strands, “i know you want this. tell me who got you this way, tell me how much of a slut you are for me.”  

“jumin - please, you. you, you, you, you, you. god, fuck - i’m so fucking wet for you. feels so good inside me, gonna cum.” 

he thrust his cock into you at a faster place, the tip of his cock hitting against your g-spot. more tears rushed down your eyes and he wiped them away, whispering praises in your ear while he fucked his load into you, the branch in both of your stomachs snapping. for the first time, you’d both cum at the same time.  

jumin grunted, his hips stuttering inside of you, making sure no cum would escape. 

“gonna push this as deep as i can. make you a mommy.” you moaned at the implications that he would impregnate you, the thought causing your body to begin shaking, his quick-moving cock sparking a different feeling, an overwhelming one. you could feel the heat rush to your pussy, your body sore - but you kept fucking yourself onto him. couldn’t stop even if you tried. a warm feeling bubbled in your stomach, nails raking his pale back, marking him as yours and no one else’s. you clenched your toes, a clear liquid gushing from your pussy and onto the bed, wetting his chest in the process. You instantly fell backwards, head hitting the sheets on the bed with a loud screech.

your pussy twitched, his cock now slowly removing itself from your cavity while you laid exposed on the bed, breathing erratic and sped up. 

“squirting all over me. what a bad girl.” sweat rained down your forehead, as well as jumin’s, body paralyzed from the excessive amounts of pleasure rushing through you.

jumin pulled you off of him and was now on his knees, cock soaked in your juices. the over sensitivity made him groan before he tucked himself in. the man with raven hair leaned down into your ear, kissing your earlobes before whispering. 

“happy birthday, slut.”

[bloodpenned]

plz plz plz can you write m!whitney skullfucking pc

wordcount: 2.5k (can’t believe this is the first time i write an actual fic on here.) cw: noncon, detailed ero guro / gore porn, eye trauma, drugging, knives, vomit mention, needle mention, degradation, victim blaming.

or: whitney fucks your eye socket and prepares you for the act. don’t read this to upset or trigger yourself, please.

Since all of your holes have been used by others, Whitney makes one for himself.

“Look at you- You can barely keep your fucking head up, slut.”

The voice drifts to you from far away, a figure leaning over the ice you’re trapped under. Where am I?, you ask, but all your vocal cords produce is a gurgle. Your limbs are made of cement and frozen in place. Letting yourself be dragged back into the depths of unconsciousness is much easier than staying afloat. Through trembling eyelids, you barely make out the shape of the person in front of you. Their legs, to be precise. Pain shoots through your scalp and you jolt, finally present enough for the ties around your wrists and ankles to register in your mind, the cold wall you’re leaning against. That it’s Whitney, because who fucking else would it be, yanking you up by your hair. Your tongue still refuses to move. 

“Follow.” His voice feigns disinterest. Yet he keeps shuffling, leaning his weight more on one leg, then the other again. He holds his hand in front of your face, moving it from side to side. Your head is so fuzzy you see no reason to disobey. By the time you’ve caught up with him to the right, he’s already back the other way. Your eyelids droop. He laughs. “God, you’re out of it. Poor you, did I gave you a little too much? You can’t say I’ve ever underestimated you.”

As soon as his grip loosens, your head drops and black dots litter your vision. Drool spills from your mouth. Something bad is about to happen, there’s no other explanation for this. His hands will end up all over your body again. But there’s no chatter of his friends, no flashes of cameras, so different from the usual that you don’t know what to expect. The world fades out, before flickering back in the middle of a sentence.

“...pay me back. Got that? Good.” The hand is back in your hair, keeping you steady. He’s digging around in his pocket. “If you weren’t such a whore, I wouldn’t have to do this. Did you think I wouldn’t see those pictures? Wouldn’t know when my slut’s gagging around someone else? I promised I would beat some sense into you if you didn’t listen, so here we are.”

Whitney’s found what he had been looking for. There’s something in his hand, moving toward your face too quickly to make out. Everything’s so blurry that even while squinting, you can’t immediately tell what it is. You nearly go crosseyed trying to figure it out. A handle clenched in his fist, gray, reflecting surface, ending in a sharp point-

A knife.

“You’re a fucking cumbrain already, but I’ll give you one too.”

You watch the situation unfold from the back of your skull. This is happening to someone else, anyone except you. It’s a movie, and a bad one at that. You can’t pinch your arm to wake yourself up. Whitney had hurt you before, sure, with his bare hands. Never like this. He’s always made fun of Kylar for having to resort to knives, why would he use one now? Is it just a threat? It has to be. Then again, you’re so disoriented you don’t stand a sliver of a chance against him. Your heart hammers against your ribcage, so loud it makes your head throb. The furthest your abilities go is to shake your head and force a whimper from your throat, rubbing your wrists raw on the zip tie. Whitney presses cold steel against your cheek. You try to spit at him, but you can’t put any force behind it. It dribbles down your chin in a slow stream. 

Whitney barks out a laugh. “What the fuck are you, a dog?” The knife digs into your skin, a gentle push away from slicing you open. “Don’t get to get too excited yet, we haven’t even started, slut.” He slides the blade up to your bottom eyelid, leaving a shallow cut. (Your brain is fuzzy. Your cheeks are warm, burning- Are you blushing? Is the wetness rolling down your face a tear?) Your fingers twitch, your teeth grind together, every muscle pulled tight like a bowstring. 

His breathing is laboured, eyes boring into yours, expression blank for a mere moment. Whitney, as you know him from school, is all but empty. He’s of scoffing and snarling, of laughter and grins- This is nothing you recognize. Your gut twists. Every instinct in your body is screeching at the top of its lungs for you to run. At the same time, another part tells you to stay as still as possible, as if you will simply fade out of existence if you don’t move. (But it’s okay, because none of this is real, and you’re at the orphanage in bed curled up under the covers, and you’ll wake up late and rush to get your uniform to not miss the bus and you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine-) Whitney’s tongue darts out to trace his upper lip, his fingers turning white around the handle. 

The next, there is a blow of air against your eye before pure, indescribable agony accompanied by a wet squelch. You’re dying, you’re dying, you’re dying, it’s over- Half of your face has been blown off, your brain is exposed for all to see and poke and prod, your lungs collapse with every breath, your throat spasms around vomit. What’s left of your right side of vision is a red and black pulsating blur. The screams, the sole outburst you’re capable of, are mere groans in the back of your throat. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish on land. Blood, sweat, tears, pus, slime- You wouldn’t know. Something oozes down your face, thick mucus, making a mess on your lap. You’re warm, you’re cold, sweat thick underneath your clothes. Everything is wet. Everything is hot.

A hand is on your head, stroking. The sensation dissapears into and becomes one with the pain, the thing that melts everything else away. “There you go, you’re being so good! But I’m not done yet.” He speaks to you in the tone reserved purely for dogs. From the corner of your good eye, you can see him reaching his fist back and pounds it against the handle, your entire world dissolving into nothing as it hits.

When you wake up, you do so to a palpitating heart that’s skipping beats left and right, to a convulsing body, to spit frothing at your mouth and a needle in your leg. The gag in your mouth rubs against your tongue and tastes of sweat. Whitney has discorded the knife, left it at your feet. Your eyeball looks like scrambled egg white on one end, a sloppy mess, and you gag. At one point or another, you will have to come to term with the fact that you’re never going to see from it again.

“Can’t have you leaving before the party’s started.” Your head whips around, the sensation of something sloshing inside your eye socket immediately making you regret it. Wind blows straight into the wound and causes you to ear up. He’s on your right. Somewhere. What you assume to be the syringe falls to the ground with a clatter. There’s no way he isn’t standing there, in the void he created, on purpose. You would’ve preferred to be really fucking dead right now. Let him rape your corpse, at least you wouldn’t have to be there to notice it. Whatever he injected you with, it’s all so much sharper now. The lights are brighter, every little step he takes ringing in your ears, your right eye (or the slurry that’s left of it) aflame. You rock back and forth to shuffle further away from him, but you’re already backed against a wall and the movement makes the blood in your skull slosh alongside it.

“Gotta check if you’re wet enough for me. Thank me later, slut.” Whitney pulls on your eyelashes, the tip of his finger teasing the hole. Once in a while, it dips into the wound, your nerves tingling in anticipation at the near touch. Breath hitching every time, your brain can’t comprehend what’s exactly happening to you. Your heart pounds in your ears, your limbs keep twitching against your will. Now that you can, you want to struggle, but you’re so scared of that pain, terrified that he could choose to take the other one as well.

All you want is for this to be over. You just want to be home. As flawed of a home it is, it’s still the one place you can think to return to. (Robin will be there, waiting for you. They always have. Could you still keep up with them during games, now that you’re like this? Bailey’s presence, suffocating as it is, at least keeps you safe from intruders. How pissed off are they going to be, now that you're a damaged ware?)

“Can’t you sit still for one fucking second? You wanna know what it feels like when I slip so badly?” Your head jerks to the side against your will, foot hitting his ankle. “I guess you do, huh? But, fuck- You keep writhing around, maybe I should give the needy whore what they want. You’re soaked, that’s for sure.”

Whitney pulls away, his fingers coated a pale red. Using your hair as a rag, he smears the fluids in it, tugging on it once for good measure. He takes a step back, descends back outside your field of vision. There’s the rustling of fabric, unbuckling of a belt, a zipper being undone. You begin to plead through your gag, repeating muffled, incomprehensible words, because please, anything but this, not right now, not ever, hasn’t he done enough, isn’t he satisfied, he’s already ruined you enough, please, just please-

“It’s cute you think you have a choice.”

There’d been a nagging suspicion in the back of your head that it would come down to this. Every meeting with Whitney would end up leading down the same path, but this time... You choke on your breaths, chest heaving with sobs. With every shock of your shoulders, more heat leaks out of your eyes, your entire face turning into one throbbing mess. You squeeze your eyes shut. (There’s no way you can move the right eyelid, the knife has torn straight through it. All it is now is limp meat, hanging on by a thread.) His dick presses against your cheek. Fucking hell, why does he have to be so big too? There’s ringing in your ears as he leaves a trail of precum, mingling with the mess already there. His scent overpowered by the metallic smell of blood. Why can’t you just pass out again? But you’re still twitching, thoughts racing faster than you can keep track of.

“You’ve been asking for this, don’t try to deny it. I’m not stupid. Well, you’ve got my attention now. You better be grateful.” He misses the first time, the head of his dick rubbing against your eyebrow. Whitney curses underneath his breath. Trembling fingers tug your eyelids as far apart as possible and you hate it, you hate this so fucking much, you want someone to come by here to save you, you want to sink through the floor, you want to die.

He sucks in a breath through grit teeth, and hits his mark. You’re not sure how much he crammed inside your skull, but all of it was too much, too cruel. The screaming is clear through your bounds, raking your throat raw. Whichever way you move, his cock stays lodged in between the bone. The muscles snap and tear, the bones crack, the flesh, like the tight fit that it is, clings around his dick, and he groans as he pushes himself further inside. An impossible amount of more fat and mucus and slime comes free, clogging your nose. The back of your head slams against the wall with every movement, but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t compare. 

There’s nothing else. There can be nothing else. Your mind is full and empty at the same time. He’s all you can think about, he’s fucking the memory of him into your brain, leaving his permanent mark. Is this what he wanted? You’re being dissected, pulled apart, the creases of your brain violated. He’s saying things, (tight, mess, slut, enjoying, loud.), but he’s pulling out and the scrape of the warm flesh makes the scenery blur. Your throat feels like it was pulled across sandpaper.

The pressure dissipates and you cry in pure relief. But, a moment later, he’s back in and down a slightly different path at a slightly different angle and there’s more snapping, more gushes of fluid. The only thing that will ever fit there again will be him. The perfect little cocksleeve. He’s pushing up against something and you don’t know what, but every time he twitches and brushes against it, your entire vision blacks out. Where the pain reached a crescendo before, it’s turned around to be almost numbing now. Are your nerves torn up? Are you dying?

“Open your mouth. Wait, fuck-” He’s breathless, stuttering over his words. His dick twitches and scrapes against bone. Trembling fingers remove the gag from your mouth. If this were literally any other situation, you might have been almost proud to have turned him into such a wreck. “Stick your tongue out and it’ll be over. Done.”

You latch onto those words like a lifeline. No matter how it ends, you just want it to be over. Without much more than a second of delay you do as he asks, your good eye rolling up to try and look at him. Considering how full your head is, you hardly notice the strings of cum being added to the pool, until some of it leaks through your nose and onto your tongue. He puts one hand on your head, shaking it until more follows. (Though his cum isn’t the only thing there.)

Strings of blood and slime stick to his dick like drool as he pulls out. You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this fucking town, and you hate every piece of shit in it. Your brain is a cacophony of screaming, of visions of growing fangs and claws and tearing him to shreds, of burning this whole town down. All you do is stare up without really looking, eyes glazed over. You’re tired, so unbelievably tired. All you want to do is rest, even if it’s while bleeding out in some shitty alleyway. His voice drifts to you from far away, smile clear in his tone.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

An eye for an eye has never sounded so appealing before.

[professional-bts-simp]

Ominous

Choi Beomgyu x Reader

Summary: Nothing bad happens when you visit presumably haunted houses on Halloween, absolutely nothing.

Genre: Horror, I guess some angst as well, sprinkle of fluff 

Warning: Blood, demons, nightmares, visions from nightmares, screaming, crying

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking side by side, hand in hand you and your boyfriend got closer to the dark house as you started clutching the flashlight in your other hand with each step you took. This was such a bad idea. 

Why did you say yes to this? 

Why did Beomgyu say yes to this? 

There must be something seriously wrong with both of you. Going to the supposedly haunted house on your favourite holiday might just be the stupidest idea you agreed to. 

“Ready to go in?” Beomgyu asked you as you two stepped up to the front door of the house.

“Sure, but you know we could just not.” You tried reasoning, “We don’t have to.”

He hummed, “We kind of do. Yeonjun dared us.” You immediately rolled your eyes at that statement. Just because that clown dared you to do something doesn’t mean you have to actually do it. You were never playing Truth or Dare with him again.

“Ugh let’s just get this over with.” You pointed the flashlight at the door, grimacing at the old wood that was rotting away. Your boyfriend however walked up to the door and opened it, albeit with a little more force, and suddenly you were in.

The inside of the room looked like any other haunted house you saw in horror movies. Dusty, dark and ominous. There was old furniture covered in white sheets, but some uncovered and as you stopped at a couch the first thing you thought of was that your aunt has a couch like this, both were very unattractive.

“Hey baby come check this out!” You jogged to where Beomgyu was standing holding a frame with an old looking photo inside it. It was a picture of the previous owners, or so you suspected, but your eyes caught something in the corner. “Look, you see that in the corner?”

You nodded, “I was actually just looking at that,” you took the photo from his hands, Beomgyu walking away from you to another room of the house, “What even is that?” You questioned as you moved the picture up and down, a face showing in the corner whenever you moved it up. “Creepy.” You said putting the frame back down. Turning around your eyes followed the flashlight as you moved it around the hall in search of your boyfriend. 

“Beom? Babe?” Your feet seemed to carry you on their own to the direction where you last saw your boyfriend go as the floor creaked under them. Suddenly you turned towards the grand staircase after hearing a thump over there. You tried squinting your eyes to see better while you shined your light towards it. “Hello? Anyone there?”

You now understood the characters in horror movies more when you yourself started walking towards the sound to investigate it. A shiver ran down your spine at the gust of wind that seemed to pass you, carrying your hair with it, yet you saw no open windows anywhere. “Beom if this is you it is not fucking funny!”

”Careful.”

A scream fell past your lips at the voice whispering in your ear, then another scream but this time it was not one from you. You ran to the source of the scream you recognised as Beomgyu’s, getting into the room you desperately called his name, shining the light around the room in search of him. Walking over to what seemed like a cabinet you jumped with yet another scream as your boyfriend jumped out yelling, “BOO!”

You put your arm on your heart to steady it’s fast beating as your ass of a boyfriend laughed at your fear stricken face. “You complete idiot,” you hit his shoulder with the flashlight, “You could have given me a heart attack. You know how worried I got when I heard you scream?”

You were pulled into his arms, relaxing when you felt the warmth from him, “I’m sorry babygirl, but that was part of the bet.”

“Ugh I’m killing Yeonjun when we get back to the dorm.” Putting your head on his shoulder you started breathing normally again, scratching your arms. Taking your hand in his, he led the two of you out of the house and back to the dorm.

 “So that thump on the stairs and the voice was you?” You questioned after a few minutes of silent walking.

He looked at you quizzically, “What are you talking about?” 

You rolled your eyes at him, “The thump and voice saying ‘careful’, that was you right?”

He stared blankly at you, “Babe I waited in that room the entire time, I didn’t even walk out until you came in.”

You thought it through, if it wasn't you and it wasn’t Beom, then either you experienced a real paranormal activity or he’s teasing you to scare you more. Deciding on the latter option as the correct one you simply laughed and bumped his shoulder with yours. 

The 25 minute walk passed quickly and soon you were back in the safety and warmth of TXT's dorm. After punching Yeonjun in both his shoulders, you decided to make some hot cocoa for yourself. Grabbing all the ingredients around the kitchen, and the mug from the cupboard, you started making the cocoa. Placing the mug on the counter you went on to heat up the milk. 

Humming you waited for the milk to warm up so you could put the cocoa powder in, except you were cut off from the process by a loud bang which pulled a surprised little scream out of you. Looking towards the source of the bang you found the mug broken on the floor. Many footsteps came towards the direction of the kitchen to see what happened.

"(y/n) everything okay in here?" Soobin's voice spoke first while the rest looked at the mess in front of them. In an instant Beomgyu was next to you and helping you pick up the broken pieces.

You looked at Soobin giving him a short nod, "Yeah, I must've put the mug too close to the edge and it fell off." Throwing away the pieces you pick up another mug, this time keeping a hold on the handle. "Sorry for the mug everyone," you gave them a sheepish smile, scratching your arm.

"It's alright Noona, we have more mugs." Kai waved it off.

"Kai how many times have I told you that you don't have to call me that?"

"Enough for me to remember, but ignore." He laughed, walking to the living room with the others to continue watching the movie.

You felt a hand on your waist, turning to look towards the person you were met with Beomgyu's smile, "Are you sure you're okay?" 

You gave him a smile of your own while nodding your head and a kiss on the cheek for good measures. The night continued on with you watching horror movies, you all finished the movies around midnight, opting on going to sleep as they had a packed schedule tomorrow, even if you tried convincing them they should go earlier. 

You could’ve sworn the dreams you had were placed there to mess with you even more than you already had been through the night. Images of dark hallways that spun in circles, shadows following you and screams emanating from the end of the hallways were swimming in your dreams, pulling you from sleep. 

Opening your eyes after not being able to fall asleep again for who knows how many minutes you slipped from your boyfriend’s arms, scratching your own and looking at his sleeping, peaceful form one more as you left the room to not wake him or any of the members up. Deciding to get a water bottle and turn on the TV to watch something, you got comfortable on the couch, watching until you got tired enough to fall asleep again.

As it seems God wasn’t on your side as you couldn’t even close your eyes without remembering your dream, flashes of the shadows and various other terrifying faces screaming in your face flashed through your eyes, ringing deep in your ears. You dropped the water bottle as you covered your ears in an attempt to drown them out, eyes tearing when none of it stopped, only getting louder. The ringing in your ears was too much, the high pitched screams that made your skin crawl pulled a choked sob from your throat.

As fast as it came it disappeared, leaving you shaking on the couch expecting the worst, expecting something to happen again but nothing did until you uncovered your ears, seeing red on your palms. With a shaking hand you brought it to your ears, feeling a wet spot and when you looked at your fingers you confirmed what you thought.

Rushing to the bathroom you grabbed a clean cloth, soaking it in water as you cleaned the blood that was dripping from your ears. Tears build up in your eyes once again, falling freely down your cheeks as you cried, in confusion, in fear.

Cleaning your ears and making sure they weren’t bleeding anymore you washed your face from tears and to wake you up more, there was no way you could sleep after what just happened and you weren’t even going to try. Drying your face with a towel you looked at yourself in the mirror only to see another face behind you.

Dark bangs covered its eyes but not enough to not see them, it didn’t even have any eyes! Only holed out sockets that were spilling a dark crimson blood from them, its mouth was pulled into a sinister smile showing off the razor sharp teeth that were hiding beneath.

“I told you to be careful, didn’t I?” Its neck cracked painfully to the side, a bone sticking from it. You couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything except watch this thing in the mirror. Gathering some courage you glanced behind you only to be met with an empty space where the thing should have been standing. Confused you turned back to the mirror only to see the creature still standing there, still giving you the same sinister smile. 

It started stalking towards you, you desperately looking behind yourself to catch it and back to the mirror as it was moving in closer. A hand was stretched out to you, boney long fingers with sharp nails coming through the mirror to scratch at your cheek.

“Stupid child, you should have never went into the house.” The voice terrified you beyond anything you've seen in horror movies, it opened its mouth, skin around it stretching and breaking until it was opened as large as your head. In one swift motion it clasped its teeth around your head as a scream finally reached from somewhere within you.

The guys woke up when they heard your screams, Beomgyu jumping from his bed to hurry to where you were and they found you on the floor of the bathroom, screaming, crying and thrashing around. Beomgyu was by your side trying to get you to calm down but you wouldn’t let him touch you, screaming whenever you felt a hand on your body. He watched with a heavy heart as you were forced to calm down on your own without being able to hold you close and console you himself.

“Baby are you okay?” Beomgyu asked worriedly.

You looked dead in his eyes before saying, “There was something in the mirror.” A chill went through all five boys, your voice so low and groggy from crying yet so serious at the same time.

Yeonjun’s voice caught your attention as you slowly moved your gaze to his, “What do you mean something was in the mirror? What was?”

You hang your head, your body starting to shake once again. All of them thought you started crying again, until they heard a low laughter coming from you.

Beomgyu grabbed you by your shoulders, “(y/n) baby are you okay?” But the laughter only grew louder.

“Stupid humans,” you jerked your head to look at them, dark crimson blood oozing from your eyes and a menacing smile on your lips, “she’s mine now.”

“Wh-what are you? Leave her alone!” Beom was screaming, tears falling from his eyes. He was shaking the thing’s shoulders because he refused to believe that was still his sweet girlfriend.

“You should watch what house you’re entering next time, Choi Beomgyu.”

[shoutogepi]

sleepy but passionate sex w shinsou 🥺

shinsou seems like the type of guy to wake you up in the middle of the night just to make you cum, and then pass out again LOL

NSFW 18+ below the line

— - — - — - — - —

the red numbers on the alarm clock blur between your heavy eyelids, rough hands sliding down the skin on your stomach. it takes you a second before you can make sense of them, your mind still clogged with slumber.

2:43

three am and hitoshi is rousing you to stare into the pitch black of your shared bedroom, the moon itself not even strong enough to penetrate the heavy-duty shades licking the tops of the windowsills. “toshiii,” you groan, shoving your face into the silky pillow. “you should be asleep.”

“huhuh, well then,” shinsou chuckles from behind you, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. his hands split paths, one rushing up to grab at your chest while the other pushes into your panties. “maybe,” he whispers, lips brushing the curve of your ear before his teeth take it between his teeth, “you shouldn’t be so damn gorgeous.”

your mouth twists with a genuine smile, your bottom lip between your teeth. “you can’t even see me right now, toshi,” you giggle drowsily, your body naturally curving to meet the large frame pressing up against you from behind.

his lips litter kisses as light as butterflies on your throat, nose rubbing into you and taking in the sweet smell of your skin. “don’t need to see you to know that you’re smokin’, kitten,” he muses, his fingers finding your nipples and beginning to toy with them. the woodsy scent of his shampoo wafts toward you as he wiggles closer, your eyes opening wide when the heated flesh of his hard cock greets your lower back.

“apparently not,” you sputter. your words are hesitant, but your body does not need so much convincing, your back arching to press your ass into his hips.

he hums, knowing fully well you’re already getting wetter by the minute just from his simple touch. he pinches his fingers, rolling the pebbled bud between calloused fingertips. “don’t wanna play games right now, kitten,” he mutters, cupping your aching pussy with his fingers. the middle digit separates from the rest, immediately dipping into the slick leaking out of your ready hole. he clicks his tongue, his lips surely split into a classic cheshire grin. “doesn’t seem you do, either.”

you only whimper as he repositions you, pushing your hip so your torso twists to lay flat against the mattress. one hand lifting your leg, he rocks himself against you, his cock dragging along your glistening slit.

shinsou’s teeth dig into your shoulder as the flushed head of his cock presses into you, your tender walls stretching to welcome every inch. he’d only pounded you into the mattress a few hours ago— yet the feeling of him sheathed completely inside your tight heat has your head spinning, chest heaving.

before long, he’s pinning you against the bed, hips slapping against your ass as his cock slides in and out of your waiting cunt with ease. “hahh, kitten— you’re so wet for me. pussy’s just eating my big cock up, hmm? this sloppy little hole is— fuck— all mine to fill, right?”

“yes,” you moan, muffling yourself with the pillow by tugging at the pillowcase with your teeth. “yesyesyes oh, yes please— yes!”

“mmm,” he murmurs across your jaw, slipping his arm out from under you to tuck it under your head and turn your face to his. his lips slot against yours and his tongue delves in between them, searching for your own and caressing it passionately once he finds it.

when he pulls back, his amethyst eyes are lidded halfway, his mouth snagged in a lazy smirk. “you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met,” he says, not a trace of deceit in his violet gaze. your heart stops in your chest, your breath catching in your lungs. “and i’m the lucky guy that gets to shatter your world every night,” he pants, a low moan tumbling from his lips. “guess i should go ahead and make you cum already then, huh?”

you cry out when his fingers touch your clit, swirling the sensitive nub in your excess slick. “ohhh, please toshi,” you gasp, tension building in your stomach as each thrust has his tip punching precisely into your g-spot. “please baby, oh— oh my god, i’m gonna cum.” your limbs are nearly shaking as the pleasure flows through your body, electricity zipping in your veins. the contrast of the sleep weighing down your form and the sheer lightning of ecstasy crackling down your spine leaves you in a state of euphoria, too overwhelmed to even keep your eyes open.

shinsou groans into your ear when your fingers twist into his wild locks, your ass pushing out to meet his hips and allow his cock to slam into you as deep as possible. he’s brushing against the base of your womb his length is so deep inside of you, filling you so good that you can hardly think. “c’mon kitty, don’t you wanna cum? i wanna feel you tremble under me, hear you call out for me when you fall apart— just for me.”

you don’t know how his voice is so steady— you can barely breathe as his muscular frame drills you into the sheets, your pussy twitching and spilling all over his cock at his every word. “yesss, oh— toshi, i— i love you!” you choke out as you feel yourself about to hurtle over the edge, your cunt tightening snug around his thick cock.

“i love you too, y/n,” he moans instantly, fingers tweaking at every bit of flesh he can find— running his palms along the expanse of your skin, short nails dragging across to raise heat to your flesh.

and then you’re cumming on his cock, brain going blank like he’d ripped its plug from the socket; the only feeling your body can process being complete bliss. shinsou growls out against your throat as he cums too, the intensity of your hot, slippery walls milking him too much— his seed spurting deep into your cunt as he empties his load into you.

he continues to touch you all over as the two of you sink back into reality, fingertips dancing across your sweaty skin. “you should sleep, kitten,” he sighs, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek before he tucks you into his chest, cock still buried between your warm legs. his voice is low as always when he speaks, but this time there’s a touch of a dark mischief in his tone. “you’re gonna need to be well rested in the morning.”

[birdsandspades]

Late Night Snack - A Bakugou Katsuki Drabble

- Nightmares got you down? A ramen cup can fix that! Let’s see who joins your for your late night noodle therapy session.

-Word Count: 1,687

-This was a byproduct of staying up till 4:00 a.m (despite being exhausted) and making a middle of the night (possibly breakfast) cup of noodle.

—-

You turned over in bed, eyes heavy as you stared a hole into the dark ceiling of your room. Your ceiling fan turning round and round, pull chain rocking back and forth with the momentum. You watched it, eyes following the blade.

How long had you been awake?

You turned to your side, glazing over the red numbers on your analog clock. They blurred into 3:47 a.m, no 3:48 as the minute passed. 

You had woken up around midnight in a cold sweat. A bright flash, screaming, your throat closing in as everything faded to black. It was enough to scare anyone. 

You attempted to fall back asleep, breathing slowing down as you settled into the sheets. But the uneasy feeling wouldn’t leave, lingering in the back of your mind. It picked away at your groggy state, leaving you grasping at sheep as you fought to drift off. 

You sat up, sheets pooling at your waist.

What was the point, you weren’t falling asleep anytime soon. 

Reaching up, you rubbed small circles into your sockets, stars filling your vision. Your eyes hurt, sore from fatigue. 

Groaning softly you shifted out of the covers. Placing your toes onto the cold ground, inching down to your heels as you stood up. 

Sliding your feet across the dark floor you found your slippers, partially tucked under the bed frame. You shimmed each foot inside, kicking the legs of your bed to secure your placement. 

You took small, shuffled steps to your bedroom door, easing it open as you stepped into the dark hallway. The dorms were quiet, only the soft sounds of sleep as you passed by each room. Your classmates had been asleep for hours, something you wished you had the privilege of enjoying. 

The common room was the same, completely empty as you walked around the couches. The blinds open just enough for the light of the moon to shutter through. The shadows of the tree outside dancing across the wooden floor boards, rolling over the exposed skin of your legs as you walked to the shared kitchen. 

You flipped over the light switch as you walked into the space, lights flickering on one by one. Rummaging through the cabinets you found the kettle. You filled it with water, setting it to boil on the stove. What better time from comfort food than 4:oo a.m? 

The kitchen chair looked inviting, pressed up against the marble island in the middle of the room. The seat looked soft, plush. The back, supportive and sturdy. So you sat, waiting for the water to boil. Your head resting in your hand, arm propped up on the cold stone as you stared at the steam snaking out the opening.

“What are you doing awake?”

You turned towards the door, his tired figure leaned up against the framework.

“I could ask you the same thing Bakugou.” You gave him a drowsy one over, before returning to your steam watching.

He was dressed in loose fitting pajama pants, wrinkled and faded. They were the only ones you ever saw him in, most likely his favorite pair. His shirt was plain, slightly baggy. It was fitting for nightwear. His hair was angled up slightly more than usual, shifted from sleep. He looked like he had been up just as long as you, the anguish mirrored in his glassy eyes.

“What does it look like, I can’t sleep.” He grumbled, pulling out a chair on the other side of the island. 

“Me either…” The whistle of the pot started soft, pitch increasing as you pulled it off the heat. 

“Are you hungry?” You turned back to Bakugou, raising the kettle.

He gave you a small nod, resting his head in his folded arms.

“What kind do you want? We have udon, soya, soba, chilli pepper noodles…” You stood up on your toes, thumbing through the selection of cups that filled the cabinets. 

“Chilli pepper is fine…” He watched you pull down two cups, unwrapping the film as you sat them down on the counter top.

You pulled back the paper lids, setting each one to the side as you poured the boiling water inside. “Here.” You set them both down, sliding one across the table. 

“Chopsticks?” Bakugou gave you an annoyed look, wrapping his hands around the warm cup.

You gave him a sleepy nod, pulling open the utensil draw. At hours like this, matching sets didn’t matter. The oddly colored sets matched together only in purpose. You extended one bundle over the table, handing them to your new seat mate.

He nodded, a small form of gratitude as he set them on top of the cup lid.

You did the same, taking your seat again.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” His voice was gruff, forced out almost.

You looked up, his eyes on you as he shifted in his seat.

“Nightmare.” You put it simply, no need for details.

He stayed quiet, eyes lowered to the lines of the marble. He traced his finger of the patterns, nodding slowly. 

It was a comfortable silence, the same that settled around you when you were alone in your room. The few moments before sleep as your eyes drifted closed, consciousness slipping as you dipped into REM. That perfect moment of complete relaxation, mind blank. 

You reached for your chopsticks, peeling off the paper lid. The steam warmed your hand as you pushed your chopsticks through the puck of softened noodles, dipping below into the warm soup. You gave it a few folds, working the mass apart. 

Bakugou followed suit, actions mirroring yours as you settled in to eat. 

You pulled a bundle out of the cup, feeding it into your mouth. Chewing with your eyes closed as the heat of the broth traveled down your throat. The warmth spread through your chest and down into your stomach. Your lower limbs melting into the seat cushion as you went back for more.

“I had a nightmare too.” 

You opened your eyes, fixing your gaze on Bakugou. His crimson hues set on you. The bags under his eyes were dark, heavy set into the puffed skin of the lower lid. The whites of his eyes tinted pink with exhaustion as he fought to keep them open.

You tilted your head, swallowing your food.

“I’m awake because I had a nightmare too.” His nose crinkled at the word, his leer now directed into the cup.

“Do you have a lot of nightmares?” You took another bite as you leaned over the table.

“Every night.” He fixed his stare on you, stirring his broth.

“I do too…” You fumbled around your cup for a moment, pulling out a thick cut of pork. “Here, give me your cup.” You met him across the table, laying the slice on the top of his ramen. You fished the other slices out, placing them into his cup one at a time. 

He looked between you and the meat a few times, confusion knitting it’s way over his brow. “What are you doing?”

“Hmm?” You looked up, retracting your chopsticks. “Oh, I figured maybe you wanted some extra, I don’t really like it.” You gave him a shy smile as you sank back into your seat.

“Well here, give me yours then.” Bakugou sat up in his seat, reaching over the table. He wrapped his fingers around your cup, pulling it over to his side of the table as he sat back down. “I hate the bamboo shoots…” He complained, dropping them into your cup. 

You met his reach, leaning out of your seat to take the cup from his outstretched hands. “Thank you…” It was a kind gesture you had not expected him to return.

You both sat in silence, eating, thinking. Every once in a while you would glance up at the tired boy in front of you. His eyes inching closed, easing up against the table as he fought off sleep. He was tired, ready to fall asleep at any moment. He was actively staying awake at this point, forcing himself.

You had finished your late night meal now, pushing it to the side. Your arms folded over the table, your head easing into the space between as you watched Bakugou finish his.

“Are you expecting me to want to talk about my nightmare?” He sneered, glaring down at you.

You remained silent, blankly staring at the boy.

He stared back, eyes narrowing until he abruptly turned away. “It’s the fucking sludge villain, it’s always the sludge villain.”

You watched as he talked, giving him the space he was ready to use.

“I just feel like i’m choking. Everything’s black and I’m so helpless. Then fucking Deku…” He looked your way, eyes softening. “ Do you ever feel like that?” 

“Every night.” You watched his eyes melt, sadness melding between the confusion that already tinted his features. 

You tipped his empty cup, looking to see if he had finished. “Done?”

He gave you a single nod, pushing it close to you.

You took the two empty cups to the trash, pressing your foot on the pedal. “ But having someone to talk to makes it easier…” You dropped the cups inside, turning to set the dirty chopsticks in the sink.

“I guess so…” Bakugou pushed his seat from the counter, standing up. “So I guess i’ll see you here tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, but your cooking.” You chuckled lightly, walking over to the door. 

“Are you going to actually talk about your shitty dreams then or?” He droned on flipping the light switch off behind you. 

“Eh maybe, depends on what you make me.” You teased, walking with him down the hallway.

It was now 5:30, your hand turning the door handle to your room. 

“Go to bed F/N.” Bakugou stared down at you a few doors down the hall, hand on his own.

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight Bakugou… sweet dreams.” You pushed the door open, giving him a soft smile.

He returned the look, turning the knob. He gave you one final glance before walking into his room, door closing behind him. 

[boldycrazygirl]

Most People Think You Go To Either Heaven Or Hell, What I Experienced Was Much, Much Worse



By Elias WitherowUpdated June 26, 2021

 Forest Simon

I slowly opened my eyes. My head was swimming and a dull pain surrounded my throat. I was thirsty. That was the first thing I noticed. I licked my dry lips as my surroundings faded into focus. My body ached and I realized it was because I was tightly bound to a metal chair in the middle of an empty room. The barren concrete walls were stained and dirty, the floor beneath my bare feet was cold and slightly wet.

A single bulb lit the room, dangling from the ceiling by a string. It cast moving shadows and I blinked back darkness. An open door stood before me, but I couldn’t see anything but the wall of a hallway.

I tried to clear my head, tried to remember how I got here. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself not to panic. I slowed my breathing and focused my thoughts, desperately trying to summon some recollection of why I was here.

I couldn’t remember anything.

I opened my eyes and exhaled, my parched throat throbbing. I could hear sound echoing off the hallway walls outside the door. Screaming, clanging, howling, all very distant but that did nothing to help calm my nerves.

“Hello?!” I cried, the word tearing at my vocal cords. I felt my chest hitch in pain but I cleared my throat and yelled again.

“Is anyone there!? Hello!?”

The dark hallway remained silent except for the constant echoes. I shut my mouth and tried to wriggle free of my bindings, but the rope was knotted impossibly tight. I fought back against my imagination as it flooded my mind with horrific scenarios of what awaited me. If I could only remember!

Suddenly, footsteps erupted from outside the door, a rapid patter of small feet. My hopes rose and I trained my attention on the door, praying it was help.

A young boy ran into the room, dressed in a red onezie, complete with padded feet. Stretched over his face was a plastic Devil mask. The eye holes revealed massive blue eyes that greeted me curiously. Taken back, I opened my mouth to speak but that’s when I noticed something was off. His eyes were huge, impossibly round and bulging from their sockets. It sent a shiver of unease down my spine, but I shook it off. This child might be able to free me.

“Hey!” I hissed, urgently, “Hey kid, can you get me out of here?!”

The boy took a step closer, cocking his head, but remaining silent.

I rattled my bound arms against the chair, “Cut me free, please, I shouldn’t be here, this is some kind of mistake!”

The boy eyed me behind his strange mask and stopped directly in front of me. He leaned in close and whispered, his voice like wet silk, “You did a bad thing…”

Confused, I shook my head, “No! No this is a mistake! I didn’t do anything!”

The boy’s enormous blue eyes suddenly filled with sadness, “Oh, you did a really, really bad thing…”

I shook my head again, violently, “No! I’m sorry! I don’t remember, just please get me out of this chair!”

Suddenly, before either of us could speak again, a man came charging into the room. He was overweight and dressed in overalls, his grizzled face twisted in seething anger. He was holding a sawed off shotgun in his arms.

“I didn’t do anything!” I cried as he advanced on us, my voice cracking, “I’m not supposed to be here!”

The big man ignored me and instead grabbed the kid and shoved him hard against the wall. The boy grunted as his back struck the concrete and his eyes rose to meet the grizzled man’s.

Wordlessly, the man raised his shotgun, placed it against the boy’s forehead, and blew his head off. Chunks of gore splattered the wall as shock slugged me in the stomach like an iron fist. My ears rang and time seemed to slow as I watched in horror as the headless body crumpled to the ground.

My breath rushed back into my lungs and time seemed to readjust.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST!” I screamed, straining against the ropes, my eyes bulging in horrific shock, “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

The man ignored my screams as he bent down and picked up the boy. He slung the ruined corpse over his shoulder and walked out the doorway.

Suddenly, the hallway erupted with malicious laughter, a chorus of voices all howling in glee. I shut my eyes, the noise deafening, as absolute terror filled my every pore.

After a few moments, the laughter faded and I cautiously opened my eyes, unable to believe what I had just witnessed.

“Hello.”

I jumped as I realized there was another man standing before me. He was dressed in a simple, white button down shirt and jeans. His brown hair was cut short and he appeared to be in his early thirties. His green eyes were dull and lifeless, his full lips pulled down at the corners.

“What is going on!? Where am I!?” I cried, new fear pooling in my stomach like hot blood.

The man crossed his arms, “So you’re the new one huh?” He shook his head, “You people disgust me.”

Questions bubbled on my lips but he waved them off with a sharp chop of his hand, slicing the air and demanding my silence.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, sneering, “You look like you’ve already seen some of the horrors this place holds huh? Yes, I can tell by the look in your eyes. You’re terrified. You’ve seen something haven’t you? It doesn’t seem all that bad now does it, looking back? You’ve been here five minutes and already you’re shitting your pants.”

“Where am I?” I gasped, unable to hold back any longer, “What do you people want?”

The man crossed his arms behind his back, “I bet you want to get out of here don’t you? I bet you’d like to go back to your home, your family, everything.”

“Please,” I interrupted, “Whatever I did to you…I’m sorry, I really am, but I don’t remember!”

The man rolled his eyes, “You didn’t do anything to me. You did it to yourself. You really don’t remember anything?”

I shook my head and felt tears brimming in my eyes, liquid fear.

The man looked at me with contempt, “You waited until your wife left for work and then you went out to the woodshed and hung yourself. You’re dead.”

The recent memory rose in my mind like a monster from a bog. My eyes went wide. As much as I wanted to deny it…he was right. I had killed myself. The incident tore through my brain like a bullet train and left me reeling.

“I’m Danny, by the way,” the man said, ignoring the shocked look on my face, “And I’m number two here. I run the orientation process. I want to make this quick because I’m tired of repeating this fucking thing to you pathetic Suicidals. You get one question before I begin.”

He stared down at me and I scrambled to organize my thoughts into something cohesive. This was all horrifying. Why had I killed myself? I fought against the fog and panic and the mists of confusion slowly began to lift. I had just lost my job. Yes…that was the start. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced more of the memory to emerge. I had lost my job and I was about to lose the house. My wife…Tess…she found out and was going to leave me. I didn’t have any way out, didn’t have any options. Getting fired had come out of the blue and I didn’t have much in savings. I was broke, soon to be homeless, and my wife hated me for it. There was something else…yes…that’s right. She had been cheating on me. I had seen texts on her phone while she slept one night and confirmed my suspicions. My life had degraded to shit and I had run out of options. Humiliated and ashamed, I had decided death was my only option.

“Hey, fucker, do you have a question or not?” Danny said, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

I was sucked back into reality and I asked the only question that mattered.

“Is this Hell?”

Danny snorted, “That’s always what you people ask.” He began to pace back and forth in front of me, “No. This is not Hell. It’s not Heaven either. This is the Black Farm. And no, I didn’t name it that. This is where God sends the souls who have ended their own life. Suicidals. You see, he doesn’t really know what to do with you…and neither does the Devil. There are genuinely good people who kill themselves. Seems cruel to banish them to Hell for all eternity for a moment of weakness right? Personally, I think God and the Devil were just tired of arguing about it. And so, they send them here, to the Black Farm.”

“Did…did God create this place?” I asked, growing more and more confused.

Danny spit on the floor, chuckling, “Sure, at some point. But he lost control of it when he put The Pig in charge.”

“What’s The Pig?” I asked, unsure I wanted to know the answer.

Danny held up a hand, annoyed, “Can I fucking finish? God created this place, eons ago, put The Pig in charge, and then forgot about it for a while. Well, when his back was turned, The Pig decided to use his new powers to try and create his own little world. This mess you see around you is the fractured remains of that experiment. The Black Farm use to be a lot nicer, but The Pig wanted things to be different. He wanted to create his own vision. These people you see, these monsters? They are The Pig’s attempts at creating functioning life. Instead of mirroring God’s Earth, these mutated horrible creations are full of sin and hatred. They run rampant here, unabashed. This place is chaos. The Black Farm is a circus of freaks and monsters. And it’s your eternity.”

Fear boiled in my gut like thick oil. No. No this couldn’t be my end. I didn’t believe in stuff like this. This wasn’t real! I would wake up soon and realize I was just having a nightmare! That had to be it!

Danny stood before me and lightly slapped my face, “Hey, hey! Don’t go into hysterics on me. I haven’t finished yet.”

I raised my teary eyes to meet his.

Danny smiled, “You can always Feed the Pig.”

My breath pushed from my lungs like burning steam, “W-what does that mean?”

Danny spread his hands, still smiling, “It’s as simple as that. Feed the Pig. If you do so, there’s a chance he’ll send you back to your life.”

“A-and w-what happens if it doesn’t?” I bumbled.

“You get sent to Hell. So flip a coin if you have one. Stay here with us or Feed the Pig. If you choose to stay, I’ll let you go…I’ll let you go out there,” he said, pointing towards the door, “But let me assure you…what awaits you at the end of the hallway…well…let’s just say Hell isn’t that much worse.”

I swallowed hard, trying my best to digest everything. Why wouldn’t I try Feeding the Pig? Whatever that meant. If there was even a sliver of hope, I would take it. An eternity in this place, the Black Farm, be sent to Hell, or…or Feed the Pig? I would do anything for a chance to go back. This nightmare made my problems seem nothing in comparison.

Danny raised a hand before I could speak, “I’ll let you think on it a while. I’ll be back later.”

“I want to Feed the Pig!” I cried, not wanting to spend another second in this awful room. I could hear a woman screaming down the hallway, her cries rising as something meaty pounded into her. My breath came in sharp pulls and my throat burned. Danny noticed the noise and grinned.

“Sounds pretty bad huh?” He said softly as the woman’s voice creaked with agony. Something was still slamming into her, the sound of beaten flesh igniting my imagination with horrors.

“Please,” I gasped, breathless, “Just…just let me Feed the Pig. I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

Danny turned away from me, “I’ll be back later. Enjoy your time alone. Really think about your situation. Weigh your options. And remember…you put yourself here.”

And with that he was gone, leaving me in the dim room.

Tears streamed down my face.

The woman didn’t stop screaming for hours.

At some point, I fell into a semi-sleep. The darkness in the room seemed to press in on me and my eyes fluttered shut. My body ached and my throat was a halo of fire. Thirst raked at my windpipe like sharp glass. My lips felt like crumpled paper. My head thundered like a drum. The room swam in and out of focus and my mind drifted towards the horrific sounds that never ended.

I was lost in a haze, unaware that something was sliding into the room until I felt a sharp prick on my big toe. I jolted out of my daze as my bare foot ignited with pain. I screamed and tried to move, but my bindings held me tight.

The room rushed back into focus and I blinked in agony as I felt blood trickle between my toes. I looked down for the source of pain and I felt a scream claw up my throat.

Staring up at me was an armless man. He slithered on the floor like a worm, his bald head scabbed and filthy. His legs were wrapped together in barbed wire, forcing him to wriggle his body to move. His eye were lidless and wide, two bloodshot white orbs that stared up at me with hungry intensity. His teeth had been removed and replaced with long screws which jutted from his bleeding gums like a broken rock formation.

Around his neck was a chain leash, which I followed across the floor to the open door. The end of the leash was held by a tall, naked man. His body was hairless and flabby, covered in similar scabs like his pet. A dirty bag was pulled over his head that hid his features except for a single red eye that peeked out at me from a crude cut in the cloth.

He stared at me and groped his engorged penis, his breath heavy and labored. As the armless man wriggled towards me again, his master started to masturbate. I screamed as the screw filled mouth bit at me again and my cries seemed to stimulate the naked man even more.

“Get off of me! Stop it!” I screamed, horrified. I tried to kick at the man, doing my best to avoid his sharp metal teeth. I brought my heel down on his head and he screamed as his face bounced off the floor.

A moan of pleasure escaped the bagged man’s mouth and I turned away as a mist of black sprayed out onto the floor. There was a rattle of chains and I turned back to see the two of them leaving, the armless man dragged by his neck out the door. I looked at where the bagged man had ejaculated and saw a puddle of dead ants. I vomited onto myself, thick chunky curtains of bile and slime.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” I screamed, strands of puke running down my chin, “I DON’T BELONG HERE!”

I listened to the two men retreat down the hallway, the clank of chains accompanied by the sound of flesh being dragged across the concrete. I screamed again, but I knew no one was going to help me. I spit a wad of phlegm and bile onto the floor, ridding my mouth of its sourness. I forced myself to calm down. It wasn’t easy.

After some time, I heard someone else approaching. I had been in a miserable lull, my mind a blank canvas of dark despair, but the noise roused me from my trance like state. The muscles in my arms burned from being restrained for so long and I shifted them desperately, trying my best to prepare myself for whatever horror was about to walk through the door.

Footsteps drew closer and then a woman walked into the room. She stopped at the doorway and looked at me. One of her eyes was missing, a dark cavernous hole in her skull. Her hair was ratty and wild, a brown tangle like a forgotten nest. Her skin was pale and filthy and she was dressed in rags. I couldn’t tell how old she was, but there was maturity in her one good eye.

“Still thinking?” She asked, her voice course and brittle.

“What?”

She took a step closer, “Are you still deciding whether you’re going to Feed the Pig or not?”

I looked at her cautiously, “Yeah…I am. Who are you? What do you want?”

“I was once where you are now,” She said, “trying to decide my fate. I couldn’t believe that this was what happened…what happened after we die. It wasn’t what I was taught…religion didn’t warn me about this place.”

I tested my bindings again before asking, “You killed yourself too? You’re a person like me? You’re not one of those…those creations?”

She snorted, “Breaks my heart you have to ask, though,” she touched the hole where her eye should have been, “Though I can understand your caution. Yeah, I’m a Suicidal. I’ve been here a long, long time. But that was my choice. I decided to chance it here.”

I motioned with my head towards the door, “What’s out there? What is all this?”

She exhaled heavily and leaned against the wall, “I can’t even begin to describe this place. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen. You walk down that hallway and go out…into it…and…” she swallowed, “You’d have to see it to understand.”

“How bad is it? Why are all these mutated people hurting and killing each other?” I asked.

She let her head loll back against the wall, “It would take years for you to fully understand this place. Years you don’t have. Right now you have to make a decision. Stay or Feed the Pig. They tell me Hell is worse than here, but it can’t be by much. Monsters and Suicidals roam the Black Farm…killing, raping, brutalizing…and then you wake up and wonder how long you can survive before something else kills you. It’s an endless cycle.”

“So why did you stay?” I pressed, “Why didn’t you Feed the Pig? I don’t even know what that means, but I would do anything for a chance to go back. I can’t stay here, I…I just can’t!”

She smiled sadly at me, “Why? Why did I choose this? It’s simple really. I’m a coward. I was a coward when I was alive and I’m a coward in death. When it came down to it, when the moment presented itself, I chose to stay here. I didn’t know what awaited me outside. It boiled down to a simple choice fueled by my own fear.”

“What is The Pig? What does it do to you?” I pressed.

She suddenly turned to go, “I’m afraid that’s for you to find out. But let me warn you. Think hard before you make a decision. Sometimes suffering through your fear is better than suffering for eternity. Be brave.”

“What do I do!?” I yelled, shaking in my chair as she walked out the door.

She paused and took one last look over her shoulder. Her eyes darted around and she dropped her voice to a whisper, “Feed the Pig.”

And with that she was gone.

I sat in silence once again. My mind was spinning, desperately turning over my options. I still couldn’t fully understand the situation I was in. It was too much, too overwhelming. The other side of death wasn’t supposed to be like this. I didn’t know what I had expected, but it wasn’t this nightmare. Questions crashed over my mind like cold waves onto a sinking ship. How was I supposed to make a choice when I didn’t even know what my actions entailed?

This place, the Black Farm…I couldn’t stay here. But what if I went to Hell? What if I didn’t get sent back? I would be out of the fire and into the frying pan. My existence would forever be damned to unending misery. Here though…here there were people like me. Suicidals. It wasn’t all monsters and mutilated murderers. Maybe I could hole up somewhere with them, try to scrape together a passable existence. Surely that would be better than getting sent to Hell!

No. No this wasn’t going to be how I spent my eternity. I refused to let it be. If there was even the slightest sliver of hope, I would take it. I didn’t want to wonder what could have been. I didn’t want to be tormented by doubt. I would Feed the Pig and accept whatever fate chose for me. When I boiled it down, that was the only option left.

I would Feed the Pig.

“Hey! Hello!? Danny!” I yelled, rattling in my chair. “I’ve made my decision! Danny!”

After a couple seconds, I heard footsteps echo down the hall towards me.

Danny walked through the doorway, an annoyed look on his face.

“I’ve made my choice,” I said, “I’m going to Feed the Pig.”

“Sounds like you’ve really thought a lot about it since I left you,” Danny said sarcastically.

I licked my lips, “You’d do the same thing if you were in my place.”

Danny walked behind me, “I was in your place once. And I chose differently.” My eyes widened and then Danny wrapped my entire head with a strip of thin cloth, blinding me. I sucked in as much air as I could, but each lungful felt empty.

I felt Danny cut me free from the chair and my body sighed as my stiff muscles were released. I rolled my shoulders as my hands were released and I moaned with relief. I dug my fingers into my back and I stretched, my bones creaking.

“Keep your blindfold on and follow me,” Danny said, pulling me up.

My legs shook as I put weight on them, my thighs trembling after their long cemented position. I groped blindly in front of me and found Danny’s shoulder. I rested my hand on it as he walked us out of the room.

As were entered the hallway, I could suddenly hear sound I hadn’t before. The clank of metal, a long fleshy tearing noise, something vomiting…these sounds sprang to life in my ears, painting the darkness before my eyes with imaginary scenes of horror. I gripped Danny’s shoulder tighter, stumbling behind him, my heart thundering.

I heard something trailing behind us, but Danny didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Flesh slapped the concrete mere inches behind me and I suddenly felt hot breath on my neck and the click of a wet tongue against gums. My breathing became even more labored as fear choked me.

“Go’in ta feed da piggy are ya?” Something whispered in my ear. I felt something press against the back of my head and I tried not to think about what it might be. It was wet and slimy and I heard the thing chuckle.

“Ee’s a ‘ungry piggy, you make shor’ ee gets iz meal now,” the thing whispered again, its voice low and unlike anything I had ever heard before. It was like a series of grunts and moans jumbled together to form broken words.

To my relief, I heard the thing retreat back to wherever it had come from and I continued to follow Danny. He remained silent as we walked and I could feel shifts in the air. The thick heat gave way to a cooler, almost pleasant temperature, but then it kept decreasing and soon I was shivering violently against the cold. I couldn’t see anything but I felt a breeze on my face, like we were outside. I didn’t hear Danny open any doors, but nothing about this place was natural. It was like reality blurred and bled into itself, like reels of film melting together.

Teeth chattering, I was suddenly blasted with intense heat and I gasped. My feet tripped over themselves as the terrain changed and I was suddenly walking on what felt like warm iron. My ears were filled with the sound of blazing furnaces and the clash of working machinery. I couldn’t see it, but I felt like there was a vast open expanse overhead. I smelled ash and tasted dirt on my tongue, sweat already forming along my spine.

Suddenly, I crashed into Danny as he came to a halt. I backed up a few paces, quickly, and muttered my apologies. I could hear movement in front of us, a rustle of chains and an odd clicking sound on the metal floor. Something else too…something…snorting.

And then the room filled with a deafening sound of an immense pig squealing. I covered my ears, head splitting at the high pitched wail. I grit my teeth as the noise echoed off the metal and faded into a series of snorts and grunts.

It sounded absolutely enormous.

“I’ve brought another one,” Danny announced, a slight tinge of respect lining his voice. “He wants to Feed the Pig.”

I waited, expecting to hear some answer, the cloth around my eyes sealing my sight to darkness. I realized my knees were shaking and my back was coated in sweat. I was terrified.

“If that is what you wish,” Danny said and I felt him bow under my hand. Apparently some unseen conversation had just happened and Danny took my wrist and pushed me forward.

“Approach The Pig,” he instructed.

My whole body trembled and my knees locked into place. Robbed from sight, I raised my hands, trying to get my bearings, the heat and ash filling my head with nausea. I felt like I was going to throw up, my stomach rolling like a dead sea. I didn’t know where I was or what horror lay before me. I felt lost and tiny, a fresh splash of tears dripping from my eyes and soaking into the cloth around my face.

“P-please,” I begged, “Let me see what’s happening.”

Danny was suddenly behind me, pushing me forward. He guided my hands towards something as we stepped together in unison. Even with the cloth around my face, I could see a giant mass of towering darkness before me. It was a spot of black on an already darkened canvas.

As we walked forward, I was suddenly assaulted by a horrendous smell and I gagged, turning away. Danny’s grip tightened and forced me to continue. I could sense something just in front of me, a living shifting mass of flesh. The smell increased to a wretched level and I gagged again. Then hot air was being blown on my face, a blast of heat that came in repeated short bursts.

I vomited into my cloth, the source of the smell stemming from the hot air. I choked as the bile gushed over the fabric, soaking it and momentarily cutting off my oxygen. Danny slapped my hands away and I took a few seconds to steady my breathing again. I was opening crying now, fear and misery collapsing my willpower.

The wet cloth stunk as I sucked in soggy breaths. My own stomach acid coated my skin and I begged for all of this to be over.

And then something squealed directly in front of me.

I felt my bladder go. I was standing before The Pig.

It was the source of darkness in my obscured vision; a fat, titanic creature that filled my senses with every breath it blew into my face.

Danny raised my hands and suddenly I was touching The Pig’s snout. I recoiled immediately, but Danny forced my hands back. Its fur was stiff and brittle and as my shaking hands explored up its nose, the size of the animal became clear to me.

It was gigantic and had weight over a ton. Its flesh wiggled under my sweating hands and it opened its mouth slightly. My fingers curled around teeth the size of kitchen knives and I realized its mouth was absolutely cavernous.

The Pig squealed again and I heard its hooves clack against the ground. It sounded like thunder rolling across an open field in the middle of summer.

“Take this blindfold off, please,” I begged, my legs turning to jelly.

Danny had taken a few steps back and I heard reverence in his voice, “You don’t want to do that.”

I jumped as The Pig nudged me with its nose, the wet circle of flesh squishing against the length of my face. I shuddered away, raising my hands and omitting a cry of fear.

“Feed the Pig,” Danny instructed, his voice like cold steel now. “You made your choice. Now live with it. It’s the only chance you have of going back. Or maybe The Pig won’t like how you taste and send you to Hell. Only one way to find out.”

My eyes widened behind the vomit soaked cloth, “Won’t…like…how I taste?!”

“Climb into its mouth.”

My bladder let go again and I felt warm piss run down my leg, “N-no…no you can’t mean…”

Danny’s voice hardened, “Climb into its mouth and don’t stop crawling forward until its done with you.”

“P-please,” I begged, turning towards Danny’s voice, reaching out blindly, “Please there has to be some other way…don’t make me do this!” I was a mess of snot and tears, my words bumbling from my mouth like a toddler.

Danny stepped forward and spun me back to face The Pig, “DO IT! You made your choice! It will all be over soon! This is your only CHANCE!”

I could feel The Pig breathing onto my face, its snout mere inches from mine. The smell and heat it omitted made me want to vomit again but I held it back. This was insane, this wasn’t happening. My mind spun and twisted in chaos and fear. There had to be some other way. I couldn’t do this, I COULD NOT do this!

Suddenly I remembered the words of the woman: Sometimes suffering through your fear is better than suffering for eternity. Be brave.

This was my only chance to get back to the world of the living. I had made such a terrible mistake in killing myself. If I could go back and change my life, I wouldn’t have to spend eternity here. I could change my ways, ensure a spot somewhere else. Somewhere away from The Pig. But what if it decided to send me to Hell? How much more suffering could I endure?

I had to take the chance.

“Please, God,” I whispered, taking a step forward, “If you can hear me…please…have mercy on me.”

My shaking hands reached out for The Pig and I grasped its thick fur. I felt it slowly lower its head and open its mouth. It was waiting for me, its thick, hot breath stinking in my nostrils. This was it. No turning back now.

I slowly gripped its teeth and pulled myself forward into its jaws. Its head was at a downward angle and so I immediately fell onto my stomach at a forty-five degree angle. Its wet tongue squished under me and I was shaking so hard I could barely breath. Tears soaked my blindfold and my heart crunched against my ribs.

I slowly reached forward and found another tooth to grab onto. Gritting my teeth, I pulled my body inward past my knees. The Pig raised its head and I was suddenly completely horizontal on its tongue.

Saliva and mucus dripped around me and the heat was so intense I almost blacked out. My knees clacked against its front teeth as I pulled myself even deeper. Its inner cheeks pressed in around me, squeezing my body like a soaking fleshy coffin.

Crying, terrified, I reached ahead of me and found more teeth. I pulled myself deeper into its mouth and I felt my feet slide past its lips. My whole body was coated in slime and I openly wept, grasping in the darkness for another tooth.

And that’s when The Pig started to chew on me.

I screamed in crushing agony as my body was compressed between its massive teeth. I heard my legs snap instantly and felt wet bone pop from my skin. I shook violently as my body spasmed in shock, a mangled twist of blood and pain.

Its tongue shifted me in its mouth and I felt it bite down on my shoulder. My eyes bulged in their sockets as I howled, a hot pillar crunching down on my collar bone. I threw up violently, unable to control myself, the pain overwhelming.

Keep crawling.

Screaming, bloodshot eyes rolling wildly, I reached forward with my good arm, wetly searching for another tooth. I grit my teeth, blood squirting between them, as my fingers wrapped around something solid.

The Pig bit down again, its tongue twisting my body so its molars could snap down on my knees. The pain brought darkness, but my howling screams forced my eyes to remain open.

“JESUS MAKE IT STOP!” I bellowed, my trembling hand still gripping the tooth ahead of me, “PLEASE MAKE IT FUCKING STOP!”

I ground my teeth together so hard they cracked, screaming as I slowly pulled my body deeper into the mouth.

Something was changing, the tights walls of its throat squeezed my head and I realized I was almost through.

“COME ON YOU MOTHERFUCKER! COME ON!” I begged, vocal cords cracking. I reached ahead of me and grabbed onto a thick wad of flesh. My head felt like it was splitting and The Pig bit down on me again.

I gasped, blood exploding from my mouth in a great gush of red.

It had pierced through my stomach, obliterating my insides like bloated noodles. Darkness rushed in on me and I was in too much shock to even scream.

With the last of my strength, right as the blackness took me, I pulled myself forward one last time and felt myself slide down its throat.

Darkness. Falling…screaming. I was screaming. Heat. Heat so intense I thought I would melt.

Clanging. Something was hammering on a metal. Colors and images flew past me so quickly I could only make out their shape. Blood poured into my eyes.

I felt like I would keep falling forever.

Suddenly, my eyes snapped open and I was falling, my breath rushing back into my lungs in a great wave of purity. My face bounced off wood floor and I cried out as I felt my nose break. I tasted blood and saw stars.

I had stopped falling.

There was a ring of burning fire around my throat and I felt impossibly thirsty.

I was lying on the floor.

I slowly opened my eyes again and the darkness began to fade like morning mist under a hot sun. Colors blended together and shapes came into focus.

I was in my woodshed.

I reached up around my throat and grasped at the source of heat. It was the rope I had hung myself with, but now it was severed, releasing me from the grip of death.

Relief rolled over me in overwhelming waves of thanks. I curled up on the floor and sobbed, tears dripping from my eyes onto the dirty floor. My body shook, unbroken, as I wept, wet horse cries rising from my quivering lips.

I had been spared. I was alive again.

From my spot on the floor, I turned my eyes upward, my voice cracking, “Thank you God. Oh thank you.” I fell into another fit of uncontrollable sobbing, “I promise I won’t waste my life again. I promise I’ll make things right, I’ll fix everything.”

I don’t know how long it was before I got up. Time seemed to stretch for eternity. My mind refused to rebuild, the horrors of what I had just witnessed crushing me.

But I knew I would do everything I could to make the most out of my life. I was going to live every day to the fullest. I would devote myself to helping others in dark times. I would reach out to as many Suicidals as I could and try to save them from awaited on the other side.

I didn’t want anyone else to have to witness the horrors of suicide.

I didn’t want anyone else to have to Feed the Pig.



Come (press) play with us.

We hear you like all things creepy… we do too.

That’s why we started Creepy Catalog in 2015 as a place for creepy content and creepy people to congregate.

Every Friday, we send out an email with the scariest horror movies and TV shows streaming that weekend along with creepy news, updates from the horror movie pipeline, and links to the best scary content on the web. When you opt in, not only do you get our curated list of the best horror streaming and stories, you support our work and help us keep the lights on. Creepy Catalog is owned by the Thought and Expression Company, a small, independent media company.

We’ve created a community powered by horror fans like you and we need you in it. Our newsletter keeps our core readers connected. Signing up helps us (not Zuckerberg) stay in direct contact with you and create the best horror website possible. Future news of events, Zoom movie marathons, books, and streaming updates will be delivered first to our newsletter readers.

Don’t worry, you can unsubscribe any time you like. We only haunt the willing.

Submit

You may unsubscribe at any time. By subscribing, you agree to the terms of our Privacy Statement.

About the author

Elias is a prolific author of horror fiction. His books include The Third Parent, The Black Farm, Return to the Black Farm,and The Worst Kind of Monsters.



“Growing up reading the works of King, admiring the art of Geiger, and knowing fiends like Pinhead left me as a pretty jaded horror fan today. It takes a lot to get the breath to hitch in my throat and the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end.. My fiance is quite similar, so when he eagerly begged me to let him read me a short story about The Black Farm by Elias Witherow, I knew it had to be good... And I was not dissapointed. Elias has a way of painting a picture that you can feel with all your senses and plays the tunes of terror created when our world meets one much more dark and forces you to keep turning the pages hungry for more.” —C. Houser

Follow Elias on or read more articles from Elias on Thought Catalog.

Learn more about Thought Catalog and our writers on our about page.

AFTERLIFE FICTION HORROR HORROR FICTION NO SLEEP SCARY STORIES

 2.5m

 

 

 

 

 

RELATED



Thought Catalog

My Arm Was Amputated, And Something Really Weird Is Happening With My Phantom Limb



[maybebanks]

You Know I’m a Minor Chapter 06

Previous Chapter 05

Beginning Chapter 01

Another week, another party. Well it hasn’t exactly been a week, and also this wasn’t just a party, it was a kegger at the bone yard. Pogue turf.

You haven’t told anyone about your encourter with Ward at the party, and you figured Rafe would keep his mouth shut, in an effort to please his father. There was something that made you uneasy at the thought of Sarah, and John B’s recent behavior was getting you annoyed.

“John B, find someone in your own league,” you scolded, you were sitting next to JJ and Kie, as you watched John B staring at Sarah Cameron. She was with her boyfriend Topper, and his frosted tips.

John B stuttered, “I- I don’t know what you are talking about,”

“Oh please John B, you are totally eye fucking her,” JJ adds.

You tense at his bluntness.

“I wouldn’t mess around with her if I were you. She-she’s like a spitting cobra! First she blinds you-”

Pope interrupts,”This is not a good analogy,” 

John B mutters something and heads of to help pass out beers at the keg.

“Everything okay Y/n?” Kie asks you, you had zoned out in thought, if John B got close with Sarah she could tell him everything. But really, what did she even know. Just the fact that she could have heard your entire conversation with Ward, the fact that Ward hugged you, and then lied about it? Yeah, not a big deal at all.

“Yeah...um..I just need a beer,” you mumble and then get up to follow John B.

“She totally has a huge crush on John B,” Kie concludes.

JJ practically chokes on his beer, “Huh what?! No way,” 

“She got all tense when he was focused on Sarah, and believe me, Y/n doesnt really drink, unless she’s upset or something,”

JJ looked down at his beer, he didn’t know why he cared about what you may or may not feel about his best friend. But his smile sprung back when a cute touron said hi.

The whole night you tried to stop staring at Sarah. She hasn’t even noticed you, but you were sure if she did it would spark a conversation between her and John B.

You wandered alone towards the ocean, not wanting to fall down the rabbit hole of beer and touron hookups.

You sat down on the beach edge, letting the waves creep up but not touch your sandals.

“Hey Y/n, don’t freak out. I just want to talk,” someone says, but it’s muffled to you. So you ignore it.

He taps you on the shoulder, snapping you out of your daze.

“I just want to say I wasn’t cool with what Rafe did,” Topper says, it was almost like an apology. Almost.

You ignore him, pulling your knees into your chest.

“Are you um,” he clears his throat, “are you okay?”

“Fine,” you reply, you weren’t exactly sure what impression Topper was under, but you didn’t feel like talking to him.

“I don’t want to sound like a dick. But, you know, Rafe is my friend, and my girlfriend’s brother...”

He was rambling.

“...and anyway I just want to make sure you won’t say anything,” Topper finishes.

“Excuse me?” you ask, insulted that he thought you were a snitch but also at how petty he was.

“I mean, there are serious charges and we wouldn’t want this to cause a scene,”

“Okay, fuck you, Topper,” you roll your eyes, attempting to leave, until Topper steps infront of you, blocking your way.

“C’mon Y/n, don’t be like this,”

“Topper get out of my way,”

Suddenly he pulls something from his pocket, it looks like an 100 dollar bill, your eyes widen, you’ve only really seen bills as high as $20.

“Wait-“

“Take this,” he offers, holding your hand and placing the money neatly folded inside.

“Topper I don’t want this...”

Topper moves closer and make sure you are sharing full eye contact, he opens his mouth to say something when a winery girl voice interrupts us.

“Topper?” Sarah asks. Your stomach feels like it’s dropping. Instantly, nerves are all you feel.

“Oh hey Sarah,” Topper pauses, gesturing for you to leave, you comply and turn the other way, waking past Sarah, but not making eye contact.

“Why were you talking with her?” You hear Sarah ask. Topper better have a good lie.

“I was asking her what her dirty pogue friends were doing at Rafe’s party last night,” Topper explains.

Sarah doesn’t seem convinced, “are you lying to me?”

“No, no baby. I love you, I wouldn’t lie, especially over a pogue,”

You leave it at that and head to the keg, near there JJ , John B, and Kie are laughing about something, you were glad they didn’t seen you talking to Topper. And that John B had hopefully moved on from Sarah, after all she had a boyfriend.

“Finally my bae is back,” Kie smiles, John B extends a beer cup out to you, to which you reluctantly accept.

“Let’s play a game!”

-

Kie had asked you truth or dare, you chose truth.

“Do you have a crush on John B?” Kie asked, smirking and acting all giddy.

John B coughed.

“No. No offense John B,” you respond honestly.

“None taken,” he says, “no pogue-on-pogue macking.”

You nod in response, and Kie huffs.

“Pope truth or dare?” You question.

“Truth,” he replies, JJ mutters something like ‘pussy’ under his breath.

“Would you rather take JJ’s gun, or get your scholarship,”

“Scholarship. At this point there’s no stopping him from doing something stupid with that,” Pope replies.

JJ smirks at gives him a high five. Pope slaps him away.

“Okay Y/n, truth or dare!?” John B asked you.

You smirked at him, you had already said truth 2 times and you were feeling buzzed, “Dare.”

John B smiled, “I dare you to switch clothes with JJ,”

You feel like your eyes were going to jump out of their sockets, but you tried to play it cool, sure it was just a fun idea, but your body wasn’t ready to be on display. The paint hadn’t dried. And by that, I mean the bruises hadn’t faded.

“You can pass, but then you’ll have to tell us your deepest darkest secret,”

You could just make something up, but you didn’t want to lie more than you had to.

“Fine,” you shrug, grabbing JJs hand and pulling him past a bush or something.

“Do they mean..like..underwear and shit?” JJ asks, already pulling off his ash blue t-shirt.

“Um I don’t know,” you answer, pulling off your shorts and scolding JJ if he faced you.

He threw you his shorts and you handed him yours.

“I need your shirt,” JJ states.

“Um...But you’ll stretch it out,” you whine, hoping to get him off your track.

“Nuh uh, you got a view of this,” he gestures to himself.

You gulp down.

“I-um okay,” you fumble with the fabric of his shirt. It smelled like him.

You turn so your back is facing him, you faintly remember checking if there were any bruises on your back. You hadn’t been home in a few days and the ones on your back should be faded.

You pull from the bottom, and let the fabric slide up your figure.

You were wearing a string bikini under it. It was tied into a perfect bow.

JJ couldn’t take his eyes off this new view of your silloette he didn’t want to offend you, but his heart was thumping so hard against his chest.

But then, he saw it. Something he never expected to be littered on your perfect body.

But his view was obstructed when you pulled on his shirt. It dropped perfectly. He should have been amused by the dare, but he was just concerned.

You walked passed him with confidence, bumping your shoulder with his.

But he couldn’t comprehend, maybe he was being too worried for nothing.

Before you could leave, JJ grabbed your upper arm.

You regretted it instantly, “ow,” you whimpered.

“Y/n- wait did I hurt you? What’s going on? You have a huge mark on your back...”

“I just...” you sighed deeply, “please don’t tell the others.”

JJ was intrigued but concerned, “someone hurt you?”

“No,” she responded, “Rafe just grabbed my arm really hard, it left a bruise. I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be sorry Y/n,” JJ stated, “what about the one on your back, it looked like it was an old one,”

“Um...” you paused, searching for another lie, “I think it was from surfing,”

JJ nodded, “you know you can talk to me if-“

“If what?” You challenged.

JJ scoffed. You could tell you hit a nerve, he was implying that someone was hurting you. JJ would know all about that, he just confided in you about problems with his dad, and you were acting completely annoying.

JJ left, he turned to go back to the group.

“Shit!” You muttered, running your hands through your hair. You were frustrated. You weren’t used to people caring.

You contemplated just ditching the bone yard, but Jj had your clothes. And that was your favorite long sleeve.

You ran after JJ and joined the others, tension palpable between you and JJ.

You felt completely empty, maybe you deserved it tonight.

When the stars began to appear in the sky, the group gathered and headed into the van.

You sat next to John B in the front seat, flicking JJs silver lighter on and off.

“You spending the night?” John B asks you.

You comtemplated it for a minute, knowing JJ was already suspicious, you told John B to drop you off on your street.

“Bye guys,” you wave and exit his car, Pope hops out of the car and takes your shot gun position.

It was late, around 11:00pm. You tried to be slow when entering the house, but your father was already sitting on the porch. Waiting for you.

When he saw you, you felt your muscles tense. A physical response, or was it emotional, there was no denying the immense fear you felt at the sight of this man. Who was suppose to love you.

“Look who decided to show up. Figured you would come crawling back. You had me worried sick you know that? God damn, how am I suppose to control a daughter like you,”

“I’m sorry,” your mind was racing, “can I...go to bed?” You asked cautiously.

He didn’t look frustrated like he usually would when you asked for something, but when you approached the door, he grabbed both of your shoulders aggressively.

You were good at concealing your pain, “please.”

“What were you doing?” He shakes his head in disappointment.

You don’t answer him, you lip was shaking so you bit it down.

“Tell me! NOW!” He screamed.

“I was-I w- I was working,” you said. Thinking quickly when you remembered the money Topper gave you. Dad would be so happy.

“What do you have to show for it? Ruined clothes that I fuckin paid for?!” He was drunk, he must not have noticed the fact that this was JJ’s shirt.

“I um I have money. You can have it,” you say, shuffling around in your pockets.

A glint shines in his eyes.

You continue to look, and then it hits you like a ton of bricks, your money was in the pocket of your shorts, the ones JJ was wearing.

—

You snapped awake to pounding on your door. Okay, it wasn’t pounding. It was very gentle. Too gentle.

You forced yourself up from the couch, pushing against it with your arm, not too fast or you would get a head rush and see black in your vision.

You moved towards the direction of the door and opened it messily.

You didn’t show your face, only opened it a crack, you were smarter than that, and besides, your face was bruised.

“Hi...um Miss? I’m just here becuase I heard some noises going on in here last night. It sounded like someone was hurt? Would you like me to call the police-“ the lady was older, but not elderly, she was your neighbor you recognized.

“No! Um don’t worry. My brother and I were just arguing, he was mad I started dating his friend. Crazy right? Anyway I really should get going, I have work today, a new job actually,” you explained, making sure that details add to lies, make them more believable.

“Ohh alrighty then,”

“Thankyou for stopping by,” you reply cheerfully, before nearly collapsing when she left.

Damn that took energy, I need food.

You knew better than to waste time looking through the kitchen, there would be nothing.

So you put on some makeup and rode your bike to the Wreak. Your first day at work.

After you finished, Kie (and her father) rewarded you and the pogues with free food.

JJ locked eyes with you from across the table.

“Y/n, when I was changing out of your clothes yesterday...this fell out,” he pulls your 2 $100 bills from Topper.

You felt nervous, but as always you were ready for a coverup.

“Shitt,”

“Don’t worry Kie, dinners on Y/n,” Pope smiles, Kie slaps him.

“That’s my paycheck, from work, it’s my one week earnings,” you explain.

“Wait really? That’s nothing, if you add it up per hour-“

“No, stop stop, its too early for that,” JJ cuts Pope off, its true, you didn’t want to be exposed by Popes nerd calculations.

“But the country club pays in checks, you get a certificate and everything,” Kie adds.

“Where did you get that money then? Because-“

“Guys! Chill, I would offer it to you to shut you up but I already promised my dad. And besides, it’s not like I did anything bad for the money, just forget about it,” you plead.

They soon drop it.

—

“What the fuck?”

“Are you fucking serious, John B?” Kie agrees.

“Look! I like her, but we’re NOT macking,” John B declares.

“He’s totally macking Sarah Cameron,” JJ mutters to Pope.

“Dude! She’s a kook! What about Pogue life, bro?”

“Yeah plus she’s also a spoiled bitch who can’t be apart of any team, let alone this one,” Kie adds.

“Kie I get why you hate her, but Y/n? I thought you would give her a chance?” John B asks, you gulp down. The Cameron’s always seemed to find a way to make you kneel before them.

“Okay, she’s coming here-“

“Fucking shit,” you mutter.

“-Just to meet you guys! Please give her a chance. She’s not like Topper and-,”

“She’s not like them, she’s dating them,”

“She’s gonna break up with him,”

“Oh wow,”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” John B orders, he hears something rustling in the bushes.

“Hi guys,” Sarah Cameron greets us.

Kie and Sarah get in a fight, I’ve never heard anyone call Kie a ‘shit taking bitch’ before. The boys were all fine with her, but still remained on yours and Kie’s side if you decided to hate her again.

Sarah asked you to talk with her, alone. You wanted to ask JJ to come with, but you didn’t know exactly where you stood.

“So..um...I’m not judging you or anything, but what’s going on with you and my dad? And it could be nothing, but I saw him, he talked to you like you were his daughter,” Sarah begins.

“Sarah, I promise, I was just talking to him. I don’t need any more older men in my life, trust me,”

“But then what about Topper? Why were you guys alone for that time at the beach, and why was he offering you hush money?”

“How did you know it was hush money?” You asked.

“I know my boyfriend,” Sarah says.

“Sarah? Can you please break up with him. I mean you can’t do that to him, and to John B,”

“You’re right,”

Chapter 07

Taglist: @p0gue420 @kristinaxilliano @belledutchess @maebanks @omgpankow @kaylinfayezink @dolanfivsosxox @thesurfingsnail @obsessedweirdo @dudebroskiprn @milked-down-coffee @jjsthumbring @retr0babey

[sp00kworm]

Silence (Part 1)

Part 2 - Revenant’s Ending

Part 3 - Bloodhound’s Ending

---

Pairings: Revenant x Reader, Bloodhound x Reader

Warnings: Mild Violence, Threat and Alcohol Consumption

---

Working for a living. How you hated it. Well, it wasn’t as bad as it could be since you owned your own business. The city was quiet this time of night, but the bar was the total opposite. You smiled pleasantly as you served a group of women with cocktails. They were higher class, flashing their credits like it was pocket change. You turned the money into the till before turning back to the task at hand, inventory of the alcohol. Quite a few of the bottles needed replacing and you pulled out your notepad to quickly scribble down the brands of each. The bustle continued behind you as the party of women jeered and giggled in the corner, fluttering their eyelashes at a new group of men that entered the bar. They whistled and rushed over to the bar for their drinks.

“Hey there! A round of beers!” The tallest man jeered at you, laughing as one of his companions rushed over to the group of women.

“Coming up.” You snapped your notebook and pencil onto the bar as you turned to grab the glasses from under the wood, holding them between your fingers before you started pulling the drinks. You watched the men saunter away, leaving two to collect the drinks. You stacked the pints in a line on the bar. They paid you with transfer before joining the women in the corner.

 “Rough night?” You jumped as you picked you notepad up, the pencil in your grasp dropping from your fingers as you peered to your left. There was a rogue looking man sat to your left, playing with a coin, running it over his fingers

“You could say that again.” With a small sigh you picked up your pencil, “It’s been insanely busy.” You turned back to note the last few bottles of liquor you needed for restocking. There was an expensive whiskey which you weren’t sure you had in the back.

“Let’s see how much rowdier it gets with those lot around.” The man jabbed his thumb towards the group before looking at the door, grinning over the top of the whiskey you had poured him. The rogue grinned and you looked over to the door in confusion as the lights flickered.

“Maybe there’s another storm...” You muttered as the lights flickered again before the power shorted and everyone was plunged into darkness. Silence.

 The shocked murmurs of the patrons quickly turned into upset hysterics from the women in the bar. The men seemed concerned as they continued to drink. All eyes turned on you as the lights remained out for longer than normal. Power surges were normal in this neighbourhood’s the amount of electricity that was used in the robotics plant nearby. It was a job creator but the community sometimes suffered for the privilege of the engineering potential. You looked up at the lights and looked at the bulbs just before a whirring sounded. Black and orange energy crept from the screw fittings of the bulbs, crackling and whirring with unholy noise.

“I guess this is my last stand.” The rogue man stood and flipped the coin in his hand before looking at the result under his palm. He hissed in upset, “Tails. Maybe I lose.” There was a rush of power again before two orange lights appeared outside the glass panelling of the door. The patrons screamed as claws raked over the glass, making a shrill screeching noise as they connected with the metal second.

 The metal crunched before a heavy metal foot connected with the hinges, slamming the door open to reveal a titanium covered robot. Then the panic started. Men and woman rushed for the back entrance, streaming past you and the bar, ducking low when the rogue man revealed a Wingman Pistol. He spun the pistol over his hand and snapped the ammo into place as the monstrous robot hunched and climbed into the door frame. You ducked under the bar but peered over the edge as pistons clunked and the creature ducked low. It was then that it clicked. Hammond Robotics’ symbol was stamped onto one of the fingerless leather gloves. You covered your mouth and ducked again as the Simulacrum hummed, orange optics roving over the bar to find the rogue man with his pistol drawn.

“Finally.” The Simulacrum purred darkly, “Another robotics lab-rat for my list.” His hand span into a sharp point before whirring again to reveal claws, “Scream for me, skinsuit. I’ll make it hurt enough for the both of us to enjoy.”

 A gunshot made you cringe under the bar, clutching at your head as you listened to the Wingman thunder with shots. They slammed into the walls with cracks and you heard the sound of the Simulacrum’s pistons slamming before he cackled, and his limbs twisted backwards. You looked up as his robotic body slammed into the ceiling, claws and knives slamming into the plaster and metal as he walked over your head, dodging bullets as his arms snaked and rippled in their sockets. His orange eyes peered downwards. You were caught like a rabbit in a predator’s gaze, looking back into the fiery depths as his head tilted, the orange spinning with a swirl of black as he watched you shiver and huddle further back under the bar.

“Duck, skinsuit.” The robot purred as the rogue jumped over the bar and you slid back to avoid having your hands stood on.

“Get back here you fucking monster!” The man howled, “You’re just another failed experiment!”

“Oh? A failure, am I?” The Simulacrum hummed as he detached from the ceiling, his hand spinning into a spear like appendage as he launched himself downwards with a grunt.

 The robot crashed into the floor with a great clatter and you peered up at him, crouched before you, trying to gauge whether you were going to be collateral damage as his head span, the red scarf wrapped around his head and neck fluttering as he pushed off and rushed at the rogue.

“I’m the monster? I killed for your disgusting little customers for three hundred years!” He jeered as his hands sliced towards the man, bullets pinging off the plating covering his shoulders and face. One slammed near his eye socket, leaving a dirty black streak over his bone white faceplate.

“You’re killing for fun now. Your programming isn’t…” The Wingman clicked. Empty. The Simulacrum chuckled, his hand spinning as he dashed forwards again and sliced at the man’s guts. A pained cry rang against the walls and you dared to look to your left as the Simulacrum hoisted the rogue by his neck, claws trailing down the soft skin before he dug them into the cheeks, humming before he started to tear away chunks of skin.

 “Scream for me then. Make this fun, skinsack.” He peeled away a nice chunk of skin and laughed lowly as he dragged the man across the bar, sending pint glasses flying as his legs thrashed in the air. Beer soaked the bar top as he smashed him against the levers, but the Simulacrum seemed indifference to the stench as his clawed fingers wrapped tight around the man’s throat. The rogue gave a strangled cry as he dropped his weapon and pried at the robot’s fingers in a futile attempt to be free.

“Fuck…you…” He cursed at the Simulacrum, “And fuck…that code…” He choked out as his lips went blue and his eyes ringed with red from lack of oxygen.

“Tell me where it is.” The Simulacrum demanded as his other hand’s fingers formed a sharp spear, linked together in a shining point of titanium.

“Fuck you.” The man spat a wad of spit at the Simulacrum’s faceplate. The robotic man didn’t flinch, but his orange burning eyes flicked to the saliva on his cheek before he growled and slammed the point of his fingers into the other’s gut, humming joyfully as blood poured down his arm.

 “What have we here?” The Simulacrum let go of his neck to rummage in his pocket, revealing an access card to the building labelled with the lab he was allowed into. The robotic man scoffed, “You’re barely even a coder but you have sensitive information access…Access to the source.” He hummed and slid the card into a compartment under his scarves, “Ooo.” He cooed, “Is that your spleen?” He questioned. His arm whirred as he squeezed the rogue’s organs. A scream bounced off the walls and you huddled back under the bar, covering your ears until eventually, the noises stopped, and a dead body slumped against the bar top. Silence. You breathed quietly, shaking under the counter before you swallowed and dared to crawl out from underneath the wood. Peering around, you peeked over the bar and tried to ignore the body slumped against the back of the bar beside you, dead eyes looking past you at the liquor cabinet.

“Boo.” The Simulacrum dropped from the ceiling with a snap and hiss of his legs, his weight thudding to the ground as he towered over you, orange gaze burning and spinning before the optics flickered to bright whole light again.

 You jumped, grabbing for a glass before he snatched it from your grip and slammed it back down on the bar top.

“Ah, ah, ah, skinsuit.” He waved a sharp finger in front of you, “Not a word. Shh.” The claw tapped your mouth, “Listen to me and listen quick.” He grunted at you, his fingers flaring threateningly under your chin, pointed at your jugular, “You don’t say a word about this to anyone. You didn’t see anything.” He tapped the sharp titanium against your chin once, “Not a soul.”

You swallowed against the sharp edges and nodded once.

“Good.” The Simulacrum looked at the bar and snatched the expensive whiskey the man had been drinking, his skeletal like nose sniffing at the contents before he hummed and opened his mouth. The inside was dark, but copper plating shined inside before he snapped it closed again like a trap. The whiskey disappeared, and there was no noise of liquid dripping onto the floor. The Simulacrum’s mouth remained closed as he spoke, “Good taste.” There wasn’t another word as his arms whirred and the pistons in his legs readjusted before he walked to the hole where the front door had once hung on its hinges, “Thanks for the drink.” And he was gone, past the giant glass windows and into the night, leaving you with a bleeding body as the police entered the bar.

 It took far too long for the Apex Games to reimburse you for the damages. There was though, after about a weeks delay, a fat cheque left in your post-box for you to collect. It was perhaps far more than the bar was worth, but you knew it was hush money.  Keep quiet or they take everything. That was the threat. A threat because they couldn’t keep their murderous toys under control with the money, slaughter and fame of the Apex Games alone. Revenant. You had learned his name when you watched a match, watching the Simulacrum hiss and spit at the drone cameras when they got too close. It was a slaughter until the other team found the death totem, then the entire match was won by a curious line-up of Bloodhound, Lifeline and Gibraltar. He deserved the electrocution from Lifeline’s drone you decided as you turned on the Holoscreen in the bar for one of your regulars. You had access to the sport channels with the new ariel you’d had installed, and it kept a lot of older patrons coming back weekly for the matches. Softly, you whistled as you pulled another pint and handed it to an older looking worker. He was sooty and probably had spent the day mining ore in the distant mountain. You smiled, took his money and thanked him before continuing with the rounds down the bar, not noticing as it got later and closer to closing.

 “Nice bar, skinsuit.” A robotic voice jeered before a bar stool creaked noisily under a heavy weight. You sucked in a breath as you looked into the corner of the bar, meeting orange optics as the Simulacrum seemed to sneer, “Made use of the money I see by upgrading. Nicer décor now. Much more…” He rotated a hand, “Swish, or whatever.” He didn’t seem to really care as he grunted in a poor attempt at appreciation.

With a scowl, you reached to snatch away another customer’s drink from his prying fingers, “Revenant. I learned about you and your escapades after you slaughtered a man in my bar.” You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at his chassis, “You have guts showing your face here again.”

The few patrons left ignored your anger and the confrontation that was about to occur, looking down at their drinks and ducking their heads low as the Simulacrum turned his gaze to the crowd.

 No one stood in your defence. Revenant's orange burning eyes span with processing before his metal fingers rapped against the bar in two swift pounds. He shifted back in his seat and then looked over at your liquor cabinet.

“What about if I buy a drink?” Revenant grumbled, his eyes moving over your hands as you reached for a tumbler on reflex. You slammed it against the bar a little too harshly and gave him a smile as you gestured to the liquors behind you.

“We have a new Cognac. Or would you prefer something more bitter?” You snarked as the Simulacrum hummed, once again indifferent to your attitude as he leaned around you to look at the liquors.

“Whiskey then. That one I had last time wasn’t strong enough.” Revenant complained with a snort as he reached into a pouch on his hip and flashed his wallet of chips from his winnings. Loaded was an understatement. He placed one chip out worth a thousand and hummed again.

“Yeah. That’ll pay for it.” You pulled a heavy, expensive bottle of liquor down, a malt whiskey and offered him the bottle after pouring him a shot.

 Burning orange eyes followed your hands under the bar as you reached for the ice bucket, “Don’t bother with ice.” Revenant rumbled as he rotated his hand backwards, wiggled his fingers, then rotated it back the other way, ignoring you as you slammed the cover back onto the ice cooler a little too harshly.

Your eyes turned away from him as you went back to serve another customer, “The bottle is yours by the way, bot. Try not to get too drunk before closing.”

“Pah!” Revenant scoffed as he reached for the tumbler and swirled the dark fluid inside, “If you think I can get drunk I might have to disappoint you, skinbag.” He snarled before he poured a small amount of liquor into his mouth, snapping it shut as he ran the fluid around over the sensors.

You watched him before raising your voice, “Do you even need to drink or eat? You don’t piss fluid out of your chasis so I assume you can but…”

“I can. So, I do. Just fluids.” Revenant replied shortly, his fingers moving to tuck his scarf back over his shoulder, “If you’re gonna ask if there’s any point. There isn’t. Its…a sentiment.” He hissed, seemingly disgusted with himself before he grunted against and finished the whiskey before pouring himself another one and knocking that back as well.

 You ignored him for an hour as the regulars called for their final drinks before paying and packing up to leave with lingering stares at the Simulacrum in the corner with his feet up on another stool and his arms stretching and bending at odd angles as he played with the Silencing orb. The orange and black orb crackled with energy as he threw it up and caught it between two fingers, pointing it threateningly at another patron who looked at him too long.

“Move it skinsuit.” Revenant rumbled as a man with a robotic arm lingered behind him, “This’ll get messy otherwise and I love a good mess on my hands. His fingers pointed into a sharp spear as the ball of crackling energy snapped back into the launcher. The man snorted but took his drink, drank the last dregs before leaving, leaving the bar in silence with just you and the Simulacrum perched in the corner of the bar.

 The towel was damp with beer as you wiped the side down before throwing it into the basket for washing and taking out the disinfectant spray. You sprayed down the side and made sure to catch Revenants arm in the mist.

“Watch it, skinsuit.” He grunted as he snatched his drink from the chemicals and poured the rest into himself. The bottle was still on the bar, and he took hold of that and leaned back to let you wipe down the side in front of him.

“You’re really not taking my hint, huh?” You grumbled, “Revenant, its closing time, and unlike you robots, I really do need to sleep.”

“Pah.” Revenant huffed, “I paid for this.” He held up the bottle, “So I’m going to finish it, in peace.”

You opened your mouth to protest just as the front door opened again and a heavily clothed individual stepped inside. They were strapped in belts and pouches and thick leather with heavy furs, their face covered with a pair of goggles and a full respirator. The respirator whooshed with air as they politely closed the door behind them, turning their orange goggled gaze to the edge of the bar as they tilted their head to peer around.

 “Oh goodie. They sent the lap dog.” Revenant sneered at the other person, his orange gaze dropping to find the tube of the ventilator to pull if he needed a quick escape.

“You were not exactly hard to track. Your tracks are very ...distinguishable.” A heavy Scandinavian accent was muffled through the respirator, “They want you back before the morn’. We have interviews.” They continued, ignoring you in favour of sizing up the Simulacrum.

“And what, ‘Hound? You gonna drag me home kicking and screaming?” Revenant took hold of the ball of energy, the silence threat hanging over his supposed foe.

“Yes.” The other hummed as they reached for a knife on their belt, “I will drag you back, silent, with both your arms and legs removed, bot.”

“Sure.” Revenant purred, “I’ll look forward to gutting you really slow in the next match, skinsuit dog.” His claws slammed at the bar.

 “If you’re going to gut each other, do it outside!” You shouted between the two of them. The newcomer appeared startled as you slammed the bar door up and then back down. Revenant’s optics squinted in glee as you stood between them both, “I want no more bloodshed in my bar!”

The newcomer lowered their head, “I apologise. I am Blóðhundr, you can call me Bloodhound."

Your eyes widened, “Another Legend. Wow. Its an honour to meet you. You’re the three times champion, right?”

Bloodhound nodded their head, “That I am. I am sorry for the intrusion, but I have been sent to collect a rogue maniac.” They sounded smug behind the mask.

“A maniac. That’s got a nice ring to it.” Revenant took another glug from the bottle.

“Are you inebriated, bot? You embarrass yourself.” Bloodhound snapped as they drew their knife and pointed it at Revenant, “I am sure the bartender has had enough of you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” You rolled your eyes.

“Careful, skinsack, maybe I’ll take more than just this bottle, hm?” The Simulacrum purred, “I can think of a few things I would like more…Maybe your guts as a necklace.”

“Quiet.” Bloodhound snapped, “We go.” They pointed the knife to the door, “Now.”

 You looked between them both and took a step back, “Look. Its closing time and I want to sleep. So, again, can you please take this outside. Its cool having celebrities in here, but I don’t need another insurance claim and hush money on my hands.”

Bloodhound tilted their head, “Hush money?” Their goggles looked over at Revenant, “This was your doing then. Slátra in the ring was not enough?” They sounded simply disappointed, “You never fail to give into your programming like some primitive tool.” The insult was sharp but muffled through their respirator.

“Watch it, dog, you’re still a squishy skinbag like the rest of them.” Revenant threatened as he stood up, the bottle in hand as he walked around the bar and loomed over Bloodhound, his clawed hands held up in front of their goggles and respirators. He flicked a bead on their hat before he looked back at you with burning orange eyes, “See you around, bartender.” Revenant hummed as he headed back towards the door, tucking his scarf over the bottom of his face.

Bloodhound snapped their hunting knife back into their sheath on their chest before nodding at you and placing a hand over their heart, “I apologise for the intrusion. Pray, have a good night.”

“Thanks for clearing him out for me, Bloodhound. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.” You smiled as well as you could as you scooped up Revenant’s used glass, “Be safe. He’s… something.”

“Something is perhaps kind.” Bloodhound tipped their hat before they followed Revenant out of the door.

 A call of a Raven followed them as the door closed and you were left in peace.

 The next game was broadcast over a week later, and you tuned the holoscreen in as a crowd gathered in the bar to watch. The drones were following the last two teams, and it seemed that Revenant and Bloodhound were working together, with Caustic as their third. Gibraltar, Octane and Lifeline were the other squad left alive, hunkered down on the high ground with Gibraltar’s shield stopping the bullets from Bloodhound’s Kraber. It was setting out to be a long and slow final match though Revenant and Bloodhound possessed more rushing capabilities. Caustic was the first to move before Revenant followed, leaving his totem in the guard of Bloodhound as they continued to rain deadly shots against Gibraltar’s defences. Bloodhound span in time for a scan to see Octane moving against them, and they turned with a quick shot, downing Octane with a precise headshot as he spat profanities at them. Lifeline was too far for a resurrection and so Octane was eliminated.

“There are two left, félagi fighters, fight strong.” Bloodhound’s voice sounded over the sound system.

 “Great. One less to make a mess with.” Revenant huffed as the drone switch perspective and the cameras watched Revenant storm the shield up high as Caustic laid his gas out below. The Simulacrum slid into the shield and hailed bullets into Gibraltar before leaving a grenade inside and sliding from the roof into the room below.

“Toxic traps in position.” Caustic mused before he snorted, “Lifeline has Gibraltar back up, they haven’t taken the bait.”

“Urgh.” Revenant howled as he was sent back to the totem where Bloodhound was laid on the roof, “Back at the Totem! Caustic, move!”

“Lovely.” Caustic cursed but dropped a gas cloud as he headed towards Bloodhound.

Bloodhound made no noise as they took a shot and watched Lifeline go down, “Move! They are weak.” The other two turned heel to finish the match and the crowd jeered as they won the title of champions.

 You couldn’t help but wonder if it would have gone differently if Bloodhound was on the other side.

 “Artur, you cannot come in, you know this.” Bloodhound said from the door, their voice hushed as they held their arm outside, “Come now, do not cause me any more problems.” They cooed softly.

“Bloodhound?” You asked gently, “You’re here late?” You questioned as their goggles looked at you, “Who is Artur?”

Bloodhound carefully pulled their arm inside and showed you the Raven. It was perched on his arm and squawked curiously as its beady black eye analysed you, “Artur is my companion and friend.” Bloodhound stroked their finger over the soft feathers of the Raven’s chest, “Do you allow animals in. I’m afraid he does not want to stay outdoors…I believe he can smell the rain.”

“Sure…so long as he doesn’t shit on my floor, he can come in.” You smiled as Bloodhound ducked inside, the beads on their hat clicking as they entered and headed towards the bar with graceful long strides.

“I came to apologise for Revenant’s behaviour. The Simulacrum knows nothing else than the slátra… ah that is… he only knows killing.” Bloodhound sat and let Artur rest on their shoulder, “I know he left a mess, and you were paid for it out of his winnings. I hope that brings you some joy.”

 The tracker shifted in their seat as Artur hopped from their shoulder, over the heavy material and leather on their arms before the Raven jumped along the bar, squawking curiously into an empty pint glass.

You watched the bird before smiling and collecting the rest of the glasses from the top, “It felt like a kick in the teeth. No one cared about me, just that I kept quiet about it.” You shrugged your shoulders, “Hey, at least Revenant likes what I did with the place now, huh?” It was a sour joke.

Bloodhound looked at you curiously before their goggles shifted a little with their head, looking at the drinks and liquor behind you, “What he thinks is of little importance.” They stated before a gloved hand pointed at the drinks, “Do you have Brennivín? It is not common.”

Shocked, you stumbled for a moment before turning back to the cabinet. You hadn’t heard of the drink until a rogue group of Outlanders came through some years ago, “Brennivín…” You hummed before you snatched the clear liquid from the shelf, holding up the harsh green label for Bloodhound to see, “It’s a dill flavoured drink, right?”

 “Ah. It has been some time since I have seen it.” Bloodhound happily took the bottle from you with careful hands, spinning the glass bottle to look at the back with a small huffy laugh, “The Black Death.” They purred, seemingly happy before they passed it back, “May I have some? A chilled glass will be sufficient. It is best chilled in the snow outside, but we are far from the snow here.”

“I didn’t think you would ah…want a drink.” You confessed as you took an iced glass from the fridge and turned it up on the bar before pouring a generous shot. Bloodhound reached for their pouch, but you held up your hand, “Its on me. Think of it as a thank you for dealing with Revenant.” You smiled and Bloodhound nodded before holding the drink close.

They made no move to drink.

“Wait how are you going to…” You trailed off as they span their finger around in a silent command for you to turn around. You turned around awkwardly in embarrassment and waited, the urge to peer back strong as the respirator hissed with air and they coughed quietly.

“You may turn around.” Bloodhound’s voice was infinitely softer without the mask and you smiled at the exposed mouth and chin.

 They were pale and scarred with faint, harsh lines over the lower half of their face, but they gave a half smirk at your look before taking a careful sip of the alcohol.

Bloodhound gave a small hiss before they shook their head and chuckled again, “That is strong. Good.” They gestured to their chest, “Heart-warming.”

“Heart-warming is one word for it.” You held up the label again, “It’s sixty percent proof. I think I got it off some weird Outlands dealer.” With a shrug you placed the bottle back into the cabinet.

Bloodhound took another burning sip and looked at Artur as the Raven hopped back towards him from the glass, he had been entertaining himself with, “Artur. Do you want one too?” The tracker teased, “Can Artur have some water. We have travelled quite far.”

“Oh, sure.” You turned and then whipped back around, “Can he drink out of a bowl?”

“A bowl will be fine, but he may throw water all over your bar.” Bloodhound nodded as you filled a shallow bowl and leaned back as Artur hopped over, dunking his beak into the water to have a drink before he shook side to side and cawed loudly. Bloodhound offered the bird their arm and watched Artur walk back up their arm before taking another sip of Brennivín.

 A comfortable silence covered the both of you as you worked through your clean up routine in the empty bar, putting the empty glasses into the back room to be cleaned by the steamer bot you had installed. The robot chugged to life happily, almost like a MRVIN, before setting to work putting glasses into its stomach for washing before organising the others into stacks for the second cycle.

Bloodhound was sat with their respirator back on when you returned, stroking Artur’s soft black feathers underneath the bird’s chin. Artur cooed happily before jumping back to Bloodhound’s shoulder and regarding you with one beady black eye.

“Thank you for the drink.” Their voice was muffled and lower through the respirator once again.

“You’re welcome.” You uttered as they stood.

Bloodhound adjusted their hat before looking around again, taking in the bar one last time before they headed to the door, “Farewell, krúttið mitt.”

Before you could ask them what exactly it meant they were gone, the metal door closing with a thump behind them. You followed to the door and clicked the old school and new technology lock into place, making sure that the door didn’t open before you turned the lights off and went to check in on your dishwashing companion, curious as to just why an Apex Legend had taken it upon themselves to come and check on you.

 You watched the games for the coming weeks of the season with an interest in the two Legends that had entered your bar. Revenant and Bloodhound were machines on the field, but often grew too invested in their own kills, which lead to their failure. Bloodhound was less likely to be so focused on one person, but recently with Revenant’s goading, they were easily thrown off in favour of hunting one team for an entire match. Neither of them had a solid win for the rest of the season, they were mostly luck wins where they downed injured teams. You wondered what was wrong with them but tried not to pay much attention as your regular life settled back into place. The bar was busy on match days, and you laughed as new customers became regulars, and learned who liked what drink along with which Legend they loved as well.

“Who are you rooting for today?” Kennedy asked as he sipped his beer, “Your preference for that bot is slightly disturbing.” He laughed.

“Bloodhound is up with Mirage and Wattson today.” You hummed, “Revenant is with Octane and Lifeline. I think Bloodhound has the better option.” You laughed before the games started, wondering just who you should really be rooting for.

[tolkienhorror]

In Sauron’s Lab: File #2

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s favorite torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con.

************************************************************************************* ************************************************************************************* *************************************************************************************

“Choose,” Sauron demands coldly, and Maitimo knows better than to disobey.

He’s tried a couple of times, in the beginning, when he was still in possession of his dignity, his clothes, his anger and spite, his hair. It never ended well.

The first time he said no when Sauron ordered him to play along in one of the dark maia’s sick experiments, the enemy crushed his throat by standing on it

seeing as you don’t know how to speak, you don’t need your vocal cords, do you

until Maitimo choked on his own blood and passed out; his voice still doesn’t sound the same. The second time, a considerable length of a Balrog’s whip was shoved up his unprepared behind

if you can’t figure out how to kneel properly, we’ll have to keep you from sitting down, won’t we

and then yanked back out with such force that a lot of charred, stretched flesh came with it. Sauron needed a week to put all of his intestines back where they belong, and Maitimo has been awake for most of the procedure.

The third time when he said no, he had to watch another Balrog spear the restrained body of an elf that Maitimo had known since birth, on the enormous, glowing length of his inhuman cock, inch by painstaking inch, until the screeching screams of agony had turned to bloody gargles.

what kind of leader are you who won’t even suffer to protect his own people

The beast then proceeded to fuck the dying body for another 20 minutes straight, right before Maitimo’s eyes before light of life finally left that poor soldier.

These days, Maitimo knows better than to disobey Sauron.

So he points, dully - with his chin as that is the only part he can move at least half an inch right now - to the middle one of the three spacious jars waiting on the table next to his usual spot on Sauron’s examination stretcher, though he really couldn’t care less. The plain metal vessels all look the same, and none of them will contain anything good.

The movement has his throat tenses up, and Maitimo tries his best not to gag around the thick tube threaded through his ring gag and shoved deeply in his mouth, just far enough to make sure everything coming through it will make it down to his stomach, not far enough to spare him the taste of whatever his tormentor will choose to fill him up with this time.

Maitimo hasn’t eaten in more than two weeks and he should probably be grateful that he will be at least rid of the clenching knot of emptiness that his stomach has become for a few minutes. But he knows Sauron well enough to know, the price for that little moment of comfort will be far too high.

“A smart choice, pet. You are starting to learn.”

Sauron absently pats his belly, then gives a firmer smack to the slightly bulging skin below, and Maitimo groans when his inner muscles clench around the other, much thicker tube deeply lodged in his rectum.

It doesn’t hurt, not like the variety of spiked phalluses and cocks he’s been raped with since being taken prisoner. But it sits far enough inside of him to ensure that whatever Sauron will choose to empty into that funnel at the end of that second tube, will go deeply into his body and not come out anytime soon.

Maitimo could live with that too, he supposes; after almost a year in the misery that is his life now, he’s no stranger to the humiliation of enemas anymore. And as painful as burns from too hot liquid are, as revolting as it is when one of his abusers chooses to fill his abused ass with all the piss they have in them that day, sometimes until Maitimo can taste it on his tongue ... That kind of traces usually go away and heal quickly.

It’s the sound he’s afraid of tonight. Almost as thick as a finger, stretching his limp cock open to its limits, and Sauron hasn’t bothered to lube up that third hollow tube before thrusting it all the way in until it’s bottomed out in Maitimo’s dehydrated bladder. His urethra throbs and stings, and he knows he’s bleeding but that’s not what worries him. Bleedings stop.

It’s the additional sheer helplessness of knowing he’s about to be filled up from several sides at once, and that there’s nothing he can do to control or stop it, that has him shivering in cold sweat and yank in vain on the straps and shackles that tie him down on the table. That keep his scraggy legs up and spread widely, all of his most sensitive parts on obscene, vulnerable display for his captor’s too hot, dainty hand.

Though Maitimo’s struggling is achieving nothing but more sore muscles and a little quiet rattling, of course, Sauron feigns exhausted disappointment. “Now, now, don’t ruin that good impression with fidgeting, pet. You’ve been doing so nicely the last few weeks. You’re on a good way to become my favorite test subject. But you really ...“

The maia’s lithe, tall shape bends down over Maitimo’s bare crotch, the unnatural white of his skin that shows under the low, pointed cut of his black tunic, flushing with just the hint of pulsating red as he stretches out his long forked tongue. With a purr, he licks over the sturdy shining metal protruding from Maitimo’s tortured orifices.

“... need to learn how to keep still.”

Sauron presses down on Maitimo ‘s lower body again, intentionally and harder this time, while Maitimo thrashes against his bonds once more, wailing into his gag when the metal inside his ass and cock heats up within seconds, blistering highly sensitive tissue, eating away at muscle that won’t be working as it should for days. Weeks maybe, depending on when Sauron decides to sing his body back together this time.

“Oh, pet. What did I just say? Looks like I have chosen a good time to help you work on your discipline.”

Sauron feigns another bored sigh, betrayed by the considerable bulge under his tight pants, when he reaches for the pot that Maitimo has chosen earlier. With the handle fastened to one of the many hooks in the frame of this hated, dreadful table that Maitimo has spent most of his last months on, Sauron angles the vessel right above the first of those three funnels that promise another few hours of greater pain than Maitimo has ever known it in his whole life.

“Now be a good little pet and have your dinner. I wouldn’t want to have to punish you for choking on your own tongue again.”

Maitimo does wince and retch when the first taste of filth and salt and ash hits his tongue, because if the smell hadn’t given it away yet, now he knows exactly what this is. He’s been force-fed by one of the cocks violating him frequently too often not to. But this will go down his throat whether he actively helps it or not, so it won’t make a difference. And he’s really not interested in snorting Balrog piss from his nose, so he obeys, because what else is there to do?

An unpleasant but still a lot more bearable warmth than the one before spreads in his stomach, and for a moment he thinks, he can do this, he will be okay.

Then Sauron places the second of the bowls over the funnel hanging over his reddened, swollen hole, and Maitimo’s guts are being set on fire. He’s not exactly sure what it is or how he even still makes it to scream between swallowing the too quickly, relentlessly dripping liquid.

But somehow, some way, he still can take it, he still can stay awake and lucid, and that’s all that counts. Because when he blacks out, Sauron always gets angry enough to make his ordeal even worse, and Maitimo doesn’t think it actually can be right now.

That is before Sauron opens the lid of the last vessel and the smell of vinegar hits Maitimo’s senses.

His eyes go wide enough to almost pop from their sockets. Somehow, without ever wanting it, he croaks out a plea between the metal confinements stretching his jaw painfully open, and then he almost does choke because he forgets to swallow and he can talk no more.

Not that it matters. Sauron doesn’t even comment on his little moment of verbal weakness. With the hand not busy hanging up the third bowl, he’s languidly, almost disinterestedly rubbing his raging erection through the leather fabric of his clothes while he sets the third and last vessel and tips it into position.

A sensation of liquid lava travels through the already too-hot metal in Maitimo’s cock, hitting his insides like that hot-red poker that Sauron raped him once with in the very beginning, when he dared to say no to riding his cock in front of his fellow prisoners. He screams and screams, spluttering snot and bile and piss through mouth and nose, wheezing and coughing between the desperate, unintelligible pleas for mercy from his throat that he knows he will not be granted. Blood is seeping from the wounds of his restraints on his wrists and ankles, his hips and shoulders. He can hear the bones in his neck crack dangerously from his useless strain against the straps on his jaw and forehead tying his head down, and he knows, he won’t be able to turn his head for weeks to come once this is over.

Which it won’t be before he’s ripped open and poisoned from the inside out by body fluids and acid whatever other shit he’s being fed; he doesn’t need to hear Sauron’s next words to know.

Visibly satisfied with his work, Sauron gives him another absent pat on his stomach that is slowly but certainly bulging with too much liquid pouring into him from three sides.

“Much better. Now let’s see how much we can put into you before you start tearing, shall we? It’s really for your own good, pet. We don’t want a mess like last time when you next provide some well-deserved entertainment for our hard-working soldiers. Learn how to be grateful how well I’m looking out for my favorite subjects, and you can make your life in these halls so much easier.”

He bends over Maitimo’s head to press a humiliating kiss to the top of his sweat-drenched head before walking back to his desk to pick up his usual parchment roles for his notes on their little experiment, the half-hard erection between his legs already forgotten. He seldom wastes time fucking Maitimo himself these days. There’s so much more entertaining techniques for him to use on that broken shell of an elf that was once a High King.

Maitimo is left alone hurting, bleeding, desperate and losing another fragment of his soul to ever-lasting hopelessness.

[neargaztambide]

Nightmares Better than Memories

Summary: the twins, among their search for anomalies, find a chest in the middle of the forest. A chest, which is more than it appears

Words: 1.187, almost

Text made for the Stan Twins Celebration Month, idea from @thestanbros​ (week number three: ADVENTURE)

DISCLAIMER:  this story contains graphic descriptions of violence and torture. These still have their doubts about its veracity, although they are not completely ruled out. Discretion is advised.  

“Hey, Stan: have you seen this!” Ford called Stanley to see something he had found in the brush. The aforementioned went quickly, and visualized what his brother discovered: a large chest, sealed with silver clusters. “What it could be inside?” Ford asked with great curiosity towards him. In response, Stanley raised a crowbar, and said, “We won't know it until we open it.” Stan approached and without hesitation, began to forcing to open the chest. However, it seemed to be difficult to open it. -I-it's stuck. C’mon, gimme a hand.” Ford approached him, and they both pried. Little by little, they made that chest opening.

They didn’t notice it, but a black smoke began to spread between the opening of the crowbar and the lid. “C’mon, c’mon… just a bit” Both men had to use all their strength to open it, with a lot of difficulty. From one second to the next, the chest finally was open. The lid broke, falling heavily to the ground. The smoke, the menacing smoke shot up into the sky like fireworks. The crowbar fell because both brothers covered their ears when hearing such horrible screams. Heartrending screams of a thousand and one voices attacked their ears, horribly and without stopping. The smoke quickly became a small hurricane. The leaves, the trees, and everything in their vicinity began to swirl. They both felt their feet float, rise from the great storm they left...

There was a pouring rain in the middle of the forest, in the middle of the night. One of the twins, Ford, was awakened by the icy drops of water, and by a lightning bolt that was heard listening to many meters. The man, dizzy, got up. He thought he had been knocked unconscious by the smoke, and that hours had passed. “S-Stanley?” Ford called weakly to his brother. He tried to search through the dark to no avail. He was in a shallow pit of earth, and he climbed, removing the mud, straining. Scratching the wet earth and using his nails as he could. He reached the end, just to hear a cry for help: “Ford! Ford, where are ‘ya?!” The screams of his brother ignited the alarms of danger in his mind, causing him to run away and also, stumbling in the mud when he rummaged in his pocket for his Lantern. “Stanley! Don’t worry, resist just a while!”

The fear, the uncertainty, the constant escalation of stress when not finding his brother, but only weeds, but not his brother, get Stanford to the fullest fear, the fullest horror on his recent months of life. “Stan, talk to...!” A scream interrupted him. It came from behind. A man lunged at him, at which Stanford drew his pistol, and seeing that the man was armed, he didn’t hesitate to shoot. That guy was pushed back, the flash put up more light, along with the explosion of the gun. He fell heavily to the ground, and Stanford pointed the flashlight at the man... his soul, his sigh showed his utter horror: a man with blue eyes and recently emptied of life, a white, blond face, and clothes made of pressed wool, skins of different beasts and leather. And where in the world where they when they found the chest, what was the last place they decided to visit? Scotland. There was only one village who dressed like that, who were inhabitants of Scotland and northern Europe, the most vorpal people for their torture and sacrifices: the morbid Vikings.

“Stanley, you have to run away from ‘ere! RUN!” That's when despair finally possessed the older brother, running and searching. He was running and hurting himself with the branches of the trees, not caring about that: the only thing that interested him was protecting him, taking care of him, saving Stanley from whatever those monsters could do to him. After so much persecution, Ford heard, among all that, voices that spoke in an understandable language. “Stanley.” Ford went to that address. His flashlight stopped working in the pouring rain. His only guide was audition. He searched, he tried to see through his ears those strange voices that may be his brother's downfall, and yet, it may also be the means to save him. “Ford? Ford, please help...!” Something stilled his voice. That meant it could be serious. Ford tried to fight through the darkness. He was able to get there, hearing the voices more clearly. From among the trees, he could make out that there were a few bonfires, lights, which made the vision somewhat easier. Hidden among the trees, Ford saw Stan being dragged. He writhed as best he could, dirtying his bare chest and muddy arms. He was gagged by what Stanford thought was a piece of leather. The Vikings looked wild and menacing. Among one of them, one with deer horns appeared on his hood, and his face was hidden by its shadow. Ford saw that bonfires could more or less be protected by makeshift roofs made of leaves and leather. Stanley was raised by one of the Vikings. Lightning struck the ground, producing more light. Right there, something that that ray, maybe in a heavenly way, could show a body for a few seconds.

It was from a man. Tall and Stanford could see that the decomposition process was already taking effect in the abdomen and hip area, showing holes in putrefying meat. His face was not covered, so his eyes showed that if they were so open, it seemed that they were going to come out of their sockets. The rest of his features showed that he had died from lack of blood, due to his terrible paleness and other symptoms. Ford looked down after checking his hands, which were hanging from strong ropes. Between his back, there were two stretches of skin that spread like wings, attached also with ropes. Right in all the area of ​​the rachis, and among all that, already backlit, there were some lines, which must have been… the ribs. On the shoulders, the victim's lungs hung. The sacrifice to some pagan god -perhaps to Valravn, or to the Vættir, or to something else- was through such a visceral way of dying. The Vikings were going to do the same to him. The same horrible form of torture. Even some whispered a song that in Stanford's ears was almost diabolical because of the deep and broken voice.

[Concept Art from Hellblade: Senua´s Sacrifice]

He didn't think what he did: he acted the way the Vikings acted: like beasts. That's the instinct of a beast: threaten it, and it will rip your throat out. He pulled out his gun and started shooting at those monsters. He couldn't, he didn't want those savages to hurt him. He couldn't allow it. They saw it, just like Stan: the Northmen thought they were being attacked by a strange hermit who cast magic by his fingers. Ford quickly went to Stan, lifting him off the ground and protecting him at all costs.

Stan finally spat out the leather and warned his twin about the Vikings coming after them. One took the other to flee: they could not finish everyone without ending up seriously injured. They ran to flee. They were looking for a way out of that nightmare. The Northmen were chasing them, looking for them and shouting unintelligible things. It was all just confusing. “Ford, run, run!” “Don't leave me, do you understand?!” Ford continually hit his headlight to turn it on. He had an idea to run away: if the chest got them into that, the chest would also get them out.

The two of them hid behind some trees, causing the Vikings to finally lose sight of them. They crouched down to try to go unnoticed. “I'm fine. You?” Stan is completely unaware, since he lost his glasses and couldn’t see anything; just a blurred darkness. “I think we should go for the chest... it's the only thing that came to my...” Something came from the darkness... Stanley couldn't see it, but Ford did: it was a horse that walked calmly despite the pouring rain. “Ford, there’s somethin’? What’s that noise?” On top of the horse, there was a fatal figure by its black cape and its long cane. Ford didn't know who that guy was, until he turned his face toward them, making a star-like glow appear where the right eye has to appear. He, still looking at them, used his stick to point something towards his back. The two brothers stared at the mysterious apparition, who then looked ahead again, and his horse walked slowly. Stan felt something strange about that creature: it seemed to have more than four legs. Ford followed the figure until it disappeared into the darkness. “I think I know where we’ve to go...” whispered Stanford, helping to lift Stan up (he didn't need help, but he didn't want to part with him). They both headed in the direction the shadow pointed them. Behind them, something sounded: a wake-up call from one of the Northmen. “Oh, fuck!” Ford shouts and hurried to Stan. The Vikings trooped after them, yelling and almost beating them.

They crossed even more branches, almost stumbled through the mud; the relentless rain tormented them with its cold that froze them to the bone. In a few minutes, and both falling near a strange stone, they looked back: they could make out the menacing shadows that were already reaching them. Stan felt the stone, and saw that it was indeed the chest. “Sixer, it’s here!” Both were being seized with fear, they were going to get closer! Stan shook the chest, vainly trying to get the chest to transport them again. “C’mon, just do it!” Stan gave the chest a good blow, and it, without either of them touching it, began to exude the same smoke. They both felt it as a hot, a burning sensation.

The two of them came out driven by that smoke. They seemed to be turning hands, gripping them tightly. The men from the north couldn't see it, but the cufflinks were stretched like a garter that swirled into the chest.

Ford felt he was flying, thrown into the unknown... until he fell into something hard called ground. Stan also fell next to him. They were both breathing hard, and looked up. The lid was decoupled from the hinges, but black smoke gripped the lid and snapped it back into place, sealing the chest tightly.

“Are you okay?” Ford asked his twin. “I'm just gonna say one thing” Stan stared at the sky, tired, but not exhausted of humor: “: I don't wanna to know ‘bout treasures or chests... got it?” “... got it...” Stanford smiled, about to laugh at outbursts of nerves and relief: they had narrowly escaped. Stan followed him. “Wanna go to Stan ‘O War” “Sure…”

[rinusagitora]

The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey

Pairings: BriDamiVicky

Words: 1k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 9.5/?. WARNINGS- drug use, unreality, murder, gore​; Vicky can never fly with angels, but dances with devils, and falls in love with them.

AO3

Vicky's head was taken from her, once upon a time. She remembered the electrodes and tubes in her open head and seeing down her esophagus as her head was taken off and placed in a pan.

As long ago as that was, when Vicky looked in the mirror, she couldn't help but run her fingers over the scar.

She made a rule to live generously and without malice, once upon a time.

But the universe never made things easy for Vicky. Undeath was a challenge unlike any other. She was no longer a member of the human realm, but never really a part of the world of monsters either, not like those born into it. Those born into it enjoyed malice. Vera reveled in ruination, Liam too fond of the art. Those thrust upon it were cynical. Even Polly, under all that brilliance and free love, she was just as scared and sad and angry as the rest of them.

While Vicky made it a rule to live without malice, it crept up on her in vice. Booze and coke and smoke, the things that made her high and low one after the other. The things that made the edges fuzzy.

Damien and she disagreed on many moral and ethical concepts but there were few others Vicky partook in drugs with. Damien, who laughed with her when her nostril tore because they didn't cut the coke fine enough. Damien, who gave her whiskey to chase the blood pouring down her throat as her nose bled.

"We should stitch it up," he said.

"I do a better job than my uncle," she told him, grinning, as the world became vibrant and rich.

“Why’s he stitching you up?”

"He liked it. Little girls and dissection and putting it back together." Blood poured down her mouth, her chin. Soaked her shirt and coated her mouth with the taste of copper. But she shrugged like it, and her history, wasn't a big deal.

It wasn’t because she was so fucking high.

"He sounds like a cunt."

"He's dead, anyway." Vicky leaned on her fists and crawled over the couch towards Damien. "A real monster."

"I thought you were born human."

"The kind of monster doing unspeakable acts."

"Like scooping out people's eyes and putting mosquitos in holes?"

"Like flaying them with sheers."

"And chipping their teeth with screwdrivers?"

"And fucking their eye socket."

Vicky was audacious when she was buzzed. She crawled over to Damien and straddled his lap. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. Damien's legs were so narrow. All sinew, like a horse.

"He sounds like a real tosser," Damien said. Vicky giggled. His pupils were so big, his eyes looked black. It wasn't a bad look on him. "He's probably got his liver in each hand now."

"While carrion feed on the ulcer?"

"Sure."

"I wish it was me plucking meat from him. Sculpting his flesh and playing in his fascia." He grinned. Lost in her daydream, Vicky barely registered his hands in her back pockets. "I don't like feeling that way," she told him, pulling his hands out of her pockets. "Hurting someone. I just wanna frolic and fly with angels."

"Yet you're dancing with devils in your apartment."

"We take what we can get." Sadly, Vicky crawled off Damien's lap. She slipped onto the floor and took more coke. It felt weird, flying up her bloodied nose. Goopy. But the feeling vanished with the burn and fuzz of whiskey.

He joined her on the floor. "You never wanna just go apeshit?"

"Daily. Always. Coexisting with kindness, killing the value I want above all else in the process."

Damien slipped the coke away from her. Be grinned, that devilish grin that told her he was up to no good, the kind of grin she instantly knew she was going along with, whether she liked it or not.

"Who said they ain't sides of a coin? Y'all act like this some two-dimensional shit. Let's fuck shit up, Girl Scout. I'll show you a real drug."

Vicky was swept to her feet. And drugs, bless drugs, teleported them to a park, where they were tailing a human jogger.

"He's a creep… I can smell it." He pushed a knife in her hands. "Go for the spine."

“What kind of creep?”

“The kind it’s okay to hurt.”

“I dunno what that means.”

Damien hushed her. His hands curled her hands around the handle. The gift was enough to make her ill.

Was it drugs? Was it her sobering up?

It was okay. He told her it was, it had to be okay.

“How bad?” she asked again.

“Bad enough he’ll have his liver in each hand too.”

And drugs, bless drugs, made it all a blur. The cut, the crunch, the blood, the grime. She couldn’t see him on the ground, dying, because he was a black blob on the floor, shaded by trees & Vicky.

All Vicky felt was empty. Grimy, her hands covered in blood too. Damien applauded her and hopped around the body. “That was metal,” he cheered. Damien took her hands and twirled her. She felt like a ballroom dancer. How unexpected. Vicky envied his candor, his excitement. He was so handsome then. Was it the streetlights? The moon and stars? His eyes glowing in the darkness? The coke and booze?

Vicky felt like her head was in the pan again, swimming in everything possible. He dipped her over his leg, she clutched his arm, his sinewy, strong arms that could hold her, cage her as his wood plunged into her below.

It was just another daydream. Vicky put all those things behind her.

"Was that your first time?"

"Yeah," she said, breathless, nodding.

"And?"

“I dunno.”

They swayed. “It gets better.”

“Like I’m flying?”

“Like you’re dancing.” He looked up. “Nothing to flying. Everything up there we can see from down here.”

Her eyes followed Damien’s. Stars, the moon.

And Vicky wondered if it was the drugs, blessed drugs, that made her fall in love a little.

[vexy-sins]

Lending a Hand: A SpicyHoney Drabble

(I get a lot of requests for SpicyHoney and sub!Edge, and I also got a request for consensual fisting that didn’t make it into Kinktober. I decided to combine the three into this masterpiece. The dry spell is over!)

Warning: explicit sexual content, language, oral sex, vaginal sex, fisting (consensual), gaping, masturbation, creampie

----------

The Great and Terrible Papyrus (alias Edge), Captain of the Royal Guard, commanded respect and demanded obedience from any monster who dared to cross his path. He enforced order and defended Underfell’s tyrant with swift brutality, but behind closed doors, he was an entirely different monster. When it came to sex, he preferred it rough, and he liked to be the submissive partner. Nobody in his universe could know his dirty little secret, so he’d found a lover elsewhere, a skeleton monster from a universe called Underswap- a Papyrus-type who called himself Stretch.

Edge’s usual style was submissive, sure, but under the influence of his heat cycle the imposing skeleton monster became downright needy… and utterly insatiable. As the dominant partner and a self-proclaimed lazybones, Stretch sometimes struggled to keep up with his desperate and demanding lover.

“MORE,” whimpered Edge, red tinged tears gathered in his sockets, “I NEED MORE.”

Stretch’s mid-afternoon couch nap- a necessity really- had been interrupted by Edge pawing at his pelvis and begging to suck him off. Edge’s eagerness and the flush across his cheekbones were all it took to convince Stretch’s magic to form a thick, throbbing erection. All the dedicated lazybones had to do was lay back and enjoy the feel of his lover’s mouth, which he did with a tired but satisfied groan. 

Edge ended up swallowing two hot, sticky loads from Stretch: one lovingly coaxed from his cock with Edge’s dextrous tongue and insistent sucking, the other pumped deep into his throat with Stretch’s phalanges digging into his skull to hold him steady. Finally fully awake and with the scent of Edge’s pheromones filling his nasal cavity, Stretch had pushed the battle-scarred skeleton onto his hands and knees on the floor. Edge was so slick with arousal that Stretch skipped foreplay and immediately buried himself in the silky heat of the tight crimson pussy.

Unfortunately, three intense orgasms left Stretch spent and Edge writhing in agonizing sexual frustration, his body burning with maddening unfulfilled need. Stretch wished he could do more; he hated to see Edge suffer like this during his heat. 

A thin strand of cum still connected Stretch’s semi-hard cock to Edge’s battered and gaping pussy. Stretch could see the angular skeleton’s fluttering hole, overflowing with honey-colored cum. His own cock wore a thick layer of his lover’s juices, and it twitched at the sight of Edge with his coccyx in the air and his face pressed into the carpet. Despite the tempting view, Stretch didn’t think he could manage another round of pounding that sweet little pussy.

“gimme a few minutes. i’m runnin’ on empty.” Stretch stroked his cock, tacky arousal sticking to his phalanges as he tried to resuscitate his erection to no avail.

“USE YOUR HAND,” mewled Edge, rubbing at his own clit in a futile quest for any sort of relief.

“babe, i don’t think fingering is gonna do it for you...”

“NOT YOUR FINGERS. YOUR HAND!”

For a comical moment, Stretch stared at his hand, not comprehending the distinction. What could Edge possibly mean? He clenched and unclenched his fist a few times before realization dawned on him.

“you... want me to... fist you?” A shiver traveled down Stretch’s spine; his cock responded to the mental image with another twitch. Fuck, the thought of fisting Edge turned him on.

“HURRY,” begged Edge, wiggling his coccyx enticingly. Even with his pussy gaping and dripping their mingled fluids, Stretch doubted his entire hand could fit, but Edge obviously wanted this badly. Stretch braced one hand on his lover’s hip, curled his phalanges into a fist and rubbed his knuckles experimentally against Edge’s greedy cunt, which somehow spread open even further to swallow him.

Slowly and carefully, Stretch pushed his fist into Edge’s pussy. He didn’t even need to ask if Edge was doing alright because the once proud skeleton panted and drooled with his angular features pressed into the carpet, occasionally managing a muffled scream for “MORE” or “HARDER” penetration. As Stretch’s wrist slid past his entrance, stretching his pussy walls to their limit and far past it, Edge’s words became a delirious babble.

Stretch could feel Edge’s pussy trying and failing to clench around him. The muscles couldn’t grip the girth of his fist and forearm. It felt amazing to feel Edge from the inside, to split him open so completely… and he hadn’t even started to move yet!

Breathing heavily, though from arousal rather than exertion, Stretch slowly pulled his arm backwards. Edge’s pussy dragged at him, reluctant to release such a delightful toy. Relenting, Stretch filled his lover’s hole with his fist and forearm once more. His cock twitched a third time, more powerfully than before, a response to the heady pleasure of sinking himself into his lover’s pussy.

Unwilling to put pleasure before safety, however, Stretch quickly checked on Edge.

“you alri-” he started to ask, but Edge’s demanding keening interrupted him.

“DON’T STOP!” Edge wailed, his clawed phalanges scabbling for purchase on the carpet as Stretch shoved his fist as deep inside of him as it would go then immediately yanked it back and slammed it in again. Edge’s entire body rocked with the force of Stretch’s thrusts, and his tongue lolled from his open jaws as he panted and moaned, the rough fist-fucking finally satisfying his deep primal ache to be fucked into oblivion.

Stretch gripped one of Edge’s asscheeks to brace himself as he pumped his fist in and out of Edge, faster and faster until moans spilled from his own mouth. The rhythm, the sounds- moans, squelches, and breathless gasping, the sight of Edge’s juices, thick and sticky, staining his radius and ulna, and the feel of Edge’s ecto-flesh under his phalanges and around his fist brought his cock back to full throbbing life. Stretch could tell Edge was nearing his peak though. His own pleasure could wait.

Orgasm wracked Edge’s scarred body a moment later. His entire frame shuddered with the force of it. He didn’t squirt so much as he gushed fluid down his femurs and onto the floor, over and over again. Stretch didn’t stop thrusting until Edge’s cries and his cum finally subsided. Once he was sure that Edge’s heat had been well and thoroughly satisfied, Stretch pulled his arm free, grabbed his cock with cum-slicked fingers and began to jerk himself off.

The lanky skeleton kept his other hand resting on Edge’s round ass, staring at his gaping, glistening pussy and reliving every sweet second of filling his lover up over and over again and how good that tightness always felt squeezing his cock, milking out every single drop of cum he had to offer. It didn’t take long before Stretch came, shooting strands of hot, thick cum over Edge’s ass and into his fluttering cunt.

Exhausted, Stretch sat back and admired his hand-iwork. The lazybones chuckled to himself. Too bad this would be a very inappropriate time for a pun… not that Stretch ever let that stop him. Standing up and holding out his clean hand to Edge, he quipped: “need a hand?”

The battle-hardened Royal Guard Captain couldn’t even form an indignant outcry. He sprawled on the floor, eyes clouded by waves of euphoria, drooling on himself with his coccyx in the air and their mingled cum running down his femurs.

Stretch sighed and pulled Edge into his arms, carrying him upstairs for a relaxing and very necessary bath. Usually, Stretch didn’t handle the cleanup, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave his proud lover such a literal and figurative mess. He only hoped his brother wouldn’t see him and get some ridiculous ideas about chores….

More (NSFW) Drabbles | INDEX | Read on AO3