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A Thousand Words

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You were on fire.


Every single part of you was aflame, torched alive, burning up with your surroundings as the searing swell of the air around you coated your skin in a sheen of sweat.


You were aflame, burning to your end in the best conceivable way. You had to be.



It was the sole explanation you had for the immolating heat of hands on your body, the singe of his breath on the back of your neck, fanning the flames with each hard, steady thrust inside your dripping cunt.


“look atcha.” His voice is low against your ear, dripping with heinous promise. “yer a ruin, doll.”


A clawed hand tips your chin up, and you have no choice but to face the full brunt of your disheveled self in the mirror; from your sweat-matted hair to swollen lips parted in a whimper, to the bright garland of bites and bruises trailing down from your neck to where you’re stretched so tight around his cock.


A whine wrenches from your lips, and Sans chuckles, hips unyielding in their ruthless rhythm. “how’s it like ta see yerself like this, huh? all dolled up an’ drippin’, all marked up an’ mine.” His teeth sink into your shoulder without warning, and you come apart with a wail, legs locking and tears streaming freely down your cheeks as you writhe and tremble in his lap.


You’re not yet through it all, still shaking with the aftershocks, when you feel his fingers circling on your clit, and you thrash and mewl in fruitless efforts to scramble away from the ruthless stimulation. “Sans, please—!”


Another dark chuckle as he pulls you closer to his chest, thwarting your struggles. “what’re ya even beggin’ me for, doll?”

His movements slow just enough to offer you a chance at unimpeded speech, but you find yourself tongue-tied all the same, caught in his fingers’ cruel spell; aching in body and aching for more of this delicious domination.


“Fuck,” you sob, eyes squeezing shut in defeat as you push yourself back into his touch.


“yeah, ‘s what i thought.” His low growl scalds your skin. That miracle, magic tongue laves over the bite he just left, and you whimper.


“lift yer legs up fer me, sweetheart.”


A trickle of intrigued dread chills your skin as you will your limbs to do as you were told. Sans lifts you off his cock for no longer than it takes him to switch positions, laying you out on your hands and knees while he towers behind you. A rough hand palming your ass is all the warning you get before he slams himself back inside you.


You keen as your head drops to the mattress, a familiar pressure sparking in your overworked clit.


“look at me.”


His voice is coarse, commanding, and it wills you to obey; to raise your head and meet his wicked grin in the mirror. His brow is knitted and his skull is slick with sweat, the embers of his eyelights locked onto your face, unwavering as he plows into you with feral fervor.


You don’t know when or why that knife-sharp sneer became a hotwire to your soul.


“eyes on me, doll.” His growl is a baleful promise at your ear the moment you let your eyes slip shut in pleasure. “i wantcha ta watch. wantcha ta see what i see every time i get ta make ya cum.”


You look up in time to glimpse those knife-sharp teeth graze your neck, and that’s what does it. Your elbows give out as you come with a warbling cry, tears of overstimulated pain and pure, unfettered pleasure blinding you to your own debauched bliss as his touch rends blazing trails across your skin. Everything is too hot and too much and you never want it to end—not even and especially not when Sans bites into your still-throbbing shoulder as he comes; low, desperate sounds tearing from his throat amidst words of careless adoration while his magic coats your aching walls.


You’re out of it all, still swimming in your subspace when you register him lifting you up, gentle like he’s handling something infinitely precious. He cradles you to his chest and you cling to his collarbone, tensing and relaxing as the familiar warmth of healing magic swathes your shoulder, binding together the skin you hadn’t realized his teeth had broken.


“are ya with me, sweetheart?” Sans’s voice is a soft and sated drawl, stark contrast to the commandeering bark from before.

You draw a shaky breath and nod, catching up with words when you remember he won’t take non-verbal affirmation for an answer. “Yeah. Are you with me?”


His grin is wide as he tilts your head in for a kiss, and you gladly split the difference, lips brushing teeth and tongues meeting in something near comically chaste. When you part, his cheeks are flushed a gentle red, and something in the way he looks at you has your soul soaring and your heart feeling things you don't remember ever authorizing.


“i’m with ya, kitten. every damn step of the way.”