#quick writings

[leatafandom]

Pleads into Darkness

Warnings and Tags: Injury, fear, horror, wax burns, darkness, endlessness, fear of the unknown, trapped, psychological horror, quick writings

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 130

Summary: Written for Day 2 of @31-daysofhorror for the prompt: Candle.

Author Notes: A real quick original horror I wrote while watching Crimson Peak for the hundredth time. Enjoy a bit of terror. I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog! 🧡

💀 🧡 Happy Haunting 🧡 💀

Pleads into Darkness

It wasn't enough light.

It would never cut through the darkness. Through the terror of the night that enclosed them.

And it would never last.

The wax was already so short, melted and feeble, running over their hand. It forced the white knuckling grip to hold tight to the only light left, the only candle left.

Eyes searched the darkness, blindly scrapping against the walls and floors. There were no more, they knew there were no more torches, no more batteries, no candles, no more bloody matches.

It would be dark soon, so utterly dark.

A whimper of fear echoed in the endless dark. Wax encased hand shaking and burning as every thought begged for it to last a little longer.

Just a bit. Just a bit more light.

"Please."

[leatawrites]

Black Market Bidding

Word Count: 761

Warnings and Tags: Blood, Auction, implied murder

Author Notes: It's late, but still did a second one! In my head for some reason this is a western, I don't know why. 💀 🧡 Happy Haunting 🧡 💀 Written for @31-daysofhorror Day 2: Bid

*Update! This story now has a part two, Back to the Black Market, you can find it on my horror corner, but it's not super important that you have read it to get it.

Black Market Bidding

“Do I have 100,000?” 

The paddles raised and the auctioneer's words went faster. The price climbed higher, and with each bid the staff could hear a thrumming quietly growing.

“150?”

The staff hadn't seen so many people fill their auction house in years, the commotion more than their small halls were made for. The mystery and bloody history of the creaking box had brought them all here. Bidders and spectators alike filled the main hall and poured out into the building, their murmurs drowning out a soft dull sound, like a nail scrapping against a wall, that drew the assistant's eyes to the old item.

The price only continued to climb higher with no sign of stopping. 

The estate had been filled with all manner of things, from mirrors to hairbrushes, paintings and sculptures, to fine rugs and small treasures. But none of these people had come for that, they were here for the box. It was the only item they kept their distance from, only agreeing to touch it with the thickest of gloves. When they had been forced to move it, the tall and heavy box had been held out away from them even after they had loaded it onto a dolly. They may never have thought much of the dark red wood carved box, if it hadn't been for the sounds. The clawing scraping sounds that haunted their nearly retired night guard into quitting, that they had heard echoing through the warehouse.

That they had all heard that morning, and could hear now as scrapping turned into knocks under the roar of the crowd.  

“Do I hear 300?”

The auctioneer's eyes glanced at it, swallowing as her voice carried, trying to drown out the knocking that undercut the shouts and heated conversations within the hall. 

It was beautiful, the dark cherry hued wooden box that sat in the center of the display. Its edges were polished, swirling patterns free of dust, and the rubies that filled the four ever watchful gargoyles’ eyes were bright and clear. It was ornate, carved with great care, centuries old, and sealed from the inside. 

It was enthralling, tempting, and... not made from red wood.

“375?”

The knocking sound had grown louder as the paddles kept raising. Heat built within the hall, and the clatter of gossip from those who had been forced to lower their paddles grew with it. Everyone had heard a story about the box that had been found in the old woman's attic, beside the bodies buried in her walls. 

The auctioneer dabbed her sweated brow with a cloth, pushing her bangs away from her brow. Her words went faster, wanting their business with the whispering box to be over, and upped the price.

There didn't seem to be an end, a bidding war breaking out from the only two remaining. The hearts of the staff seemed to beat in time with the steady knocking from within the sealed box. They all shifted further away on the small stage, all wondering how the near frenzied crowd couldn't hear the steady thumping and run. Instead, the crowd only got louder, some even sat forward as if trying to make out the sound under the roar of noise, people filing in from the doorways. 

“500,000!” A man said near the front row, his brown eyes focused on the drumming display, mere feet from the tortuous box.

The crowd quieted, focusing on the man. The sea of people, all moving and shifting to try to get a glimpse of the mysterious bidder. 

“Do I hear 525?” The auctioneer rushed out, looking at the woman who had been competing with him, hoping she would forfeit. 

At the shake of her head, the staff all exhaled and the sound suddenly stopped. 

“Sold for 500,000,” the auctioneer declared, relief filling her as her gavel sounded. 

The smile the winner produced had a shudder running down the auctioneer's spine as she watched him stand to collect his purchase ticket. The assistant’s eyes were wide as he shakily held out the ticket as the man walked quickly towards him and the box. 

“Congratulations, sir.” The scripted words felt inappropriate and heavy on his tongue.   

The man only continued to smile as his fingers gripped the ticket, taking it from the pale faced employee as the hall finally began to quiet. His eyes shifted from the assistant to the box. 

“Thank you, very much,” he said, raising his left hand to stroke down the side of his new purchase, eyes crinkling with his smile and the growling purr that whispered through sealed wood.

[kaizokuwritings]

Hi méli ! I have a naughty sleepover for you (I hope it's ok, if not feel free to delete it!). According to you, which op men would be the most apt to say "I love you" when they cum?

thank you anon for your request! i enjoyed writing this and i hope you like it. however, i'm afraid some of the sentences don't make much sense, or are completely off topic. but I'm tired, and i was lazy to reread it.

T.W -> n.sfw content + lame and unnecessarily long writing

vinsmoke sanji — intentional.

he never misses an opportunity to tell you that he loves you, that you are so beautiful and charming. but in this moment, there, while he is deep inside you, Sanji finds that it is the perfect occasion to declare you again his love in this moment of intense passion. he's only waiting for his last few strokes of the hips to pour into you and while kissing you, whisper a sweet "I love you so much (Name)."

roronoa zoro — unintentional.

during sex with you, Zoro doesn't respond to anything. he thinks even less than usual and all that seems to make sense in those moments is him and you. and the fact that you're taking him so well. he could stay inside you for hours, pounding away at you in the mattress, hearing your moans spread like a beautiful melody through the room. but all good things must come to an end, and even this end is wonderful. when he finally comes inside you, between the grunts, there's a deep "i love you" as his cum is spread in you. he won't realize it at first, but he'll understand from your expression what he's just done, and he'll deny it completely if you ask him to repeat it. he'll become distant if you insist, but deep down he won't regret it. he was sincere, and that's all that matters.

smoker — unintentional.

this poor marine is stressed all the time, on the verge of having a heart attack. but what really relaxes him is fucking you, whether it's gentle or wild. all he wants to do is feel your arms and legs close around him, and he'll take you to seventh heaven. everything becomes trivial except your pleasure and his. he only sees the pleasure on your face and he knows it reflects his own. soon the pleasure becomes too much, and he needs to let go. smoker's movements become uncoordinated, he can't control his actions, and his hips thrust violently, hard into yours mechanically before his cum spills into you. grunts escape from him as well as a "i fucking love you". it was not prepared, not calculated. it's spontaneous and natural, and extremely embarrassing for him. he will blush a little but simply hide his head in your neck, shivering as you respond to his declaration of love.

benn beckman — intentional.

this man loves romance, and for him, his climax is often achieved through sex. benn always tries to make it the most pleasurable and enjoyable for you. he knows exactly where your weak points are, the places where your pleasure reaches its peak. and he gets off on your pleasure. he then lives for your moans, your nails digging into his back, your voice screaming his name. he usually whispers soft words (maybe dirty too) while his muscular body dominates you and makes you cum. when he releases himself onto your skin, benn is often silent, wanting only to hear your moans. but sometimes, especially when the mood is particularly romantic, benn thinks it's a good conclusion to say "i love you" while looking into your eyes. and he's happy to know that this alone can make you come.

x drake — unintentional.

he is undoubtedly the one who becomes almost animal when he fucks you. he doesn't control anything anymore, only his pleasure guides him. he's sometimes hard, with a dirty and almost sadistic speech if needed. everything is good to reach the orgasm. during these moments, the pleasure is so intense, burning everything in its path, as well as the little restraint that drake can still have, that words overflow from his mouth, and that moans intersperse the oldest words in the world.

[leatafandom]

Perfect Flowers

Warnings and Tags: Liminal spaces, trapped, dreamlike, too perfect, thriller, horror, supernatural, quick writings

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 314

Summary: Written for Day 3 of @31-daysofhorror for the prompt: Liminal

Author Notes: I just fell in love with this idea of a beautiful too perfect landscape that couldn't exist, an almost space that was just dreamlike and all sorts of wrong. I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog! 🧡

💀 🧡 Happy Haunting 🧡 💀

Perfect Flowers

It was beautiful, wonderful even.

The touch of tender petals on his fingers.

All ten of them.

The touch of grass, soft and rough and perfect on his bare feet, tickling his toes.

All ten of them.

You were meant to count fingers. Right? That's what they said, didn't they?

To know if it was a dream. You count fingers and the doors, and then you'd know.

But… There were no doors.

No matter how much he ran and ran, there were no doors. Just endless fields. Grass on grass upon grass, with flowers of pinks and purples and oranges and reds. Fields of still air but oddly breezy flowers that stretched forever, endlessly wondrous, until it felt as if it would swallow him.

That he would become one with the endless green and blurring colors that were all at once too bright and full to be right. It was so boundlessly beautiful, so perfect, as if he were running through a stock photo that had been airbrushed and primed for some horrid corporate ad about some medication where the side effects were a mile long.

He hadn't fallen asleep. He looked at his hands, but he hadn't driven here… hadn't walked here.

His throat convulsed with a swallow, eyes frantic as he looked around the perfect flowers that danced in the wind that wasn't there.

He didn't remember.

He didn't…

There had to be an end.

Left or right or backwards, somewhere there would be people or an animal or… or something.

He didn't see one. He didn't see anyone. He didn't hear a cricket o-or a bird.

Just flowers and grass in the twilight that stretched for far too long before dawn came all too quickly.

It was beautiful for days.

It was gorgeous for weeks.

It was horrifying for months.

It was maddening for years.

Before there was finally an

End.

[leatafandom]

For Research

Fandom/Characters/Ship: Superman(2025), DCU - Superman, Lex Luthor Rating: Mature Word Count: 259 Warnings and Tags: Stalking, Voyeurism, longing, twisted emotions, obsession, love sick Lex, sexual tension, pinning, unresolved sexual tension, oblivious Clark Kent, unrequited lust, unrequited crush, quick writings Summary: Lex stalks Superman, for research.

Inspired by the @fanfictionlibrary01 drabble prompt: longing

Author Notes: It was my birthday yesterday, and I'm still relaxing and writing! So in the spirit of favorites, have a little love sick Lex.

Read, For Research, Rated Mature, in full below or here on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 users.

For Research

It was research.

That's what he told himself constantly. As he watched camera feed after camera feed of Superman. His head resting on his chin as he studied him.

Lex didn't really have to watch, he supposed. His team was well-trained, educated, and capable of cataloging Superman's every move, but he needed to see.

He just needed to.

Lex needed to watch him, spot the crack within the perfect physic, the perfect hair, the smile, and the kindness. The endless boundless niceness that no matter the species couldn't be real.

He couldn't be. He couldn't be real.

His fingers flicked a switch, changing cameras. He couldn't possibly be so good, so perfect.

Lex tilted his head the other way as Superman flew closer to the newly selected camera. He swallowed the thickness in the back of his throat, leaning forward as Superman stopped to help a cat which had gotten caught in machinery. It was dirty and bleeding and Superman, the man who could jump buildings and punch through concrete, cradled it tenderly.

He didn't have to watch, but he couldn't be real.

Someone so powerful couldn't be so good. His hand shifted on his face, pinky toying with his lip as the lens followed the alien. Lex swallowed, blue eyes focused on him as he cared for the cat and got it help.

He didn't have to watch, but he couldn't be real.

Lex's lips curved into a grin, a finger toying his bottom lip as he shifted in his seat.

He really couldn't wait to meet him.

[leatafandom]

Burn with Me

Fandom/Characters: The Magnus Archives - Agnes Montague

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 178

Warnings and Tags: quick musings, death, burn, flames, burning, quick writings, mentions of Jack Barnabas, Agnes Montague/Jack Barnabas

Summary: Some very brief thoughts on Agnes Montague.

Author Notes: When I saw this prompt, all I could think about was Agnes. Inspired by @fanfictionlibrary01 drabble prompt: Burn.

Read, Burn with Me, Rated Mature, in full below or on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 users.

Burn with Me

There was always the burn.

It was all she was, all she knew, and all she remembered in the end.

Everything she touched, she was, she could be. Burned.

There would always be burning. It was consuming.

But nothing was sweeter than her flame, than the destruction it could bring. Though perhaps he— the idea of him, of them— could attempt to try to come close, but it could never be.

The sweet fire laced with oranges and reds that caressed and soothed as much as they stole and eradicated. It was all there was or would be or could be.

As that’s what they did, her god-- her reason for existing. It stole and destroyed until there was nothing left but flames and the ever lasting burn of complete desolation.

It was her home, her only real home. A home made of burning flames and loss and suffering.

It housed and held her, but in the end it would destroy her too. It was all she would ever be, an echo of fire, pain, and loss incarnate.

[leatafandom]

Forgetful

Fandom/Ship: Supernatural/ Sam Winchester/Gabriel

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 257

Warnings and Tags: post season 13, older Sam, allusions to dementia, early symptoms, prompt fic, almost drabble, forgetfulness, grace, angst, whump, established relationship (only if you squint), bittersweet

Summary:  They all had been noticing how forgetful he was lately. Inspired by @fanfictionlibrary01 drabble prompt: Forgetful.

Author Note: Ah man, I wrote one happy thing and then immediately returned to my bittersweet love fest. Heh, well it's bittersweet for me, I just love the idea of an immortal being staying with an aging human forever and the human still being human. It just soothes me, so have some aging Sammy and the forever young and ancient archangel.

Read, Forgetful, Rated Teen, in full below or on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 users.

Forgetful

It was happening more often. 

Sam had never really been forgetful before, sure there were little things here and there. A spell, a birthday, and the ever present: "Where did I leave my keys, again?"

However, lately it had been more frequent. Like a fog was settling over his every thought, shrouding memories long cherished in secrecy. It was all on the tip of his tongue, right there but forever out of reach.

He found himself talking, laughing as he retold one of his favorite hunting stories, and then in a blink, it was gone. His brows furrowed, his tongue limp in his mouth and his jaw slightly slack. He shifted his feet, a stutter of disbelief leaving him as his eyes dashed from side to side, attempting to jog his mind back into action. Regardless of how much he tried, or how long, it as gone, vanished like a shell swept out to sea by the tides.

"It was a cat, wasn't it, Samheart?"

A warm hand touched the back of his, and he blinked at the spark that seemed to push the fog from his memory, spreading through him via the archangel's touch. He blinked, looking from concerned patient faces towards the celestial’s reassuring and timeless smirk, the entity commanding the vast tides of his mind to push the shells back to shore.

The brunette nodded, slowly focusing on the reassurance of Gabriel's easy smile. "Yeah, yeah right," he swallowed, pushing away everything except the spark Gabriel had relit within his mind. "So he’s screaming…"

[leatafandom]

Games We Play, Part 1

A Lunch Date with Elias

Fandom/Characters/Ships: The Magnus Archives - Peter Lukas/Elias Bouchard

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 612

Warnings and Tags: gambling, bets, dates, established relationship, casually talking about feeding someone to a fear entity, lunch dates, uncomfortable peter lukas, flirting, oh so smug Elias, they are horrible, and I love them for it, Elias being an asshole, fear of being watched, beholding, the lonely

Summary: Peter loses a bet.

Author Notes: Inspired by a conversation had with @michaelmilligan that just would not leave my brain, especially once I remember this diner I went to as a kid and saw the @fanfictionlibrary01 drabble prompt: Lunch. Tentatively putting this as a one off, but I feel like I might add another chapter for some more... games. Happy Reading <3

Read, Games We Play, Part 1, Rated Mature, in full below or on my Ao3.

*note, this story (and all of my others) on Ao3 is locked for registered Ao3 users.

Games We Play: A Lunch Date with Elias

He should have known Elias would pick a place like this. 

A place that wasn't too crowded or full that one could get lost in it, but one with just enough people that you could be observed.

However, perhaps what was worse about the restaurant was the mirrors and lack of windows. At least if there were windows it would give the other diners somewhere, anywhere, to look rather than each other.

Discomfort swam through him, like pin pricks under his pale skin, as he kept his eyes down at his half-eaten sandwich. It wasn't like if he ate faster, it would be over faster. No, no, Elias would only let their lunch date be done once he was finished, and the bastard seemed determined to drag it out.

Peter frowned, looking up, and of course those gray eyes were already watching him with that too wide smug grin that seemed to follow Elias from body to body.

"I hate you."

"Mm," Elias' grin was far too wide and pleased. "I hate you too, dear."

Peter felt a flush tint his pale cheeks, though was unsure if it was from his anger or the foot that was not so casually shifting up his calf. He shifted again, the lonely calling to him, begging to be concealed and unseen as he started to blur around the edges.

"Ah, now, now. I won." His grin shifted into a facetious pout, and Peter's bearded frown turned into a grimace. "No, disappearing on me."

"You never-"

"Oh, I'm sure I did." His knife and fork carefully and slowly sliced at his omelette as he cut him off. "Don't be a sore loser, Peter," he tutted.

For a moment, his eyes left his eating partner as someone else's gaze fell on them. His smile shifted, as the man caught Elias' always watching eyes in the mirror. His smug smile returned as the man who had been watching their reflections quickly looked away, his fear palpable.

A chuckle of amusement sounded around his next bite as he chewed, taking in all that he could about the man who was now struggling to eat, before slowly returning his eyes to his husband and their conversation.

"She may have been lonely, but she was far more paranoid, and we agreed that the winner would choose where we ate lunch. So…"

"So you didn't have to order dessert!"

"But I did, I really did," he said before taking a bite of his eggs and breaking his words with his slow chewing. "They're known for their lava cakes. How could I refuse?" His smile was unbreakable, eyes studying the man across from him before looking down at the other's plate as fear wafted through the small mirrored space. "Eat, darling."

Peter glared at him at the way the pet name curled around his tongue. "Smug bastard. You know it's not as appealing as you think it is," he spat, shifting in his seat as the foot returned to its happy wandering against his inner calf and towards his knee. "This is meant to be lunch. No one orders dessert at lunch, Elias."

Elias only chuckled and shrugged as he took another bite of his filled omelette, eyes never leaving Peter.

"If you choke, don't expect me to save you," Peter muttered with a final glare before he picked up his sandwich, eyes focused solely on his food and not the certainty of Elias' gaze and the prickling of more eyes studying them in the mirror that reflected and intensified the sensation.

"Wouldn't dream of it, dear," Elias responded, a pleased hum leaving him as he took his time slicing his next bite.

Read Part 2 of Games We Play Here