I wrote this last second so no edits for me- whew.
Content: Broken bones, gore, blood, torture, hell, demons, death, intimate whumper, suffocation, (lmk if i forgot any)
Oc’s The Demon Ladies, Wilson.
—-
Wilson had deep, dark red, seeping lacerations covering his skin from head to toe. He was shaking violently from bleeding out, his body cold, and slick with wet cooling blood. His teeth were clattering so hard he could barely get the request out, and when he did it came in a whisper. “K-kill me. P-please. Ple-please k-kill me.”
The demon cupped his face in her hands, so softly, and lifted his head so he could stare into her hollow eyes. Her dark lips hinted a smile as she soothed him, humming a sound of contemplation.
Her aura gave off a sense of false hope, he knew that, but his breath hitched as he waited to hear her answer.
“Of course, my love.” Her voice was so sweet.
Her soft touch moved from his cheeks to each side of his head, gripping hard with an unimaginable strength. She smiled down at him, her canines more pronounced and glistening with saliva.
Her hands shifted, jerking his head in a way that cracked every bone in his neck. It wasn’t a quick snap, but a slow, grinding, shattering, break that had every nerve attached to it screaming in agony.
His airways became blocked by the pressure and he couldn’t take a breath in as the final vertebrae severed apart.
Shepard: For the record, what is your name -- Just kidding! Don’t count that. That’s not my first question.
Wilson: That would be the proper first question, but proceed.
Shepard: Favorite color?
Wilson: Humph. That’s immaterial. I suppose . . . I don’t know. Brown.
Shepard: Brown? Seriously? Fine. Fine. I’ll take it. Now . . . What kind of tree would you be if you were a tree?
Wilson: These are the questions you wanted me to ask you!
Shepard: And the questions you asked me weren’t the ones you wanted asked?
Wilson: A redwood then. It’s an impressive tree.
Shepard: See. This is coming right along. Fun, right? Now, would you rather have acid thrown in your face or chew on razors for five minutes?
Wilson: Pfff! What a preposterous scenario. Did you write these questions under the influence of something?
Shepard: Asking a favorite color is really out there. Come on. Acid face or razor mouth?
Wilson: I suppose . . . Neither.
Shepard: That’s not an option. The purpose of the question is that you have to pick one.
Wilson: Well, I don’t know. You pick one for me then. In real life, I’d choose neither.
Shepard: Fine. Changing course then. When’s the last time you cried?
Wilson: I’m not telling you that!
Shepard: Hey, if you wanted to answer, 'When I drew your name for this interview,' I'd believe you. Fine. No crazy scenarios or intimate disclosures. Then . . . give me your heroes. Who inspires you?
Wilson: [shifts in his seat] I suppose . . . historically, a person of courage who overcomes impossible odds for the sake of others. Who sacrificed to preserve what’s right. Who bravely fights to the bitter end, not for praise or renown, nor a place in history, but for those who came before and those who will come after.
Shepard: So, are we talking Charlemagne or Patton here?
Wilson: You. [gathers datapad and stands]
Shepard: Wait. What?
Wilson: We’re over five questions now. I've been counting. Rules, you know.
Shepard: I’m your hero? You can’t just leave with that.
Wilson: I have meetings.
Shepard: I set aside an hour for this. What am I supposed to do now?
Wilson: I suppose if you want to tag along, then you--
Shepard: Perfect! We'll gab about the First Contact War and war protocols and how I inspire you. And [stops short at his expression] not interrupt you again. Sir.
Wilson: No more acids and razor nonsense, then you can come. Stack the chairs first, turn off the lights, and lock the door. I’ll be waiting at the landing pad. Be quick about it. [walks away]
Content: hell, demons, torture, noncon kiss, blood, body horror, being possessed, panic attack, fainting, suffocation, body control, gore, vore, (let me know if I missed any)
—-
The void was nothing but blinding white space. Something to just float through endlessly. It had no sound, no feeling, just emptiness. It could shape and form into different spaces at will, and sometimes it took the shape of something close to a room. That was one of the worst things it could become.
Wilson was pulled down by sudden gravity and landed on what felt like a hard marble floor. It still appeared too brightly for him to see when he looked down, and when he touched it, his hand just pushed against the blinding glow. He slid his hand along the sturdy slick texture, and his breath hitched. His body broke out into a hot sweat, his breathing quickened, and his heart hammered painfully.
The shift in reality was never a good sign, and he had a good reason for his elevated panic. The demons were coming. The room felt hotter, tighter, and smaller. Wilson's throat closed up, and he gasped for breath like a fish out of water. His vision grew black spots like mold that clouded over his eyes. He looked around wildly, but the bright room and tunnelling vision made it impossible to see anything.
He couldn’t breathe.
The voice laughed directly into his ear despite no one being in sight. “Don’t go passing out on me just yet, kitten; I haven’t even strangled you. I mean, I can if you want? Oh, it looks like that’s what you want to do. Your body is begging me, itching for it. I’m a little jealous that you started without me,” she purred, and the voice started to float away as Wilson became faint with fear.
He gasped short bouts of air in and fell backwards, clenching his chest to try to stop a panic attack. Once he was on the ground the dreaded face hovered over him. She appeared more human today, though drained of any colour. White skin, hair, eyes. Her lips were black which provided stark contrast to her razor sharp teeth.
She planted a sharp kiss on his lips and pulled away with blood on her tongue. She licked across her lips, smearing the blood around the outside of her mouth. Wilson barely felt a pinch of it. He didn’t register what happened. “Don’t be like that,” she pouted, “I wanted you to react. Pull away or something…”
She pushed him, but he was too dizzy to resist, half fainted and useless. His limbs were heavy, and he could barely see anything. His body shut down from fear.
“Did you just… Pass out on me? That’s no fair. I just got here.” Her blood stained lip puffed out and she spoke to someone out of view, “I think we broke him already. This is no fun.”
The voice murmured back to her in a different language and she smiled, getting excited with rows and rows of teeth showing, growing, her maw getting wider. “Really? Should we take some memories? We could reset him. Oh, wait I have an ideaaa~”
Her smile turned to him; her teeth multiplied into the back of her throat. She got close as if to kiss him again but shoved clawed fingers into his mouth. Her nails grew into his throat, cutting the back of it, and kept growing until they were choking him. His own blood spilled into his lungs. He gagged and tried to cough it up, but she kept intruding. Her nails gained access to his stomach. Cutting it open from the inside, bile leaking from his stomach into the rest of his body. She didn’t stop there, and it felt like vines were growing from his stomach into his torso, into his chest, all the way down his arms and legs. Her body shoved its way through his mouth. His skin ripped and tugged, but all at once it bounced back into shape. She was gone, absorbed into him.
Wilson could feel her pulsing against him, like he was just a skin suit that she wore. His finger twitched involuntarily. Then his hand balled into a fist. His voice spoke out, his vocal chords trilling against his will. It said- no he said, “Now you can torture me~”
The disembodied voice from before replied in the foreign language, and laughed. The laugh bounced off of the walls and though Wislon didn’t understand the language, he understood the response. It was a gleeful agreement. Yes, of course he was going to be tortured, and it was going to be with the demon controlling his body so he would feel all of it without the escape of his body shutting down when it became too intense.
