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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 11 days ago

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Ludos Imperiales 6

Summary: More battles and more bargains come into play as things go from bad to worse.

Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Character Death (Unnamed); Mentions of Slavery/Assault/Incest (the twins are back)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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I’ve aged a decade in the time it takes to get inside the Imperial Palace. The blistering heat makes sweat bead down the back of my dress, every inch of heavy fabric feeling like it’s plastered to my skin. Everything feels too heavy on my body. I need to get home and into the tub, maybe with enough soap and water I will be able to purge the oppressive weight that clings to my skin.

Though I have my doubts. It’s not just the heat or the dirt, it’s this whole place. Everything I have known and loved about the city feels like it has been stripped down to nothing but the oozing, wretched thing that has been hidden beneath golden arches and layers of stark white marble. It reeks of a decay that has nothing to the crucified bodies hanging outside our doors.

Senators and Commanders mingle, wives dripping in expensive jewels hanging from their arms, laughing and talking about how magnificent this celebration for Amarantha is. I’d be shaking with the rage I feel clawing up my insides were it not for the way Rhysand still held me in his mental grip.

“Steady,” he warns for what feels like the fiftieth time today. I don’t know how he’s managed to stay so calm, especially when his men have been taken through the back streets of the city. There is a prison on the outskirts of the capitol, on the eastern wall, hopefully there will be less cruelty on the streets now that they’re away from the parade, but it is still a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It cannot be easy to be forced to stay here, with the enemy at every turn, while your men labor in a dungeon, yet he and Cassian, stand with their heads high behind me.

One of the guards untethered them from the back of my horse, but holding their chain in my hands is just as bad as leading them on horseback. Cassian gives me a wide berth, far enough away that if I take two steps ahead I’ll drag him by the throat. Azriel, however, hovers near my left shoulder, head down like he’s trying to hide, even as I watch his shadows slither down the back of his legs and scatter across the floor in search of something. One still remains coiled around my ear, hidden by my hair.

“Be careful around the twins,” I warn as my cousin catches my eye and makes her way towards us. She’d been too far behind us in the procession for me to see her reaction to the horrors, but, judging by the grin on her usually stoic face, I’d say she enjoyed it.

Rhysand shifts so he’s standing behind my right shoulder, so I’m framed on either side by a towering Illyrian. Their presence is soothing, especially when Brannagh’s grin could peel paint. She obviously wants trouble. I’d be a fool to think the bloodshed outside was enough. She’ll need something to sink her fangs into before the night is over to be satisfied with the day.

“There you are, cousin!” We have the same slate colored eyes and that is where the family resemblance stops. Everything about her is rigid and uniform and for so long being near her had made me feel like a lamb being watched by a lion. Yet, with the males at my back, I don’t feel so small anymore.

“I’m surprised you made it,” she says, eyes raking over Rhysand, then Azriel, then Cassian, sizing each of them up to see which would be an easier meal.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to punch in her teeth.

“First the Games, now this,” Dagdan says as he abandons an attempt to woo one of the Senators with his bullshit war stories, and joins us. “Maybe we are related after all.”

Rhysand withdraws his mental presence from my head and I draw my mental shields back up to make sure I keep the twins out.

Brannagh walks a slow circle around us, tongue running over her lower lip. “I really didn’t think you were capable of this.” Her bony fingers reach out to flick the chain looped around their throats. “It’s a little… what’s the word you always throw at us? Barbaric for you?”

“All it took was Mommy Dearest to lose her head for you to grow a spine, huh?” Dagdan sneers.

Azriel’s shadow hisses angrily in my ear as his head jerks up off his chest. The glare he throws over my shoulder could melt a glacier, the heat in it seering across my skin.

“This one’s pretty,” Brannagh coos at him, her fingers reaching out to brush across his cheek.

“Don’t touch him,” I bite out through my teeth.

“Careful, we bite,” Cassian snarls.

This only makes Brannagh grin further and my first instinct is to draw all three of them behind my back, as if they were small children in need of protection and not three fully grown warriors. As if I had not seen them kill a Giant and a handful of Wargs in the Arena just yesterday.

“Were they fun?” Brannagh teases, making another circle so she can draw her nails over Rhysand’s nearly bare chest.

Red tints my vision.

“They look like they’d be a good fuck.”

I clench my hands into fists to keep my power from erupting and taking out everything in the room. Rhysand can’t save me from this one, not without them sensing his mental presence. And if we are to play this game, I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I might not be the most skilled fighter in this room, but I have plenty of other weapons in my arsenal.

“How would you know? The only thing you’ve ever fucked is Dagdan.”

She flinches like I’d punched her right in the stomach. It was all rumors of course, but the whispers were there. The twins still insisted on sharing a room; still went everywhere together. They were toxically co-dependant and on more than one occasion they’d mentioned old practices of keeping bloodlines pure. I knew it was a sore spot, I didn’t care very much if it was true. As long as the blow landed; as long as I had something strong enough to cut her, so the bond screaming in my ears didn’t prompt me to cut off the hand still lingering too close to my mate’s skin. They were not hers to touch.

Cassian chokes out a cough, trying to keep back a laugh as Brannagh’s face twists.

Dagdan’s teeth flash in a snarl.

I merely grin as I give the chain in my hands a very subtle tug. “I think we’re done catching up, cousin. Do enjoy the rest of the celebration.” I do my best to leave them in the dirt as we head deeper into the palace. I’m sure she’ll find a way to make me pay for the remark later, but for now, I’ll count it as a victory.

The exchange took place in the open foyer, the roof held up by pillars and the outside world only separated by billowing sheer curtains. I mount the steps that lead us into a secondary foyer, where bubbling fountains and a pool of multicolored fish take up much of the space. Standing guard atop the fountains are twin statues of our gods of war and victory; the golden bowls at their feet overflowing with coins left by worshipers as they come and go from the Palace. We need more than a little luck and victory on our side and I leave a handful of coins on Victory’s altar. I will go to the Temple later and beg the Mother for forgiveness for how blind I have been, and seek a Priestess to make an offering for her blessing in what is quickly becoming an act of outright treason.

I feel Rhysand’s violet gaze on me as I make the offering.

“The twins really are… like that?” Cassian asks as we round the fountain. It has to be morbid curiosity that prompts the conversation, but the fact that he’s speaking to me at all makes my heart race in my chest. I’ll take whatever scraps he’ll throw my way, if it only means he doesn’t hate me as much as he did yesterday.

“I’d be more surprised if they weren’t than if they were,” I say, unable to suppress a shutter when thinking about it. “They’ve always been… together… and weird about it.”

“Sure, and we’re the animals.”

I can see the back of Amarantha’s blood red head as the inner circle makes its way towards the atrium for food and whatever entertainment could be dragged into this den of vipers for the afternoon. Servants carrying goblets of wine drift through the clusters of visiting dignitaries and soldiers. There’s more than a couple armored gladiators, acting as guards for their sponsors, in attendance. I try to keep track of who belongs to who as we go, in order to give us an edge for the next match. Senators Beron and Tamlin, former lords from Prythians courts, now given new titles within the Empire for merging their kingdoms, both have sponsors shadowing them. The males have to be half Giant, with arms and thighs thick as tree trunks. Their armor has to be custom made to be able to fit them. I don’t know the names of either males, only that they’ve been employed long enough for their conditions in the Arena are they don’t fight Amarantha’s Attor. Too much money has been put into them to let them get torn to ribbons by that beast.

I slide my way through the throngs of people to get closer. To play this game, there is no doubt that they will have to go back into the Arena a couple times. I need to start finding ways to give them an edge. I can start by seeing up close just how much taller they are then Cassian. If they have to go hand-to-hand in the future, I want to see how they compare next to each other so I can plan to get around it.

The gladiators have at least two feet on Cassian, which makes me basically an ant in comparison. I already have to tilt my head up to look my mates’ in the eye, these males make me have to keep distance between us to be able to see anything other than they’re stomachs.

Cassian is fairly nimble, from what I’ve seen so far, as long as the wound on his leg is healed by the next match, he can use that to his advantage. But the thought of having to watch him fight males this size makes my stomach twist. I’m going to need to do more than size up the competition.

Beron is accompanied, as always, by several of his sons, but it is always Eris by his side. The well dressed male turns a grin in my direction when he catches sight of me. “Highness,” the bow is graceful, fox-like in a way that reminds me of Lucien, wherever he is in the crowd to avoid his Father. It’s not like him to leave Tamlin alone in these situations, they’re usually joined at the hip.

“It does me good to see you outside,” Eris continues, as he reaches out to take my hand and press a chaste kiss on the back of my knuckles.

Azriel’s shadow hisses in agitation in my ear as something hot flickers down the bond.

“It’s been too long since you’ve graced us with your presence.” I’ve known the Vanserra’s for a long time, Eris is not quite the flirt Lucien is, but he has no shortage of sway over females, males too for that matter. It had always surprised me that Father hadn’t tried to arrange a union between us. Eris was known, from time to time, to share the same savage brutality the Emperor valued in his court; it should have pleased him to have Eris for a son in law.

“Are you finally feeling better?”

“It took longer than I expected to recover,” I say honestly. Better to not oversell anything; all lies have a little truth woven in. “But getting some air has been good.”

His russet gaze jumps to the males behind me, and the grin I’ve known for decades turns serpentine. “And profitable, I’d imagine?”

“For the Empire, of course, all earnings will go to aid the far reaches.”

“So I heard,” he nods, still studying them. “You always did have a bleeding heart, Highness. It is good to see it benefit you.”

The compliment feels underhanded, but so do most things around here.

“When will we get to see them in action again?”

Talking about them like they’re not standing here makes me want to start smashing things, but I reign in my temper. “I was just about to ask you the same about your Father’s gladiators.”

He glances back at the male and shrugs. “Felix is always ready, but we’ve gotten no summons.”

Interesting. The Gamesmaker should already have a match-up in place, even if the Arena will be closed for repairs for a few days still.

“How unfortunate, it’d be quite the fight for Cassian.”

I feel Cassian shift a little closer, the scent of sandalwood and snow-capped mountains invading my senses. It is an effort not to step back and lean into him, he’s never dared be this close before.

“It would be quick,” he states.

Eris huffs a laugh. “For your neck to be broken, brute? Yes, we’d be in agreement.”

There’s a snap as Cassian’s wings ruffle and whip closed again, his agitation so clear I can taste it. The frayed edges of our bond simmer, but I can’t tell if the rage is his or my own. We are alike in that aspect.

“Who was summoned, then?” We can’t linger too long here, especially not for information I do not yet need. Rhysand still needs to get a better look around and we’re starting to linger on the stairs, people clustering behind us.

“Not Tamlin’s man either,” Eris says with a shrug. “I’m as in the dark as you.”

“You?” I force a teasing smirk to my features. “I thought you knew everything around here, Eris?”

His russet gaze darkens as his perfect teeth dart out to bite his lower lip. It’s a move I’ve seen thousands of people swoon over. “I’ll happily find out for you, Highness.”

Azriel’s shadow snarls in a language I can’t make out, but it is Rhysand’s side of the bond that ripples with promised violence. Is that jealousy I feel? I try to shove the thought aside; hoping that they feel this thing between us is too much to ask for. I will only hurt myself if I start to hope that I am more than a means to an end.

“Please do. I’d be indebted to you.” That’s all it takes for the Autumn male to bow and disappear into the crowd.

Senator Thessian and his large entourage of guards pushes past us on the stairs, the armored guard slamming into Rhysand from behind hard enough that he stumbles forward, hands reaching out to catch himself on my hips before he can take both of us to the floor. My whole body freezes under the contact, the warm press of his body against mine enough to make all rational thought fly out of my skull.

He leans in, like he might offer an apology, breath ghosting over my neck as his lips brush the shell of my ear. My whole body shivers in anticipation. “Clever, little vixen.”

The low baritone of his voice makes heat rush between my legs, something hot coiling in the pit of my stomach. Now the citrus and jasmine scent of him invades all my senses and I really, truly have no thoughts left in my head.

My knees wobble as he gives my hip a squeeze, even as the bond roars at the loss of contact as he steps back. Maybe it’s just been awhile since I’ve been intimate with anyone, but that small amount of contact feels like an electric current beneath my skin. It is an effort to keep moving up the stairs and not turn and do something foolish, like press my lips to his and slide my fingers into his hair.

The atrium is a wide, open room with tables piled with food lining the far walls. On the left are floor to ceiling windows, thrown open to let in the warm summer breeze, a few Praetorians standing at attention amidst the billowing curtains.. There are low couches along the walls, some of which are already taken. If not by anyone with a gladiator, I don’t linger on who sits where.

A servant with a tray of wine passes and I snag one to try and calm the sizzling beneath my skin. I didn’t realize one of today’s many battles would be trying not to throw myself at my mates.

There is a raised dais against the far wall, the couches and lounge chairs far more plush and ornate than the rest. Father has found his seat, a slightly less gaudy throne than usual, and reclines as a servant fans him with a palm frond. Amarantha has taken her usual seat on his right, reclining against one of her pleasure slaves. The male wears little but a strip of crimson fabric between his legs, every inch of bare skin lean and smooth. There’s another perched on the armrest of her chair, holding a goblet of wine for whenever she needs it; a third sitting at her feet, running idle fingers up the side of her calf. All that attention, and yet her dark gaze still tracks the males behind me with enough hunger I debate how much trouble I’d be in if I threw my own wine glass at her head.

She is not the only one who pays such close attention to the Illyrians. A couple dignitaries’ wives and high ranking soldiers gawk blatantly at how much skin they have on display. More than one head turns to get a better look at Rhysand’s ass in this get-up. He neither cowers or preens under the attention; it’s like he doesn’t even register it. I can’t help but wonder if that was the point: Everybody is so busy ogling him, they’re not really paying attention to what he’s doing. It’s a good mask, it shields his intentions and lets him observe without it being obvious, but the way they look at him, like he’s a piece of meat makes me wish I had claws to scratch out their eyes.

I take another sip of wine, trying not to look too desperate for the emptiness it’ll bring as I head in the direction of the dais.

“You’ve surprised me,” Father says as we approach. It’s the first real acknowledgement he’s shown me all day.

The shadow curled around my ear burrows a little deeper under my hair to avoid detection, the soft ether brushing against a sensitive spot on my temple that has me gripping the wine glass a little tighter to keep from reacting.

“As I said, I am trying to do better, Father.”

His gaze flicks to the chain in my hand, down the length of it like he’s inspecting the strength of each wrung before finally arriving on the occupants tethered to it. He grins in triumph as he takes in their attire. Maybe they were right to ignore what I’d brought out. It certainly looks like I’ve intended to humiliate them by dressing them in the same attire many of the Senator’s slaves are sporting.

“Tell me how you managed to bring the three of them to heel when Amarantha couldn’t?”

Amarantha bristles in her seat, her perfect teeth flashing in her pale face.

Another small victory.

“Tell him you instructed the healer to give us a sleeping drought in our wine.” The twins haven’t reappeared and his sudden return in my head nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “And faebane in the water this morning.”

I repeat his instructions as I move to take the seat that is mine on his left and force myself not to think about how it’s a couch instead of a chair like his because it used to be shared with my Mother.

“You’re hoping to acquire mirthroot in the city to keep us docile until the next match.”

I repeat that too, making a mental note to ensure that I follow through with it. He will monitor my every move in the city, if I don’t follow through, he’ll know it and then we’re dead. An issue that seems far less pressing when Rhysand’s hand brushes over my wrist. Watching him in the Arena did nothing to show just how agile he is, not when he expertly maneuvers my hand towards his chest, the chain blocking his part in this. The next thing I know, I’m moving to sit and he’s falling into the couch behind me so it looks like I pushed him down into the seat so I could recline against his chest. The motion takes him seconds, it looks like he rehearsed it down to the exact placement of the chain to hide the fact that he’d been the one moving me and not the other way around.

Azriel seats himself on the armrest wordlessly; Cassian grunting as he sits on the floor with his back against the couch. I get the distinct impression he is only keeping his shoulder against my knee because being any farther away would mean his wings were in reach of Father’s hands.

It takes me a minute to find my bearings again as my brain short circuits over how close they all are. Rhysand’s heartbeat is steady against my back, his skin warm even through the fabric of my dress. He lets his head lean back against the back of the couch, feigning exhaustion or maybe repulsion from being “forced” to be this close to me. I’m close enough that I could run my hand up Azriel’s thigh if I wanted, and damn me do I want to. Or close enough to Cassian that my fingers itch to brush through the thick strands of his hair. It is a cruel trick of fate that my mates are close enough for me to touch and I can’t.

At the mention of the mirthroot, one of Amarantha’s males leans around the Emperor to offer a rolled cigarette, even dried the hint of mirthroot is obvious. The male’s eyes are glassy, shining under the effects of it himself, the grin on his features lazy and unbothered. Far too soft a male to be shackled to Amarantha.

I tap Cassian on the shoulder to prompt him to take it. A mistake because he flinches like I hit him and I think I might have undone any effort I’d made to get him to at least tolerate my presence. He snatches the offered cigarette, and the liter that follows and passes it back to me with a huff.

The Emperor watches the exchange with more interest than he’s ever shown me in my life. “What would you have done, Amarantha?” He asks.

“The same,” she says through her teeth.

I take a deep breath through my nose to keep from making a disgusted face at her. “Ember said that’s what she used to do for Amarantha’s slaves before she came to my keep, so I simply took a page out of her book.”

I pass the cigarette and liter to Azriel, and pray the sight of the flames doesn’t cause the same reaction it had when he’d been branded. He grits his teeth, but there is no angered flash down the bond or hiss from the shadow to indicate it’s anything other than a show as he lights it and takes a long drag.

“I’m glad to see that in your seclusion you’ve finally grown half a brain,” Father says. “I was beginning to worry that your Mother’s poisoned tongue had gotten to you.”

I flinch despite myself and all three of the males tense around me. Cassian’s jaw ticks, the flutter of movement brushing across my knee. For the first time all day, his hazel gaze flicks to me, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I swear I see a flash of pity there.

“No, it didn’t,” I whisper, unable to put any feeling into the words. I haven’t been back here since the execution. I’d found every reason to avoid it. Being back feels like peeling a scab off the wound and letting it bleed all over the floor.

Azriel takes another drag and I wish more than anything to take a hit of it myself and numb this feeling in my chest. What I would give for the empty numbness that had filled me in the early months of my grief. There are so many tangled emotions here, between the loss and my mates and the horrors of what we just witnessed outside. I cannot pick just one to focus on; can’t find some outlet to expel the building pressure. It all tangles and lodges itself in my throat like it's trying to drown me.

Rhysand’s fingers brush over my arm as he draws his hand up to take the cigarette from Azriel. To an onlooker it looks accidental, maybe it is, maybe I’m just reading into it, but even that faint brush drags me back to the surface for a bit of air again. At least I am not alone in the water anymore. Mother had always been emotionless, nothing got to her. I was always the one that felt too much. At least now the emotions can be shared.

“Your actions yesterday inspired me,” the Emperor says after a beat.

Apprehension licks its way up my spine.

“I haven’t taken a champion of my own in a long time. It’s become dull, betting on someone else’s man.”

Shit!

Azriel’s shadow dares to peek out around my bangs, observing the crowd as they begin to settle in their seats with plates of food, as if on some silent command. Brannagh and Dagdan join us on my left, on the seat closest to the dais, the stare they level at me hot enough to melt glass. So much for Rhysand being in my head the rest of the evening.

With a wave, the Emperor motions over a creature I have no name for. It walks on two legs like a man, but is covered head to toe in thick, brown, fur. Horns curl from the top of its head; a beak with a hooked tip jutting from its face. Its hands end in talons like that of a bird, but there are five on each hand instead of three. Its tunic has been folded down around its waist, leaving its chest bare, revealing a spider web of scars gouged through the heavy layer of fur. A thin, whip-like tail ending in a spiked tip flicks back and forth behind it as it walks, each step sending a shutter through the Palace.

My skin pricks with goosebumps. Some strange sort of alchemy made this thing.

“I was hoping to test it in the Arena, but with the repairs in order, I thought a smaller show would do just as well.”

My stomach hurdles into my throat.

“Why don’t we pick one of your champions to break it in, daughter?” The Emperor suggests as if this is a thought that just came to him and not something he’s been planning from the beginning.

I take another sip of wine as I turn to look at him, trying to steady the rapid pounding of my heart. I can’t let one of them fight this thing! Its maw opens and snaps shut with a clack as it stands before us, growing impatient.

“I’d personally like to see Cassian’s thick skull get crushed like a watermelon,” Amarantha chimes in from her seat.

I’m really going to throw up right here in front of all these people.

“A splendid idea from our woman of the hour, don’t you think?” He grins like he’s caught me, like he knows I’ve been playing games and have walked right into his trap.

“Nothing can be as bad as listening to you speak, Amarantha,” Cassian snarls as he gets on his feet, effectively making the decision for me.

He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, wings ruffling behind him, but before he can step into the center of the room, he turns to face me, much to my surprise. Hands scarred from swordplay reach out to give the chain around his neck a little tug. “Mind letting me off the leash, Princess?”

One of the Praetorian steps forward to unchain him but I stand and snag the key from his hand instead. I’ve seen enough males get stabbed or injected with something right before a fight to give the opponent an upper hand to know I can’t trust anyone near him. And, maybe, just maybe, the act of giving him a little relief from the chain might make him not hate me so much.

My hands shake as I reach up to his neck to unclasp the chain. I know better than to take the whole collar off while there are so many people watching even if I wish I could. His breath is warm on my face as he watches me, waiting for his moment of freedom. The urge to stretch up on my toes and kiss him for luck is overwhelming; maybe in another life we could have.

I step back with the chain in my hand and return to my seat before I can follow my impulses.

Cassian turns to face his opponent and even though I saw him perform yesterday, I can’t shake the sinking feeling that I have just sent him to his death. The creature sizes him up like it's calculating the best spot to take a bite out of him and its beady eyes settle on the bandage tied around his bare thigh.

Rhysand leans forward, resting his chin on my shoulder to watch, arm loosely looped over my waist. It looks casual. No one bats an eye at the gesture, but I am pretty sure he’s done it so he can keep me from jumping off the couch.

Azriel leans forward, bracing himself with his knees on his elbows, hazel gaze tracking the steps of Cassian’s opponent as he also calculates its weak spots.

“Let’s make it interesting, shall we?” The Emperor asks, leaning over to be heard over the rush of excitement the audience gives to the challengers.

I tear my gaze away from where I’m trying to memorize every line in Cassian’s wings, every curve of tattoo over his back and shoulders, just in case. “How so?”

“Cassian wins and I’ll let you pick their next opponent in the arena,” he suggests.

I like the offer; it gives them a better chance at surviving.

“Cassian loses, and you give Rhysand to Amarantha.”

The world flips and spins and the roaring in my ears has me clutching my hands in my skirts to keep a surge of power from destroying the room. My power singes the fabric, only the smoke from the mirthroot hides the smell.

There is no way in Hel I am making that kind of bet!

Rhysand stiffens behind me, heartbeat skipping for half a moment before he pretends to be unbothered by the comment and takes another drag of the mirthroot.

I’d rather throw myself on a blade than chance that. Cassian is an exceptional fighter, but I cannot take that risk. I am already risking his life by letting him fight like this, how can I risk both of them?

My chest aches. There are too many opportunities to lose them. Too many things that can go wrong.

“And let our people think I am weak and incapable of following through on the deal we made yesterday?” I challenge. My voice trembles as I fight to hold his gaze steady.

Azriel’s shadow hisses what sounds like a warning in my ear.

“You know if we split them up now it makes me look as if I can’t handle them.”

“Attached, are we?”

“No, but I am tired of looking weak,” I hiss. “If Amarantha wants them, she can challenge me for them herself.”

Rhysand stiffens behind me. The twins are too close for him to slip into my mind again, but I can practically feel him shouting at me down the bond.

She huffs a laugh around the other side of him, “As if you’d stand a chance in that!”

I ignore her as I hold my ground with my Father, “You have always thought so little of me.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“So if you really want to make this interesting, then fine. If Cassian wins, I pick when and who all their matches are with. And if he loses, well, you’ve already chosen a husband for me I’m sure, so you can speed up the process and I’ll provide them the heir you so desperately want by the end of the year.”

The bond shakes so hard in my chest it feels like Azriel’s screaming in my ear. Rhysand has gone still as death behind me and I didn’t think I said it that loud, but Cassian’s head whips in our direction, eyes wide.

Father throws his head back and laughs at that. “This new found confidence is amusing. I will allow you to pick the next two fights, but not all.”

Better than nothing.

“Deal.”

I think I can hear Azriel’s teeth grinding together beside me, so I force myself not to look at him. The bond thrums like he’s in physical pain and I hate that I have caused it, but I will not barter with their lives.

“To first blood!” The Emperor calls to the room.

“To the death!” Brannagh chants instead.

When this whole Empire goes up in flames, I’m pushing her in first.

The crowd begins to murmur to themselves, debating. “I’ll put some money on it if they fight to the death,” Tamlin tosses out.

“As will I!” Shouts a commander whose name I’d never learned.

The motion goes around the room in a full circle, by the time the Emperor concedes, I’ve drank my full glass and abandoned it on the couch. Didn’t we just do this?

The Praetorians provide blades for the two males, but the Emperor’s creature can’t hold the blade with its claw tipped hands and tosses it to the ground with a screech. Its barbed tip tail draws back behind it as it drops into a defensive stance.

I forget how to breathe as Cassian drops into his own.

Time slows in a familiar sensation of undiluted horror as the creature moves first, striking forward with its tail like a spear. Cassian pivots back a step, rearranging his feet as he blocks with the sword.

The crowd cheers excitedly and I distantly recognize coins changing hands as they take bets, but cannot tear my eyes away enough to watch who is participating in it. Cassian remains on the defensive as the creature rears its tail back and attacks from the other side of its body this time, testing the Illyrian’s reaction time. When the strike is blocked a second time, it switches tactics and goes for a punch, talons extended towards Cassian’s face.

While the creature is taller, it is not as agile, and Cassian side steps out of the way of the blow, using the momentum to lunge into the next step and strike the tip of his sword across his opponent’s stomach. Its ear shattering screech shakes the room as the blade makes contact, drawing black blood. If it wasn’t for Brannagh, the challenge would be over, Cassian would have won. It would have been easy for once.

Enraged, the creature strikes with its talons again, missing a second time, but catching Cassian in the jaw on the backswing. The whole room can hear Cassian’s teeth clack together as he stumbles backwards.

It takes everything in me not to squeeze my eyes shut, not to wince and react to every blow. I have to keep telling myself that this is part of the game and I cannot give them away, but by the Mother it is harder and harder with every passing second!

Rhysand remains with his chin propped up on my shoulder, the bulk of his weight keeping me in my seat. I so desperately want to reach out and take his hand, give myself something to ground in, but I can’t. I have to accept that this might be all we’re ever allowed to touch, especially after today.

The creature strikes again with its tail, once, twice, a third, each like a punch. The third blow shatters Cassian’s sword into pieces and my heart plummets into my stomach as he dodges a fourth assault. He’s not so fast on the fifth and that barbed tip punches right through his bandaged thigh! Blood splatters as the tips hurdles through muscle and sinew until it pushes through the back of his leg.

One of the dignitaries' wives reaches for a bucket and wretches as Cassian’s roar of pain rattles my teeth.

Azriel flinches, looking like he might just jump into the fight and stop it, but then catches himself.

The bond screams and bashes against my insides as my powers flare again, singing more of my skirts as I hold them in a death grip that only worsens as the creature yanks the barb back out of Cassian’s leg, bringing him to the floor. Blood pours from the wound from both ends, cascading down his calf to make a puddle on the stark white tile.

There’s enough of my skirts to hide the motion, Rhysand buries his hand beneath them to hold onto my hip tight enough to bruise. I don’t know if that’s to keep me in place or himself.

The creature snarls out a noise that sounds like triumph as it pulls its hand back, aiming to use its claws to sever Cassian’s head.

Not again! Not again! Not again!

I have to stop this! I have to do something!

At the last second, Cassian throws himself out of the way, knees tucked to his chest as he rolls out of reach, right to where the creature’s discarded sword lies. He snags the blade with a grunt, one hand pressed to the gaping wound in his thigh as he pushes himself back onto his feet. His face twists in pain at the slightest movement, but he manages to stay upright.

Rhysand breathes a little easier behind me, but his grip on my hip hasn’t let up.

The Emperor frowns beside us, displeased with the outcome thus far no doubt. He really expected this to be easy.

The creature strikes again, sticking to what it has found successful, and it becomes a mistake. Cassian twists at the last second, blade raised so when the strike comes, he doesn’t need to block it. At this angle, not only does it miss him, he has a height advantage and he brings the sword down as hard as he can, cleaving the tail in half. The barbed tip hits the floor twitching as the creature reels backward and wails.

Holy shit! I’ve seen a lot of warriors in my life, but I don’t think I’d ever describe them as beautiful until now. Each move is calculated, backed with training and muscle. His tattoos seem to come to life with his body as his muscles shift and strike.

He doesn’t let up as his opponent stumbles back either, he uses the distraction to his advantage and plunges the sword into the creature’s shoulder. He might have been aiming for the heart, but the wound in his leg gives him too great a limp to lunge far on. The blade catches in bone, the resounding crunch deafening in the domed ceiling, and when he reels back to pull it out, he twists it just enough to make his opponent’s arm absolutely useless.

With two of its preferred methods of fighting gone, the creature bends at the waist and charges with a roar, hoping to use its horns like a battering ram into Cassian’s chest.

An otherwise horrifying sight, if Cassian didn’t laugh and step dramatically out of the way so the creature rams right into the wall. “Is that really all you’ve got?” He taunts as a rain of dust falls on his head.

The creature screeches as it yanks itself free from the wall and shakes its head, clearing the debris from its beady eyes.

Cassian spins the blade in his hand, adjusting his grip, and I think it might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

He can’t crouch with his leg, but he doesn’t need to. The creature tries to ram him again and he dodges and brings his hilt down on its neck, knocking it to the floor. He wastes no time in rearing back with the blade and bringing it down, easily cleaving the creature’s head from its shoulders.

Amarantha throws up her hands in a huff at the sight.

I finally take what feels like my first breath in an hour as Cassian tosses the blade on the floor. He did it! He won!

Azriel removes his elbows from his knees and reclines back against the armrest, clearly satisfied with the outcome.

“Excellent! Excellent!” Praises the steward as he goes about helping anyone who placed bets collect their proper earnings.

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to the nearest guard, “Find him a healer, now.” Before he bleeds out on the floor or Father decides he has another champion he wants to test.

The Emperor takes a long drink from his goblet, eyes narrowed on the severed head the staff has to now clean off the floor. Around him, his dignitaries drink and argue over why they bet the way they did. It is business as usual, completely unbothered by the blood around them.

When he finally turns to me, I have to brace myself against the anger simmering in his eyes. This is usually the part where I put my chin to my chest and try to make myself as small as possible. Usually. But not today.

“It seems I’ve underestimated their talent for bloodshed.”

Cassian hobbles back over to us and I make a show of telling Azriel to help him before he gets blood everywhere, so no one thinks I just let them wander off on their own.

“The Games will continue at the start of next week,” the Emperor continues.

That gives us days. I try not to look at the gaping hole in Cassian’s thigh. Thank the Mother it looks like it missed bone, but how is he supposed to participate with that? There’s no way it heals in time, even if I have Ember work twelve hours a day on him.

“I expect you to have their opponent picked out by the Senate meeting in the morning. You still have that end of your bargain to uphold.”

This victory will not be without repercussions, but it is still a victory nonetheless, and we have to take what we can get.

Managing to procure the mirthroot I need to trick my Father into thinking I’m following through with the regime I’d given him, as well as finding horses for the Illyrians to ride back on takes longer than usual, given the massive partying happening in the streets. We have to take the backroads home to avoid being pelted with more rocks, or outright mobbed. Compared to the rest of the day, the journey is uneventful, spent mostly with the others ensuring Cassian doesn’t pass out on the horse.

The sun is already changing colors by the time we return to the River House, but I know if I try to prepare for bed now I’ll never sleep. Instead, I leave Anise with instructions to look into potentially safe opponents in the Arena, so when I see Eris again tomorrow I can compare their notes, and then set out for the Temple built on the edge of the property.

I doubt there are enough blood offerings and animal sacrifices to cleanse the sins of this Empire, but I offer as many as I can in apology for my part in it. I don’t know how I’ve been so blind to all of it. I can’t stop seeing it now, it should have always been so obvious to me.

The Priestesses do not ask why I linger for over an hour, praying long past the time it takes for my offerings to burn atop the altar. I’d hoped that, if I said them hard enough, the weight of the day would slip off my shoulders. I’d thought, with enough sacrifices, the guilt would ease, but I can still feel my mates’ agitation and pain clearly through the bond.

I return to the House as weary as before. Tomorrow will be a whole new set of problems. I cannot put it off by lingering in the Temple.

The walk doesn’t clear my head, or loosen the tension, and I climb into the tub with that same heaviness still clinging to my skin. I heat the water as hot as I can, hoping it might cleanse me in a way my sacrifices couldn’t.

Exhaustion creeps its way in as I scrub and scrub and scrub until my skin is pink. Every time I close my eyes I can see the crucified bodies, gasping for air as they slowly suffocate under the weight of their own body pinned to the wood. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight; I can only imagine how it would feel to know each of those males before this. The bond still swirls beneath my skin, heavy with agitation the hot water can’t touch.

I wish there was a way to take that from them, but how can I do that without calling attention to the mating bond?

I give myself a few extra minutes in the blissful heat before dragging myself out and tossing a silk robe over my waterlogged skin. My brush is on the vanity where Anise left it this morning and I have just started to brush the knots out of my hair when I hear the bedroom door open. My hand stills halfway through my hair; it is unlike Anise to not announce herself when it’s this late.

The door clicks shut again, the eerie silence that follows enough to make my heart drop into my stomach. The darkness of the room makes it hard to see beyond the candlelight that fills the bathing chamber and my hand goes instinctively into the vanity drawer, where my Mother had always kept an extra knife. The blade is cool in my fingers, the handle smooth and undamaged from never being used. The benefit of having constant guards is you usually never see the threats against you, though there are always exceptions.

There’s no footsteps on the carpet, but I can practically feel movement next to my bed.

I’m a sitting duck here among all the candlelight, but if I step into the darkness beyond I’ll be totally blind. Better to wait for something to make itself known.

I suppose there’s enough guards around, I can always start screaming for help if it comes down to it.

A heartbeat passes before something dark and snakelike comes slithering across the floor. The ether loops itself around my ankle and crawls up my thigh like a purring cat before the shadow takes its perch behind my ear.

I set the knife on the vanity with a sigh of relief as Azriel steps into the light. “You scared the shit out of me!”

His shadow caresses the back of my ear in apology, far more expressive now than it was earlier. “Sorry.”

He side steps out of the doorway, but not in my direction, which is odd until Rhysand steps out of the shadows behind him.

“How did you two get in here?”

“Found the lever on the door to your secret tunnel,” Azriel says as his eyes trace up my bare legs, brazenly taking in all the damp skin I have on display.

Heat flushes up my cheeks and I have to look away from him. The candlelight and the hour of the evening makes this feel more intimate than it should, given the way Rhysand looks like he might burst out of his skin. I certainly shouldn’t be entertaining the idea that Azriel would look at me as anything other than a means to an end. Hope is too dangerous a thing to have right now. Just because we agreed to do this, doesn’t mean they’re anxious to accept me as anything other than help. Besides, I need to remind myself that it will be even more dangerous for us than it already is if we were to acknowledge the bond.

“We were careful, no one saw us,” Azriel assures.

I should be relieved that they’re being safe about it, but the frown on Rhysand’s face makes me rethink it.

“What the hell were you thinking back there?!” He snarls.

Normally, that kind of outburst from a male would make me jump back in surprise, but at this point I’m too exhausted to move, let alone figure out what the hell he’s referring to. “I’ve had a lot of thoughts today, Rhysand, you will have to be more specific.”

The chain rattles around his neck as he steps further into the room, like it's fighting to hold back his powers. “Your bet with Hybern!”

Ah, right. That. “What of it?” Is he really still upset about that? Cassian won, nothing was lost.

Azriel winces and the shadow at my ear hisses in warning.

“What of it?” He repeats, his voice rising to an octave just shy of shrill, like he can’t believe he heard me right. “You can’t just offer yourself up like that!”

“And what was my alternative?”

“He gave you an alternative!” He seethes. “All you had to do was say yes!”

I fold my arms over my chest in irritation, but I don’t miss the way both their eyes dip to my chest at the motion. “Oh so it’s ok for you to put your body on the line, but I can’t do the same with my own? Seems a little hypocritical, if you ask me.”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

He’s inched his way into my space step by step, until I’m very aware of the jasmine and citrus scent of him. Sometime after he returned home he’d changed into the clothes I’d had laid out for him, the swirl of ink along his chest just barely poking out around the dark collar. Even hidden, the urge to reach out with my hands and trace the swirls with my fingers remains.

“Because,” he says through his teeth. “It’s not a deal I can live with.”

“You don’t have to live with it because Cassian won anyway,” I retort, tearing my gaze away to look at Azriel. Rhysand is too close to me like this. I can barely think past the urge to touch him, let alone hold the argument like I need to. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

Azriel folds his arms over his chest and frowns. “He’s not. You shouldn’t have made that deal.”

I throw my hands up and push past Rhysand, trying to give myself room to breathe. “You two are impossible!”

They follow like I’m still holding onto their leashes, footsteps somehow impossibly silent despite their size.

“You’re honestly going to stand there and tell me you’d rather I offered you up to Amarantha?”

“If it meant you were safe,” Rhysand snarls. “Yes.”

I find myself gritting my teeth, a snarl working its way up my throat. “Well that’s not a deal I could live with, Rhysand.”

Their legs are a hell of a lot longer than mine, Rhysand manages to snag my arm and turn me back around to face him before I make it more than three steps into the darkness of my chambers.

His face looks strained, eyes rimmed red. He has to be exhausted. The bond feels fragile, strained from all the emotions that have been blared down it today. “I need you to find a way to deal with it,” he says, voice verging on pleading.

I hate myself, but I can’t help but wonder what the hand holding onto my bicep would feel like travelling down the rest of my body.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, whatever you have to do, I… We need you to find a way to live with it.”

Azriel comes to stand on the other side of him, so they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. “If Cass had lost and you had to…” even in the dim light coming from the bathroom I can see the heaviness in his eyes.

I glance back and forth between them. “You’ve all suffered enough, I can handle myself. I knew what I was doing.”

Rhysand shakes his head, “I can bear a lot of things, but not that.”

Hope is a cruel bastard, and I’ve never learned to master it. “Why? What does it matter to you?”

He lifts the hand not holding onto my arm, fingers just barely brushing over my damp cheek and my heartbeat is suddenly very loud in my own ears. His mouth opens like he might say something, and then he clamps it shut again, debating with himself over the words.

While he can’t seem to find the words, Azriel’s scarred hand reaches out to gently grab my chin and tilt my face in his direction. “It matters,” he huffs, voice low and rich and the reverberations of it send shivers down my spine. “Because you’re our mate.”

------

Author's Note: Hehe was gonna wait for the reveal at the end but couldn't bring myself to do it. Let me know what you thought about it! And as always, if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)

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#rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #azriel x reader #Cassian x reader #bat!boys x reader #poly!bat boys #poly!bat boys x reader #gladiator!bat boys #gladiator!bat boys x reader #gladiator fic #acotar fic #acotar au #acotar angst #acotar smut #my writing #my fanfic

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christronomy · 2 months ago

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the devil is faceless // bang chan

cw: horror/doppelgänger au, fem reader, chris is a killer (for a good cause lol), body horror (mutilation), brief mention of murder/death, gore, and sex (not very detailed tho), slight angst.

you think about it as you lie on the cold floor. you're much closer to your dead lover than you thought you ever would be. it's almost as if you're holding his body in your arms again, the feeling of deadweight heavy on your chest, tears trailing down the sides of your head a reminder how he once was. warm.

christopher always ran warmer than usual, but it was a perfect contrast to how cold you often were. his arms were the only place you felt safest in, and he preferred it that way. "the world isn't what you think it is, pretty girl," he'd once said. he would always keep you safe from the monsters, the people who posed any sort of threat. he always got rid of the problem. that was, until it came back to haunt him.

your eyes always gave you away, because you were too innocent. you still couldn't understand how things functioned ever since they changed. anyone here could be an imposter or a copy of someone else, or even worse, tortured by their own perception of themself in a way that made them extremely hostile. you didn't see things the way he did, which was the complete opposite. chris always saw it, ever since you were kids—the imperfections in their facial expressions, wide, unnatural smiles, strange voices that he always heard in the back of his mind, in his nightmares.

when he got older he figured that disposing of these vile creatures would help silence those voices, but he was wrong. at first, it was fulfilling, but then it turned into a chore, and it was something not many people approved of. he was taking justice into his own hands and they didn't like it. how could someone kill so carelessly? how would you know they're really those monsters if you can't look at their face?

but chris always knew the difference. it was like they teased him, followed him around. they were unmistakably identifiable compared to real humans, and there were many more of those things than people thought, they just didn't realize how many more. so they called him paranoid, they never believed him when he described the truth, spreading lies and making it seem like he was simply telling stories, grueling fairytales just to scare others.

you always believed him, never doubted him for a second, especially when you saw it happen for the first time, the transformation that leaves barely an idea of what used to be-twisting limbs, the sound of flesh tearing and contorting, almost as if the body was just liquid in a mold, taking an entirely different shape. "don't look," he'd said, quickly pulling you into his arms and covering your eyes and ears with his coat, and in a matter of seconds, the walls were covered in blood. you didn't want to look away. she was your best friend, and you didn't want to forget what she looked like, but no matter how much you tried, you could only see what she had become, every time you closed your eyes.

what stuck with you the most was the voice, the sound of her screams almost like laughter, mixing with sobs, silent cries for help being overshadowed by the evil taking over her body, her life, her soul. only then was when you truly understood chris, why he was always sure to be on high alert at all times, why he struggled to sleep every night, why he needed the nicotine to soothe his body even if it was only a temporary fix. you truly understood what he said when he’d described it. the way it sounded to you was exactly what he'd said before.

"it sounds like a demon's laugh. twisted, sadistic, like it's enjoying itself. like the devil himself is whispering in your ear."

and he was right, the devil himself whispered in your ear that night, and never shut up, even to this day. the whisper became more like an obnoxiously loud, taunting voice the day that chris died. he died telling you to look away, with a smile on his face, because you knew that whenever he said those two simple words, the threat would be taken care of. but this time, it wasn't, and this time, you didn’t look away as the bullet went straight through his head, his blood spraying onto your face, watching him fall to his side with a sickening thud. snipers had somehow found and ambushed you as you were making your way back home, and he knew you were surrounded, he had sharp eyes. anyone else wouldn't be able to see where they were hiding, but he spotted every single one immediately, the lasers aiming straight for his head, and he knew he'd be dead if he made another move.

but they didn't spare him even when he stood still, and they didn't lift a finger when you held him in your arms in the middle of the abandoned road, your voice giving out from the way you couldn't contain your agonized screams. since then, he couldn't be there to protect you, to tell you to look away and that it would all be over soon, so you were lost. and that's how you ended up here, now, on the floor, limbs painfully stretched, you were pretty sure some of your bones had even snapped in the process, and you could see your blood pooling by your body through the corner of your eye. all because you'd encountered one of them. you narrowly escaped the attack somehow, but the effect of it still got to your body, painfully contorting it in an attempt to take control.

if chris were here, he would have eliminated the thing immediately, you thought. you thought about the way he always wore a large, long coat to hide his weapons, and to bury your face in it whenever you encountered a threat. it was the same way he would pull you into him when you were alone in the confines of your room, in your shared bed. you always laid your head down on his chest that way so you could fall asleep to his heartbeat, because it was the only way you could sleep. it was the same way he held you close when you got too tired from working your hips, the room feeling hot, stars obscuring your vision as soon as he whispered a soft, “i got you, baby,” as he took control, filling your mind with bliss.

if chris were here you wouldn't feel so cold like you do right now, you wouldn't be in so much pain, struggling to breathe, watching and feeling the life slowly drain out of you. but as much as it hurts, you’re starting to feel okay with it, because now you won't have to deal with this, whatever it is. because chris was right, this world wasn't what you thought it was. but he would've been proud of you for making it this far. now you're so much closer to your lover than ever, so instead of focusing on the blood by your ears, you look away one last time as your vision blurs, letting out a long breath. the cold deadweight on your chest suddenly feels like a warm, familiar embrace, the subtle smell of nicotine wafting through your nose, the once torturous whispers turning into soft-spoken reassurances, strong arms cradling your soul gently as you sink into the depths of this inevitable fate.

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phyrestartr · 1 year ago

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HOUND | Miguel x M!Reader

Geneticist!Miguel x Guard!Reader Part 1 W/C: 2.5K | Part 1 of 2

Slight NSFW, zombie AU, apocalypse AU, mentions of exploitation and abuse, body horror, gore, immoral research and experiments, power imbalance, reader is a criminal, miguel is a scientist, dark themes, part 2 ends on a positive note, reader is morally grey, bottom!miguel, top!reader, sorry there's lore lol

Note: Wanted to post this bad boy in full, but the second half sorely needs some revising T-T It should be finished and up fairly soon, though! I hope this is ~intriguing~ for those who like darker stuff! Also I did a light edit on this part, but I really just want to get it out so lol sorry if things sound stupid/don't make sense asdjkf;l

There exists a cure.

That's what Alchemax declared. And it was the truth, just not the full truth. Not something the public would be happy with, anyway.

The so-called "cure" was…unreliable, only recoding the RNA of select individuals for a reason that Alchemax's geneticists struggled to identify for the longest time. But after combing through the files of each expendable inmate and finding similarities, it became clear: those who'd been in the presence of nuclear energy, or high amounts of radiation, were suitable candidates for the vaccine.

"Guess it's a good thing we didn't shut down those mines," Aaron had sneered at the board meeting. "Otherwise we wouldn't have the army of immune mutants running around for us."

Miguel rolled his eyes. Sure, the idiot wasn't wrong, but he was taking it too far; plenty had died because of their experiments, and plenty more of the "immune" were sure to die with the unknown side effects of whatever the vaccine was bound to show in a matter of years (or in mere months, if they were unlucky).

"It's a start," Miguel begrudgingly added. "But intentionally damaging civilian RNA with radiation, and then repairing it with S-2099, especially when we're not aware of any side effects yet? The UN won't have it. Can't imagine civilians would love it either."

"Well, it's either get bit and die, stay afraid and die, or get painlessly exposed to a blast of radiation and then maybe die if 2099 doesn't fix them like we think," Liv offered with a shrug. "I, for one, would be honoured to die in the name of science."

Miguel coolly looked over at her. "Thanks for volunteering."

Liv's expression twisted. The energy in the room would've exploded if it hadn't been for Stone's interjection.

"We will not be commencing civilian trials. Not until success rates increase with approved subjects provided by the state." The man spoke so steadily, so reasonably, like sacrificing the lives of orange jumpsuits meant nothing.

They were dismissed soon after. Screens flickered out, holograms faded, and Miguel found himself alone with the other few scientists left at their Nueva York location.

He stayed seated, vaguely aware of the others filtering out and murmuring amongst themselves, but his thoughts demanded his attention–he knew, even if the government didn't approve of essentially soft-nuking colonies of survivors, that Tyler Stone would find a way to do it, and would label it an accident. The man, his birth father, was ruthless, cold, calculated–

"Sir?" A voice, your voice, cut through the silence. Miguel looked over his shoulder and found you still waiting, standing perfectly still by the door.

"Sorry, I was just…" Miguel sighed and rubbed his face before standing. "Nevermind. Don't worry about it."

Of course, you didn't say anything, instead nodding wordlessly and following your ward out of the room. Each step you took was punctuated by the shifting of your firearm against your thigh and the heavy thumps of your boots against the polished floors. Miguel used to hate your presence, think it unnecessary, but soon he grew to feel comfortable with you as his shadow.

You, his powerful, mutant guard dog.

"I can't fucking believe what this is turning into," Miguel muttered on the way to his quarters. "Too many unanswered questions, too many risks. And they don't care? We haven't even run further simulations yet–and we can run simulations with different alpha rays and different subject samples. It'd be harmless." The door hissed open and Miguel walked in, sorely wishing he could slam the door for once. Why did everything have to be automated?

"In. Now," Miguel called when you stopped short of his residence. You obeyed, wandering inside before the door slid to a close behind you, and locked.

You had reason to be nervous, Miguel knew that, too. Each key scientist in the building was assigned one of your kind, one of the immune mutants, and were free to do what they wanted with them. Sex, torture, chores–all of it was on the table. All of it had been asked of your kind. Done by your kind. Miguel figured that was why you kept a wall up. You hardly spoke, didn't request anything, never complained–all in an effort to keep the peace between you and your owner.

Miguel threw his white coat aside before stalking up to you. "Let me see," he mumbled as he held your jaw and tilted your head as he shone the light from his phone into your eye.

Your pupils reacted at twice the speed of a normal human's, growing into the tiniest of pin pricks when the bright white flare assaulted your senses. Your eye twitched the slightest bit, but you remained still for Miguel.

"Reactive. Not dead. That's good." He put his phone away, and examined the scarlet blotches contrasting against the natural hue of your iris. It was a relatively new side effect experienced by most of your batch, but you were amongst the more severe cases, if not the most severe case. Most of his peers didn't seem concerned by it, and Miguel could understand, seeing as it appeared to only be cosmetic, but the increased reactivity of your pupil accompanied with the bloody colour intrigued Miguel enough to keep tabs on it.

"Any changes lately? To appetite, sleep, anything?" He asked as he let go of your jaw, nearly smiling as you tried to follow his touch for a moment longer like a sleepy cat. "Maybe neediness?" Miguel teased.

You huffed lightly through your nose and looked around the main room of Miguel's living space. "Tired, I guess."

Miguel's nerves smoothed with the sandpaper scratch of your voice. "Tired. Might be the anemia again. We'll draw blood tomorrow, see if you need supplements or another infusion." Miguel found himself mumbling now, going on about your health and your changes, wondering out loud what the best course of action would be to help you adjust to whatever was happening to your body, but you didn't say anything. You never did unless provoked.

Miguel decided to provoke. He needed to speak, to be spoken to, to hear someone else’s voice right now. "What do you think about all this?" He called from the bathroom after washing up for the night. He poked his head out a moment later when you didn’t comment.

“I know you were listening,” he prodded again over the toothbrush jammed into the side of his mouth. “The other ones don’t, but you do. I can tell by that look you get.” he waited for you to respond while he brushed his teeth, but you didn’t. You hadn’t moved from your post by his front door, actually, stood against the wall, arms crossed and staring forward like you were listening to everything beyond the door. Miguel wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen you sit down. He didn’t know if you’d ever laid down before.

After he finished washing up for the night, he decided to try again.

“You really gonna keep me in the dark?” Miguel asked as he walked up to you, arms crossed as well. He couldn’t help but feel smaller and smaller the longer he waited in silence, waited to hear your gravelled voice. He couldn’t grasp why he was so desperate for a friend suddenly, but he was. He really was, and he wasn’t finding it in you.

“Forget it. Doesn’t matter anyway,” Miguel mumbled, turning away from you and rubbing his face tiredly.

“Don't have much of an opinion.”

“What?” Miguel turned back around, brows raised as he waited for you to continue. Your gaze peeled from the ceiling and fell to him, like you were waiting for a reprimand of sorts, but Miguel wouldn’t, not when he tried so hard to get a peep out of you.

You shrugged and looked elsewhere. “Don't care what happens to civilians. Not my problem.”

“It's the world's problem,” Miguel suggested. He didn't want to start an argument, but he didn't want you to feel so blasé about the fate of everything. “The more civilians that get infected, the more the world loses.”

“Thought that was a good thing. Last I heard, the world was pretty overpopulated.” You said it so easily. Miguel would have shrugged it off if he didn't know about the blood on your hands, the crimes you'd committed, the evidence that you really, truly, did not give a shit about humanity.

Miguel scoffed, a bitter, bewildered sort of thing. “Y'know, I used to pity you for this,” he started, gesturing to the soldiered-out state of yourself, “but you might be less human than those things out there.”

“Probably.”

“You don't even care,” Miguel laughed again. “Did you care when you killed that family?”

“An eye for an eye,” you replied.

“Right, right. Then what about your daughter? Did you care when–” the world spun before his back cracked against the wall. He grabbed your wrist and squeezed when your hands fisted in his shirt, ready to trigger your kill switch with one click of a button on his ring, but he didn't need to; you simply held him there, boring holes into his skull with your diamond-tipped stare.

“You jokers don't know when to quit,” you said. “Always have to drag a kid into the equation, ‘n then act so fucking shocked when you end up dead ‘cause of it.” A sigh slipped past your lips as you leaned in. Miguel wanted to meet you halfway. “Fuckers like you make murderers out of men like me.”

Oh. The violence rippling through your crackling voice went straight down, into the pit below Miguel's stomach and coiled into something frightfully decadent. He wanted your hands around his neck. He wanted you to mutter more threats into his ear. He wanted–

He wanted you.

“Let me touch you,” Miguel blurted. “Your skin.” You gave a reaction then, eyes blinking away shock and throat clearing with a strangled grunt, but you didn’t say no. You didn’t reject him. In fact, you looked him up and down in question, curiosity peeking through piercing eyes.

“You're a deranged fuck, aren't you? Getting all hot ‘n bothered from a threat.” You reached for the straps of your kevlar vest, then, and Miguel’s nerves jolted with the sound of the buckles clicking loose.

He scrambled to you and held your hands. He wanted to do it himself, to unwrap your bindings and see what laid beneath. Your hands fell, and Miguel took over.

The warmth bleeding from your clothes intoxicated him. He fumbled with your gear, eager to get to the base of your tight, black shirt and rip it off, but you didn’t try to take over for him–you watched, patient like a dog, letting your master doff your armour at his leisure (or, rather, his frantic, desperate pace). Miguel appreciated it. He wondered if you knew he'd snap if you tried to interfere.

Soon, your chest was bare. Exposed for him, dotted with memories of cruel bites, bullets, knives and surgical scars all over taught, humming skin. Man shouldn’t be allowed to touch you, Miguel thought. The imperfections were so gloriously human. You were so perfectly alive, standing here with him, breathing, emanating heat, allowing him to do what he pleased–he was the luckiest man on Earth.

Miguel couldn’t look you in the eyes as his broad palm pressed against your chest, right over the rhythm of your soul. His pants strained and tightened more as his touch wandered through the valleys of firm muscle; what did the rest of you look like? What did you look like when you fought, or when you fucked?

His hand slipped down to the tight adonis belt cinching your waist, and then lower, following the trail of fine hair disappearing beneath the waistband peeking above your cargos. The bunching and folding of thick material melted Miguel's mind in a vat of suggestion and insatiability–were you really that big, or was that fabric just making it an illusion?

He didn't need to wait to find out, though, not when you guided his hand down over the very real curve of your goods packed away. And, yes, you were big. Miguel's eyes snapped up to yours. A smug look greeted him.

“Looked like you needed some encouragement.”

Miguel might have laughed if his heart weren't suffocating him, climbing up his throat. Your clothed cock under his hand was ruining his cognitive functions too, to be fair.

His fingers, long, clumsy things, hurried at your buttons and the zipper keeping everything in check. Miguel's ears filled with the rhythmic drumming of desire when he finally got the damn thing undone, but you grabbed his wrist. You stopped him.

Miguel scoffed out a held breath and tried to wrench free, but your grip held firm. “You can't back out after–” But when he looked at you, he froze still; your expression electrified the senses, the slightest narrowing and shifting of uneasy eyes freezing Miguel colder and colder by the second.

“Bathroom. Now.” You popped just one of those buttons back into place before turning to the door.

“Wh–” But you shoved him, hard, and sent him stumbling into the sterile white space as explosive carnage rippled through the room in his wake. The thing collided into you seconds after you'd gotten your charge out of the blast zone.

It was big. A mass of human features and flesh and maybe something else weighing on a hulking frame. You barked a name, maybe the name of one of your fellow watch dogs, but it didn't change the thing's trajectory as it tore towards Miguel on all fours like a hound out of hell.

But you were quicker. You grabbed it by the nape and ripped it off its warpath with too much effort, just narrowly avoiding it barreling into the attached room by seconds. Its momentum, forced toward the wall, threw it into a dizzied tantrum; limbs flailed, mouths gnashed, and a symphony of mismatched voices wailed from their putrid prison.

Miguel's body locked. What ifs plagued him, suddenly. If it got him. If it bit him. If you hadn't been there. What if–

“Close the damn door,” you demanded, and your voice sounded a bit shaky, too. Miguel looked at your broad back as you stood bravely in the way of the beast and its target. “Doctor–”

“I–but you–?” Miguel stumbled and choked on his words and his reasoning. He didn't want you to fight. He didn't want to die. He didn't want you to die. Miguel hit the button to make it closed, but the door stalled halfway.

“Fuck it.” Barbs burst from your fingertips and dug into the door, forcing it to bend to your will and close. Miguel didn't like how you disappeared inch by inch. He didn't like seeing that thing behind you get up. He didn't like that look you gave him just before the door snapped shut.

The next few minutes passed like years.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv imagine #atsv reader insert #male reader insert #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x male reader #miguel x male reader #male!reader #atsv male!reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv x you #miguel x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #phyrestartr

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her-satanic-wiles · 1 year ago

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Commissions are open!

Masterlist

Words: 4.5k.

Warnings: begging, body worship, choking, corruption kink, cum eating, cunnilingus, dirty talk, dry humping, dubcon elements, fingering, hand job, humiliation kink, licking piss off a hand, making out, masturbation, mentions of dark kinks (but nothing explicit), mentions of penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, nipple play, omorashi, orgasm denial, partner worship, plus size!Reader, positive degradation, PIV sex, rough sex, salirophilia, spanking, sploshing, squirting, switch Mary & Reader, they acting like horny teenagers, under/non-negotiated kinks, unprotected sex, use of the word “bitch”, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, watersports

Taglist: @bitchywitchygardener @astro-ghoul99 @jogjosmowwdkfs @ohgoodnesswhatdo @malixxxmistress @gardenghoul22 @m0rbidmacabre @herb-welch @inkstainedrat @angellayercake @xshadyladyx @ghoulette-knell @da-rulah @th4t-em0-k1d @mae-mei-m @in-ghost-we-trust @onlyhereforghost @ultraghostproblems

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Mary didn’t look like much of a cuddler, but he was - and he was completely unashamed of it, too, he’ll have you know. He was a person who loved heavy metal, blood, guts and gore, and snuggling with you on the couch and watching movies, giving you sweet little loving pets and listening to your breathing when you’d fall asleep on him. Bright smiles, warm hugs, a kiss on the forehead and gentle touches down your back. But, there was a really, really tiny, super small, minute, little problem: his libido ran like the Duracell fucking Bunny and he had the self control of a moth when it sees light. Your genitals fit the analogy so on and so forth.

He wouldn’t have you in his lap often, as much as he loved it, because it was somewhat of a sexual trigger for him. It didn’t matter how many layers you both were wearing, if your pussy was on his cock in any capacity he could feel it. He could feel every little twitch, any movement, any heat radiating off your body like radiation seeping into the ground at Chernobyl - and it made him feral. A rabid animal rutting into you desperately needing to cum. Turned on and raring to go at you no matter what. Was it exhausting? Too fucking right. Did you enjoy every second? Absolutely.

You were both watching a horror movie on the couch and all you did was bend down to kiss him once you returned from getting you both a drink, but he scooped you into his lap, stuck his tongue down your throat then feigned surprise when he started chubbing up beneath you, playfully scolding you for capitalizing on his little problem as you rubbed your clothed cunt against him a tantalizing two times. All his chastising, however, clearly had no ground to stand on as his hands had sunk into your plush hips and pushed you further onto him, applying more pressure between you both and groaning at the impact. But there were still too many layers between you, so he began to tug at your pants and pull them from you, taking the opportunity to remove his own when you briefly climbed off him to remove yours from you. The second his ass touched back down on that couch, now only covered by his grey briefs, he pulled you into his lap again and had you rub against him.

“Doesn’t that feel better, my angel?” He muttered into your mouth.

You moaned in response, the noise being caught by his tongue as he ran it over your top lip. Your hands clutched at his sleeveless tee, the fabric practically hanging off his paper-thin body. The faster your hips moved, the tighter your grip became. All the while, Mary whimpered beneath you, fingers digging into your hips and then your thick thighs, squeezing at the fat enough to keep you comfortable but so he could still have his fill of your voluptuous body.

Mary did things to you you didn’t realise you liked - and especially when he had you pinned beneath him, bent in half with his cock driving into you. But even though he was the one ruining your body for his own pleasure, he made noises as if he were the one submitting. His mouth would utter the filthiest of dirty talk, the most profane shit, in between little bitch-boy whimpers that had your cunt clenching every time - and right now was no exception. He’d mutter things desperately in between kisses, but most of the time he would just whimper and moan while his fingers moved across the expanse of your body like they had a mind of their own. Sometimes his words would become clear, but most of the time you just died at the sound of his desperation.

“This fucking cunt, baby, shit! I can feel you through my underwear- you’re so fucking wet already.”

“I - fuck - I blame you for this.”

He also began moving his own hips as best he could from beneath you, but this position didn’t allow him much movement, so he pushed himself down the sofa just a little, allowing his ass to hang off the edge ever so slightly, and give him more room to recline and fully take in the sight of his goddess using him for her pleasure. “I know I’m always horny for you, but this just proves you’re exactly the same for me, hm?”

“Only you get me this turned on, Mare.”

He groaned. “Too fuckin’ right. So desperate for my cock got you humping me while we watch a fucking horror flick.”

“You started it.”

“I love that you get so fucking horny for just opening your legs for me. My own gorgeous, little slut, yeah?”

You whimpered for him, your clit dragging against his impossibly hard cock as your hips moved faster, gearing up for an orgasm. You felt one of his hands roam over your breasts, finding your nipple and begin playing with it through the fabric of your t-shirt. He loved that you never wore a bra at home, mostly because it gave him easy access to your tits. Sometimes he just wanted to grab and grope at you, other times he wanted to rest his head on them and hold you against him. His eyes were fixated on the way they jiggled slightly with your movement - not quite as much as when he’d ravage you, but even still they were utterly captivating to him.

“Fucking hell, Mary. I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah, baby? You g-gonna cum in your panties for me, hm? Desperate little wh-whore can’t wait until my cock is inside her, she has to - fuck! - hump me like a bitch in heat.” His other hand that was on your thigh moved to your ass, gave you a quick squeeze before it came down hard on your flesh, making your ass cheek ripple deliciously. He was sad he couldn’t see it, but watching you take your bottom lip between your teeth and lift your shirt up to pull at your nipple, he found himself grinding against you harder. “Let go. Cum for me, angel. Please. L-let me see that perfect face a-as I make you cum.”

The sound of Mary’s whimpers and the feel of him against your cunt had you tipping over the edge in what felt like no time flat. He had a dark look in his eye, filled almost entirely of lust, with just a smidge of adoration.

“That feel good, baby?”

“So fucking good.”

He held you by your hips again to keep you steady as he gently continued rocking into you. He looked down at where you both were connected and saw that your juices had dampened his briefs just a little. If he didn’t get inside you soon, he’d simply perish. He moved down and pulled himself out of his underwear, gasping at the freedom.

But you made to move. “Hold on, Mare, gotta piss.”

“___.” He whined.

“I’ll be back.” Mary tightened his grip and refused to let you leave. “Mary, you gotta let me go.”

“You can hold it.” His bare cock was now rubbing against your panties over your clit, eyes fixated on it.

“Mare, I’m not kidding. I gotta go!” You were laughing at his ridiculousness. He could be so petulant when he wanted to be.

Mary returned your laughter, a cheeky, love-drunk smile plastered on his lips and a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m telling you, you can hold it. Move your panties to the side, baby, I want in.”

“Mary, you can fuck me any which way you choose, just let me go to the toilet! I will piss on you.”

He dared to let go of one of your hips, moving to grasp onto your wrist instead. With his other hand now free, he pulled your panties to the side exposing your cunt to him completely, then moved it to your stomach. “Please, on this couch? You wouldn’t dare.” He was now sporting a dangerous look, daring you to do the unthinkable. He knew you wouldn’t, but took great fun riling you up to annoyance. Calling your bluff for the shits and giggles.

“Mary.”

His thrusts got a little rougher, clearly taking so much pleasure out of being a nuisance. Your eyes closed, feeling of his bare cock rubbing through your folds and catching your clit so deliciously. You didn’t want to move. You wanted him to keep pleasuring you, and fuck you into the couch cushions until you couldn’t feel your legs. You also didn’t really want to piss on him, though. Your protests were still there, but weak. So weak. “Y-you have to let me go.”

“I wanna fucking bury myself so fucking deep inside you, angel. Fuck, baby, this pussy is so wet for me. So warm. Shit!”

He began pressing on your stomach over your bladder, making your need to pee much more urgent. “Mary, I’m gonna pee. I can’t hold it.”

“Yes you can.”

“I can’t. Mary, please!”

He pressed harder. What he didn’t realise was just how bad you actually needed to go, and just how much pressure he was putting on your body with his hand. You tried to hold it back, but it was just too much. What started as a small trickle turned out to be a full, broken dam bursting at the seams and flooding the valley below. The valley was your partner. At first, Mary kept thrusting, thinking that it was just your cunt providing extra cream with just how worked up you were, cock twitching at the feeling and the warmth surrounding him. But then he felt it, the unusually warm wetness that began pouring itself over his cock. He looked down, thrusts slowing, and watched as his light grey briefs became darker and darker with each drop that spilled onto him. He couldn’t believe you’d done that, but more importantly, he couldn’t believe just how hot that actually was.

“I’m so sorry!” You started, managing to cut your flow before too much damage had been done. When you spoke, and he heard the panic in your voice, he looked up at your face to see you flushed and embarrassed. Innocent. Sweet. He was the one in the wrong, but there you were, halfway drained your piss onto him and still thought that you should have tried harder to hold it.

It took Mary to find his voice again, mouth wide open in disbelief but pupils entirely blown. He looked insane. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I really tried to stop but I-”

He sat up and pressed his nose to yours, and the movement made you feel his briefs, now sopping wet with your piss. “Can you do it again?” He asked.

Now you were the one wearing disbelief. “What?”

Mary’s patience was starting to wear thin. He grabbed your chin in between is index finger and thumb, and his voice turned stern. “Don’t look at me like that. When you just fucking pissed yourself on my lap, don’t you fucking make me look like the disgusting one. The fucking innocence about it all too. Big wide eyes. The fucking audacity. Now, finish what you started.”

“Y-you liked it?”

“___, that was the hottest thing you have ever fucking done. I’m dying here. Piss on me.” He lay back to his original position and let his eyes drop to your cunt.

You nodded, and fully let yourself go this time, groaning at the feeling of finally emptying your bladder. “Fuck.” Mary whispered. He didn’t realise it was loud enough for you to hear. “Filthy bitch.”

You saw him staring, felt him desperately rutting against your cunt as your piss poured onto him, this time worse than before. His once light grey briefs were growing saturated with you, his bare cock growing wetter and wetter as his hips bucked against you, nudging against your clit and spreading the stream further and further. Every time he nudged against you felt like a jolt of electricity which merged with the relief of your bladder emptying, and you found yourself enjoying it so much more than you ever thought you would. Your hips moved, too, desperately rubbing against him as your hands moved back to your nipples to play with them.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that.” He gritted his teeth. “Just fucking like that, oh shit!”

It was hot. A stream of warm liquid splashing down his cock, seeping into his underwear and sticking to his skin. He trembled in excitement, cheeks burning. Gut twisting as it rolled down his ass cheeks and pooling on the sofa.

The look of disappointment on his face when you’d finished was so obvious, and if you weren’t quite so horny, you probably would have laughed. But Mary was in a different headspace altogether.

He couldn’t stop himself. He was rabid. He reached down and lined himself up with your entrance, shuddering as his hand grazed his briefs. His cock, now covered in your piss, was pushed all the way inside of you, burying himself to the hilt in one fell swoop. Your mouth hung open at the sensation, eyebrows furrowed in pure, unbridled pleasure. You watched as he removed his hand from between you both and ran his tongue over where his skin had touched his underwear, and you realised that it was your piss he was licking off his hand.

“And you’re calling me filthy.” You told him through a smirk.

His only response was a cheeky grin, before he planted his feet on the floor, gripped your hips so hard they might bruise, and roughly fucked into you in the way he knew you both loved. You received a hit to your cervix as punishment for your cheek, but of course, the noise you made when you felt it sounded less like a reaction to a punishment.

The faster Mary thrusted, the more noise filled the air. If it wasn’t your combined, wanton moans, then it was the sound of him fucking you. Yes, there was the usual sound of your wet pussy shlucking with each movement, but the sound was amplified by the piss and the dripping underwear that kept sticking to your thighs as they jiggled with Mary’s force.

Mary growled. “Filthy f-fucking slut pissing all over me.” He slapped your thigh. “Getting off on it. Look at that fucking face. You love it don’t you? Shit! Getting railed with your piss all over my cock, hm?” He slapped one of your tits. “God fucking help you now, baby. We’ve started this, we’re not stopping now.” He moved his hand up to your throat as he continued assaulting your cunt, revelling in the sounds your body was making on top of him. He didn’t apply any pressure to begin with, just content with the threat of it, but even still you tightened around him.

“M-maybe next time, I’ll piss down your throat.”

“Fucking hell.” He thrust into you a little deeper, causing you to scream out. “Please.”

“Yeah? You want that?”

“Fuck yeah! So fucking much, angel.”

“I will. The next time I sit on your face, I’ll - fuck -”

His fingers involuntarily tightened around your throat. “Finish that sentence. I fucking dare you.”

“I’ll open your mouth and make you drink every drop.”

“Fuck!”

There was no warning, no prior movement that prepared you for what happened next. In a rush of adrenaline, Mary pushed you off of him and lay you on the coffee table, your head hanging off of it. He forced your legs further apart, and buried his cock inside you for the second time, showing no mercy as he pounded your twitching cunt and fucked you with such a force that the coffee table began to slide across the floor, groaning under your combined weight. He reached down to the water bottle that was rattling against the wood and wrapped your fingers around it.

“Chug it.”

“What?”

“The whole thing, fucking chug it. You’re doing it at least one more time today.”

You nodded and obeyed, wrapping your lips around the straw of your bottle and sucking down the water. It was difficult to do, given the roughness of Mary’s thrusts, but you managed it, nonetheless.

A thin sheen of sweat had joined the other bodily fluids over Mary’s exposed skin, and his breath had become laboured and shallow. His voice only released grunts and groans occasionally now, too deep in his mind so talk to you, but eyes heavily focussed on your body. The way you bounced and jiggled blow him had completely enraptured him, that and the thought of you pissing on him again.

When he saw you taking in his cock and enjoying every minute of it, he growled. Your mouth was hanging open and drool was seeping out of the corners because the sensation felt so good. Your brows were furrowed, your eyes rolled back, and your body was drenched in sweat. You were soaking wet for him, slicking Mary’s dick as he caught the strings of your fluids flex and break in time with his movements. The sound of your urine, which was now dripping residually on the coffee table beneath you, was still exquisite.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He all but screamed, backing away from you like he’d just been electrocuted and pulling out entirely, falling against the sofa. His body splayed on the cushions, chest rising and falling as he tried to bring himself back from whatever place he’d just gone to.

“You good, Mare?” You asked, sitting up.

“Almost came. Pussy so good, making me have a midlife crisis.” He finally tore his eyes away from the ceiling to look at you, legs spread and mindlessly playing with your clit. “God, baby, don’t do that.”

You giggled and dipped two fingers inside of you, only to pull them back out and suck on them, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.

“You fucking spawn of Satan.” He pushed himself to his knees and rested your legs over his shoulders. “What happened to my angel who always did as she was told, hm?”

“You let her piss on you.”

He plunged right in, sucking and licking at your clit. He forgot to take it easy and instead let himself take whatever he wanted from you because he was so needy and desperate for you. Your half-open mouth gave a loud whimper that was good enough to rouse his desire, motivate him to carry on his wanton caresses, and cause your legs to tremble. “Right there, Mare! Just like that!” You muttered, breathing heavily from the forceful suction he applied, punctuating your words with an especially breathy moan.

His face was pushed further into your cunt as one of your hands tightened its grip on his black hair, revealing your own neediness. Your hips bucked as you used his mouth for your own pleasure. The other hand came up to pinch at your nipple. He didn’t want to cum too soon? Fine. He could give you what you exactly what you needed. He had a tendency to pull away from you right as you were about to cum, but the closer you reached, the tighter your thighs locked around his head, forcing him to stay where he was until he actively tapped out.

He traced your labia with his middle and ring fingers then pushed them between your folds, making a line from clit to the hole, but not yet pushing it in. He timed it with a particularly rough suck to your clit, causing a pornographic moan to fall from your mouth. He kept making the same pattern a few times before a little accidental push slipped the tip of his finger in. His self control slipped entirely, and he continued pushing into your tight, wet heat and tapping up. You were a squirter, and he knew your body like the back of his hand. This was a surefire way to get you to cum and squirt all over his face. Except, this time, it wasn’t just your cum he wanted to escape from your body.

“F-fuck, Mary! I know what you’re trying to do. Shit. You’re sup-supposed to be good and wait until n-next time!”

He growled and shook his head, keeping your clit between his lips as his head moved, ripping another moan from you.

“You want m-more, huh? Pissing all over your c-cock wasn’t enough for you? Greedy fucking bitch.” You could feel the pressure building in your glands, that familiar tingle returning telling you how close you were to cumming for the second time. “I’m so fucking close, Mare. You want it, yeah? You wanna drink my piss like a filthy fucking animal?”

He nodded.

“Nuh-uh. I wanna hear you.”

The whimper Mary released in response to your order had your hole clenching around his fingers. It was the kind of whimper you only ever heard him make in subspace, when he was completely pliant for you, and willing to let you do everything and anything you wanted to him.

“Oh fuck! Mary, I’m cumming!”

That was all the warning he got before your cunt trembled with your second orgasm, clenching around his fingers and pushing out the water you drank earlier. Mary let the copious amount of piss that gushed out of you fall into his mouth, wide open and waiting, his tongue playing with your clit and keeping your orgasm going. His open mouth allowed your piss to roll from his chin to his t-shirt and all the way down to stain the floor. A few drops made it passed his cock, which he gathered in one hand and lubricated to resume stroking himself, self-control be damned.

He guzzled each drop greedily, swallowing as much of it as he could as though he were dehydrated and you were a lifeline. There wasn’t as much of it as there was the first time, much to Mary’s dismay, but even still, he revelled at the salty and bitter taste, and continued to stroke himself quickly. He was so painfully hard and ready to cum, moaning wildly with each stroke and each drop swallowed. When your stream tapered off, you watched him lick his lips, pupils blown and a look of horny insanity on his face. You let him pull back and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drank the remainder down.

“Fucking hell…” you said, breathlessly, getting on your knees and taking his length into your hand. “Was that good, baby?”

Mary nodded. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

He groaned at the feel of your hand tightening around his girth, stroking just as quickly as he did to begin with. “Fucking hell, yes!”

“We need to get you to cum, huh, baby? Been holding out on me for too long now.”

“Please.”

You hesitated for a second, but still continued to stroke. You wondered why Mary loved it so much - and if you ever could. Curiosity got the better of you, as it happened, and, along with your hand, you decided to just… “Do you think you could do it, too?”

Mary’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Think you could piss, too?”

Mary’s hips bucked. He was surprised enough that you indulged him today with his newfound curiosity - but now you were actively asking him to piss on you. Pissing with an erection was difficult, something he knew from the amount of times he decided he needed to go during either sex or playing with himself, but not impossible. So, with a dumb look on his face, he nodded, and continued to lose himself in the feeling of your warm hand rubbing your piss over his length.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck, baby just like that! Don’t fuckin’ stop. It’s coming.” He told you suddenly, hips bucking wildly against your body. His hands clutched onto your wrist and your shoulder, and when his face contorted in pure pleasure, you allowed your eyes to drift from his face to his cock, just in time to watch the show begin. You aimed his cock towards his already soiled shirt, and continued stroking him through it.

At first, it was a small dribble that didn’t even reach his shirt, instead coating your hand. But the more you stroked and the more he concentrated, the stronger his stream became and poured onto his abdomen, hidden beneath the shirt. The dark grey, muscle tee, soiled with your urine on the chest, now became saturated with his. He took his bottom lip in between his teeth and muffled his moans, allowing the sound of his stream to overpower everything else. His grip on your body became tighter and tighter the longer the stream went on, clearly gaining a lot of relief from the feeling of both emptying his bladder at the same time you vigorously stroked his cock, very obviously wanting the reward at the end.

You were mesmerized by it, feeling the blood rush to your clit again and tingling with desire. If it weren’t for the threat of oversensitivity, you might even touch yourself again, and go for a third orgasm. But Mary’s pleasure came first now.

Mary couldn’t keep himself to himself anymore, the hand on your shoulder moving to the back of your neck and pushing your head towards him, capturing your lips in a needy kiss, all tongue, and teeth, and desperation. You could taste the bitterness of your own piss still on his tongue, however faintly it appeared, and it caused you to whimper into his mouth. That whimper was what tipped him over the edge.

With his tongue down your throat, your piss all over his body and his on your hand, now lubricating your strokes, he came, muffled screams falling into your mouth as your hand got coated with his semen. His entire body shook with the force of his orgasm, his heartbeat racing like he’d just run a marathon and pale cheeks flushed with blood. He hissed at oversensitivity, the hand on your wrist stiffening to slow your movements down and eventually stop them altogether. “Fucking hell!” He breathed, teeth tingling from the numbness of his whole body.

“Good.”

He kissed you again with as much fervor as before. “So fucking good, baby, holy shit!” He started pressing kisses all over your face. “Thank you so much.”

“Well, you started it.”

“Would… would you be willing to do this again?”

“Absolutely.”

Mary grinned like the cat that got the cream, very clearly chuffed at what just transpired. He looked down at your hand, and saw just how messy it was. As you reached for a tissue, he stopped you, took your hand to his mouth and licked his cum off of it, tasting the two fluids together.

“I think we need a shower.” You told him, smacking his shoulder playfully when he waggled his eyebrows cheekily.

He sighed. “I think so, too. A very long… hot shower.”

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost #ghost band #ghost the band #ghost fanfiction #ghost fan fiction #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fandom #ghost fanfic #repugnant #repugnant band #mary goore #mary goore fan fiction #mary goore fanfiction #mary goore fanfic #mary goore smut #mary goore x reader #mary goore x reader smut

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chewingonthebackroomswallpaper · 2 months ago

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fanfic time!

This is my first ever fanfic :} be nice plz (corvid uses they/them btw)

tw for death, gore and slight horror

Aren't partypoopers such funny things =)

The fun war wasn't as one sided as partygoers claim, level 52 was the partypooper’s only home afterall. Knifes, axes, claws and teeth that flashed from shadows always returned stained. It was easy to lose your way in the pitch black, what few lights that the level had to start with had vanished, dark, angry wounds filled with teeth being all that's left. The partygoers were lucky to win, it was only on a whim that wanderers had been brought into this mess, kinda ironic that a single impulse saved them from death. We weren't so lucky.

The air smelled of fear, the fragrance dug tiny claws into my hoodie- begging me to run, run far away “their all DEAD dead, RUN- run! You will live if you run! LIVE, live but you need to RUN!”. I walked instead, running would be (especially running motivated by fear) too loud- despite the way my nerves screamed at me to evacuate the premise, I could smell blood down the hall-

Partypooper blood

Someone was hurt

I was a medic- a combat medic at that, I couldn't just ignore my kin’s pain. The school halls of 52 were too dark to see anything but void- except that was only if you're human. The blueprints of my home were whispered to me by the world, I walked faster now. There was so much blood- oh by tooth and claw please be alive.The floor was slick with blood, I almost slipped as I started running- stealth be damned. The scent slipped past my mask, strangling me, the smell of blood stronger as I neared the source- stumbling as it overwhelmed me- I turned the last corner and froze as a soft voice reached me.

-corvid?-

The partypooper was on the floor. Leaning against the wall, hand clutching his side.His mask was nearly shattered- the lower half missing- how dare they-

-that is my name yes-

I had (somehow) managed to keep my voice calm. Blood rushing through my body, as if it was a thundering river- silently.

I ask:-perpetrator?-

-Wanderers- he rasps.

Of course It was wanderers, the conniving jerks.

I kneel next to him, swing my backpack in front of me, retrieving a roll of bandages- all in a single motion. I don't need sight to assess wounds, sight is something used for beauty- to watch still clouds or to admire a particularly shiny do-dad. I felt the way the spores in the air- spores that came from the two mushrooms disguised as party hats perched on my hood- clung to my kin’s fresh wounds, the spores muttered to me as I bandaged what I could.

“A stab wound on the right shoulder” the wound was stuffed with an array of mushrooms, so that it shut properly and covered with a thick cloth. To keep the blood in.

“two shallow slashes on the back of the neck” those could simply be wrapped, too shallow to be a problem.

“a shattered mask” I knew that one already- despite my anger, i couldn't do anything about that one.

“A deep slash on the left side” that wound was going to be harder to fix and something was wrong with it. I tried lining it with the last of the healing mushrooms I had- binding the wound in white strips. But that plan slowly dissolved

There was too much blood. The wound on my patient’s side was bleeding more than it should, bandages becoming heavy with viscous blood faster than any wound I had ever seen. Even faster than if a major artery had been struck.

stitches were out of the question- partypoopers are more fungus than then anything else, while our mycelium skin “hoodies” were durable enough for stitches (they kinda had to)- the flesh beneath was far too thin for that, and that was the thing keeping the blood in. My mind raced as I clamped my hands to the wound- what could of done this? I don't know what to do.

I should know what to do. I need to stay calm. I can think this throu-

-sibling-

A voice not much louder than silence.

-leave me-

-i can fix this- i hissed, the skirmishes before have drained me of almost all resources but that was fine, i can fix this

-the wanderers are desperate,- A wine emanated from his chest, the sound hurt

-you don’t have the resources to fix-The sound was getting softer

-what they broke-Barely heard

There was nothing i could do

My hands still clutching the wound I gently touched my mask against what was left of his.

-Seven-

the last time he would hear his name

The softest sound that was almost a laugh

-you can just call me Ivan-

The spores sang to me my brother’s death

#the backrooms #partypooper #entity 67 #backrooms entity #backrooms #entity 68 #Death #Fanfic #Backrooms OC #Backrooms partypooper

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yuesya · 1 year ago

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Satoru-niichan is going to laugh at her when he finds out about this.

… Shiki is perfectly aware that it’s not exactly the right time to be entertaining such inane thoughts, not in this moment. Dark clouds of heavy smoke curl up around her, accompanied by the scorching heat of hungry, crackling flames that she does not feel. But although Shiki remains untouched by the hellish inferno, the same does not apply for the other humans around her; the sounds of terrified screaming and horror-struck pain are deafening amid the ongoing destruction.

Three minutes. At a rough estimate, Shiki arrived here barely three minutes later than the Special Grade curses did, and it already looks like the village is on the verge of being burned into the ground. She shouldn’t be surprised. Special Grade cursed spirits are harbingers of chaos and destruction –malicious ones that revel in human suffering– so it’s not surprising. But…

If this continues, they’re all going to die.

… Her cousin is going to laugh at her. To think that a simple assignment to investigate the Kyoto school’s ‘Mechamaru’ had somehow escalated into a fight against four Special Grade curses… and then she’d even gotten herself caught in some trap that seemed to have teleported her out of the country entirely?

Shiki sighs, flicking her wrist. The corpse of the water-natured cursed womb slides off from the end of her blade with a wet squelch as it falls.

“DAGON!”

Shiki raises an arm, brushing aside a fiery projection launched at her head. The ground under her feet rumbles dangerously, and she leaps into the air just as a gaping crevice opens up in the earth beneath her.

That’s one curse down, the weakest of the four of them. Three full-fledged Special Grade curses remain, and Shiki takes a moment to reassess the situation.

The circumstances have changed. They are no longer fighting out in a secluded, remote area, where there is no concern of collateral damage aside from environmental restructuring. Not-Geto had done something earlier, and now Shiki and the Special Grade curses had been suddenly, collectively transported somewhere else instead. She doesn’t know where this is, exactly, but it’s obvious that they’re standing directly in the middle of a populated village right now. A rural village whose inhabitants are all running about in panic, with no Windows anywhere in sight to help evacuate victims or minimize damages.

Quite the conundrum.

Because going by the rule book, in the event of an emergency a sorcerer’s first priority is to exorcise, rather than save. But it’s also a sorcerer’s purpose to preserve the lives of regular humans when they’re being threatened by curses.

… The sooner Shiki kills all of these cursed spirits, then the sooner the inhabitants of this village would be safe. If any of these Special Grades were allowed to run loose, then they would only bring disaster and ruin in their wake. She also needs to hurry, especially given that she’d also expended a significant amount of energy in the previous altercation, including her–

An earthen spike lances up from the ground, intent on goring her through… only to shatter harmlessly against her body. Shiki turns towards the corrupted nature-turned-cursed spirit whose hand is still extended in her direction.

“I’ll start with you, then.”

It attempts to keep her away by summoning more earthen spikes, interspersed with wooden tendrils. Even a few strange, strange flowers with sharp, gnashing teeth, but it’s useless in the end. All of it falls apart easily beneath the sharp edge of her blade, and–

“Hanami! Use Domain Amplification–”

Shiki swings her sword.

Whatever this ‘Domain Amplification’ is, the cursed spirit doesn’t manage to use it in time. With its cursed energy as depleted as it is from the earlier battle even before the mass-teleportation, and with the series of techniques it had just deployed against her, the cursed spirit is just a touch too slow in escaping.

Six misshapen lumps fall to the ground, oozing purple-black blood. Two down, two more to go. Shiki whirls back around and–

Several buildings farther down the street, the patch-faced cursed spirit wearing a human shape smiles at her. There’s a wild light glittering in its eyes, half-madness and half-fear, underscored with manic glee. Anticipation curls the edge of its lips in a slow, wide grin.

“Wow, you’re so strong! Think you can cut this into pieces, too?”

The cursed spirit lifts its hand. It’s holding an unconscious young boy, pale-skinned and dark-haired–

… Mechamaru. That’s the Kyoto student whom Shiki had been asked to investigate, on suspicion of colluding with the school’s enemies.

Stitch-marked fingers tighten around the boy’s nape.

“Idle Transfiguration.”

Mechamaru convulses, then groans. His body swells. First his head, then his shoulders, all distending to ridiculous proportions. Regular human skin darkens to a sickly green-grey and eventually stops being human skin at all, hardening into a substance that’s almost reminiscent of armored plating. The end result is a monster –an uncanny caricature of one of the robots that the boy is prone to piloting as an extension of himself among his classmates, but made from flesh rather than metal. More suited to crawling on the ground than standing upright, if the way that it drops down is any indication of things.

Shiki remembers seeing reports of this ability. This cursed spirit could transform human bodies at will, conditional upon physical contact with the desired target. The resulting shock and stress of this technique upon the human body was fatal.

Mechamaru would rampage mindlessly for a few minutes, then die. But Shiki’s assignment was to bring him in alive for questioning.

There’s only one thing to do, then.

Break the arms and legs; prevent him from moving. The only sleeping spell that Shiki knows is specifically designed for humans, and… she doubts that it would be effective on Mechamaru at the moment. She needs to immobilize him right now, and then she’ll deal with him once everything is over.

“White,” she whispers. This would keep him alive, while she–

Shiki leaps into the air, instincts urging her to move. Searing flames scorch the ground where she’d been crouching in; this is the work of that fire-natured cursed spirit, no doubt. It’s a clever one, circling around her and trying to stop her from getting close, while its companion starts unleashing more of its hideous transformed humans as literal meat shields.

She’ll need to cut through all of them in order to reach those cursed spirits.

Wait. No, only that fire cursed spirit was there. Where–?

“MAHITO! NOW!”

An uninvited hand lands on her shoulder.

“Idle–”

The cursed spirit’s voice breaks off with a sharp, startled yelp.

Then, the hand vanishes –sliced clean off. But it’s not Shiki’s work. Her blade had only sliced halfway through its wrist, before another blade had intervened to cut off the cursed spirit’s entire arm.

… No, not blade. A spear –one that looks to be of a rather unique shape and make. An elongated weapon of green intertwined with gold, held in the hand of a stranger who’d appeared out of nowhere.

Shiki… hadn’t sensed their arrival at all. Was this another teleporter? … Since when was teleportation something that became such a common ability?

The new arrival tips their head towards her. Beneath the fanged, snarling mask that they’re wearing, it’s difficult to intuit what they mean by this gesture. The ensuing string of words spoken in a language that she does not understand doesn’t exactly help things any, aside from giving Shiki a basic idea of the identity of the person behind the mask. Young, male.

… It definitely becomes a lot easier to understand his intentions once he brandishes his spear, then proceeds to take off towards the patch-faced cursed spirit in a burst of dark wind.

Shiki lifts her gaze as she turns back towards the fire-natured Special Grade, who’s suddenly looking a lot less confident under the weight of her undivided intention. “… I guess that leaves me with you, then.”

#Writing #zenith of stars au #this is another genshin impact au actually!#guess who got qiqi instead of xiao from gacha lol #let's call this uh #genshin impact au v2 #in which a third year shiki lands in liyue at a certain point in time prior to the shibuya incident #mechamaru nuuuu #qwq

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hellofromthehallowoods · 2 years ago

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"I'm still deciding whether to listen to The Silt Verses or Malevolent or Hello From The Hallowoods or relisten to TMA again, what do I do?”

Alright. I suggest start with Malevolent, because it’s going to be a relatively short listen through and the fandom is super active. Episodes come out every couple of weeks, which means it’s not too hard to stay current. Prepare for a grittier tone than TMA, and a brilliant writer’s take on the Lovecraft universe minus the racism and misogyny.

Then try The Silt Verses, which is boldly different from the others. Unlike the rest, you’ll actually be able to finish this one, because there’s two released seasons and a third and final season due later this year. Lots of body horror, unanswered prayers and religious trauma in this indie art film of a story.

Hello From The Hallowoods is already quite lengthy and releases a new episode every week, so it’s more of an undertaking. Great places to pause are between seasons (E48, where a bunch of plot-relevant bonus episodes show up, and again at E96, same deal). Light on gore, but heavy on exploring homophobia and queer issues.

I’ll always commend listening to new shows rather than revisiting the same old, (especially when shows like @hinaypod @somewhereohio, @jarofrebukepodcast, @mabelpodcast, Parkdale Haunt, and many more exist for your perusal) but I suspect the best time to revisit your TMA nostalgia will be when the inevitable re-listen parties and events start leading up to the release of The Magnus Protocol.

#hfth fandom #podcast recs #fiction podcasts #tma #malevolent #the silt verses #tsv #tmp #the magnus protocol #relisten #hfth #hello from the hallowoods #horror podcasts

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n1kkisixxspersonalchewtoy · 5 days ago

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SOME THINGS ABOUT MEE

RULES: don’t be an asshole, don’t be sexist, don’t be racist, don’t be homophobic, don’t be creepy towards me or anybody I reblog, I can’t believe I have to specifically say this but here we are… lmk if I should add any more rules, warnings, or disclaimers!

WARNINGS: this account has 18+ themes as I am an extremely horny individual. If you’re uncomfortable with sex, gore, profanity, anti politics, radical extremist themes, or drug talk then GTFO

• Crüehead

• she/her/hers/sixx 🗣️

• BISEXUALL WHERE MY BI GIRLYS AT!!!

• I go by Starr my future stage name

• I wanna make a feminist sleaze rock band

• I have the same eye color as Nikki Sixx!

• I have a Nikki Sixx body pillow 😏

• I collect vinyls and old vintage 70s-00s stuff

• I’m a Leo ♌️ (if my ego wasn’t a sign)

• I am and artist and tend not to show my art but if you want to request sum for me to draw I will try my best!

• I grew up on metal, I have metalhead parents and lots of metal is very nostalgic for me especially 80s metal.

• my top three Motley Crue albums are new tattoo, girls girls girls, and too fast for l♡ve!

• my top three fav bands are Mötley Crüe, Megadeth, and Steel Panther!

• I am an anarchist and a feminist! And heavy into punk

• asshole men make me want to punch a hole in my wall…

• I fucking HATE groupie culture, I like the fashion but not the culture itself, so I swear to all things satanic if you call me a groupie I will track you down and stick a knife down ur throat </3

• I am not defined by one genre as I listen to as soft as bubblegum pop with Sabrina carpenter all the way to gore grind, black metal, and death metal.

• I am very fashionable and into fashion!

• I live in the south and plan to move to LA as soon as possible!

• I love horror movies and my favorite genre of horror is body horror, analog horror, anthology’s, and gorefests. My favorite horror movies are the terrifier franchise (the 3rd one the most), scream 100%, gingersnaps, Jennifer’s body, the saw franchise, the list could go on.

• my non rockstar crushes are Shawnee smith/amanda young from saw, marylin Monroe, Victoria and art from terrifier, Tatum Riley/rose McGowan from scream 1, Megan fox, ginger from ginger snaps, Chappell roan, and the list also could go on.

DISCLAIMERS: My entire personality has been based around Nikki Sixx in some way since I was 12. So expect to see that in this blog. I am not trying to be him, and although I hate Courtney sixx I’m also not jealous (I am but not in like a concerning creepy stalker way) and understand he has a life. So if I yell at you and say he’s mine that’s me joking I promise. Aswell as with euronymous from Mayhem, I mean no disrespect and I know that him and most of my crushes including but not limited to Nikki Sixx were not or are not great people, I can’t control who I am sexually attracted too 😔😔. Lastly, I have been learning and researching about Nikki Sixx and Motley Crue for years now, I don’t know everything but I try to. If you ever want more info on a certain event, time period, or story about the Crue, message me!

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theshypinkflower · 2 months ago

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Idk if you've already answered this, but what are your general headcannons for Rhino and Kangaroo? How do you view their personalities, and how do you think they are likely to interact with the MC and Fox. I love your headcannons! 🫶💕💕💕

OOOOOO IVE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK THIS

🦏Rhino (Darius Gonzalez):

-personally, I believe hes a single dad. He has such heavy dad vibes. His daughter is so sweet too <3 shes his little princess who he'd do anything for.

-that being said, hes an extra loyal body guard to fox. He knows hes got a little girl waiting for him at home, and while Fox may be a bit above hurting kids, hes not above hurting his employees.

-bros gotta be mixed. I originally though black and white but upon further inspection my guess is afro latino. Maybe half Mexican and white.

-lowkey really chill dude. Hes very laid back. He likes a lot of splatter horror movies and his room has framed posters of some classic slasher flicks. Owns a lot of old band tees with bleach stains and faded prints.

-mechanic build. Bro is all arms. Ofc hes got a bit of a stomach <3 and some thick thighs.

-he has a part time day job painting houses and fixing roofs. It's easy and flexible hours so hes not having to juggle his body guard job and his kid all in one.

-TATTOOS. Hes got cool looking sleeves with them. He originally wanted to be a tattoo artist, but ya know...got roped into...this.

-He LIKES the goreporn fox produces. Hes not obsessed with it, he can get off to softer stuff too. He was kinda just clicking around looking for something to get off and kinda dug to deep...

-Hes on high alert for the police. Not because hes done anything wrong, but if hes not careful they'll find out about his...job. And honestly fox can lie and say that he just works for a porn company if the police ever try to interrogate him about Rhino's employment. But CPS would NOT like hearing that he works for a porn company when he has a kid. The only time hes had run ins with law enforcement is cause of his baby mama having beef with him and because he got into a couple of bar fights.

-before working for Fox he was probably a bouncer for some exclusive club. Fox noticed him and started keeping some tabs on him before deciding to hire him. After all, you gotta have muscle around!

🦘Kangaroo (Adrian Lee):

-the much energetic one of the bunch! He makes a lot of jokes and laughs a lot. To him gore is much of a joke than it is a turn on. But it can be both!

-the scar on the left side of his body I imagine is actually from acid burn. Acid is a bit more controllable than fire is, and of course the damage was inflicted by fox. My guess is Kangaroo probably was one of his victims beforehand, or he helped one of Fox's victims out and got caught. At least Fox paid for the skin grafting! Bro is still missing an ear tho

-this is more of a crack hc, but me and my friends have a joke where Kangaroo is actually Australian. You can guess why.

-hes blind and partially deaf on the left side thanks to fox. I dont think the acid got in his ear, I just imagine Fox fired a gun right next to Kangaroo's ear to torture him some more. The blindness is def from the acid tho. It was all done on a stream too. So everyone got to see his skin bubble as he writhed on the floor.

-his part time day job is working cashier at a grocery store! It's kinda hard finding jobs where the employer doesnt outright scream when you walk in. Let alone jobs that hire you while being half blind. (All of fox's guards have part time jobs to hide the fact they work for a sadistic snuff maker).

-Hes a cat person! Adrian loves cats, especially the hairless ones. He thinks they're so silly and goofy. He adores cats. Bro def feeds strays in his free time.

-Hes much of a gore enjoyer than Rhino is. Like I said it gets a laugh out of him. Plus he doesnt mind seeing some getting all cut up before brutally fucked <3

-Kangaroo works out regularly. It's kinda like his reminder that hes alive. He use to do cool shit like that one Baki pose where hes holding himself with nothing but his arms, but since the acid he just works out to stay in shape. He does a LOT of cardio and boxing (I imagine that's the actual reason why hes named Kangaroo).

#tpof #headcanon #🌸flower headcanons #the price of flesh #tpof kangaroo #tpof rhino

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scoutswritingcorner · 9 months ago

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The Monster In The Bayou

Alastor x GN!Reader

HORROR

Being a photographer is hard work, especially when all the animal life has suddenly disappeared and something keeps following you around.

A/N: I got full permission from them to write about this! Anyways- I made Alastor into more of a creature. It’s either I make him a silly goofy guy or an unlovable monster that will rip you apart in seconds. This is in between those two.

TW: DARK FIC. KINDA? Mentions of bodies, gore, blood, Spooky stuff. He talks through Radios because I said so, EMETOPHOBIA, mentions of throwing up.

You heaved the bag onto your shoulder as you stood up to your full height, a boat tied to the dock of the New Orleans bayou. A friendly local had helped you get it set up for your trip down towards the old house that sat abandoned for years to come. “Be careful down there now. Heard some nasty things about that old place. People go missing and don’t turn up until days later. Some people say it’s because of the gators down there but I believe it’s something unnatural.” The older gentleman said helping you into the boat and handing you the last box of supplies you needed.

You nodded, “Of course, I’ll keep an eye out. Thank you so much, sir.” You smiled at him and untied the rope from the dock, allowing him to nudge your boat away as you started it. He waved at you before heading back to wherever he was going, you turned your focus onto the waters in front of you and sat back carefully. It was quiet but not out of the ordinary, the normal cicadas were loud and obnoxious but what could you do? You were used to it by now, coming all the way out to New Orleans twice a year.

You steered the boat in the direction you needed to go as you kept a careful watch on your bags. You hoped that the blood didn’t start leaking through the amount of bags you wrapped around the butchered body. It would be a shame if a couple of the alligators caught the scent of the blood before you could get to your destination. Especially after all of the hard work you went through to make sure this was right for your dearest friend.

It was starting to become night time when you arrived at the old decrepit house, a small flickering light from a candle sat in one of the windows..a signal. Great, he was already around and by the sounds of the empty forest, he wasn’t too happy. You carefully tied the boat to the dock before putting your bags over onto the dock, you had to be quick and efficient about your next moves. Swiftly, you brought your bags in and turned on the lone radio that sat on the table as you opened the larger bag you brought along, carefully tearing the layers of bags open with your knife ignoring how the radio sprung to life with loud static. “...late..far too late.” it had blurted it out.

“I know, I had a..mishap..” You replied watching as the candle flame flickered and a large shadow with deer horns appeared on the wall, its smile unnaturally wide as it watched you. “Someone got in the way?” The voice from the radio asked and you nodded, watching as the shadow seemingly moved closer and peered down into the bag. The wicked smile that it wore grew longer as it nodded to you as the candle’s flame blew out and the house went dark as a feeling of dread crawled its way up your spine. Heavy footsteps echoed around the dark house before the sound of someone pulling the dining chair out caught your attention, he was actually here? He wasn’t gonna stick with his usual thing of staying in the dark forest and stalking your movements. The candles lit back up easily, the once dark house was gone.

You slowly looked over your shoulder at the looming figure dressed in a red suit sitting at the table. His smile was everlasting as his piercing eyes stared at you. “I’m not quite skilled as you seem to be in getting rid of problems but I do hope I didn’t butcher the body too much.” You replied watching as he tilted his head, his inky black shadow looming over you as you stood up. “Such a messy thing you are..but I guess that’s why they leave you to take those silly pictures of yours rather than for you to be a killer.” The voice on the radio called out, his mouth unmoving.

You gasped and placed your hand on your chest like what he said had hurt your feelings yet..it was true. They pay you a lot of money to get these pictures and you are used to the weird ways to get pictures of these special places. “I guess you're right..Don’t let that get to your fucked up head, you still owe me my part of the deal.” You hummed watching as the man rolled his bright red eyes at that, “yes yes..you will get that soon.” His voice groaned from the radio. The demon in front of you stood up to his tall height and leaned over you easily to look at the goods in the bag, a loud radio hum breaking through the silent ambience around. “Messy but not butchered. You’ll need to be more efficient next time or..you call on me. I’d eat them whole.” He laughed out his shoulders moving up as the cane which had let out a loud laughing track with him. You huffed and turned away from him to grab your other bags.

“Enjoy your dinner, I’ll be setting up my things.” You said walking off into one of the rooms, as bones crunched and skin ripped from bone in the room you had left. You felt your lunch rise up in your throat before you swallowed it back down, the sound made you stick to your stomach, you can’t remember if you threw up while cutting up the body..granted you couldn’t remember much either.

You looked around utterly confused, unaware of the danger that was standing in the doorway, watching your every move..The price to pay to get good pictures are usually hefty ones.

A/n: I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY! Kinda left it on the cliff hanger but it's been sitting with me for a while and I'm leaving it up to interpretation to figure out what happens to you <3.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #gn reader #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin alastor #horror ish

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armandyke · 15 days ago

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January 2025 Reading Wrap Up

Read some absolute bangers this month lads (plus one book that resulted in me sending several voicenotes to my friends because I had to rant about it)

1) A Darker Shade Curated by Joyce Carol Oates (4⭐)

A collection of body horror short stories written by women, do I even need to say more? Overall the quality of stories in this collection was higher than most short story collections I’ve read. I don’t think there were any I could describe as bad or even mid. They were all good.

I will say that although this is described as a collection of body horror stories, I would say a lot of them were what I would class as gore rather than body horror, but that didn’t stop them from being enjoyable nonetheless.

My personal favourites in this collection:

Gross Anatomy by Aimee LaBrie: At what point does it become acceptable to say that I’m a huge fan of necrophilia in stories. Well, it’s out there now. This is one of those stories where you absolutely know what’s going on, but you still cringe and go oh no when it is inevitably revealed.

Muzzle by Cassandra Khaw: I love Cassandra Khaw's writing so much. This is a very short story but managed to cram so much beautifully written gorey body horror inside. Loved it.

The Seventh Bride by Elisabeth Hand: This was one of the stories that I wouldn’t really class as body horror, but was still great nonetheless. About a woman who enacts delightful revenge on her rapist. Hell yeah.

2) The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson (5⭐)

I don’t have a lot to say about this one because it’s a classic and most people are familiar with the story. I’ve been wanting to read this for a while and I’m so glad I finally did because it was great, and I actually enjoyed it even more than I expected. There’s a lot of humour in the writing style that I didn’t expect, but it still succeeded in feeling tense and creepy despite me knowing the story already. Definitely worth the read.

3) The Nesting by C.J Cooper (5⭐)

This is my third C.J Cooper book so I was already expecting good things, but this was easily my favourite of the three I’ve read so far. Trigger warning right of the bat for very heavy discussions of suicide in this book right from page one, but as I think I’ve said before, Cooper has a real talent for handling these heavy and upsetting topics in her books without it ever feeling gratuitous. The main character attempts suicide at the beginning of the book and that’s something that is very present for the entire story, but it adds to the plot rather than overwhelming it.

After her suicide attempt, the main character Lexi, through several serendipitous events, finds herself taking on a job as a nanny and caring for two little girls who recently lost their mother to suicide. It’s a completely fresh start for her, being flown out to Norway where the girls’ architect father is determined to build their new family home. Once she’s there, however, she begins to suspect that the death of the girls’ mother might not have been quite what it seemed.

As with the other C.J Cooper books I’ve read, we go back and forth in time throughout the story, switching between Lexi’s pov in the present, and the pov’s of Aurelie, the girls’ mother, in the time leading up to her death. It’s a fun combination of murder mystery combined with supernatural elements. It made me cry several times, surprised me with the twists, and was overall just a really great read.

4) Shiver by Junji Ito (3.5⭐)

I’ve been wanting to get into manga, especially Junji Ito’s work for a while, and this was the one I ended up picking. It’s a collection of shorter stories and gets my standard rating, with an extra half star because I really enjoyed the art style and body horror.

The stories in here weren’t quite what I was expecting. But once I’d read a couple and gotten an idea of what the writing would be, I was able to enjoy them a lot more. Very creepy, really unique. These stories are basically just the author saying “hey, if this thing happened, would that be fucked up or what?” and you know what? It would be fucked up. It absolutely would. My favourite of the stories was Long Dream because I love the concept of eternity in horror. It reminded me a lot of Stephen King’s short story The Jaunt, which was equally existentially horrifying.

5) Comfort Me With Apples by Catherynne M. Valente (5⭐)

This is a difficult book to describe without getting into spoiler territory so I’m gonna keep it as simple as I can. It’s about a woman living in a beautiful, utopian community who begins to notice certain things around her house that don’t belong.

If you’ve read Piranesi by Susanna Clarke, this has similar vibes to that. It’s weird and at first you won’t really understand anything that’s happening, but the beautiful writing draws you in and slowly things start to fall into place. It’s really cleverly written, and once you start to realise what’s going on, you will want to read the whole thing again to appreciate it even more (I read it twice and loved it both times).

6) Thirsty Animals by Rachelle Atalla (2⭐)

This was… a very strange book. My rating changed several times throughout reading it, going from 3 stars to 1 star to 4 stars and then finally settling here on 2. I may post an additional spoilery review for this one because a lot of my issues were with the attempted plot twists near the end of the book, but for now let’s stick to the spoiler free stuff.

The book is set in Scotland, during a global drought that has led to major water shortages. Our main character Aida has moved back home to the family farm with her mother, uncle, and his partner. They are managing okay until a family, a mother, her adult son, and pregnant daughter, arrive on the farm asking for help. The book then follows this group throughout three seasons on the farm as the water restrictions increase.

The main crime of this book is that for the most part I found it pretty boring. I think the intention was to build tension, but this mostly just amounted to not a lot happening for the majority of the book. It wasn’t until around 60% of the way through the book that we caught up to the synopsis written on the back, which is a huge pet peeve of mine. There were some twists, and they were good, but ultimately they fell flat. It sort of felt like the author came up with these really shocking twists, but then wasn’t really sure what to do with them. They were revealed, and then events just continued to move forward, ultimately unaffected. Overall I think the concept was good, but the execution could have been a lot better.

7) Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero (5⭐)

Have you ever wondered what would happen if you took Scooby Doo, made it dark as hell, and added a butch lesbian for good measure? This book has the answer.

This book follows the eventful reunion of the now adult Blyton Summer Detective Club, consisting of Andy, a butch on the run, Kerri, biologist and former kid genius, Nate, horror nerd who mostly resides in mental health institutions, and Tim, descendent of the teams faithful canine companion. Sadly the fifth member, the stoic jock leader Peter, killed himself several years prior, but that doesn’t stop Nate from hallucinating him from time to time. The team are back together to reopen their final case, because despite unmasking the supposed culprit at the time, they can’t help but feel like this mystery was a little bigger than just a man in a mask.

I cannot emphasise enough how much fun this book was. The writing style is very unique and might not be for everyone, switching between regular prose and script-style writing complete with stage and camera directions. It really added to the entire experience of this story. It feels like reading a book and watching a movie at the same time.

The characters are so well written, especially the banter between them (especially the banter between Nate and ghost-Peter). The chemistry between Andy and Kerri had me giggling and kicking my feet, and the development of that throughout the story was really well done. Everything felt real and natural. It’s funny, but also sad and heartfelt in places, and incredibly dark and gruesome in others. The twists were so good I had to put the book down and pace around the room a few times. Five stars, no notes.

8) My Darling Dreadful Thing by Johanna Van Veen (5⭐)

Two things about me: 1) I love gothic horror, 2) I love sapphic horror, and when I get gothic, sapphic horror, I go a little bit crazy. This was one of those books that I knew from the first few sentences was going to be at least a four star read for me. It literally opened with a quote from Turn of the Screw, I mean, come on.

The main character Roos is a young woman raised by an abusive mother, who has the ability to see spirits. In particular, her spirit companion Ruth, who has been bonded to her since childhood and will do anything to stay with her and keep her safe. During one of the regular seances held by her mother, Roos is introduced to Agnes Knoop, the widow of a wealthy man who senses something unique in Roos and ultimately decides to take her away from her mother and bring her home to live as her companion.

The story goes back and forth in time, switching between Roos’ telling of the events as they happen, and interviews between her and a psychiatrist attempting to unravel the tragic events that ultimately took place in Agnes’ home. It’s an approach to storytelling that I always enjoy (see my reviews of C.J Cooper’s books) and this was no exception. I think it takes a lot of skill to be able to reveal some of the main climax in your story early on, and still keep readers engaged as you work your way towards it, and this author absolutely succeeded.

The absolute highlight of this book is the relationship between Roos and Ruth. Their love for one another, Ruth’s fierce protectiveness, and Roos’ codependency and reliance on the spirit who was her only friend and confidant in all the years she spent living with her mother is so heartbreaking and beautiful. And the way Ruth is presented, both in the prose and in the way she speaks to Roos is so haunting. I adored this.

9) Sister, Maiden, Monster by Lucy A. Snyder (3.5⭐)

Another one of those books that’s kinda hard to explain (common for me because I just like weird books). This is a sort of cosmic, Lovecraftian horror with lesbian sex, body horror, and biblically accurate angels, sort of. Let me try and sum it up.

The gist of the story is that a brand new spicy pandemic has been sweeping the globe, killing people or permanently altering them. Those who have been infected begin to crave human blood or brains, and as the story progresses, become less and less recognisable as human.

The book is split into three parts, told from the perspectives of three different women. Erin, who becomes infected and develops a taste for brains, Savannah, a BDSM sex worker who begins receiving kill hits from the Gods, and Mareva, who after suffering chronic benign tumors all her life suddenly finds herself at the center of this cosmic horror show. I think I enjoyed this book, but it was a lot. I guess it felt similar to reading Lovecraft in that afterwards you’re kind of left not really knowing what the fuck you just read, but knowing you had something of a good time throughout? I think my main hangup with the story was that the way Savannah was written, particularly her dialogue, felt really campy and goofy and kept taking me out of the story completely. If the author had just cut her out of the book completely I think I would have enjoyed it more, because now that I think about it, she really didn’t add much of anything to the story as a whole. Overall though, sapphics + horror (especially body horror) will always go down well with me.

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inhuman-obey-me · 2 years ago

Text

I really....really meant to do this way sooner, I’m so sorry, but I'm finally back with the next segment of characters!! Part 3 will come later, featuring the undateables, but for now, hope you enjoy this one!

Click here for Part 1 - Older Brothers

Part 2 - Younger Brothers

cw: mentions of past abuse + sexual assault, body horror, violence, torture, gore

Or, as these tags so accurately put it last time:

SATAN

When you tell Satan that you have something heavy to share, he is the perfect gentleman about it, making sure you feel safe and comforted and giving you space if/when you need it

He memorizes every word that falls from your lips, holding each one preciously in his mind as he holds you in his arms

His heart breaks as you describe what happened to you, and even though he always keeps his own wrath hidden away as much as he can, he thinks guiltily to the times where it has emerged around you

In that moment, he swears to himself he'll never allow it to happen again -- even if you know what he's like, even if you understand him and his rage, he could never forgive himself if he caused you the kind of pain you're describing now

For any anger you may have about it, however, you can express it as much as you want around him, with his own powers helping you let it out safely and absorbing some of it from you when it seems like it's too much for you

On intimacy, he's always been quite shy with you, but he takes care to be a bit more delicate now as well, a little less abrupt and a little bit more communicative about what he wants to do, stopping immediately to check in if you seem uncomfortable in any way

After a few days, though, the wrath in him is about ready to burst, and for all the rage he feels for what this disgusting human did to you...

No, no, he's not going to immediately tear the fucker to shreds, he can't let them die that quickly, no

No, this person is going to suffer for what they did to you

He starts with just a light curse, as a warmup -- invisible barriers just pop up in their path from time to time, causing them to randomly trip and fall whenever they're walking around

While casting the spell, however, he can't help but grow angrier and angrier thinking about what they did to you

He hits them with no less than twenty-two other curses before he collects himself enough to put the spellbook down, each of which would be fairly minor on their own, but which collectively add up to a very miserable existence of constant embarrassments, humiliations, frustrations, and injuries

When he looks in on the damage a week later, he's rather pleased to find them utterly broken down, covered head-to-toe in little bruises and cuts

He's far from done however, and in the dead of night, he whisks them away to an old, abandoned house said to be haunted by vengeful ghosts, much like the stories of the House of Lamentation

There, he immobilizes them with another curse and sets to work with a sharp-tipped pen, carving every last word of what you told him into your ex's flesh

His hand is steady as the pen slices into their body, but each time he reaches a part that especially infuriates him, he can't help but dig the pen a bit deeper in, taking vicious delight in the way their eyes water in those moments, and the wheeze of pain that emerges from their frozen lips

Once he's written out everything you told him across their body, he does what would be unthinkable to an actual book but what he finds perfectly fitting for this human stain upon the world, and sets up a pulley to gradually lower them into a firepit in the backyard

As they are slowly engulfed by the flames, he reads the whole tale upon their body out loud to them, making sure they hear every last word and know exactly what they did wrong before they finally perish

ASMODEUS

The Avatar of Lust, while he perfectly understands and embodies desire, is not forgiving of those who disregard consent

To him, so much of the fun comes from seeing that desire and pleasure emerge from his partner, so what the fuck is even the point if they don't want it?

But, as the beautiful and beloved Asmodeus, it's his job to keep everyone smiling and bright, and that's exactly what he's going to do for you

As you tell him about your past, he alternates between fussing over you to try to make you feel better, and quietly fuming over what your ex did

Over time, he helps you feel more in control of your own body again as well, empowering you to feel like it's really yours and yours alone, mixing fashion with feelings of safety and comfort, and always ready with the compliments to boost your self-esteem

Gradually, only if you want to, he'll help you get comfortable with intimacy again -- with his sensitivity to lust, he can always tell if something starts to feel wrong to you, and he'll stop immediately if that happens

Whether you want to take it slow, or try out some wild kink that might be therapeutic, or anything else, he's just excited for anything you want to do, and he'll make sure it's the best possible experience for you

As for your ex, he's sure they'll land themselves down in the Devildom eventually anyway, but if you want them taken care of sooner than that, he'll have a blast doing it -- it's been a while since he's had to a good chance to really use his scorpion venom!

And if not, hey, he'll have a chance to wreak his revenge when they eventually do arrive, in any case

He'll even invite you along too, if you'd like a turn at revenge by your own hands <3

Though his eyes can charm anyone, sometimes he finds it almost more fun to shrink them with magic and physically string them up like a puppet, and he's happy to hand you the reins if you want them

For his own fun, he manipulates the marionette strings to have your ex dance their way through any number of dangerous settings -- spikes, lava, fire, swamps, ghostly manors, you name it

He makes sure they hit every trap or flame on the way through, and malevolently flings them into those points in the most painful ways possible

With the strings, he also bends their body in impossibly painful ways, contorting them into bizarre and freakish poses and laughing over how ridiculous they look

If you want to participate, he teaches you how to move them around too

When you decide you've had enough, he drags the limp doll that your ex has become through coals and discards the charred remains into a lake of corrosive acid

There, your ex, still just barely conscious, feels their body slowly breaking down until they dissolve to nothing

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub, in his ever-protective way, grows angry as you tell him about your abusive ex, but first and foremost his concern is making sure you're okay

He's quiet -- quieter than usual, even -- but fully present for you, reassuring you in the warm comfort of his large embrace

He holds you gently the whole time you're talking, and even for a while after, making sure you're feeling okay before he lets go

As thanks for being brave enough to talk about it, and for trusting him enough to tell him, he takes you out for anything at all that you'd like to eat, showering you with affection

He's perfectly happy to take it slow if/when you do eventually decide to ease into anything sexual, and he's so, so careful about his strength and size

His excellent sense of smell helps to guide him too, able to pick up the scents of happiness, desire, fear, lack thereof if you're dissociating, etc., and he adjusts himself accordingly to keep you feeling safe

And in general, though he may not have known you back then, he's filled with resolve to at least protect you from here on out

He won't fail to keep safe someone he cares about, not again -- and that means taking care of any lingering threats from your old life, too

It takes a bit of searching for Beelzebub to find your ex, but he goes up to the human realm and manages to seek them out soon enough because flies are good at seeking out rotting piles of trash

It takes a lot of restraint not to gobble them up on the spot and be done with it, but for how much they put you through, he thinks they deserve to suffer at least a bit

He snatches them away to a hidden alley behind a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant, long after they've closed for the night but with the fragrant scent of meaty burgers still lingering through the air

If the shot of venom didn't already leave their muscles feeling tender, the incessant hits of the brutal physical beating from Beel certainly does

No part of their body is spared from the onslaught of punches and kicks, as joints pop apart and bones start peeking out from flesh through the wounds

Thin, spear-like tubes emerge from Beelzebub's mouth, piercing various veins across their neck and arms so he can drink up all the blood from their veins before it spills out all over the alley floor -- it'd be a waste of a perfectly good drink, after all

Once they're fully drained, he cracks open their carcass, carving each bone loose with knife-like claws for him to crunch on

Then into the restaurant's industrial meat grinder goes the rest of their body

Beel feasts with a certain satisfaction that night upon piles and piles of cheese-world humanburgers human-world cheeseburgers

BELPHEGOR

As you tell Belphegor about your past and your history with your abusive ex, he gives you his full, undivided attention

His stomach drops, as his prior deception and manipulation of you comes into full focus in light of all you had already been through

Holding you close, he whispers words of comfort and strokes your head gently until you fall asleep for the night, holding his own rest at bay until he's sure you've drifted off first

As a quiet, unspoken apology, he places soft and peaceful dreams upon you that night, filling your dream world with all the things he knows you love

If you're open to it, he also later creates dreams for you where things happened differently, quick to pull you out if anything starts going wrong but letting you get a redo on those traumatic moments where you have more power or where you can watch a cartoonish anvil drop on your ex's head to stop them, whatever works really

Intimacy comes gradually, if/when you're ready, happy to follow or take the lead as you prefer, but communicative every step of the way so that you always feel safe

And as for your ex...

Belphegor already held the opinion for a long time that humans were shit -- but until this moment, he had dropped his desires to destroy them, after everything with Lilith had come to light

But you're still a human, after all, and he loves you, so he'll settle for taking care of just this particular shitstain of a human being

Needless to say, your ex never knows a peaceful night's sleep again

Each time they close their eyes to rest, devilish apparitions appear at the edges of their vision, and menacing claws and teeth rip at their ankles, chasing them across worlds

At times, when the teeth manage to catch them in their grasp, their dreams turn to endless loops of being chewed up and spit out over and over on end

The resulting constant exhaustion is a nightmare of its own, as they begin to fear falling asleep and desperately try to wake themselves any time they feel sleep coming on

However, in their waking hours, too, Belphie twists and warps shadows around them, until the lines between life and dreams blur together

They are practically sobbing for death by the time he comes for them personally, though he's not so merciful as to be quick about it even then

He chokes them to unconsciousness but lets go each time they fall unconscious, dragging the sharp prickly parts of his tail across their face to wake them back up before doing it over again

Once their face has been torn up beyond recognition by these repeated cycles, he finishes them off by trampling across their body in cow form and leaving them to suffocate slowly from their punctured lungs

#thank you for your patience!!#i guess it has been uh like 1.5 years since part 1...WHOOPS #please be mindful of the content warnings because this does get very violent!#obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me requests #obey me headcanons #obey me reactions #ask and ye shall be answered #mod chaos in the devildom #abuse cw

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