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planetdream · 1 year

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STRANGE DREAMS !

CHARACTERS ! incubus/demon!hyunjin, reader

GENRE ! horror, smut [minors dni]

WORDS ! 7.8k [more or less]

SYNOPSIS ! sometimes, you meet a strange man in your dreams. this is one of those times.

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! edible-fueled writing. horror [gore—body horror: descriptions of blood and mutilated bodies. frightening figures and situations. description of drowning. nightmares and sleep paralysis. demons, and thus], references to biblical lore [christianity] and small references to milton's paradise lost [if you squint], and smut [dubcon—sexual manipulation and sex pollen, sorta. d/s dynamics—predator versus prey. possession/corruption. vaginal and anal sex. pussy and face slapping. teasing. fingering. spit. squirting. face fucking. degradation. strength kink sorta. sex with a demon—in demon form. monster cock. lots of cum]

⚠️ if you’re sensitive to gore, be advised before reading. i tried to be tame and brief with descriptions, and although i consider it to be light gore, i understand everyone has their limits. so proceed with caution.

💌 posting this earlier than originally planned cuz why not!! got the idea for this fic a year ago after an edible. it’s very weird n self indulgent but i’m glad i finally finished it !! i hope someone enjoys it <3 i always appreciate feedback !!

You’re certain that it’s the sky you’re gazing into—though, you’re unsure because your vision is unclear, a milky haze clouding your pupils—but the longer you look at it, the more it spins and distorts, bringing on nausea that rises in waves from the pit of your stomach to the top of your head. The nausea brings on a discomfort; dryness in your mouth and a straining in your eyes, and because of that, you’re left with no choice but to close your eyes and let your other senses take over. Darkness surrounds you, and it feels like you have risen into the sky, despite grass being beneath you, and it’s soft, comfortable; almost like you could sink deeper into it before reaching the hard, frigid dirt. You grab the blades of grass with a tight fist, tugging on it, but still unwilling to pull it out as if you would cause harm. Then, the grass all around you becomes apparent—alive—moving against your skin in a response back to you. It tickles all over, building the realization that you lay naked in the grass, though unwilling to get up or cover yourself; lost within the pure contentment of the situation.

There is a wave that sways over you—hot, heavy, and harsh, yet not too overbearing in its nature. You don’t know why, but there’s a sense of familiarity about when you are. It’s as if you’ve been here before, a distant memory that both chills and warms you.

Along with the burbling sound of water pouring into itself, the smell of water whisks in the cool breeze—slightly sweet, green and alluring; whistling your name, calling out for you to come over. The whispering is intriguing, full of temptation but slightly melancholic; no words need be said, yet you understand the language of the waters. The whispers are loud, blaring; not in the sense of volume, but by how jarring it is—unlike anything you’ve heard and yet, it’s something you feel so acquainted with, like a long-time friend. The water cries, begging for you to bathe within it or drink from it and promises a sweet taste that could be comparable to honey and lemons.

When you open your eyes again, everything is clear. The plants around you are breathing, communicating through the whistles of the wind; and just like the water, the plants cry out as well. Though, the cries of the flowers and trees are far different from the cries of the water. The cries of the water nearby sing a great harmony of promise and belief, whereas, the cries of the many trees screech of terror and agitation. They warn of what horrors can be witnessed here, of what great dangers are lurking within them. A sweet song of catastrophe. The flowers, however,—with captivating colors unlike anything you’ve ever seen, yet familiar; like the names of them are on the tip of your tongue, begging to be acknowledged and praised—cry differently. It’s a murmur most comparable to the feeling of silk against your hands, but also the feeling of goosebumps after a close encounter with something you shouldn’t have crossed paths with. A comfortable discomfort.

You look around, fully taking in the picture of what presents itself around you. There are butterflies varying in size and species—they sing as well, something similar to a war cry; morbid and haunting, though still beautiful and in great faith. Dragonflies buzz around, securing their place and status within the area. So much life here—at peace in this paradise. There’s some kind of haze or mist in the air, silent and still, tranquil. The sun is bright, blazing hot and practically piercing, yet despite the warmth, the air is slightly cool. The sight of your surroundings further cements your previous feelings of familiarity. Yet it also uncovers sheer discomfort. Yes, the area is familiar, but there’s something unsettling and distinctly different about it. A discomfort layering in the air, horribly beautiful and homely, but pandemonium is lurking, lurched and hidden within the shadows of this seeming paradise.

You roll over in the grass—laying on your stomach and lifting your head to see beyond what you could before. Not too far from your current position is a waterfall, continuing its whispers. The spring below is surrounded by unusual pink flowers and huge rocks covered in thick, green and yellow moss. Before you can process it, you’re on your feet and moving towards the spring. Once there, you kneel, gazing at your reflection in the waters. It’s almost too much to process but it’s you. It is you and yet it’s like the face you wear does not belong to you. Uncanny and off putting.

Movement. On your left, deep in the periphery of the spring. Your eyes shift, tracking whatever chooses to present itself. A swan. Elegant and pristine. It cranes its neck, beak pointing towards you in acknowledgment. You make full eye contact, and a chill runs up your spine causing your hair to stand on edge. An inflamed feeling of danger sparks within you, and before you have time to fight or run as far away as possible—“There you are!”

The voice comes from your right, but when you look in that direction, there’s nothing there. “So this is where you ran off to.”

The physical energy of the presence behind you is familiar, but strikingly overwhelming—it crawls up your skin like sharp nails, giving you goosebumps—you don’t need to turn around to recognize it. It’s Him. You’re unsure of what he is, exactly, but sometimes you meet him in your dreams. Though deep down you know that his existence and connection to you reaches well beyond the odd worlds of your dream realm. When he touches you, your surroundings change. The waterfall that you were once at is yards away, tiny in perspective. Despite having not moved an inch, it seems that every time you blink, you’re further and further into the woods; trees surrounding you and most certain to bury any noises emitted within their leaves.

The rustling of the tree leaves sounds like a screech, almost like sharp nails against a chalkboard—sinking deep and clashing, scraping out the porcelain enamel. The sound alone affects your brain, echoing in your mind, blaring enough to make you hold your hand against your head. The sound stops once he presses his hand against your cheek—so cold it feels like burning fire, almost scalding enough to melt off your skin; but you do not flinch, nor do you back away, frozen in place. The feeling of his skin against yours evokes an emotional aching so deep, you can feel it festering in the pit of your stomach, spreading to your organs and seeping into your veins—and somehow there is comfort in that.

He’s speaking, and while you’re unable to make out the words he is saying, you can tell that his voice is soft, pillowy like a cloud. Honey-laced words dipping from his tongue as if he’s trying to convince or ask something of you. You avert your gaze, unsure of if you actually want to meet his eyes.

His presence scares you just as much as it calms you. Intriguing, and homely but also frightening and domineering despite simply just standing there. Something about his demeanor feels off, or distorted, at the very least, as if he’s not actually in front of you. As if he was a result of your imagination instead of directly in your eyes view. He’s real, a hand against your skin, almost close enough for you to feel his breath lightly against your skin; and at the very least, he knows you. You know him, too, you think; of course, you’ve seen him in your dreams, but you’re inclined to believe you know him from somewhere else.

“Where are we?” You ask him, avoiding eye contact, shaking away from the contact his hand makes with you. Jarringly, it doesn’t feel like you said anything at all. Your mouth was moving and the words presented themselves in your mind and yet you can’t hear a single thing you’re saying. The familiar fire within your throat when you speak is no longer there.

“The Garden. It’s perfect here, isn’t it?” He gives you a small smile, seemingly understanding your indistinct confusion. Then, as he speaks up again, his voice drips with something resembling woe. “You and I used to live here a long time ago. I visit every so often, dip my legs into that spring back there, and then I reminisce on how pure life was back then before…”

You think he’s talking again, but once again, you’re unable to hear him. You’re too busy lost in his face. The urge to press your lips against his gets stronger as you’re next to him. Then you realize he’s naked as well, and your entire body gets warmer. There’s a budding ache inside you that’s all too familiar, growing at a rapid pace. It’s almost like your body is on fire as a result of being within his presence. Hormones floating, hair standing on edge, your more sensual and raw instincts ready to unveil and latch onto him at any time. Head hurting the longer you’re in his presence until it all just stops.

Everything stops. The trees are no longer rustling, birds no longer humming. There’s no splashing of the waterfall nor whistling in the wind. Just pure silence. The silence is uncomfortable, and causes you to stand still in your tracks like a deer, scared that if you make any sudden moves a predator might attack within the blink of an eye; jumping on you and tearing you apart in a bloody mess of flesh and organs flying everywhere, painting the fallen deep green leaves a perfect contrast of crimson.

“Run,” He says. There’s nothing in his voice; no emotion nor a slight hint at what he’s thinking. But the word echoes in your mind, and sends a chill down your spine, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on edge in either curiosity or total blood curdling fear.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to run,” His voice drops lower. “And don’t get caught.”

So you turn your heels and you run, not willing to ask him twice. Unsure of the direction you’re going in, but the further you seem to travel, the more that discomfort begins to settle in the pit of your stomach. You pick up the pace—one foot in front of the other, careful not to trip over yourself—but a small part of you isn’t sure if the danger that you’re sensing is real or just a part of a sick and twisted game. Instead of running away from the source of your terror, it seems as though you’re running towards it, no matter the direction you run. Twigs and leaves snapping and crunching beneath your feet, but it causes you no pain. In fact, the only thing you can feel in the moment is the thumping of your heart and every single milliliter of blood marching through your vessels.

You admittedly don’t make it too far before you’re cowering, ducking against a large tree. Heart racing with such speed that you’re almost positive it would break free of your ribcage, piercing its way out of your chest. The tree, however, as quickly as you found it, is no longer a place of solace, as you hear a long, loud, and deep growl to your left. The deep guttural sound echoing, slicing through the trees like machetes. You’ve got to move, but you fear that if you do, whatever it is that made that sound, might attack, ripping you to shreds before you’ve even got a chance to exhale. There’s a roar once again, this time uncomfortably closer to your hiding place. You stand still, and the surrounding area of the forest is suddenly extremely silent. No rustle of leaves or echoes of birds, but a loud silence accompanied by a buzzing noise; like a horde of flies marching their way towards you.

“Hyunjin,” You call out. The name slips from your mouth with ease, as if you’ve been calling him by that name all along. In the blink of an eye, just as you exhale his name, your surroundings change; suddenly submerged in water.

You emerge from the cold water, barely having time to register your surroundings before you’re being forced back into the water; claw-like hands scraping into your scalp, sharp and heavy against your skull. It’s hard to make your way above the water because of the forceful weight and before you know it, attempting to hold your breath is useless due to the water infiltrating your lungs. You’re flailing and thrashing around, arms lifting—hands curling into a claws, attempting to grab onto something, only to slash through the water—and legs kicking mindlessly, trying to escape what is uncertain; heart rate accelerating as panic fully sets in. This seems to go on for nearly fifteen minutes, being edged by death over and over; blacking out then awakening time and time again. Vision blocked by the salty darkness of the water, ensuring to agitate you with fright, unsure of when it’s all going to end.

Abruptly, you’re dragged upwards by your hair, back falling harshly against rock, helping you cough up the water in your throat. It feels like it takes minutes for you to learn how to breathe again, attempting to do that and calm down enough to assess your surroundings. You’re coughing so much you think you might cough up an intestine, throat burning with each assault, chest sinking and expanding and then sinking again. It takes many moments of coming back to yourself that you notice that there is no rough hand against your scalp. Alarmed, moving around frantically, backing up toward the closest stone wall. Scanning the area, there’s no human nor animal, nor creature of any nature in sight. Not even a single insect. Not even Hyunjin.

You lean over, though not too far in case history repeats itself, to peer into the water; there isn’t even a single fish, as far as you can tell, the waters quickly descending into a vast, black pit of the unknown. Overhead, the sky that was once shining brightly now dimming rather quickly, accompanied by dark, angry clouds. The winds pick up, swirling atop of the trees, emitting a drawn out whistle comparable to wind chimes; of which you can surprisingly hear over splashing and sputtering of the nearby waterfall. Large roars of thunder stomping in, but no lightning accompanies it. You begin to curl into yourself, attempting to shield yourself from whatever is out there, nature or otherwise.

You close your eyes for five simple seconds, and when you open them, Hyunjin is right next to you. He doesn’t notice you’re awake at first until you shift, catching his attention. He turns to you and you avert your eyes from him. He’s talking but it’s all inaudible, unimportant. Something about his presence in this moment is unsettling. Slightly off from the initially odd behavior he’d be exhibiting. You just nod to his words. “Found you like this about an hour ago. You shook so hard until you stopped and fell asleep.”

Hyunjin holds out a hand for you, which you’re hesitant to grab, but the next thing you know, you’re standing slowly; legs shaking as you attempt to regain strength. You hold onto his arm for extra support, slightly struggling in your steps as he leads you, hand in hand, towards a small cave hidden behind the pour of the waterfall. It’s hardly a hike, but Hyunjin makes sure you get to the other size carefully. “The rocks are slippery. You’ve had a few accidents here before.”

A lot of Hyunjin’s words are vague. Referrals to past events involving the two of you, all of which you cannot remember. There’s a feeling that you’ve been here before, but you’re unable to prove it, or make those connections other than your gut feeling and Hyunjin’s comments.

You’re hesitant to walk into the cave, the inside being pitch black. Hyunjin walks in before you, completely fearless, as if there is no potential danger. At the snap of a finger, there’s suddenly a fire going on within the cave. From you place you can see how the fire illuminates Hyunjin’s figure just a bit, and as you walk closer—finding a bit more comfort now that you can see, and because you know Hyunjin is there waiting for you, willing to guide you into and protect you from the unknown—you admire how the flames of the fire accentuates Hyunjin’s facial features. He was made by God, sculpted from the finest clay and molded into an individual with otherworldly beauty. Hyunjin holds a torch-like stick, fire blazing at the tip of it, used as momentary safety. “I know somewhere we can go.”

He then points into the deep darkness of the cave. You don’t want to go deeper into the cave. Right where you stand is just fine, and most importantly, it’s safe. Hyunjin reads the hesitant look that’s displayed on your face, but he urges you. “You’ve got me, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

And his smile, as beautiful and perfect as it is, seemed crooked, faked for just a moment. He holds out his hand, and without even thinking about it, you take his hand in yours as if you had no choice despite the unease boiling inside of you. His smile curves up again and he turns his head, now guiding you down the cold, dark cave.

The entire time you’re walking, there’s nothing. Hyunjin doesn’t speak and neither do you. The walls on either side all appear the same, dirt colored and oddly smooth, with not even a small crater to make a difference. No matter how long you walk, nor how far, the dark pit continues into nothingness, an upsetting kind of emptiness. Despite Hyunjin being next to you, despite holding his hand, he’s like a stone wall. He makes no effort to speak, nor to even acknowledge you in the slightest despite leading you somewhere, it’s like you’re nothing but a mere bug, nothing to stress about or keep entertained. You feel nothing but loneliness at the pit of your stomach; the only things keeping you company are the thumping of your feet against the ground and the flickering of the flame Hyunjin holds.

It’s a long time of walking before you realize that this cave is actually a tunnel. The tiny white dot of light grows bigger and bigger with every step taken. It feels like forever until you and Hyunjin reach the end of the tunnel. When you do, you’re happy to see light again. The sky now bright and blue, prohibiting any angry clouds of heavy rain. Air fresh and inviting, free of any worry and apprehension. Whatever doubts or dreadful feelings once felt before are now completely an afterthought.

“C’mon let’s go.” Hyunjin discards the torch, dragging you with him by your hand, grip tight against you.

He leads you over to a flower field where flowers ranging in color, size, and species reside. The field is colorful, bright and happy, like a source of glee. Inviting you over by whisper—maybe it’s a honey-filled hum—so sweet and kind. The deeper you walk into the flower field, you notice how enticing the air smells—sweet like a pastry, yet fresh like petrichor. The longer you and Hyunjin walk, hand and hand, the more at ease and loose you feel, almost drunk, mouth welling up with excess saliva. The two of you eventually reach a point to rest, laying on the grass, no words exchanged between you two. Simply just basking in the sun, deeply breathing in the fragrance of the nature that surrounds you.

There’s a passage of time before you start to feel it; an itch that’s tempting you to scratch; a sudden burst in fire. A fire that begins at the pit of your stomach and continues to your core, flaring; spreading further throughout your body in static-like jolts. Your breaths change from relaxed and soft, quiet, to heavy and noticeable; and suddenly the atmosphere feels hotter, small beads of sweat collecting against your forehead. You shift, rubbing your thighs in effort to satiate your sudden cravings, wanting to grind your hips up in search of friction. Growing more desperate and needy by the second.

This is when you look towards Hyunjin, rolling onto your stomach, head resting in your hands as you gaze up at his sitting form; and you actually notice him. You notice his nakedness, every single inch of him on display. He’s like a god, with his honey-like skin that glows and glistens in the sunlight. Toned and defined arm and thigh muscles that flex with nearly every movement he makes. He was meant to be admired, made to be worshiped—having men and women alike kneeling at his feet and imploring him to fuck and defile them. If only you knew how much he agrees. These thoughts almost embarrass you, yet they feel so natural. And your eyes drip lower to admire Hyunjin’s more intimate parts. Cock hanging low, thick, and you’re not too sure if he’s hard or not but he’s big. Mouth watering as you admire his dick: the natural curve to it, how there’s three thick, prominent veins that disperse along his shaft (at least from what you can see at this angle) that are pulsing, just begging for your tongue to roll over them.

You’re pulled away from your fantasy when Hyunjin clears his throat. With an eyebrow raised and a glimmer in his eye, he gives a small smile to you, softly, “You need something from me?”

“Maybe,” You wink at him. You sit up to face him, hand making contact with his knee, fingertips trailing up and down his thigh in a teasing matter. You get a little closer to him, skin against skin, eyes fixated on his cock as your fingertips dance against his inner thigh.

That’s when Hyunjin kisses you, lips soft and plump; and when he presses them against your lips you feel like you're in heaven. At first, your lips barely touch, meeting in small pecks, sweet kisses that eventually deepen into something desperate. The kisses are open mouthed, wet and sloppy, Hyunjin’s tongue makes its way into your mouth naturally, exploring inside of you. The kiss only breaks a few times; when you place your hands flat against Hyunjin’s chest, pushing away slightly just to get air. Each time the kiss breaks, Hyunjin smiles with a small chuckle, licking his lips before leaning in again, forehead pressed to yours.

You break the kiss once more, now focusing more on Hyunjin’s cock. Spitting onto your hand and wrapping it around his shaft, squeezing lightly. Tight fist working up and down Hyunjin’s length, biting your lip when you feel him twitch within your hand. He bites his lip, holding back a moan. Hyunjin stops you before you get too deep into it, instead choosing to take the lead.

Hyunjin plants another kiss to your lips before kissing down your neck, trying his best to take his time to really savor you, but he soon grows impatient. Pushing you down flat against the grass. Quick, wet kisses in several places down your body before he plants one last kiss right above where he really wants to be. There, he wastes no time getting to work, tongue slithering out almost snake-like to lick against your cunt. He really takes in the first taste of his meal, wetness sitting against his tongue, practically melting in his mouth, he moans. He dives in once again, lips and tongue against your cunt, licking and sucking and moaning; fully savoring you.

“Taste so fucking good,” He breathes once to come up for air, not that he actually needs it. Continuing to lap at your cunt, lips kissing and sucking at your clit, moaning into your heat. Hands coming to your thighs to grip, fingernails piercing, spreading you open wider for him.

You grind against his face, hands instinctively going to his hair, fingers tangling within it and pulling with eagerness. Hyunjin groans into you at the slight sting of you pulling at his hair. Tongue not letting up against your clit, following your cunt with every movement you make, not letting you get a break from the feeling of him against you. His mouth domes around your clit, sucking you in, teeth lightly grazing against your bud, momentarily making your back arch. Mid arch, Hyunjin slips two fingers into you. Slight sting as he stretches you out, long digits buried to the knuckles inside of you upon initial thrust.

Soon planting open mouthed kisses against your cunt, fingers working their way in and out of you at an obnoxious pace, curling naturally. Between Hyunjin’s tongue and fingers, in combination with his lips planting kisses against your cunt in between sloppy licks, it’s all too overwhelming. Cunt clenching around his fingers, pulling them in to beg for more, which Hyunjin promptly gives. Fingers fucking into you faster, his other palm pressing down directly against your pelvis.

It’s all too much, but you don’t want it to stop. The feeling of your impending orgasm has you shaking, practically vibrating, unable to brace yourself for it. Tears pooling down the side of your face as you moan out for him. The tips of his fingers repeatedly hit the soft, gushy spot deep inside of you, biting his lip as he watches your face contort. Body stiffening within his hold, unallowed to thrash around, only able to take what he’s giving you. Though unable to completely relax into it, fighting off the feeling of eventual bliss.

Hyunjin lets out a breathy moan at your defiance. Thumb massaging your clit, slowly but surely dragging you further off the edge. Hyunjin finally gets you to relax into his touch, into the feeling of temptation fully engulfing your soul. That’s when it takes over. Your vision blurs, almost going black, mouth agape as you let out cracked moans. Chest getting hot, tightening as you cum, releasing all stress and tension, absolutely melting into this state that makes you feel like you’re floating. Yet your body is only laid out in the grass, legs spread wide for him, as your cunt spills all over his fingers, wetness squirting all over Hyunjin’s forearm and thighs. Tongue desperately trying to lap up whatever he can as his fingers slip away from your cunt. The palm of his hand coming down against your sore cunt once, making you moan out and close your thighs, back arching, pain stinging in the best possible way that leaves you aching for more. Not fully satisfied.

Hyunjin is kneeling over you now, a large hand around his cock. Angry red tip all pretty and glossed with precum that dares to fall onto your skin like delicious raindrops. His cock twitches in his hand, blood rushing, pulsing in the veins that decorate his shaft. It all just makes you think about finally having his cock in you. The burning of the stretch, the feel of him reaching places that haven’t been accessed before, not to mention the feeling of his warm cum filling you up, ounce by ounce.

When Hyunjin pushes into you, you nearly lose your breath, caught in a long inhale. He’s nice enough to push into you slowly, but it’s only because he wants to savor the feeling (though, Hyunjin fully intends to use you however he wants for as long as he pleases). His cock is thick, stretches you beyond anything you’ve experienced before; though instead of being painful, your body is laced, wrapped in pleasure, and the sensation of thrill rushes through your veins. You spread your legs further apart, welcoming more of Hyunijn, hoping that he pushes into you deeper; overcome with desire and want.

“So fucking wet,” Hyunjin pins his cock deeper into you, pulling out quickly, teasingly. “Need more of me?”

You nod frantically, bottom lip slipping away from the clutches of your teeth. When you look up at Hyunjin, his eyes are fixated on your cunt. Tongue peeking out of his mouth, swirling over his bottom lip, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and into his eyebrow. He’s concentrated, breathing so heavily that he almost begins emitting an inhumane growl, but he dials it back quickly. Instead of pushing all of his length inside of you, Hyunjin pulls out completely, tapping the head of his dick against your cunt, sliding his cock from left to right against your clit. You watch as he does this, listening to the pornographic sound of your wetness, cunt clenching around nothing, just begging to finally be filled.

“Please…” You find yourself begging. Eyebrows strung together as you rock your hips up and down, trying to catch Hyunjin’s cock only for him to move away, preventing you from chasing your pleasure. His hand comes down harsh against your cunt in succession, serving as a warning.

“So cockhungry, can’t you be patient?” Hyunjin continues his tease, repeated light slaps against your cunt with his dick. His cock is replaced by his hand, two fingers dragging down from your clit to your slit, thrusting them into you quickly. Two fingers are replaced by three, and three, by four. He moves quickly, tips of his fingers curled and hitting exactly where you need them. He fucks your moans out of you, reveling in the way that your cries spill out just like the wetness of your cunt, and he’s barely doing anything but fingering you. And you’re this fucked up, melting into his fingers, giving him nearly everything he wants. “Always so pathetic and slutty.”

Agreements slip from your mouth, just in hopes that he’ll give you what you need if you’re good for him. Hyunjin just laughs at you, you’re certainly the cutest plaything he’s had—he knows he’s got to take his time with you. Almost wanting to slip his thumb inside of you as well, Hyunjin decides against it, continuing to fuck you with four of his fingers, still unrelenting in his pace. You, however, are lost for words; taking every ounce of what Hyunjin is giving you. A burning sensation rising in the pit of your stomach, hips rising from the ground, but Hyunjin never stops. Even when you’re leaking all over him, thighs shaking and threatening to close around his arm, he doesn’t stop fucking his fingers into you; not until he’s sure he’s got every ounce from you. Cum dripping down his arm as he takes and takes from you, forcing you to squirt all over him and yourself once again. Sliding his fingers out of you with yet another slap against your cunt.

His hand is around his cock again—wet with your cum, smearing it all over his cock—squeezing at its base as he brings his tip to your entrance. But he teases again, merely slapping his cock against your cunt. You arch into him, grinding your hips against his cock but Hyunjin makes no notice of you and your antics. Eventually getting bored, pulling his cock away from you.

“Kneel,” He speaks curtly, standing. However, you do not move fast enough for his liking. “Don’t make me have to do it for you.”

He does anyway. Grabbing you by the hair, dragging you up and forcing you onto your knees, skin grinding into the grass, sure to have bruises on them. Hyunjin’s hand stays in your hair, tugging as his free hand wraps around his cock. He yanks your head to the side, proceeding to slap his cock against your cheek, precum oozing from the tip.

“Open.” He says, and you promptly follow his instructions. “Looks like I’ve got a smart one.”

Hyunjin spits into your mouth, globs of saliva coating your tongue. His cock closely follows, dipping the tip in and out of your mouth quickly. He shifts, though, choosing to slide his entire length into your mouth, lips closing around him; but Hyunjin doesn’t allow it. Cock sliding out of your mouth, resulting in Hyunjin slapping you on the cheek with it again; saliva and cum sticking to your cheek. “Keep your mouth open wide.”

You adjust for him, just wanting to be able to take him and satisfy his cravings. He slides his cock back into your mouth, fully, giving minimum time to adjust to neither his speed nor his size. Mouth stretched to capacity, jaws aching and burning but Hyunjin is completely relishing in all the gagging and choking you do. You’re getting dizzier the longer his dick is in your mouth, tip kissing, nearly ramming, the back of your throat due to Hyunjin’s pacing. You feel like you’re on fire but yet you’re still able to relax into it. It isn’t long before you start moaning around his cock, absentmindedly rocking your hips back and forth whenever you taste a hint of the salty sweet substance. Hyunjin then pulls out, saliva spilling all over your chin and connecting in tiny stings to his cock. Smacking your cheek with his cock another three times, erupting in a full belly laugh, smiling at the way you’re just a completed fucked out mess, barely registering a thing he’s doing or saying to you.

“Look at that,” Hyunjin releases you from his clutches. He pushes you back by your shoulder, making you catch yourself from falling back with the palms of your hands. When you look down, you’re completely soaked, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto the ground, pooling messily onto a leaf, spilling off of its edges and soaking into the dirt beneath it. “Fucking filthy little mess you’ve made. Cunt just begging to be fucked, huh?”

The question is rhetorical but you still nod; even going as far as to whine a little bit, hips moving seemingly without your control. Hyunjin takes pleasure in this small action, kneeling down to your level. He licks his fingers, noting that he doesn’t need to at all, and swipes them over your clit, one, two times before his ring and middle finger are sliding into your cunt. Fingertips meeting the exact place you need them each time he slides them into you. You’re clenching around his fingers now, and Hyunjin licks his lips, pulling away from you.

“Turn around.” You obey, turning on your hands and knees, swinging your ass in the air. He continues with his teasing, and at this point you’re nearly sobbing, wondering if he’ll ever actually give you what you want. Pathetic chants and whines spilling from your mouth as you push your ass against Hyunjin, unable to control yourself; thinking with your cunt instead of your brain.

Hyunjin spits down onto you, and you can feel the glob of spit slide down from your asshole to your cunt, tickling its way down your clit. Hyunjin, though, slides the head of his cock from your clit, upwards, collecting his spit and your wetness in the process. He teases the tip at the rim of your tight hole, teasing at it. But when you push your ass towards Hyunjin, he pulls away, tsk-ing in the process.

“Silly little play thing,” Hyunjin gives a cold, almost threatening laugh. “I think I need to teach you a lesson on patience, hm?”

The threat has you pleading with him, repeated apologies dancing off your tongue, ultimately not acknowledged. Hyunjin loves to hear the sounds of your begs and pleads, but ultimately, the words you say do not matter to him—it all means nothing. Hyunjin marches at the beat of his own drum, and in situations like this, when he’s got a perfect piece of flesh like you beneath him, everything that he says, goes. And right now, he’s perfectly fine with teasing you over and over and over again.

Slapping his cock against your cunt once, twice, Hyunjin slightly pushes the head of his cock against the rim of your ass. He continues applying pressure, fixated on stretching out the perfectly puckered hole. You whine at the feeling, slowly inching away from it, but Hyunjin holds your hips still. Pushing and pushing, slowly, until finally he slides the head of his cock into your tight hole. Hyunjin moans out at how your hole tightens around him, welcoming him inside. He does nothing, just stays like that, moaning and ignoring your pleas for him to do something. It’s not until you feel the side of his hand brush up against you cunt that you realize Hyunjin has got a hand around his shaft, getting himself off while the tip of his cock is in your ass and you’ve got nothing to do except for lay there and accept it, with your ass in the air and your face against dirt.

His moans increase as he fucks his hand around his cock faster; and if it werent for his other hand holding you in place, you’d at least try to fuck back on him through the stretch of the pain. As Hyunjin exhales, letting out a deep groan of a moan, you feel the rush of warm liquid shooting into you. You moan in response as Hyunjin makes a mess of you with his cum, filling you up, trying to keep it all inside until he pulls out and it all, inevitably, leaks out of your hole, pooling around your cunt.

Hyunjin wastes no time, cock sliding into your cunt with ease due to your wetness and his cum; but the stretch is intense, more than you initially expected. You tighten up a bit, resisting, though you want to relax. You can’t hold your arch perfectly any longer but that’s the least of your worries—the only thing on your mind being cock. Hyunjin slides another inch into you. Maybe it’s because of all the teasing, or the fact that you’ve already cum twice, but he’s not even halfway inside of you and it feels like he’s reached the depths of your soul already. His hand reaches around, fingers coming in contact with your clit in hopes of helping you ease up.

“Created just for me,” Hyunjin breathes out, voice rough with possession. “Made just for me. Only me.”

He continues with his ownership of you, voice dipping deeper as his words become mostly obscenities. You don’t hear it. Or perhaps you can’t hear it. Maybe you don’t want to hear the vile things he’s saying. You’re overtaken, caught up by the intense, high pitch ringing that is worming its way through your ear canal, planting and fertilizing clashing waves of static all around your brain.

His hand wraps around your neck. It feels nothing like the soft, once heavenly hands that had been massaging all over your skin. These hands are rough, calloused and rigid palms that venture into freakishly long, boney fingers; with nails like claws that pierce into the side of your neck right behind your ear. Your eyes remain closed, fearing that if you open them that you’ll see something you shouldn’t, something that your mind would be unable to comprehend visually. A feeling of spiritual discomfort crawls up your back, causing you to arch, shivering at the same moment Hyunjin works his cock deeper into you, stretching you further; mentally and physically—of which he insists on doing, wanting to bend you to his will and break you beyond anything you’ve experienced.

Hyunjin pulls you back to him, hips unrelenting. Teeth, sharp like razors, piercing down into the flesh of your shoulders; nearly enough for blood to start trickling down your skin, but that does not occur. His teeth, however, do leave indents in your skin; that, if he’s lucky enough, will be permanent. His lips meet your ear next, a brief kiss planted to the lobe before whispering in a rather gruff voice, unlike that of his usual. “Inferior to me. Mine to claim.”

When he cums there’s an immense amount of it, sticky and warm. Hyunjin makes sure to be fully buried inside of you, cock seemingly swelling in size as he forces you to take all his cum inside. Hyunjin is selfish, not waiting a single moment, and barely pulling out before he begins to thrust back in. Cum coats his cock, almost daring to drip onto the ground in raindrop-like shapes. He refuses to allow that, however, fucking all of his cum back into you. His thighs, which originally felt like the silkiest, softest flesh, now coarse and dry—except for the sticky cum running down them, connecting in slightly thick, white lines against your thighs—and fuzzy; thick. “Mine to possess.”

You slowly come to realize that Hyunjin has taken a different shape completely. No longer possessing the body of a man, he has turned into some kind of beast, something inhuman. He’s grown abnormally in size and you can tell because he’s holding you up as he fucks you, toes barely scraping the dirt.

And as filthy and as frightening as it is, the line between fear and arousal is a very thin, blurry line. It leads you to come crashing down, partially due to the overstimulation, cunt spasming around Hyunjin’s cock, sucking in all his cum. You’re elated, completely delighted, mind elsewhere as you experience your high with Hyunjin fucking you through it. Hardly registering anything other than the feeling of Hyunjin’s cock stretching you out and the warmth of his cum—a sticky mess that’s leaking out both of your holes and staining your thighs.

When you come to, you’re laying on Hyunjin’s chest. It’s still daylight out, the sun beaming as bright as ever, nearly blinding when you open your eyes. It takes a few moments to shake away the pure, drowsy euphoria you’re feeling, completely ravished by bliss; almost hypnotized. You prop your head up to look at Hyunjin, and the moment you do, it’s like there are trumpets sounding off all around you. You have a realization—no, a revelation—that things aren’t as they seem as you peer up at the brown-haired man. As queasiness makes a home in the pit of your stomach, all within two mere seconds, the wind picks up; howling in the distance, bustling within the branches of trees.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” For what might be the first time, your eyes meet his.

What words can be used to describe what you saw when you looked into the eyes of that thing? Petrifying? Nauseating? Surreal? It makes you want to close your eyes, however, when you do, the images you’ve seen seem as though they’ve been permanently printed against the black of your eyelids. Perhaps you can attempt to run away—and hide, praying to God that you’re not stalked and caught—but your muscles don’t respond to the neurons being sent by your brain. Perhaps you can find a way out of this dream, but your physical body seemingly refuses to acknowledge the call to wake up; only processing the utter fright in the images it created. The only thing you can do is stare into Hyunjin’s eyes, continuing to receive visions of which you hope you’ll be able to forget.

His irises are a deep pool of black, displaying a particular flavor not only of loneliness but utter wickedness. The longer you stare into Hyunjin’s eyes the longer you are disillusioned, fully snatched away from all delusion of this former fairytale. Vision clouded by a thick, murky fog; fully spotlighting the shocks of visions you see in his eyes.

A beast, creature unlike anything you’ve ever seen or imagined. The face of a man only oddly elongated with empty eye sockets and horns—covered in blood that only makes a mop of its fine hair—curled up into two spikes atop his head. A smile so wide it’s like it was carved in with a razor blade and charred, blackened and blood stained fangs hanging from its mouth. Its body, with its abnormally long limbs, is completely drenched in blood, dripping in pools all around the entity. Pieces of what you can only assume is a human—or even worse, you—discarded and littered around it without much thought or care.

Flesh. Human meat. Limbs and bones and the insides—intestines, livers and hearts and muscle—all around you as this vision becomes reality; suddenly finding yourself within one meter of this monstrosity. The pool of blood coming up to your ankles, rising steadily. Pieces and pieces of the now deceased all around you, entirely mangled and minced. The creature holds pieces of meat within its claws, sharp nails piercing into the gray flesh, bits of meat stuck between its teeth as it tears into its victim.

It is feeding.

The situation becomes all the more frightening when the creature raises its head towards you. Despite it being eyeless, you know that you’re making eye contact, getting lost within the empty abyss that seems to be staring into the corners of your spirit. It’s wide smile never fading as it lurches, sprinting towards you faster than the blink of an eye.

The transition from the dream world to the waking world is surreal, almost jarring. Especially since when you awaken, you’re paralyzed, body stiff with static crawling all over your skin. The darkness of your bedroom surrounds you, both familiar and completely unknown. You attempt to move around a little, opening and closing your eyes multiple times, attempting to raise at least a finger; though falling short of progress to escape this feeling, left to stare straight up at your ceiling.

Then there’s the boom. A loud, static-like noise; deep as if something really heavy had dropped—but you’re unsure if it’s coming from the dark corner on your right or elsewhere within your home. A thing that simultaneously occurred and did not happen. The speed at which fear rises within you is faster than the speed of light. Heart racing as the physical manifestation of dread drops to the bottom of your stomach—fear making its home in the back of your throat, tightening as your swallow, seemingly making it difficult to breathe. It consumes you, a heavy burden, too insufferable to support, unable to put up a fair fight against it.

Don’t Look.

Curiosity gets the best of you. You shift your eyes to the right and in the far corner of the bedroom is a space that’s significantly darker than anything else in the room; like a void. Perhaps it’s because the light from your plug-in air freshener doesn’t reach that area of the room. And perhaps you’re tired and still reeling from that strange dream, but you swear you see movement as you glance over. You want to look away, you have to look away, but curiosity sinks its claws into you. Hypnotizing and you're paralyzed with fear of what could happen. Then, the darkness in the corner grows, getting larger as if whatever it is has been expanding, standing up to greet you.

Then it disperses. Leaving you alone, shaking and sweating in the cold, unwelcoming darkness of your room, finally able to move and process things.

#🌑 — vivid dreams #🌑 — vividdream.skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin smut

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apoemaday · 10 months

Text

Facts About the Moon

by Dorianne Laux

The moon is backing away from us an inch and a half each year. That means if you’re like me and were born around fifty years ago the moon was a full six feet closer to the earth. What’s a person supposed to do? I feel the gray cloud of consternation travel across my face. I begin thinking about the moon-lit past, how if you go back far enough you can imagine the breathtaking hugeness of the moon, prehistoric solar eclipses when the moon covered the sun so completely there was no corona, only a darkness we had no word for. And future eclipses will look like this: the moon a small black pupil in the eye of the sun. But these are bald facts. What bothers me most is that someday the moon will spiral right out of orbit and all land-based life will die. The moon keeps the oceans from swallowing the shores, keeps the electromagnetic fields in check at the polar ends of the earth. And please don’t tell me what I already know, that it won’t happen for a long time. I don’t care. I’m afraid of what will happen to the moon. Forget us. We don’t deserve the moon. Maybe we once did but not now after all we’ve done. These nights I harbor a secret pity for the moon, rolling around alone in space without her milky planet, her only child, a mother who’s lost a child, a bad child, a greedy child or maybe a grown boy who’s murdered and raped, a mother can’t help it, she loves that boy anyway, and in spite of herself she misses him, and if you sit beside her on the padded hospital bench outside the door to his room you can’t not take her hand, listen to her while she weeps, telling you how sweet he was, how blue his eyes, and you know she’s only romanticizing, that she’s conveniently forgotten the bruises and booze, the stolen car, the day he ripped the phones from the walls, and you want to slap her back to sanity, remind her of the truth: he was a leech, a fuckup, a little shit, and you almost do until she lifts her pale puffy face, her eyes two craters and then you can’t help it either, you know love when you see it, you can feel its lunar strength, its brutal pull.

#poetry #dorianne laux #facts about the moon #requested poem

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notmyneighbor · 2 months

Text

r&d | yog sothoth x female reader

rating | explicit

part 4/?

words | 3.2k

cw | witchcraft, minor blood/injury

ao3 link

taglist | @jazminetoad @kaislashes @lakeside-paradise @paxispax @luvvsxn @barbatoss-bitch @moody-mod

You’re never quite sure where to look when you see Lilith.

The tattooed series of eyes repeat down her face in patterns that are fairly obvious as being false, but behind that veil covering the upper part of the first floor resident’s face, you know the real ones hide. You wonder what color the irises might be; if the entire orb is not milky, clouded and seemingly blind while some magical ability helps her see much further than your own ordinary ones ever could.

Yog certainly seems to think so, anyway. The narrowed, snakelike pupils peeking between his own golden variety spare you a quick glance as you stand outside the sisters’ apartment door, one that might have meant to be reassuring or dubious or cautious. Perhaps all three.

“She might not be able to help us,” he reminds you, hesitating before knocking. “And even if she is willing and able, she definitely won’t do it for free.”

“I know. But I don’t see that we have any other choice. We need help.” You can’t believe you’d fallen for Afton’s trap for a fourth time, yet there you had been, mind still fuzzy, unable to cling to your memories of this alternate realm, only to find yourself tricked into returning once more under the false guise of a psychological health trial. The surge of memories had been staggering this time, making you stumble and nearly collapse in the guard booth. It had taken you long moments to recover, and encountering your first doppelganger version of your vampire companion hadn’t made you feel any more secure. Their appearance was identical, but of course there was none of the familiar affection in his greeting. You’d known instantly it wasn’t him, all the while hoping the real one would appear sooner rather than later.

And then he was there. Barely waiting for the door to unlock before shoving his way through and taking you in his arms, only to urge you to follow him, to see about striking a deal with the resident witch. She might be able to transport both of you at will, giving you a surprise advantage over Afton. What would happen after that still wasn’t clear. But you had to try. You don’t think it’s good for your health to keep being injected with that mysterious glowing substance; don’t like the deception and the evil trades between the doctor and his counterpart in this other plane of reality. They had to be stopped.

At the last moment Yog’s hand diverts from the wooden door to touch your cheek. “I hate having to give up time with you that might be spent more pleasantly,” he murmurs.

“I know. I do, too.”

His lips press against yours, and you can feel the fingers on your skin start to tremble with the effort of restraining himself, keeping the kiss brief and chaste. Then he swiftly turns his attention back to the barrier marked 1-04 and knocks on it, firmly and rapidly.

It does not take long for the door to shift, the features of Anazareth Anazarel greeting the pair of you. She has the same full, plush lips as her sibling, but there the similarities starkly end. Her eyes are dusted in glittery cotton candy pink, the hue of her skin a much healthier shade than her sister’s pallor. Her toffee hair is nearly coiffed into a tidy wave and the color of her horns compliments the makeup she’s painted her face with and the gauzy, shimmery gown clutching her curvaceous form.

Her eyes slide open to regard you and the vampire, each look careful and considering. “Yes?”

“We’re here to see Lilith.”

“We’re not expecting visitors today.”

“Let them in, Ana.”

Lilith’s voice drifts into the hallway, but you still can’t view the witch from the narrow gap the curse maker has created.

Anazareth frowns, but relents, pulling the door open further to allow you to enter. The bloodsucker enters first, his eyes sweeping the room for any possible danger before gesturing for you to follow with a quick flick of his fingers.

The scent of incense greets you strongly as you cross the threshold. The interior of the apartment is as different from Yog’s as night and day. The living room is furnished in plush pouf chairs. An artificial hearth decorated with lit candles lines the opposite wall, the source of the heavy fragrance wedged between two of them, the ceramic jar holding several smoking reeds. There are a pair of tables piled high with books, crystals and a mortar and pestle and many jars filled with powders and liquids. A pentacle that looks permanently burnt into the floorboards draws the eye to the room’s center, and a beaded curtain draped across the opening of the hallway obscures what other things might lie beyond.

“You may go, Ana. I wish to speak to these guests alone.”

Anazareth’s lips press into a thin line of disapproval but she follows her sister’s wishes, disappearing behind the curtain.

The witch occupies one of the soft looking chairs, a long chain with a many faceted stone dangling from one hand. It moves in a steady circle, as if driven by some unseen force. She hums thoughtfully and it immediately stills. “The vampire I know. You, I do not.” Her face turns in your direction. “You don’t belong here. To this realm. Yet here you are. Can you explain?”

You shuffle your feet nervously. Her voice is so melodic, so captivating. You wonder if there is magic being laid over those utterances; a kind of spell being cast, compelling you to answer. “I come from another plane of reality. A man called William Afton keeps injecting me with something from this astral realm, something that he was given by Orcus Dis Pater in exchange for the doppelganger technology.” You pause to take a breath, grateful for the warmth of the hand Yog rests along your spine. “We’re trying to stop them, to protect both our realities. We were wondering if you would be able to send me back at will. And transport Yog as well. I was able to take back something with me, once; some jewelry that I carried. But touching him does not allow me to bring him back. So we need your help,” you finish a little breathlessly.

“Come closer,” the witch beckons.

You hesitate, looking to the vampire for guidance. He nods, but you can see the tension in his shoulders as they stiffen.

You move until you’re standing beside the seated woman. She tips her head up, but you still can see nothing beneath the tight clutch of the fabric over her eyes. “Give me your hand.”

You obey, holding it out to her as if you were to shake hers in greeting. She immediately grasps it, turning it over before her thumb slides over the inside of your wrist, stroking over the thin blue branching veins visible beneath the skin. Her fingernails are painted a deep shade of garnet that is so dark it is nearly black, the varnished laquer catching the lights of the candelabra above. “There is something in your blood that should not be there.”

You nod. “That’s it. The glowing stuff that Orcus gives to Afton. We don’t really know where the source is.”

“And you, vampire. Come here.” She releases her grip on you and it seems as if you can still feel the touch lingering, a strange, tingling kind of heat flaring along the joint.

The second floor resident does not look best pleased to be ordered around; he’s been scowling ever since Lilith had touched you. Yet still he acquiesces, closing the distance with a confident, brisk stride. He doesn’t wait for the request to offer his hand, instead shoving back his shirt sleeve and thrusting his upper extremity in her direction. She repeats the same process she had used on you, then nods and he withdraws his arm.

“There is some of that substance in you as well. Faint traces. Like an echo. But you are not a source.”

“I’ve not been able to find it in anyone else. I would have tasted it for certain. I’ve never sampled it in any species of victim, until I fed from…” He lets his voice trail off, looking a little embarrassed.

“So we truly don’t know the origins of that elixir. You would need to follow the skinner. Trail his hunt. Dangerous, even for you, bloodsucker,” she cautions. “Perhaps too risky. But there might be another way yet to achieve what you seek.”

“I’m listening.” Yog folds his arms across his chest.

“The substance in this traveler. If we could extract the otherworlder’s blood, I might be able to create a spell to open a portal.”

“Extract it how, precisely?” The vampire’s fangs seat on his bottom lip, his other teeth gritted.

Lilith’s own pair, hers much more like sewing needles, the eye teeth sharp and slender, flash brightly against her darkly painted lips. “A simple cut will suffice. Perhaps at the wrist would be best.” She taps a fingernail along the sleeve of her black gown thoughtfully. “The substance is clearly what brings her here, its eventual depletion pulling her back. We need a similar method for you, vampire. Something from this realm that will draw you back to it, after a time.”

“Can’t he just feed from me? Or you could inject him with some of my blood?”

Lilith shakes her head at your suggestions, the earrings dripping near her cheeks jingling softly. “It would not work, I can assure you. The proper concentration required is unknown. It is not a pure ingredient any longer, now that it is in your bloodstream; the potency and efficacy has undoubtedly been affected. We must resort to other means. I’ll need something from you, Yog.”

His features darken with wariness. “Like what?”

The witch’s lips twitch in a brief smirk. “Nothing that will tax you to donate. I can create a binding spell with some of your hair. With the proper flame it will eventually be consumed, becoming ash. When it has all transformed, you will be drawn back here. It will not last long, so you will need to use your time there wisely.”

“Then what? What happens next?” He presses.

“Then, if I am successful, the pair of you will be able to travel through the newly created portal together. I cannot vouch for how long that gap between worlds will last. Mere minutes, most likely. I would need much more of the substance in its purest form to make something longer lasting.”

Your russett haired companion frowns, then nods. “An experiment, then. A trial run.”

“But you will lose your advantage over Afton if you are seen. You will need to be very cautious, evening walker.”

“How do we determine where we end up on the other side?”

“You can’t, precisely; not yet, anyway. The door guardian will naturally be recalled back to her body, and you along beside her, given the proximity of the spell I’m creating. There must be an enchantment of some sort that pulls her here to this specific location. We’ll need to establish what that is and recreate its counterpart on the other side. Now that I know of its existence, I can aid in that endeavor.”

The vampire makes a low growl. “I do not like all these what ifs and maybes. There are too many unknowns.”

Lilith laughs, a sound that is like wind chimes striking together. “You sought my help, as I recall.”

“I’m doing this to help all of us,” Yog spits back at her. “You might think your magic keeps you safe, but it doesn’t. The doppels are growing stronger. And if Afton and Orcus manage to move armies of them across the borders of our worlds…”

The amusement instantly fades from the witch’s lips. “Alright, bloodsucker. You’ve made your point. Now let me make mine. Namely, payment. What are you offering for this service? As you can imagine, the cost will be very steep.”

“What do you want?” This time you decide to speak.

“Oh, young mortal. What a dangerous query that is.”

“Careful,” Yog hisses under his breath.

“You’re protective of this one, aren’t you? A fierce wolf guarding a pup.”

“What of it?”

She shakes her head, the maroon tinted tresses swaying back and forth. “It might be an advantage. Or it may prove fatal. Only time will tell.”

“So what is your price?”

The seated woman runs the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. “What indeed. I think I shall present it like this: Since there is no guarantee of the success of this venture, you may use my services without cost this time. But if it is successful, and you seek my help again, you must give me whatever I name.”

Yog scoffs. “Absolutely not. No deal.”

Lilith’s ebony lace adorned shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. “It matters not to me. Again, I am not the one so desperate.”

“Yog,” you whisper.

“Give us a moment.” His fingers curl around your upper arm and he brings you closer to the door. You’re willing to bet the witch can hear every word spoken. It’s not that far from her, and she does have supernatural powers, after all.

“I don’t like this. She’s up to something. No one gives anything away for free. That condition of payment later leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“What choice do we have, though?”

Yog sighs heavily. “I don’t know. I’ve wracked my brain trying to come up with another, but this is all I could conjure.”

You inhale deeply, trying to gather your courage. “Then we do it.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers tuck under your chin, lifting it slightly.

“I trust you.”

“I trust you, too. Lilith, not so much.” He heaves another sigh, letting his hand drop. “Alright. We’ll do it.”

He leads you back to the seated resident.

“Have you decided?”

“We have. We accept your terms.”

Lilith grins, revealing the full set of razor sharp looking teeth. “Excellent. Then let’s begin, before the source you’re carrying dwindles any further.”

The witch stands, somehow rising gracefully from that low position, and begins rearranging things on one of the tables. A wicked looking knife with a jeweled handle appears and you feel your pulse race. Yog’s fingers thread through yours and he squeezes gently.

Lilith reaches for one of the locks curling near the nape of the vampire’s neck, sawing it off with the blade and quickly winding a thread around it. She places it inside a glass dish and sets it aside.

“I’ll cast the spell to ignite the flame after this. Let me see your wrist again.”

You swallow thickly, offering it to her.

The knife moves quickly, a serpent’s silver tongue flicking out and slicing neatly along your fragile skin. Your blood immediately spills forth, the crimson flow tainted by the obvious syrup of Afton’s mysterious substance. It’s caught inside a shallow bowl pressed beneath your forearm, the fluid collecting until she nods in satisfaction and she speaks to the vampire. “Your turn to lend services again, bloodsucker. Reseal the flesh.”

Yog’s nostrils have flared at the scent of your lifeforce, his bruised eyes hollowed with hunger and desire. He’s still gentle when he manipulates your limb, his tongue sliding along the blood trail and his mouth sucking at the laceration. A fire instantly builds in your core, mirroring his desire. The sooty lashes flutter in rapture, a soft moan of regret escaping when he releases you, the cut now a dry red line marking your skin.

“Good. The flame is lit and the circle is prepared.” Lilith finishes murmuring her spell near the bound clump of Yog’s hair and a purple flame appears, scentless and smokeless as it begins to gnaw away at the rust colored strands. She gestures to the pentacle that is now outlined in your blood and Orcus’ stolen gift. The smell of brimstone overpowers the incense and you can feel heat being generated at the symbol’s center. “What are you waiting for? Go, before it dissipates. I’ll keep watch over your corporeal form,” she directs at the vampire.

Yog’s fingers grip yours tightly now. He leans to brush a rough kiss against your mouth. “Ready?”

You don’t think you truly are, but you nod.

“Remember your promise,” Lilith’s voice calls as the vampire escorts you inside of the circle. “Remember our deal.”

The heat intensifies. Your hair lifts in an invisible breeze. Your eyes meet Yog’s.

Then the world goes dark.

***

You awaken to find yourself strapped to a chair.

For a moment, the disorientation overwhelms you, preventing you from trying to struggle against your bonds. How had you gotten here? Where even is here?

Then a face appears above yours; one that should be frightening, but isn’t. The golden eyes are kind, frantically searching to see if you’re harmed, the fingers moving over your restrained limbs gentle.

“Yog,” you whisper.

“You remember me?” He freezes, the hope thick in his voice. “You remember it all?”

“My mind feels fuzzy, like it’s stuffed with cotton, but…yes. Yes, I remember you.”

“I’ll get you out. Maybe I can…” The vampire’s face lifts, his eyes focusing on the camera mounted on the wall. A sudden dark cloud wafts across the room, obscuring the lens. “Lilith’s not the only one with supernatural abilities,” he murmurs, sounding a little smug. “Hopefully I haven’t been spotted yet.”

He again reaches for one of the metal bands encircling your wrist but you halt him quickly.

“You can’t. Afton will know, if I’m freed. I have to keep playing along. So I can go back again. See you,” your voice softens with affection.

The vampire hesitates. “I don’t like seeing you bound like this. Because of that monster—”

“—It worked, Yog. We did it. We got you here. And I remember now.”

“Yeah, we did it,” he agrees, his voice husky. “I’m just worried about what comes next. What compensation Lilith will demand. We need to find that anchor she spoke of. I need to figure out the source. And we need to determine how we’re going to stop Afton and Orcus.”

“We’ll do it. Together.” You pause, swallowing, trying to work moisture into your mouth. “I’m so dizzy,” you murmur. “Throat feels like sandpaper.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, brushing back some of the hair that’s fallen across your face. “It’s that damn stuff he injects you with.” He rubs his thumb over your bottom lip. “I don’t want him hurting you anymore. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop him. Whatever it takes,” he repeats vehemently.

“Yog, you should hide, in case they come in once they notice the camera feed is dead while you’re waiting for Lilith’s spell to wear off.”

“They won’t see me,” he assures you. “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.” He bends to kiss your mouth, tongue tapping gently against yours, and then he moves away, sighing and brooding beside you one moment, gone the next.

#yog sothoth x you #yog sothoth x reader #thats not my neighbor #that’s not my neighbor #yog sothoth #tnmn nightmare mode #divider @saradikagraphics #dr w afton #lilith lilitu lilit #anazareth anazarel

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call-sign-shark · 11 months

Text

The Woods Whisper || 2/2

Summary: After a terrific nightmare, your and Arthur’s life change for good. You start to suffer from a mysterious and excruciating hunger, which always seems to lead you to the forest.

Words: 3.5k

TW: Extreme violence, angst, cannibalism, graphic depiction of mutilation, graphic depiction of murder, gore, ehh dubcon

Notes: written for @peakyswritings's 2k celebration and Halloween. Nina belongs to her. + important notes at the end and no proofreading because we read like warrior here.

Reader is Heaven from the series Heaven in Your Eyes.

When the heavy doors of Arrow House opened, revealing your dainty frame bathed in the pale moonlight that reflected on both your silvery mane and the whiteness of your fabulous outfit, all the guests' eyes opened wide in surprise. If there is one thing they did not expect it was you participating in the dinner Tommy's new wife, Nina, had organized. While not particularly comfortable with hosting an event, the young Italian lass had wished to consolidate the family ties, missing the warmth of her own since she moved to Birmingham.

The shock of your presence did not come from resentment but rather surprise since you carefully did your best to avoid any social contact for the last couple of weeks. Getting used to Arthur coming alone to family meetings or celebrations had been utterly odd considering how symbiotic your relationship was, to the extent of becoming a physical and emotional dependence most people deemed unhealthy and vaguely unsettling. Yet, they never dared to inquire much about the matter.

The reason behind their discretion wasn't a lack of curiosity, but rather how the lanky gangster waved off the questions by replying with vague and stern explanations about some unnamed sickness that kept you in bed. Moreover, his dissuasive growls and murderous glare had been enough to keep tongues shut. But among the family and acquaintances, one soul couldn't be fooled by empty excuses and it bore the name of Nina Ferrante Shelby. The cunning dark-haired girl reckoned that the two lovebirds had been trying hard to hide an ugly truth she couldn't pinpoint yet, but her sharp eyes noticed a few details everyone else had missed.

It had started with Arthur, whom she saw compulsively readjusting his shirt's collar in an attempt to make sure that most of his flesh was well-covered, protected from indiscreet eyes. Where Tommy believed he was hiding some hickeys, Nina's honey glance caught sight of the swollen and reddish edges of a deep wound carefully hidden under the fabric of his shirt the moment Arthur had turned his head to look at Finn and rebuff him in a condescending older brother way. When his steel blue eyes met Nina's, he understood that she had seen the scar and quickly readjusted his collar, clearing his throat in embarrassment before bringing her attention to another topic but it was already too late. He had just confirmed her suspicions by doing so. The second alarming detail she caught was when she came to your house following Arthur's announcement that you were sick. She noticed how your eyes had changed since your last encounter, shivering at the way their aquamarine color had mysteriously turned one shade paler. Not only did they become almost white, but their black pupils were covered by a milky veil that rendered them as blank and glassy as a decaying corpse's. As much as Nina liked you, connecting with the wild and untamable nature you both shared, her blood would instantly run cold in her veins each time her gaze met yours: the loving and knowing looks you would often give her had turned into a dizzying void: all she could find in your eyes was emptiness.

But what had startled her the most hadn't been Arthur's odd behavior nor the disturbing abyss of your clouded eyes, but rather the frozen and disturbing something that radiated off you. In truth, you had always been surrounded by an ethereal, cold, and otherworldly threatening aura. A part of it was certainly due to your unusual appearance and your frozen beauty though. Yet, as you passed by her tonight, Nina knew it was different. You might have looked the same, dressed in a seductive and revealing dress adorned with expensive gold jewels, but apart from your familiar appearance the Sicilian nymph couldn't recognize you anymore. Worst than not recognizing the only friend she had made in England, Nina couldn't understand why her whole being reacted with unexplainable spikes of panic each time her skin grazed yours. It was as if her unconscious could foresee the monster that was lurking behind your seraphic complexions even before her eyes could.

As the dinner dragged on, Nina grasped the visible discomfort that had been growing on your face. The more minutes passed, the more you looked as if you were about to snap.

"Are you okay?" The Italian beauty mouthed, but the only reply she got was sheer silence. Overwhelmed by your bottomless hunger, you were trying your best not to let the delicious scents of human flesh get the best of you. Staring at the void, you nervously rubbed Arthur's thigh under the table and completely ignored Nina, far too busy trying not to think about her exquisite tan skin. Would she taste as sweet as the honey of her eyes? With his attention caught by the friction on his thigh, the gangster quickly glanced at you, concerned, and gently pressed his large and warm hand on yours in silent support. He knew you were starting to lose your patience.

"Can't you make her shut the fuck up?" Your siren-like voice, colder than Everest's snow, echoed in the room with such a caustic tone that Ada opened her eyes wide, an expression of pure shock on her doll-like face when you cut her off that bluntly. So bluntly even Nina, who was aware of the colder nature you hid from the rest of the world, couldn't help but almost choke on her wine.

"The hell is wrong with you, Heaven? She's a baby and sometimes babies cry! What a surprise!" Ada was quick to reply, instinctively hugging her newborn daughter closer as she cradled her. Elizabeth had been uncontrollably sobbing from the moment her big brown eyes had met your dead gaze. They said babies are more sensitive to silent threat, you know. Agnese once told Nina. Her cries, piercing and nerve-racking, had worsened the insufferable famine that howled inside of you. Not hiding your annoyance anymore, you rolled your shoulders to ease the tension of your stiff body but it didn't work, "I'm serious Heaven. You should consider getting used to it if you want to give children to Arthur one day." Ada lectured with one raised brow, making Elizabeth hop on her thighs to try to hush her. It didn't work. You dug your sharp nails into Arthur's thigh in reply, feeling your self-control break down at the child's exciting sobs and Ada's mouth-watering perfume. Arthur let out a low-key growl and squeezed your cold hand tighter.

"She's been screaming into my damn ear for God knows how long, Ada. Don't you think I've been patient enough? Isn't it enough for you to calm her down?" Your voice was hushed, barely above your normal tone, and yet its anger resonated loudly. Each word was carefully pronounced with a tense stillness between them, cold, sharp, and cutting like a razor slicing through the air, "So either you make her shut the fuck up..." You growled, the raging storm coming, "Or I'll bash her fucking head against the table!" You suddenly commanded, standing up so violently that your chair fell behind you in a noisy thud.

" Arthur!" Ada screamed, astounded and furious at your insolence.

"Arthur! Can't you control your wife?! Oh Arthur! Can't you put a damn leash around her neck?!" You cut her off, hitting the dining table with your delicate palms. All the plates and glasses clinked. Silence fell upon the room, the family now looking at you in a combination of fright and surprise. Even Tommy, who never missed an opportunity to fight with you, found himself petrified by your rage. It was even more surprising considering how you weren't the one to lose your temper easily, rather leaving this behavior to your husband. In other circumstances, Nina would have giggled for when she talked one could often hear revolution, but it didn't make her laugh. Quite the contrary. She stood up at the same time Arthur did, and gently put her warm hands on Ada's shoulders while the lanky gangster wrapped your waist protectively and pulled you closer.

"Please Ada, don't take it personally," Nina started, "Heaven's been struggling to sleep for weeks, that's just the fatigue talking. Right Arthur?"

"Right." The oldest Shelby brother mumbled, "C'm'here angel, you're going to rest a bit in one of the guest's bedrooms ay." And without further ado nor apologies, Arthur hurried on and led you out of the dining room, quickly climbing the stairs of Arrow house to lock both of you in another wing of the mansion. "Okay you calm down now. Told ye it was a bad idea." He urged, his calloused hand cupping your face to keep you focused.

"But Nina worked her arse off for this party. I had to come." You grunted through gritted teeth, all of them sharp and pointy except for the upper and lower central incisors, "I feel like I'm becoming crazy." Pushing Arthur away, you started to pace in the bedroom while pulling your hair back. The gangster's eyes followed your every move, heart racing in his chest as he witnessed you becoming more and more feral and mentally unstable. He knew he had to do something before you slipped into another murderous craze, as you did the night you came back covered with fresh blood.

When Arthur exited the room he was as white as a ghost. Wobbling on his long legs, the gangster made a few steps before he had to lean against the wall so as not to fall on the wooden floor of the corridor. He had lost so much blood that he was pale and sweaty, a confused look etched on his face. With his breathing shallow and ragged, Arthur knew he was about to faint at any minute. After a quick but rough fuck, he had cradled your dainty body in his arms while your teeth broke his skin and muscle — He didn't let it show, but he had almost passed out twice. Bringing one trembling hand to his forehead, the gangster let out a shaky sigh as he relished the cold sensation of his rings against his burning skin.

"Take." A ghostly female voice resounded in the hallway, making him turn around in one vivid movement that instantly made him regret doing so. He grunted, the drowsy feeling worsening, but as black dots appeared in front of his eyes, he could still recognize the charming silhouette of Nina who was handling him some chocolate squares. Her magnificent amber eyes curiously gawked at him, then at the red stain on his disheveled shirt he didn't even button up properly, "It would be a shame for you to die the night I hold my first party here. And Tommy wouldn't be happy about that."

"Fookin' hilarious, eh." Arthur grunted but still took the chocolate, quickly putting two squares in his mouth. Not that it would be the first time Nina would see him collapse on the floor, usually drunk as fuck, but it just wasn't the same. Fortunately for him, sugar did its miracle and he soon retrieved color.

"Eat everything, stùpitu. It will do you good. My whole lineage would probably pray for you if they ever see how slim you are." Nina stated quietly, but asparkle glowed in her cunning eyes. Her brother-in-law raised a brow but obeyed, eating the rest of the chocolate before quickly slicking his hair back to tame the wild locks that had fallen in front of his face. "Now you gotta tell me what's wrong with Heaven."

"For fuck's sake," Arthur growled and rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed by Nina's insistence, "Told ye, she's sick." And that was all he said, already turning his heels to leave but Nina managed to grab him by the wrist before he even moved, her small hand firmly tightening its grip around him.

“Enough with the bullshit, Arthur. I heard uncle Charlie and Curly talked days ago. They said you came at night with three half-eaten corpses, asking them to help you hide them!” She retorted more bluntly than what the gangster expected. Astonished by the girl's temper he shot her a murderous look from over his shoulder. It didn’t seem to impress her — not in the slightest. Danger wasn't Arthur Shelby to her, it had been Stefanor Spinetta and a forced wedding. Now that she was far away from those two threats, nothing seemed to sincerely scare her anymore, "Look at you! Do you think I'm stupid or blind?" Her fingers clenched around his wrist even more, clinging to his warm freckled skin, “She’s not herself and you know it! Look at what she did to you! What happened to her?”

“Piss off, Nina! That's none of your fookin' business ay.” He snarled, teeth bared like a rabid animal about to bite. If she hadn’t been family, he would have probably gone for her throat but, instead, he just snatched his wrist from her with one violent movement that almost made her trip on her own feet.

“Vaffanculo!” Nina not being afraid of him was one thing, but her throwing herself in his arms to tear his shirt apart and expose his chest was another. He had tried to push her but she had been too quick. Arthur stood there motionless in the dim-lit corridor, mouth agape, and steel blue eyes wide open as Nina stepped back, one of her hands covering her mouth as she saw them. The dozen red and swollen bite marks on her brother-in-law's neck, shoulders, and torso. A whispered prayer escaped from her charming lips as her honey-pools eyes surveyed the wounds, some of them indicating that his flesh had been ripped off. It was a miracle Arthur didn't already die from pain, blood loss, or infection.

"Nina, love." He started, his voice soft and quiet as if he was cautiously trying to approach a wild animal, "You shouldn't tell anyone alright?" Arthur made one step towards her but she backed off in reflex, terrified, "Not even Tommy alright? You know he'll try to cure her with a bullet between her eyes."

Arthur and you left Arrow House in a hurry, right after Nina had lent him one of Tommy's shirts. She didn't know why she helped, but she did, probably feeling guilty of discovering something she shouldn't have.

It has been three days since the disastrous party, and since then you refused to leave your house, afraid of losing control again. Three days during which you remained curled up on the sofa, your blank eyes staring at the hearth. Arthur had been outside since the early morning doing God knew what, so all you did was keep watching the fire and trying to ignore the whispers. Its dancing flames, casting their orange glow on your face, didn't even manage to warm up your dying body. Absent from your own mind, you didn't even hear Arthur coming, nor leaning against the door with his arms crossed, observing you with undescribable worries shining in his loving eyes. His throat tightened with frustration at how powerless he was starting to feel, not able to do anything except watch you slowly disappear until all remained was an empty carcass only animated by hunger and bloodthirst. Somehow, he hoped what he did in the forest would soon bring you some comfort.

"Angel," he called, walking towards you and putting one gentle hand on your shoulder. He had barely touched your skin when he backed off, your iciness biting him as if he had just dipped his hand in liquid nitrogen. You looked at him, offering him a tired smile -- a smile that was only expressed by your lips curling, for your cloudy eyes looked desperately devoid of life.

"Oh, your skin's warm. It feels good."

"Come on, we'll take a hot shower." He said, pressing a kiss on your head and helping you stand up.

"Hm." You didn't protest, in fact, you let him handle you as easily as a lifeless doll until you were both in the bathroom, Arthur's skilled hands running down your shoulders and making your nightgown fall at your feet. All you did was shiver with cold, goosebumps adorning your marble skin at the frost that had settled in your bones. "I'm cold, Art..."

"I know, love." His gravelly voice slightly trembled as his fingers roamed over your protruding ribs. With thick eyebrows knitted together, Arthur let out a long sigh, "You really need to eat." He said, the palm of his free hand caressing one of the pointy bones of your hips. Still, he found you as stunning and mesmerizing as he always did.

"No, I don't want to kill another family." You retorted, pursing your juicy and glossy lips together like a sulking teen. Not that you felt any kind of emotional empathy towards your victims, but it wasn't a pleasant experience either if omitting the gargantuan pleasure of finally feeling satiated for a while. The most annoying part had been eating their daughter, no matter how tasty, fresh, and juicy her flesh had been. With that being said, you turned your head to the other side to deny him a kiss. Arthur grunted and pushed you a bit more impatiently into the shower, frustrated by your bratty behavior, which didn't disappear despite all the changes you've been through lately.

"And I don't want to see ye starving yourself," He scolded, joining you.

“It’s freezing!” You hissed, not even noticing the suffocating steam that accumulated in the shower nor how reddened your husband's skin was at the places where the burning water rained down. The feeling of it on his freshest wounds made him grit his teeth but the pain didn’t keep him from staying in the shower with you.

“It’s burning hot, love,” Arthur replied, his gravelly voice softened, filled with undeniable concern at your inability to properly feel the temperature. Noticing that you were quite literally shivering despite the hot water pouring on the two of you, the gangster’s slim arms wrapped your waist and pulled you closer to interlock your bodies. Each of your curves and shapes perfectly melted into each other, like the pieces of the same jigsaw. Only when you crashed against him you let out a sigh of relief, your shivers suddenly disappearing, and Arthur’s natural warmth spreading under your skin, crawling to your icy heart.

You hugged him back softly. Then tighter. More, I need more of him. Then so hard that your nails broke the skin of his back, scratching him until his crimson blood stained your growing claws. A hoarse whimper escaped from his trembling lips, halfway between pleasure and pain. Lately, your relationship has been filled with pain. So much pain. So much blood. You hurt him with teeth and claws, and you ate his very flesh, but to Arthur and his mind, which was sinking as deep as yours, it felt like true love.

"You don't want to kill ay," He mumbled between two kisses, "Fine, I'll do it for ye hmm?"

"No, it's not your role to do th—" He didn't let you finish your sentence, moaning as you scratched his back again, leaving long and red cuts on his flesh.

"Listen, little one," He grunted, one hand pressing against the wet wall of the shower to keep his thrusts steady, the other grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him right in the eyes, "I'll do anything for ye. Any-fucking-thing."

"Ow!" You winced when Arthur hit a painful spot inside of you but suffering quickly blended with pleasure.

"I'll let you eat me own flesh y'know." He growled again before stroking the fragile skin of your throat with his hungry tongue, the caress of his mustache sending shivers down your spine, "But you don't want that ay? And ye don't want to kill either but love, the truth is ye need to eat fookin' human flesh hm. Fuck—" He slammed his hips more fiercely, your love-making looking more like savage breeding than anything else lately. One might even wonder if pleasure was really the goal behind it, or if you were trying to see who could hurt the other the most, "So I'll —slam— fookin' —slam— hunt fresh meat —slam— for you. For us."

"Arthur! St— Stop." His sudden roughness startled you, making you momentarily snap from your emptiness. Surprised and overwhelmed, you tried to gently push him away in order to make him stop, or at least, to make him slow down his merciless pace but he didn't.

"Don't." He hissed in your ear, the tip of his nose bumping against your cheek and his scorching breath fanning over your skin. The faint and familiar whiskey scent would have usually lulled you if your sharp senses hadn’t grasped the metallic smell of blood. "I said don't.” He repeated on a firmer tome, letting go of your chin. His free hand was now firmly grabbing one of your butt cheeks to keep you from pulling your hips away from him.

You screamed at the sharp, searing pain that jolted through your body like lightning, sending a wave of raw sensation crashing against your neck. The violence with which Arthur had bitten your flesh was a shock, the intensity so sudden and overwhelming that for a moment, you felt lost in a world where pain was the only constant. His lips curled as blood gushed from the bite, tainting your immaculate marbled skin with red trickles. Eyes rolling back into his head as pleasure washed over him, Arthur hummed. "No..." You whined, panic coursing through your veins as you slowly understood the reason behind his absence earlier and the erratic behavior he was displaying. "What the fuck did you do?!" You yelled at him, struggling in his arms and whimpering at the same time, assaulted by his relentless thrusts and trapped between his body and the shower wall.

Nevertheless, you managed to slip one trembling hand on the back of his head while he relished the sweet taste of your ambrosia blood and the tightness of your sensitive walls around him. Gathering your remaining strength, you pulled him by his wet hair to free your neck from his bleeding and starving mouth. He hissed like a wildcat it reply. "Why?! Why did you do that, you bloody idiot?!" Your agonizing and furious screams seemed to work some sense back in his head though. He finally slowed down, now barely moving. In fact, he just rolled his hips sensually against yours, which resulted in a wave of pleasure that eased your pain and made you feel comfortably full.

" 'Cause I love you.” He stated, “Remember what we said when we decided to get married?" His crimson lips curled in a twisted smile, beads of blood clinging to his mustache. "If you suffer, I'll suffer. If you die I'll die," He repeated, like a proud schoolboy who had learned his lesson by heart. A gloomy and obsessive one. "And if you starve, I'll starve..." A glimmer of madness sparkled in his eyes. As the moonlight enlightened his face through the window, its deathly glow casting antlers-shaped shadows behind him, the darkness of his pupils faded from his eyes, losing their usual depth and color for an empty fog. “And if you hear them, I’ll do it to.”

“Hear what?” You murmured, fingers loosening their grip in his hair.

“The woods’ whispers.”

notes: You’ve reached the end of this story, congratulations! Admittedly it didn’t come out as I wanted first but it would have been far too long and I didn’t feel like writing a whole new series. Also it was supposed to be more graphic. When referring to the Algonquian myth of the Wendigo there are two ways to turn into one: either by dreaming of it like Heaven, who was plagued by its spirit since she was young, or by eating human flesh. This explain why his transformation is faster than Heaven’s. Upon discovering what she suffered from, Arthur decided to eat human flesh and turn into one not only to share her pain, but also to remain by Heaven’s side forever. He knew that her new condition meant she would live quite eternally and didn’t want to leave her alone. The ending is open: it’s up to you to what the woods are whispering to them and also what happens to both of them after this. Thank you for reading this disturbing Halloween AU!

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996

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rosesloveletters · 9 months

Text

lucky star.

Pairing: Dr. Frederick Frankenstein x Fem. Reader

Word Count: 6,645

Warnings: sexual content / smut

Summary: ‘Frederick, you are my lucky star,’ Your skin was burning hot and you thought you might spontaneously combust, ‘your radiance was too much and I couldn’t help myself…’ // You had been burned before, but never like this. // Frederick and Reader spend a loving, passionate night alone inside the castle.

Author's Note: Hopefully you all can forgive me for taking a small break from writing Wonka fics to write for another of Gene's roles. If you haven't seen Young Frankenstein, please go watch it. It's so damn funny and Gene is so attractive.

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

The cold air seeped down into your bones, penetrating your thin nightgown the same way the moonlight cut through the clouds and bathed the dank night in a milky haze. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground and the cold air bled through the castle walls. December was a brutal month to be up in the mountains; the winters here seemed to last a lifetime.

What little reprieve you had was the crackling fireplace in your quiet bedroom. You took up residency on the hearth, the stone-cold floors beneath your bare feet sending tremors through you, but it was nothing you wouldn’t suffer so long as you were able to stand before the fire.

This was how he found you most nights, your silhouette red-rimmed and glimmering from the firelight as each fragile little flame arched in a furious, swirling dance. Encased in stone, the flames could not travel, but you imagined them swallowing you whole.

Your body was a block of ice and you feared it would take a decade just to thaw your heart, but his presence melted the frost on your fingertips and got your blood pumping again. Such was your complicated relationship between this professor turned mad scientist.

The lick of the flame never heated you up like he did.

“Oh, you’re still there?” He asked in an amused tone as he entered your chambers, already shedding his coat to prepare for the long night ahead. He must’ve been exhausted, though you had no idea what he was working on down there in the laboratory. He abated your questions with affection, arms encircling your body like the flames you dreamed of and shielding you from the cold.

You turned just enough to glance at him over your shoulder, “every night,” you responded and turned back to the fire. The flames reflected in your dilated pupils danced in a blaze of infernal passion as though you were lit from within.

You heard him shuffling around behind you, but you paid him no mind. The flames enchanted you; you always dreamed in noire, but for the first time you could see in the color he had shown you.

Soft violin music permeated your senses and you suppressed a full-bodied shudder.

It was as if you had been summoned out of thin air, stagnant temptation veiled over you.

With your curves accentuated in firelight, you resembled the moon in all her shimmering, shivering opalescence. In her craters all alone, you were a woman scorned, a maiden murdered in cold blood, a ghost of herself digging her own grave to be buried alive, but inside of the castle you were unapologetically yourself. You belonged here as much as any of the other residents, a misfit to the rest of the world, a crisis of consequence, the quintessence of vice and virtue and all alone in every way except physical.

Your ears rang from the haunting harmony as you waited for warmth to come.

It finally did, in the form of your lover’s arms wrapped around you.

You saw less and less of him these days and you suspected a new achievement of his sometime soon, but he kept quiet about what it was. It was much easier to pretend he was falling out of love with you than to conjure any idea of what he had been doing for the last several days because in a state like this he was much more difficult to study than any lecture he might’ve once given. You would have gratefully taken down notes from him rather than pick apart his brain for the learning material.

If your love was ancient history, then why weren’t you hanging up in a museum yet?

As much time as he spent away from you it was imaginable that he forgot you existed, yet he always came back to you at night.

It was all just an idea, the seed of all science, which bore roots of hypotheses and germination in study and, if one were lucky, might someday bloom into spectacular results.

“I suppose you’ve still got no intention of letting me know what it is that you’re working on down there?”

The way in which his arms tightened around your body indicated the affirmative, but you were always going to be curious. Your tired game of pretending was no longer enough to satisfy your hunger for the truth and he knew it. His tender love would not sate you forever and if he didn’t swiftly act, you might begin to demand more. Not that he minded, really. Being wanted was pleasant and not something he was used to. His romantic relationships were stinted and tense, stifled and repressed. He succumbed to your advances and gave answers to your questions ultimately because you made him a priority.

He felt safe with you. No more longing glances at women who did not want him or elbow touches with the supposed “love of his life” because she didn’t want to mess up her outfit. He treated you with respect and with dignity because you offered him the same. He did not have to fit himself into a pre-cut spot in your life. You molded him into your heart, enveloping him in your love and holding him close to your chest because he meant that much to you. You wanted him there and he could feel it, all his nerve-endings alight with the sacred promise of love and mutual want and connection.

A gentle chuckle came from him and he leaned in close, lips by your ear, “I promise to tell you more about it soon, my dear. I feel that I am nearing a breakthrough.”

A breakthrough or a breakdown, you were uncertain which word best suited where he was headed. His wild curls appeared more and more disheveled each day because he couldn’t be bothered to style his hair when more important things weighed on his mind. His work consumed him to the point that when he dragged himself back to you at night, his mind was still buzzing with ideas and he seemed distant even though he did not mean to be.

Sometimes you caught him up reading long after you would have retired to bed for the night. When you thought he was sleeping beside you, he was poring over case studies and medical journals by candlelight. When your bed was cold and the spot beside you that he always occupied was empty, you would find him fast asleep at his desk, the rise and fall of his shoulders and gentle snores indicative of his peaceful slumber.

On nights like those would you guide him back to bed where he would curl in beside you and hold you close, sheltered through the night in his embrace until morning light touched your face.

Other nights were fitful and full of restlessness and nightmares. He would twitch and quiver, plagued by images no man was ever meant to see. He wouldn’t tell you what he dreamed of, even less about what frightened him, but you had reason to believe that his brain tormented him on occasion, such was the case of most, but with deep intellect came a price and he was much crueler to himself than any colleague of his might be.

He needed to unwind, to take comfort in closeness and sanctity from insanity.

He would work himself to death like this and you would be damned if you were to let that happen.

“That’s good news, darling,” your gentle response made him grin and you could feel the slight upturn of his lips against your cheek, “but do you think we might not speak about work tonight?”

“Well, if not that, then what shall we speak about?”

As he asked the question, he began to pull you in. Your bodies connected and with you flush against him you could feel his arousal, unabashedly betraying his aching need for you now more than he had felt in a lifetime for anyone else.

The pungent scent of frosted Frasier fir, candle smoke and scintillating wit clung to him, lingering like twilight hues on the longest day of the year. You inhaled, apt to lose yourself in him the same way he lost himself in his work, only now did you understand that there was much more to it than that. His work was important, but you were his love and that took up more space in him than the chunk of matter between his ears and the story of your lives filled more pages than any of the studies in his medical journals.

A night off would do him some good; for once, he could devote enough time to engage in a passionate, loving affair rather than a quick frolic and he would do well to remember how much he had always wanted something like this.

He wanted you now and would not wait. You made him forget who he was for a while and that was such a beautiful thing.

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein, a man whose names’ reputation preceded him, had learned that he could only put so much distance between himself and the truth. As absurd as it was to say, he had perhaps stumbled upon a secret that could not be contained, a truth so groundbreaking, a scientific discovery so unbelievable that it had to be believed to be seen…

Except, currently, the only thing he was seeing were blurred lines and the gothic undertones of lust which tinted his periphery. His lips slanted over yours and the modest friction from his wispy, sorrel mustache scraped deliciously against your cupid’s bow. The wet graze of your tongue sent a shiver through him and elicited a small grunt as his large hands swept down the length of your body and grabbed your hips.

Your pelvis ground deliciously against his and he groaned, “you’ll be the death of me, my love.”

Your closeness was the finger on the hairpin trigger of his desire. He felt like his aorta might burst at any moment and so, using every second he hoped he had left, he savored the warm press of your body on his and devoured every inch of your exposed neck. He was gentle at first, taking care not to mark your delicate flesh, but soon his intrinsic carnality corrupted him and he could not help himself from sinking his teeth into your skin.

You let out a breathy gasp and could feel him grinning against the column of your neck.

Your arms were around him, holding him to you mostly to steady yourself because if your hands had nothing to hold onto, you would have fallen to your knees for reasons beyond just lacking support in your current state. He would have approved of it now, although he was squeamish about it at any other time. He would have even encouraged you, with hands in your hair on the back of your head to guide you in pleasuring him, but no.

He wanted more. His body demanded more and he would have it so long as you were willing. He was tired of being asked to wait, his resolve worn down to nothing because he had gone without for far too long.

As a physician, he knew well the needs of the human body and the satisfaction that came from indulging one’s desires. He did not think on it all too much, but whenever he found himself alone and steeped in eroticism and longing, he had no choice. Everything you did turned him on and his cock throbbed at the thought of him burying it inside you.

It was inescapable. No matter how often he changed course or preoccupied his mind with other things, his thoughts always returned to you.

He moved you back towards the bed, the backs of your knees coming into contact with the edge of the mattress and you dropped down onto it, pulling him on top of you. He collided with your body, an animalistic growl clawing its way out of his throat as his hips grinded against yours.

This was unlike him, a version of himself that never saw the light of day – he kept it in a cage and fed it blood; only carnal desire was enough to sate its hunger.

He dragged his teeth along your neck as your fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. He couldn’t take his lips off you, he had to kiss every inch of you. He needed it far more than he could communicate through words and luckily for him you did not ask him to. You were busy undressing him while he worshipped your body with his mouth, his tongue tasting your succulent flesh as he inhaled your heady scent. Your body was ripe for him to take a bite and he would devour every bit of you until there was nothing left to satisfy him.

He sat up enough to toss his jacket aside, undershirt now open to reveal the hint of bare skin and a dusting of hair several shades darker than the curls on his head. He looked ethereal in the low light, fire silhouetting him, and the edges of his body glistened as his dark pupils glittered and burned like glowing embers. A wildfire of its own raged within him as he was driven mad with lust. He kissed you feverishly, lips and teeth clashing with yours as he was anything but gentle with you in this moment.

His kisses were rough, but his delicate appearance contrasted his movements. His long, thick lashes fluttered against his cheekbones, accentuating his shimmeringly blue eyes that, even in such low light, glistened like gemstones. He had the softest features of any man you had ever seen and you would have paused to admire him if only he wasn’t so tempestuous in his urgency for you.

His hands slid up underneath your dress, fingers tantalizingly rubbing against the crotch of your panties and along your inner thighs. He unashamedly touched you and a smiled graced his lips as you moaned for him, arching your back as your hands splayed on his chest, scrabbling for purchase but you were hopelessly plummeting into the pit of your own desire with nothing to grab onto and no way to cushion your fall.

He rubbed you a little bit through your panties, but it was not enough.

He wanted to feel your wetness saturate the soft cotton, however, it would be much more appealing to him if his fingers were to glisten with your juices instead of allowing all your sweet honey to leak into your underwear. He ached to feel your tight heat clench around his long fingers as they curled inside you, delicately massaging your sweet spot as he guided you towards a climax. It was a boost to his ego, knowing he could pleasure you that way and with little to no difficulty. He was a physician, after all, and had had many lessons in human anatomy. He knew what he was doing and, though he would never say it, was prideful over the fact that he could bring you to orgasm with just his fingers and a few heated, teasing whispers.

Even if you were defiant and tried to hold out, those fingers of his were your weakness and he knew best how to use them. A stubborn girl presented a challenge and that interested him; Frederick wanted excitement and connection, not just clinical sex.

His fingers hooked under your panties and teased them down your legs, watching you squirm as you anticipated what might happen next. It was up to him to decide and the thought made him dizzy.

Your excitement was palpable. With sweating palms, you clutched onto the thin bedsheets and peered up at him, a halo of fire backlighting his frizz of curls. You were unable to keep still, thighs rubbing together in anticipation of his large, warm hands that would spread them apart. Your full-bodied blush was crushed into existence by rose petals and rouge and your exquisite form buzzed with giddiness and euphoria as he tenderly pulled your legs apart and nestled between them, shoulders against your thighs for support. You were hesitant to follow his lead, but you trusted him to care for you the same as he cared for his reputation.

He began almost immediately, wasting no time. Neck bent, head between your legs, he shamelessly suckled your clit and swilled your sweet nectar with instinctive, primordial hunger.

The doctor tasted you with insatiable vigor, his tongue lapping greedily at your glistening folds as you squirmed and writhed on the bed. You were grappling with yourself, attempting to stave off your own needs as your fingers splayed and flexed on the sheets as though you were imagining grasping onto him instead of the linens.

You wanted him, that much had been determined, however, you could see no end to his brutal self-satisfaction; he would take as much from you as you were willing to give, not because he had no thought of returning the favor, but because he had deemed himself a dying man long ago and you were his cure. This was what would set him free, seal his fate and claim his immortality, not whatever lined the pages of myriad medical journals he tutored himself with.

That did not matter. Perhaps this was all he had ever wanted: a beautiful love to have and to hold, who would, most importantly, meet and master his needs.

‘The needs of any man,’ he thought in defense of himself, ‘it isn’t just about love or sex…it’s science.’

That was what the young doctor told himself, especially during intimate moments such as these, when he found himself struggling to maintain consciousness as his tongue breached your center and delved into your core until your gentle moans crested into the shimmering, shivering crescendo of an orgasm.

You were on the cusp of one already.

You peered down at him and gasped; Frederick was a vision even when he wasn’t knelt between your legs, but such a position afforded you the best view of his facial features and he was a sight to behold.

His long lashes fluttered against his high cheekbones, the light from the fire defining the subtle curves and valleys of his face, the creases of concentration on his forehead and the swell of his parted lips as they suctioned around your clit. He pressed one finger inside of you, followed in quick succession by a second digit as he gently stretched you.

You moaned as his fingers scissored inside you and his tongue delicately teased and flicked your sensitive bundle of nerves. Tension coiled in your abdomen as you could feel the bud of an orgasm beginning to grow.

Despite his lust for your body, his mind was focused only on your pleasure. No paltry sum would be enough to make him use his advanced knowledge for just his benefit; he loved you and even though he could only stave off his most primal needs for so long, there would be no mistaking his devotion.

He pulled away and his parted lips glistened with saliva and your juices. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, savoring the essence of you left behind, “oh, my darling,” he crooned, hand reaching out and fingers burying into your soft hair, “oh, my only love…”

When he uttered those words to you, he meant them.

You would not dismiss him whenever he made such professions of love. His words resonated within you, cut through you like a sharp scalpel through soft skin, peeled back the muscle and tissue that clung to your ribcage to nestle deep within your chest cavity, taking up residency inside your beating heart. Everything that he said made sense, as though you had been the one his words were always meant for.

His outfit was disheveled to a state comparable to his wild mane which stuck out in curlicue flyaway strands going in all directions.

Your heart was beating rapidly, pumping blood through your veins and carrying his love for you outwards and to every part of your body. Your core ached and throbbed with need and your lower lip jutted in a pout of disappointment at being denied your first orgasm.

Frederick watched you squirm with a hooded gaze, taking in your exquisite beauty as you arched your back enticingly and rolled your hips despite the lack of friction, “May we continue, my dear? I’d say you’re as ready as ever…”

You felt far away from yourself as you nodded and nothing else was going through your mind other than connecting with your lover, physically, emotionally and mentally.

He had a pleased expression on his face when you consented and he stripped off his undershirt, exposing his bare chest. You sat up and reached for him, warm hands caressing his stomach, his sides, his broad chest. Every inch of him burned with intense passion and desire and his heart skipped a beat with every touch of your hands on his skin. He took a shaky breath, entranced by the way you held him close, needy for his affection and craving more of his love.

He bent his head and nipped at your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

His dominance pervaded your senses and hindered your ability to reciprocate in as many ways as you would have liked. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on his lower back as he sat up a bit straighter and began unbuckling his belt. You were on your knees, the soft bed linens beneath your legs was comfortable as you nibbled and kissed his neck, drawing sweet, almost feminine moans from him. He could hardly focus on what he was doing because the touch of your lips was too intoxicating. He was drunk off your love and every bit of attention you afforded him stilled his fingers as he fumbled with the buttons on his trousers.

After a moment, you had to help him. You tenderly popped open each button for him before your hand slipped inside and cupped him through his underwear. The sound he made was somewhere between a moan and a shrill whine; your lips turned upwards into a smirk and you leant over him, biting at his sensitive neck as your fingers danced over the length of his aching erection.

“Oh ho ho, darling…” he grasped your wrist, but did not try to stop you, “oh, how you tease me…”

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to tease him in this state, but he could stand to wait a bit longer for you. As maddening as it was, you were enjoying the foreplay far too much to let it end yet.

You quieted him with a kiss as sweet as the tulips in spring, stifling his moans of pleasure as your hand slid beneath the barrier of his underwear and held his rigid flesh in your hand. He mewled in ecstasy as you gave him a firm stroke.

Your lips broke apart and he pressed his forehead against yours, “darling, I can’t wait any longer…you’re killing me.”

An unsurprising choice of words, given the status of his most recent experiments, though you would be none the wiser.

If there were a way to achieve immortality and worldwide acclaim for his scientific achievements in the medical field, Dr. Frederick Frankenstein would find it; he would devote the rest of his life to such a cause if it meant he could spend an eternity in your loving embrace, to be brought to completion by your hands and your body.

“I’m all yours, Frederick,” you whispered to him and you could’ve sworn the flames inside of the fireplace leapt for joy at that statement, “I always have been.”

He groaned at your words and his manhood throbbed in your hand, aching to be inside you. He nosed along your jaw, snuffling and nuzzling your cheek as his lips pressed kisses onto your face. His body was filled with love and that was what kept him alive, not the heart that was beating inside his chest.

His head dropped down to your chest and his lips attached to the swell of your breasts that peeked out from the top of your dress. He murmured against your skin, fingers snagging on your dress as he fought to pull it off you, but your touch on his most sensitive area rendered him useless beyond simple measures of attention. For you to have isolated control over a mind as intelligent and focused as his was some feat and had you a mind to control him, it would have been easily done.

However, the only control you had was already slipping away now that the cloying desperation had begun to take hold of you.

You gave his manhood several more deliberate strokes, savoring the little noises he made as he tried not to lose control.

When you removed your hands, his cheeks were flushed and his chest heaved as he dragged air into his once-barren lungs which now bore flowers, petals of pining and passion blooming in this season of love and making it difficult for him to catch his breath.

He grinned as you and he made eye contact and you were submerged into those icy blue depths, treading water out there in the deepest, lapis lazuli pools.

“And I am yours, my dear,” he whispered as he cupped your face, thumbprints kissing the rosiness into your cheeks, “now and forever.”

His kiss seared through you, sweeping the love back into you that had spilled out through the cracks in your soul. You were mesmerized by the feel of his mouth hovering over yours, breaths mingling and lingering between the two of you like morning fog between fir trees.

You were one already, even without the connection between your two bodies, although that was to come as Frederick slipped away from you long enough to remove the rest of his clothing while you did the same.

Completely naked, you were warm clay to be molded by his steady, capable hands.

You hoped Frederick would shape you in the image of the love he had for you so that you could kiss his chiseled ivory cheeks, bringing your stone-cold lover to life.

He hesitantly touched your body, reverent in the way that he let his hands gently hold your hips and guide you beneath him on the bed.

However many times he had done this, when he was with you it always felt like the first time. In truth, his first time was not what he had imagined: awkward, halting and less than satisfying for both him and his partner, but more than likely it had been a deep disappointment to her rather than to him. He cringed at the thought whenever it surfaced unbidden and stowed it away with the rest of his deeply embarrassing faux pas.

The inexperience of his youth was not something he could fault himself for, as is the same for anyone, but now that he was older and wiser and had become a more experienced lover, he finally felt like he had earned the right to claim such a lovely woman as you. He had earned his right to be your lover, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, but in death he was determined that you should not have to part.

Frederick made a mental note to put everything he had into solving the mystery of life after death, to secure yours and his immortality so that neither of you might face such sadness as to outlive the other.

Nothing so melancholy would reach either of you tonight.

Frederick loomed over you, catching your gaze as you wriggled into position beneath him. Your legs wrapped snugly around his hips and he propped himself on his forearms so that he did not put his full weight on you.

He reached between your bodies, taking himself in hand as he guided himself to your entrance. He pushed into you, taking note of your slight wince and the way your body twitched as he entered you as gently as he could manage. Your wetness was the perfect natural lubricant and he had prepared you quite nicely to be able to accommodate him.

One of his hands took hold of yours and squeezed, grounding you as he finally claimed your body. You held fast to him, your lips parted in a silent expression of pleasure as you adjusted to the fullness of him being inside you.

Frederick eased into you slowly, taking care not to hurt you or cause you any unnecessary discomfort. If he could avoid it, Frederick would not ever bring you any pain. He wanted you to want this as much as he did and so he took his time with you, being as careful as he could be. Your pleasure meant as much to him as his own; he would have felt terrible if you got no enjoyment out of your shared intimacy.

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked breathily as he bit back a moan.

He stilled once he had slid in to the hilt, awaiting your approval and permission.

You let go of his hand and instead wrapped your arms around his body, clinging to him fully so that he felt the reciprocation of the love he was giving you, “I am, darling,” your whispered against his skin as you kissed his shoulder, making his eyelids flutter as his eyes rolled back.

He groaned, wanting to let instinct take over so that he could finally, finally have his way with you. His hips curved and bunched as he resisted the urged to let go and lose control of himself, but he did not allow himself to move until he sensed you were getting impatient. Slowly, carefully, he began to pull out, only to thrust back into you with a deliberate snap of his hips.

The initial force of his thrust forced the breath from your lungs and imparted to you the desperation behind his every move.

Frederick was a romantic at heart.

Even though he was still just a man, his craving for love rather than sex for the sake of having sex made moments like this feel even more potent with raw emotion and need he had for his partner. He had made mistake after mistake in his past relationships and he was determined not to make a mess of things like he once had done. There was a sense of predestination between you and Frederick, as if the two of you were meant to be together before either of you were aware. Your paths only crossed because you were brave enough to grasp the string of fate and follow it until you came face to face with him.

You believed it now to be the case because your soul had become magnetized, gravitating to him as he now became your orbital center.

It was as if the planets and the fates had aligned to bring you together; you did not like clichés except for ones which reminded you of Frederick because no matter how many times those words were spoken, they rang true for the two of you.

Frederick quickened his thrusts once you were properly adjusted to him.

He glided into you with ease, taking care to soak up all your moans and pleasurable sounds as your bodies moved in unison.

You clawed ferociously at his back, digging in your nails as his maddening pace awoke some deeply instilled, hidden carnality buried within your soul. Your kisses were reckless and rough, tying his tongue down with promises whispered in sloping cursive.

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the room as you made love, the gentle groans and moans he emitted bringing you closer and closer to your release. You caressed him, gentle with him now as you wanted to convey to him that he was special.

‘Frederick, you are my lucky star,’ Your skin was burning hot and you thought you might spontaneously combust, ‘your radiance was too much and I couldn’t help myself…’

The beauty of stars was meant to be admired from afar; inside of his eyes did they shimmer, but up close, they blazed.

You had been burned before, but never like this.

You gripped onto his hair, giving it a gentle tug, which made him groan even louder and his next thrust was perceptibly harder as he seemed to like when you pulled on his hair.

“I love you, Frederick…”

The confession spilled out of you in a flood as you anticipated the light in his eyes leaving him as all the color drained out once the weight of your words set in.

“I love you, too,” he panted, repeating those words back to you with no hesitation, as though he had been waiting to hear you say it.

It still felt like the first time, as you had often been told was the truth with true love. You had not believed in it until you met Frederick, though even now it seemed foreign to your system. Perhaps it was that you were still in shock after plunging deep into those electric pools of blue, but you shone just as bright as the galaxies in his eyes and if this was love then you would have looked for him in every lifetime, anticipating the feeling he evoked in you the first time you met.

He wanted you too, waded through tide pools and wept away the storm clouds in his eyes so he could see clear enough to find you.

He clutched you to him, his rhythm faltering as he crept closer and closer to release. His moans took on a higher pitch and you savored his whimpering as the heaviness of your own release had sworn you to silence.

At last, did he coax a moan from you and, once the dam had been broken, you were unable to silence the sounds which spilled tantalizingly from your lips like honey drizzle from spoon to teacup.

You and Frederick were finally one with each other, two halves of a whole like a split peach fitted back together, the fruit of your consummation leaking juices from your pierced flesh.

You devoured him, holding him close as your moans became louder and more drawn out until pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave and plunged you into euphoria.

Your orgasm spread outward throughout your body and your skin tingled, your core throbbing as he continued his thrusts until he released inside of you, announcing his climax with a soft cry of completion. Several short bursts of heat filled you, warming you from the inside as he came, his lips parted in sweet bliss and relief.

His wiry, tufts of fluffy curls framed his round face and you gazed at him in amazement, in awe over what you had just done as well as his beauty. Sweat clung to his brow and he took several shuddering breaths before he was able to move again and pull out of you, taking up the spot by your side as he reached over you with one arm and brought you in against his side.

You curled up against him, letting him place a lingering kiss on your shoulder as he held you in the dark room. Your sweaty bodies glistened, dewy, slick skin sticking to each other, a perfect testament to what had just taken place.

Frederick’s body was a galaxy and every freckle on his skin formed a different constellation.

You wondered idly which one were you a part of and how many ways there were to connect them.

The graze of his nose on your arm made you turn your head to look at him and he was smiling at you as he held you.

‘The human body is meant to hold another,’ he had told you once, ‘look at how perfectly our hands fit together…how easy it is for me to hold you in my arms.’

He was right, it seemed, for you fit perfectly against his body like you were made just for him, as though the universe crafted you as each other’s perfect lover.

There was no such thing as perfection, but what you shared was as close to that as a human being could ever get and, if Frederick had anything to do with it, he swore that he would find a way to share eternity with you even if it meant being buried with you till you were nothing more than two skeletons in each other’s arms.

An end which did not have to be so grim, yet Frederick accepted that as a mere part of who he was.

As he swept you into his arms now, pulled you on top of his chest as the two of you giggled and laughed like lovestruck teenagers, Frederick knew that he would do anything for you, even accept that he could not outrun his fate.

He was a Frankenstein and some things could not be helped, but with you by his side it all became worth it and suddenly he could not understand why he had fought it so hard, other than the fact that he had something else to prove rather than letting himself be defined by the past, his fate determined by those who lived before him.

His love for you cancelled out the afflictions to his spirit, the blows he had taken from turning a blind eye to what he only hoped now might be true.

In this place, he would find it.

He was on the cusp of making such a miraculous discovery, that much was he certain.

Perhaps it should have concerned him that he was chasing something so morbid, but this dream, once realized, could mean the difference between life and death, between her heart and his. He was not doing this for the wrong reasons now, and maybe that would be enough for it to work.

Perhaps that was the key to unlocking his grandfather’s scientific masterpiece.

Your gentle kisses on his cheek comforted him as he slipped even deeper into thought, contemplating what he had that his colleagues did not: love.

That was the difference.

Science was supposed to be unbiased and supported by fact rather than feeling, but an impossibility transcended bias and factual evidence; would it not make some sliver of sense that if all things possible were supported by scientific evidence, that all things impossible were only able to be maintained by those who were bold enough to challenge science itself?

Frederick’s peers were not led by love as he was, otherwise, it might not have been the name ‘Frankenstein’ that was known by many yet understood by few.

As you settled atop Frederick with the side of your face against his bare chest, letting the gentle rise and fall of his chest lull you as your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, you were content to be one of those few.

Frederick held you to him, hands splayed lovingly on your back.

He had never felt more himself than in this moment; for once in his life, he was proud of who he was.

He did not think it would be the last time he felt that way, especially with you by his side.

As the two of you drifted off, snuggled in the embrace of one another, you slipped into what would be and let the rest crumble away.

You loved Frederick far too much to let yourself be consumed with worry for what was to come.

Whatever you faced, you would face it together.

With love guiding you, nothing could come in between you, not even death.

#gene wilder #young frankenstein #dr frederick frankenstein #frederick frankenstein #frederick frankenstein x reader #frederick frankenstein imagine #young frankenstein imagine #biblio :: 📖

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silvercap · 10 months

Note

77 + Chreon! 🤩

🥰🥰

"What did you do to him?" Chris growls, weapon trained on the smirking villain of the week, his wrinkled face crinkling in cruel glee. At his feet, Leon slumps in seeming unconsciousness, t-shirt covered in blood both dried and fresh. The man holds him by the hair, golden strands dull and dirty between his fingers.

"I've liberated him," he says loftily, raising his free hand to gesture grandly at the underground room they're standing in. "I have freed him from the pitiful flesh of mortality, and made him something holy. An angel... out of a devil."

He jerks Leon's head upright, and Chris feels his heart lurch at the sight of his husband's glassy eyes, a cut on his forehead trickling blood down the side of his slack jaw. Dark veins surround the pits of his sunken eyes, pupils strangely milky, and Chris lurches forward without thinking. In an instant, the man has Leon yanked to his feet.

"Ah-ah," he tuts, wagging a finger. "I wouldn't try anything if I were you. He's quite loyal, once you break through all that bluster."

Leon sways in place, looking dazed, and Chris's heart twists in his chest. He's trembling, visible convulsions shaking his battered form.

"Such absolute devotion to the worship requires sacrifice," the man continues to muse conversationally, grinning. "The voice of a lark, when he screams, and he bears the pain so wonderfully. An angel brought to earth for me to-"

"You bastard!" Chris shouts, and the man just laughs. He lets go of Leon, who staggers but stays in place, staring blankly into the distance. The man makes another comment, but Chris doesn't hear it over the hum of rage through his blood.

"Leon?" he tries, unable to aim clearly at the gleeful man. "Leon, it's me. Can you hear me?"

Leon blinks, glassy gaze settling on him without a trace of recognition. Chris growls, but the man leans forward, brushing Leon's hair to the side to whisper in his ear. The instant he's done, Leon stiffens, lips moving as if he wants to form the words but can't. Chris's heart sinks.

"Leon?"

Clouded eyes snap to his face, pupils dilated as Leon's chest heaves. His hands clench and unclench---and an instant later, Chris is on his back, the wind knocked out of his chest as Leon clutches his throat in an iron grip. His eyes widen, and he kicks out in shock. Leon doesn't react, face devoid of all emotion, and Chris can't stop the tear that slides down the side of his face.

"Lee-" he chokes, fighting to push Leon away, but even his strength isn't enough to budge a BOW. Black spots dance in his vision, and he sobs without air, reaching up to cradle the side of Leon's face. He wants to tell him he's sorry, wants to say how much he loves him, but as his vision goes black-

The weight lifts from his chest, and Chris curls up on himself, gagging and coughing as air floods his lungs. He raises his head as much as he can, fighting the pain-

Just in time to see Leon tearing out the man's throat, blood spraying as his jaw closes around flesh and veins. The man falls lifelessly, eyes wide and staring, and Leon stumbles. He turns.

He's white as a sheet under all the blood, eyes still blank---but there's a crease on his forehead, the only emotion Chris has seen him display so far, and relief floods his chest.

"Leon?" he rasps brokenly, holding out a hand. "You in there?"

Leon stares. He hesitates, steps forward... and collapses, eyes rolling up in his head.

Chris doesn't know if he should be relieved or horrified.

#ask game #whump #gore #resident evil #my fics #thanks Cerul!! <3

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danceswithdarkspawn · 8 months

Text

@tsunderesalty

screenshot because the ask isnt in my inbox anymore but HI THIS IS FINALLY DONE FROM LIKE (checks calendar) MAY???? anyway by now i think most of us have figured out #1 is going to happen eventually and #2 is fucking...AU material??? which I can't be caught dead doing.

so that leaves us with the Third Option. Did I actually make Morrigan be nice to Ariel??? idk but i tried babes

Brief warning for:

suicidal and/or self-destructive thoughts

mentions of death and dying

general spoilers (this is set post-Griffonheart)

largely unedited because I wanted this to be a little more casual

Morrigan looked up from her makeshift potions table. Ariel sat at the opposite end of the camp, perched in front of the fire, hunched and staring distantly into nothing. A corner of Morrigan’s lips briefly quirked, finding the image of the brooding Grey Warden somewhat reminiscent of the same one she fought the Blight with. Except now her lines were deeper, her face much more gaunt, and she possessed a darkness behind her eyes that was unnatural.

She swallowed thickly and looked back down to the salve she was preparing. She added a little more beeswax to the melting pot and sifted through a collection of tiny corked bottles filled with various oils, finally settling on three. The first contained royal elfroot oil for its restorative properties; the second held embrium, to make the spread warming. And the third was Andraste's Grace, which Morrigan acquired back at Skyhold just for this purpose. Morrigan carefully added a drop each from the first two, and two from Andraste's Grace. A sharply sweet aroma lifted from the pot when she gave the contents a stir. She rifled through her collection of glass containers, picking out one that was short and round, and gave it a cursory wipe down before pouring the contents of the pot into it. Satisfied, she went about making other provisions for the journey ahead.

Morrigan approached the fire sometime later, jarred salve in her hands. Ariel didn't look up from the fire until Morrigan stood beside her. The sharpness of her features were made even more severe by the shadows resting in their hollows. It made her appear much more slight than she was. Her skin was a sickly pale, nearly taking on the orange hue of the light of the campfire. The only variation was marked by black spidering veins creeping up her neck. Ariel's eyes began to cloud in the days prior, transforming her pupils into endless milky pools.

"Do I look that bad?"

Morrigan blinked, catching herself. She released a small breath through her nose and said, "You've not quite the visage of a hurlock. Perhaps there is some humanity left in you yet." A long breath passed with only the crackle of fire between them, meanwhile Ariel simply stared in silence. "I made more of this for you," Morrigan said, holding out the jar. Ariel took it slowly and turned it over in her hands. "I noticed you were having some trouble walking; it should help alleviate some of the pain."

Ariel set the jar down near her boot. "Thanks."

"Are you experiencing any other pains?" Morrigan frowned a little when Ariel shook her head. "Nothing at all?"

The beleaguered Warden let out a humorless laugh. "I'm dying, but yeah, I'm fine." Morrigan inhaled a slow breath and bit down a scathing remark. Ariel tilted her head up to regard her, was silent for a long moment, before letting out a sigh. She looked down, head dropping between her shoulders. Morrigan thought it reminiscent of a dog tucking its tail in. "I'm sorry," Ariel finally said, rubbing at her eyes. "I know you're just trying to help."

Morrigan released a measured breath, feeling her bristling ire cool. She crossed her arms, shifted from one foot to the other, flippant, meaningless motions meant to distract from her raw heart. Anger was how Ariel dealt with things, Morrigan reminded herself. She supposed she would be angry too, given the circumstances. Still, something about this anger was different. Helpless, perhaps.

The night and the campfire crackled on, unaware.

"Is there anything more I can do for you?" The question came out a little sharper than Morrigan intended.

But Ariel let out a bitter laugh that bordered on a sob. She shook her head in her hands, drew in a seething breath, pushed her fingers through her hair. "You could kill me," she finally said.

"I will do no such thing." Ariel didn't answer, hands clenched. "How severe is the pain?"

"Go stick your hand in the fire," Ariel said, motioning. "It's like that, but everywhere." Another hissing inhale. "And probably...I think I'd prefer to burn, at this point."

Morrigan made for her potions stock before Ariel finished, rummaging through little corked bottles, holding them up to the light, before choosing one. She uncorked it on the way back. "You could tell me before it gets so debilitating. Here." She held the bottle out; Ariel righted herself long enough to take and down its contents. Morrigan retook the emptied glass and returned it to the stockpile.

But she lingered there, frozen at first and eyes glazing over open tomes with their annotations, different reagents and the rest of her supplies. Her heart began to gallop, and Morrigan made herself busy without much thought. Pages turned, bottles opened, a crucible was filled; the scent of crushed embrium and wax and just a little rose water and—

"It's not debilitating," Ariel said from across the fire. "If it was, I wouldn't be walking."

"You are a fool," Morrigan spat. She flicked her wrist and a fire sprang to life beneath the crucible. "You needn't be immobile to be debilitated. You know this, I hope?" She shot a look over to the fire, where a pair of colorless eyes bore right through her. She snapped her attention back down, snatching a stirring rod and plunging it into the waxy slurry. "You should be resting."

"I will, once that stuff starts working."

Morrigan scoffed. Her brow ached. "I will hold you to that."

A strained laugh. "What are you gonna do, turn into a wolf and lay on me?"

A pang streaked through the witch's chest. A memory, long since tamped down, dredged to the surface; her lips flickered, the fire licked at the sides of the crucible. Morrigan hadn't meant for the gesture to hold him down, but rather to—

"It worked for Eran, did it not?"

The night turned deathly quiet. Morrigan tamped out the little fire, went about pouring the mixture into an empty vessel. It wasn't blended well. Too choppy, too stiff from scorching. She'd attempt to salvage it in the morning. It did not matter much to her now, however; the distraction had served its purpose, though her nerves still felt frayed and raw.

"Would you do it for him? If he was like this," Ariel added, and Morrigan snapped her head over. "If he asked you to kill him, would you?"

Her blood turned to ice. A lump formed in her throat and Morrigan struggled to swallow past it. Morrigan was unsure if Ariel's irony was intentional, but its weight was hard for her to ignore. She wondered how fatally close Ariel was to realizing that was exactly what she allowed before the Archdemon's slaying.

Not that she didn't try. Or plead. Or...

Morrigan said nothing, unable past the vice on her throat, knowing her silence was as good an answer as any.

Morrigan returned to the fire some time later, sitting across from her companion. She crossed her arms, minding off the chill that had settled around their makeshift camp. She'd thought these nights very reminiscent of camping during the Blight, especially when the two of them took watches together. How they'd sit across the fire, with Morrigan trying to do something worth doing, and Ariel still and silent as a gargoyle for most of it, save the times either of them grew curious about the other.

They'd come full circle, like a snake eating its own tail.

"Before I left Amaranthine," Ariel began, and Morrigan started a little, "I sent Leliana a letter telling her what I was doing, that I wanted to find an end to the Calling." Morrigan's eyes flicked to Ariel's hands, where she flipped a twig between gloved fingers, all the while her eyes remained on the fire. "Wanted her to come with me, but she couldn't. She told me Justinia wanted her. And I didn't understand because I thought—" Her fingers closed; the twig snapped. She flung the remains into the fire. "She made me promise I would tell her if I got my Calling so she could be with me."

In another life, Morrigan wondered how different this all might be. She knew solitude had done lasting damage to the Warden; it was evident before leaving Skyhold. It was not until this endeavor, however, that the depths of those scars revealed themselves. It was...sad, in a way. Familiar, but also sad. "I imagine it is difficult that she could not accompany us."

A short laugh. "Leaving Skyhold was about as difficult as leaving for Amaranthine," Ariel admitted. Silence. "She still had work to do for the Inquisition. I can't do much about that." She paused again, her head tilting, until she reached down and plucked the jarred salve from beside her boot. "That's what the ring's for, right?" She set the jar in her lap, then pulled upon the fingers of her gloves until they came off. The aforementioned band glinted in the firelight before it too came off, dropped inside a glove, and then set aside in favor of opening the jar. She took a generous amount on her fingers, spread it between her hands. "Though it doesn't really work in a place like this," she continued, sounding a little more subdued. "This in-between bullshit is weird. I can't feel her here."

"The flux of magic here makes such enchantments unpredictable," Morrigan admitted. Ariel answered with a low hum that mingled with a sigh, having steepled her hands over her nose. Her eyes fell closed, and Morrigan's lips quirked with a twinge of pride. The smell was potent, even from across the fire. "I could attempt to alter it, if you wish."

Ariel shook her head, then lowered her hands. "No, it's fine. We have more important things to do than fuck around with a magic ring." She resealed the jar and fished the ring from her glove. "I just didn't want to be alone at the end," she said lowly, sliding the ring back onto her finger. Her touch lingered, twisting the metal, kneading one hand into the other. "I didn't want to die alone in the Deep Roads and be lost down there. If things became so unbearable...if she was with me, then maybe—" She trailed off, her hands lowered, and she stared into some middle distance for a long breath. "I think it's better this way. I wouldn't want her to see me like this."

"No? She is not unfamiliar with death's face."

Ariel shook her head. "Not like this. It's too much. Even being like this around Kieran, the boy's too young...and if I'm honest, I'm—I'm glad Leliana had to stay behind."

Morrigan leaned back on her perch, a brow arched. That was not something she expected from Ariel. "Should I be flattered that you tolerate my company so?"

"I'm too weak," Ariel answered, kneading a hand into her eyes. "I want to go home. I trust you to get me there."

Ah. Well... "You know that there is a chance this does not work."

Ariel's hand lowered, hollow eyes fixed on Morrigan through the flames. Then her head dropped between her shoulders again, her thin hair becoming a curtain. "I know. That's been a possibility for over a decade now. Always there, always stuck to me like a shadow in my thoughts, my dreams, I—" Fingers clawed through her hair, and a low hiss coupled with the crack of embers followed. "If I were still with Leliana, I would have asked her to end it at least a dozen times already."

Morrigan drew in a slow breath. She was beginning to understand; the evidence had been there since leaving Skyhold, but in all the moons since their departure, Ariel's earlier outburst was the first time she voiced such notions. She supposed it was foolish to assume Ariel meant it in jest, though she could hardly fault her regardless.

And again she wondered how things might be different if things had played out just a bit differently.

Love was such a trap, one all of them had been snared by in one way or another.

"And you think Leliana would kill you?"

"If I were to beg, if things were so hopeless..." She slowly shook her head in her hands, her hair bunching in the crooks of her fingers. "I'd like to think she would," Ariel answered, not looking up, her voice a touch thicker. "I hope she wouldn't."

Morrigan was unsure of what to say. Delicate sympathy was very much out of her element. It was one thing to deal with the ills of her son; it was an entirely different matter responding to grief left to fester for a decade. When everything aligned and horror seeped in, it was everything Morrigan could do to stave away her own grief. "Do you truly believe she would allow you to lay down and die? Have you so little faith in her, in yourself?"

The Warden reared back, her lips spread into a bitter grin and she laughed. Morrigan bit the inside of her lip, golden gaze narrowing, watching Ariel claw at the twin streaks running down her face. "This is what I mean," she said, and Morrigan raised a brow. "Why I'm glad I'm with you and not her."

"I am afraid I do not follow."

"This," she said, balling her fists and shaking them. "This insistence to just...keep going, even if I don't want to. It's what Eran used to do for me. Whenever I wanted to lay down and be done with it all, he'd just—" She sucked in a breath; her colorless eyes were wild. "He'd pick me up by the scruff and say 'Get up.'," she hissed through her teeth, "'You're not done yet, get up!'" A long silence followed while Ariel stared into the fire, her breath heavy, and her visage looking every bit beastlike with the way the fire and ghastly light of the Crossroads lit her face. For a moment, Morrigan wondered if this place knew of Ariel's nature.

"I need that," Ariel finally spoke, subdued again. "I need to be told to keep going. Not soft reassurances and 'oh, darling, rest for a while.' No, as much as I want that, it won't fix me. Once this is done, if I survive this, I'll have a lifetime of that, but for now, I—" She looked off to some unknowable spot beyond the fire, then finally dragged herself to her feet, collecting her discarded things. "I suffer a little now, it'll feel all the better when it's over. That's how that works, right?"

Morrigan's lips momentarily quirked. "Yes, the sooner I return you to that tart of yours, the better, I think."

Ariel tossed her a hollow glare. "She's not a tart."

"No? The way she acts around you, I might have been fooled." The jab dredged out a reaction from Ariel that Morrigan had not seen since departing Skyhold: she smiled, a genuine, lopsided smile, and she raked a hand through her hair, looking down. Morrigan could guess what she might be thinking about. "We should move on from this place come morning," Morrigan suggested before they carried on further. "We have lingered here for long enough."

"Right. That's probably wise."

With that, Ariel vanished into her tent, and Morrigan set about preparing for the journey come morning. She sorted and packed up much of her supplies, putting away the things she would not need immediately and leaving the rest before setting off.

"Morrigan?"

She snapped her head toward Ariel's tent, finding the woman dressed down and standing with her hands fidgeting at her front. Morrigan opened her mouth to ask what was the matter, but she finally spoke.

"Thank you," she simply said. "For everything."

Morrigan's thoughts fell over themselves until she finally managed, "Of course." Of course. As if it were the most...natural, obvious answer. If Ariel thought it indifferent, however, she gave no indication. She nodded in farewell before disappearing back into her tent, this time for good.

Morrigan went back to organizing her things, albeit in a slower, more deliberate manner as her mind wandered. Was she doing enough? Could this be stopped? What if it couldn't?

The heavy lid of the trunk carrying her various reagents thumped shut, but her hands lingered upon it, her eyes following the worn ivy patterns carved all across it. It had to be, she told herself. "Would you do it for him," she mouthed, her fingers curling in on themselves.

She wondered what he might say. She wondered if he'd let her.

#the dancer answers #dances writing tag #oc: ariel tabris #cw: suicidal thoughts #cw: self-destructive thoughts #my girl is struggling

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summerwritesfics · 3 months

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🎧Song Inspired Shorts - Alpenglow

Pairing: Hanzo Hasashi/Kuai Liang Length: 3229 Words Rating: Mature Warnings: Fantasy AU, Magic, Air Ships, Fights, Minor Violence, Elemental Magic, Falling, Action/Adventure, Prophetic Dreams, Hanzo Hasashi: King of good intentions but terrible execution Song: Alpenglow - Nightwish

Song Inspired Shorts Masterlist

We were here, Roaming on the endless prairie, Writing an endless story, Building a Walden of our own, We were here, Grieving the saddened faces, Conquering the darkest places, Time to rest now and to finish the show, And become the music, one with alpenglow

Notes: Heyyyy, a fic that wasn’t written 2 years ago XD Actually I wrote this just a couple of weeks ago lol. I was really focusing on the action on this one, I still feel like that’s a bit of a weak spot on my writing so I’ve been trying to do a lot more lately to really focus on writing it to improve. Idk, hopefully it’s not too bad to read lol. Upon editing I’m ngl I’m vibing more and more with this one, so I might continue it :) We’ll see.

Kuai Liang stood on the bow of the ship, looking down below him. Under the clouds, he could see the ground, the hills and paths, small villages and settlements. It was beautiful, you really got a completely different view of the world from up here. The Order of The Lin Kuei would have never permitted him to travel like this. They didn’t even like their members leaving the isolated temple which they called home.

Leaving it all behind had not been easy, but to stand here, on a quest to save the realms? It was worth it.

“You might wanna be careful standing there,” a voice called out to him, and he looked over his shoulder to see Sonya standing with her hands on her hips. “If you fall, we have no way to catch you.”

“Sorry.” Kuai jumped back down and onto the wooden floor of the ship’s deck. “I’m just excited.”

“I get it, you’ve been stuck in a single place for your entire life. You’re bound to want to experience the world.” She walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Just be a bit more careful. I don’t want to be the one to explain to Lord Raiden we lost you because you fell off the ship.”

“I will try to be more careful,” Kuai assured her.

Before either of them could continue the conversation however, they found a shadow being cast over them. That was… strange. They were above the clouds, so nothing should have been able to block the light. They both slowly looked up, and Kuai gasped softly at what was above them.

Another ship. Clearly of Netherrealm origin, if the way the ship was styled and the bat-like wings carrying it were anything to go by.

He looked at Sonya, her eyes wide as she whispered “we’re under attack.” She blinked and shook her head, turning to look at the rest of the ship and screaming “we’re under attack!”

As the ship's crew ran out into action, Kuai saw ropes falling from the ship above them. He reached behind his back, grabbing his staff and getting into a defensive stance. As oni descended upon them, Kuai charged up his magic, freezing all that he could, giving his companions chance to gather their equipment and begin to fight off the invasion.

He was doing a good job, and it appeared someone else on the Netherrealm ship thought so too as he found a fireball being launched in his direction. He just about managed to avoid the first, only to very quickly duck under a second, and then jump back for a third. Looking up to try and work out where they were coming from, he saw nothing.

Then he heard the whoosh of flames behind him. He spun around, watching as a fire raged, a figure standing amongst it. The figure was tall, imposing, long hair flowing in the wind as milky white pupils stared Kuai down. Kuai believed this being was a spectre, a vengeful spirit brought back from death. He’d never seen one in the flesh before, only having read about them in books. If this weren’t such a life and death situation, he would have loved to ask this spectre a whole lot of questions about his physiology.

As it stood though? The spectre looked like he meant business.

Suddenly launching forward, the spectre raised a katana, swinging it in Kuai’s direction. Kuai slammed his staff down into the floor, causing a wall of ice to form in front of him. The spectre hit the ice, breaking it and forcing Kuai to jump backwards and avoid another attack. He had to keep going backwards, the spectre swinging his katana wildly in Kuai’s direction. Every so often Kuai attempted to freeze him, but the fire was far too hot, melting the ice instantly when it hit him.

Kuai hissed. He really wished he’d managed to master at least another element right now. Somehow, only ice had ever come easily to him. What he wouldn’t give to just douse this Spectre in water right now.

In one last bid to make some space, Kuai summoned all his might before slamming his staff down. Ice spiked out all around him, and a large jagged shard aimed at the spectre. To his relief, this did stop the spectre in his tracks, trying to avoid being speared through the head. He paused, staring Kuai down and narrowing his eyes. Kuai stood tall as he could, refusing to back down or show weakness.

The ship jerked, knocking Kuai off balance for a couple of seconds. Those seconds were all the Spectre needed, as he leapt forward, shoving his entire weight into Kuai. The action left him breathless, and his grip on his staff weakened as it clattered to the floor. Next thing he knew something hit him with so much force he was flying backwards.

He felt himself hit the railing, and as he attempted to scramble to his feet, he was hit again. This time, he was thrown over the railings.

And then he was falling.

As he heard the wind rush around him, he panicked, arms flailing wildly, hoping to catch something to break his fall. There was no use. All he could think as he fell was I don’t want to die!

Sharp pain hit his thigh, and he screeched with it. Before he could work out what was happening, he stopped falling. He swung uselessly, slamming into the side of the ship. Now dangling upside down, he tried to regain his bearings. He looked to his thigh, spotting a kunai buried into his flesh. It was attached to a chain, the only thing now stopping his freefall.

The chain was yanked upwards, and as such he went with it. He tried to look at who had saved him. The spectre peered over the edge, hands on the chain and he pulled him upwards.

So, probably not a rescue.

That’s rather perplexing actually.

Kuai didn’t have time to ponder what exactly the spectre’s intent was. He just knew he did not want to be pulled up by him. Glancing around, he tried to find something he could use to escape. There was a canon on the side of the ship, and while it wasn’t perfect, it would do.

He began to swing himself, grabbing onto the chain so it wasn’t just the kunai keeping him attached. He almost got to the canon, but it slipped between his fingers. The second attempt he managed to get his arm around it. Pulling his legs up, he wrapped them around the canon, holding on as tightly as he could. He could still feel the spectre pulling on the chain, and he just kept still, holding and waiting.

He couldn’t help the loud groan as he felt the kunai get pulled out of his flesh.

Free of the chain, now he needed to get back onto the ship. While his powers were significantly weaker without his staff, if he tried hard enough, he could still use them. His plan did include breaking the canon though, and he knew he’d probably get yelled at by Johnny for breaking part of his ‘baby’. It was the only idea he really had though, short of just holding on and hoping the attack would end in their favour.

He slowly shimmied himself along the canon, reaching a hand out for the little porthole it poked through. As he grabbed it, he unhooked his legs, trying to drop as gently as he could against the ship's side. With one hand free, he held it against the canon, channelling his magic through to his palm. It was hard, but ice began to form across the canon. He kept going, hoping to the Gods he could keep holding on until he finished.

There was the sound of cracking, and eventually the cannon couldn’t take the pressure any longer. With a loud crash, it split into pieces, the shards falling off towards the ground. More importantly though, it opened up the porthole. Using both his arms he hauled himself upwards, squeezing himself through the small gap.

Finally, he fit through it, letting himself roll across the floor. He lay on his back, panting heavily, adrenaline still coursing through him as he realised how close to death he’d just been. No wonder Sonya told me to be careful around the edge.

His peace was short lived, as he heard the familiar sound of flames rising.

“Son of a-”

Kuai pushed himself up on his elbows, just enough to see the spectre standing there, staring at him.

He grit his teeth and hissed “don’t you have anything better to be doing?”

The spectre narrowed his eyes and growled “you are coming with me.”

“What?” He reached for the wall, using it to haul himself to his feet, even as his leg protested the action. He looked down. Thankfully his healing abilities had kicked in, the wound iced over to prevent anymore bleeding. It still fucking hurt though. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You have no choice, Kuai Liang.” That made him pause. How did the spectre know his name? “Either you come with me willingly, or I will take you by force.”

This didn’t make sense. Why was this spectre interested in him? He was just a runaway Lin Kuei, essentially hitching a ride with a group of adventurers. Liu Kang was the chosen one, the one destined to save the realms from decimation. Surely he’d be the one the Spectre wanted, not lowly Kuai Liang.

“No,” he hissed, clenching his fist, once more channelling his magic. It didn’t take too long for a sword to form in his hand.

The spectre stared at it, shaking his head and grumbling “do not say I didn’t give you a chance.”

Once more, the spectre started forward, his katana in hand. Kuai pulled his own sword up to take the hit. The spectre was relentless, barely giving Kuai a chance to defend, let alone get in his own attack. Internally, he struggled to come up with a plan. He could just keep trying to hold the spectre off until his companions came, but there was no saying they would. The spectre wasn’t exactly giving him any other opportunities for another way out though.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a blur of silver and his eyes widened. Razor hat! He ducked low as the hat sped past them, and if the spectre's howl was anything to go by, it actually hit him. Kuai took a chance, freezing the spectre's feet to the floor while he was down low, before slipping past him. At the door of the hold, Liu Kang and Kung Lao stood, ready to keep fighting should they need to.

“Are you okay?” Liu asked Kuai as he made it to them.

“I’m fine,” he lied when the throbbing in his thigh was at an all time high. Maybe it was cowardly of him to slip behind Liu and Lao, but by the Elder Gods he didn’t think he could fight any longer.

The spectre was cursing, managing to break free of the ice and twisting around towards them. He scowled at the three of them, clenching his fists and baring his teeth.

“You want to fight?” Lao suddenly taunted, and Kuai couldn’t help give him a look as if to say what the fuck. Why would Lao try to provoke someone like that? “Then pick on someone your own size!”

The spectre laughed darkly, “the so-called chosen one and his pathetic guard dog. You aren’t even good enough to lick my boots.”

“Who are you calling pathetic?” Lao snarled, his hat materialising in his hand. Kuai had to get him to teach him how he did that at some point. It’d come in useful if he lost his staff again.

“Give the Lin Kuei to me,” the spectre demanded, taking a threatening step forward. Liu held his hand back towards Kuai Liang, as if to shield him.

“What do you want with him?” Liu asked, shooting Kuai a questioning look. All Kuai could do was shrug, he genuinely had no idea. “If you have been sent by The Lin Kuei then-”

“I would never work for Lin Kuei scum,” the spectre howled, spitting on the floor in disgust. Okay, clearly The Lin Kuei had hurt him in some way. That might explain his fixation on Kuai, but surely killing him would be the goal if he despised them that much.

“Then what?” Liu questioned incredulously. “What could you possibly want from him?”

The spectre observed them silently, and Kuai felt his breathing hitch as the spectre’s eyes landed on him. He bit his lip, unsure what exactly it was about the gaze that bothered him so.

“You may be the chosen one,” the spectre directed at Liu Kang, “but Kuai Liang is the true key to the realms salvation.”

“Uh. What?” Lao whispered flatly. Honestly, Kuai was with him. What did that even mean?

“Every night, in your dreams, you hear a song,” the spectre continued, and Kuai felt a chill run down his spine. He did hear a song in his dreams. How the fuck did this spectre know that? “It calls out to you. It is what made you long for more than that temple. It is what led you to this ship. What led you to the chosen one.”

“How can you know that?” Kuai hated how shaky his voice sounded. “I’ve never told anyone.”

“Because you have haunted my dreams.” The spectre began to walk forward, even as Liu and Lao closed the gap between themselves to shield Kuai Liang. “Every night, I watch you die. I can do nothing as your life is torn from you again and again.” Kuai took a step backward, the way his stomach twisted. “That song you hear is your destiny, and mine is to ensure you survive long enough to sing it.”

“You almost killed me,” Kuai blurted out. Maybe not the best move he could have made, but it was true. “I fell off the side of the ship.”

“That would not have happened had you not tried to fight me,” the spectre snarled, but oh no, Kuai was not having whatever the fuck this even was turned back onto him.

“You attacked me,” he claimed in a high pitched voice. “I was defending myself because you attacked me!”

“I am going to agree with Kuai Liang on this one, attacking someone you claim you want to keep alive is a bit of a dumb decision,” Lao claimed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The plan was not to hurt him. It was to knock him out long enough to bring aboard my ship.” Kuai Liang was starting to think planning was not this spectre’s strong suit.

“You are completely delusional,” Kuai hissed, stepping backwards again. “The only thing that's a threat to my safety is you.”

The spectre made a loud snarl, but was cut off from saying any more as voices began to make their way down the stairs.

“All the Oni have been dealt with,” Sonya informed them as she made her way down the steps. Her eyes zoned in on the spectre, tilting her head slightly. “All that’s left to deal with is their leader.”

“I will leave your ship, so long as The Lin Kuei returns with me,” the spectre growled again.

“I already said I am not going anywhere with you,” Kuai shot back, clenching his fists and baring his teeth. “You can take your dreams and shove them up your-”

“Maybe, we can work out a compromise,” Liu Kang interrupted. Kuai had no idea what compromise there could possibly be. “You can’t fly that ship on your own. And quite frankly given the terrible first impression you have made, even if you manage to drag Kuai Liang with you, he won’t exactly stick around long.”

“Where are you going with this?” Kuai asked, getting a bit of a sinking feeling Liu was about to invite the spectre to come with them.

“If your intent really is to protect Kuai Liang and make sure he lives, then come with us.” Oh for the love of the Elder Gods. Kuai hated being right. “If his life is really that important to the safety of the realms, then surely having more people who can protect him on your side would be better.”

“Liu Kang, did you miss the part where he tried to kill me?” Kuai stressed the last part very strongly. Because he could not believe what the man was suggesting.

Liu Kang looked back at him with a sympathetic look. “I understand your reluctance, Kuai Liang. But as badly as he went about it, I do believe him when he says he didn’t want to kill you. He could have easily done that already and hasn’t.” Kuai wanted to argue but Liu Kang quickly pulled him close and lowered his voice. “I get it, you have zero reason to trust this guy. But please, trust me. I don’t know what is going on, but if you are as important in our story as he says, we need to heed his words. At least let us keep him around long enough to figure out what’s going on.”

Kuai hesitated, wanting so desperately to say no. But this spectre. He knew about Kuai’s dreams. About the song that called to him when he wandered his dreamscape. How could he possibly know about that? Not even Bi-Han or Tomas had known.

“Fine,” Kuai reluctantly bit out. “But if he does anything else, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Liu gave him a reassuring smile, before turning back to the spectre. “So, what will it be?”

The spectre stood in silence, milky eyes contemplating the offer. His eyes landed on Kuai again, a strange puzzlement reflected in them. Eventually however, he seemed to stand down.

“Very well,” the spectre agreed, bowing slightly. “But if anything happens that indicates to me you do not have the skills to protect him, I will leave and he will be coming with me.”

“As if,” Kuai muttered under his breath, grunting slightly when Sonya elbowed him.

“So, uh, do you actually have a name, or are we supposed to just refer to you as spectre?” Lao asked, strangely sounding as annoyed as Kuai felt. At least he had someone who understood he guessed.

“I am Scorpion,” he answered, but his eyes didn’t leave Kuai. It was like he was looking into Kuai’s very soul.

He absolutely hated it.

“Alright, well, glad that’s all sorted and we can continue on with the adventure,” Johnny suddenly chimed up and honestly, Kuai hadn’t even noticed he was there. “Glad to have you aboard Scorp- Oh my god!” Johnny ran over to where his canon used to be. “What happened to my canon?!?”

Kuai grimaced, knowing he had a lot to explain, and probably had a lot to pay Johnny for the repairs. Even through Johnny’s distress and Kuai’s guilt, the others began to chuckle at how overly dramatic Johnny was about it. All except Scorpion.

Even as Kuai went to go and try and make amends with Johnny, Scorpions gaze never left him.

#mortal kombat #subscorp #kuai liang #sub zero #scorpion #hanzo hasashi #🎧song inspired shorts

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