maybeElse

content warnings: eye gore, noncon gore, conflicted feelings, a way to make monsters.

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False-color blood flows in neon spurts, rivulets painting her cheek in a tie-dye tapestry her ruined eyes will never see. She knows her own taste all too well, can't help but letting her tongue dart out to grab a few more drops, to soak up the vibrance pooling on her lips—

Of course she can't see you looking, but she notices nevertheless; tilts her face up, gore-filled sockets staring into your too-eager eyes, licks her lips one last time, and—

“Do you want a taste, dearie?”

Her voice drips with saccharine scorn.

“No, I, uh,” you stammer, “it's just … I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare.”

She laughs at you, her mouth wide; for a moment you see all the blood inside it, all the colors coating her tongue and dripping from her sharp teeth.

“Do you have so little control of your eyes?”

Embarrassment pools just beneath your skin, dull red blood pressing against that unyielding surface. Warm itchy heat and prickling numbness: the foremost way your body can punish you for your sins.

“I … look, I'm really sorry, I'll just leave.”

You turn to go, but—

“Do you really think I'll let you off so easily, dearie?” slips into your ears, heavy with the stink of hot metal and burning sugar; another burst of heat beneath your skin, pulsing in time with her laugh. You forget to try to move, don't think to run—

And there she is, just behind you, a cloud of mapley musk and polytonal blood settling around your shoulders, bloodless fingers curling around you like iron bars. You blush harder, a bloom of heat filling your senses as your body rushes to set its stored sugars alight.

“Don't worry, dearie,” she whispers into your ears, “it will only hurt for a moment.”

It's so hard to think with her so close, so hard to remember, but you still manage to choke out a quiet “please, I'm sorry, don't—” before she cuts you off with another cruel laugh.

Another pair of hands grips your cheeks, holds your heading in place against your squirming struggles and incoherent pleas. Your eyes swivel wildly, searching for help, searching for escape, but there's no one here to save you (if they even could).

There's a finger pressing against your lips, icy cold coated in fragrant heat, and you can't help but admit it, can't help but have a taste—for a moment you gag, as much from the finger's length as from her blood's foul-sweet-metal taste, but …

Something shifts in you.

And it tastes so good, better than you knew anything could, sweet ambrosial filth filling your nose with its scent as you eagerly coat your tongue with its salty-sweet-savory slickness—

You can't help but squeeze your thighs together as you suckle her digit.

Her finger pulls back long before it should, long before you've licked it clean. Surely that little mewling noise isn't actually you; surely the heat all through your body is just embarrassment, surely that's not actually you begging for another taste, for a bit more time—

Her hands hold your head so horribly steady as she reaches around you, as she waves fingers dripping with that deliciously thick fluid before your eyes; more hands wrap around your body, squeezing your hips and closing around your thighs, pinning your arms against your sides.

You can hardly even squirm. Certainly there's no hope of resistance, if the thought of escape could find even the smallest purchase in the needy hunger that's filling up your mind with seeping syrup and molten toffee, if any thought could survive that searing heat—

“This will only take a second, dearie,” she says. “Don't blink.”

Her fingers curl around your head, sharp tips dripping with her blood pressing against your wide eyes; it drips so slowly, agonizingly slow, flowing down your cheeks as you desperately stretch your tongue up—

You catch the first drop just as her nails press in, just as your eye's fragile surface gives way beneath her implacable presence: it tastes so hot, so good, dripping with all the pain she's giving you, with the agonizingly distorted emptiness filling up your sight—

More drops fill your mouth as she presses her fingers deeper, as she swirls those razor tips through your sockets, coating them in spicy vitreous humor and the last scraps of your lenses, rubbing their tips in chalkboard-scratching pain along the surface of your optic disc—

For a moment she even tugs on your nerves, those fragile threads blazing with pain and impossible sights for just a moment before they give way, before her fingers finally recede, before you taste all that delicious gore flowing down to meet your hungry tongue—

You collapse as she releases you, your body spasming against the hard floor; you can't put a name to it, can't make sense of the pulsing clenching in your crotch and the tightness in your lungs and the agonizing flavors filling your head, can't seem to move—

She laughs at you again, sound echoing from somewhere so far above. “There you go, dearie. That wasn't so bad, was it?” You can almost hear her grin. “It almost seemed like you enjoyed it.”

You feel her attention like a warm blanket, but all too soon it starts to fade.

“I really must be going, though. I'm sure you'll be fine.”

The noises you make aren't exactly words, but you do manage to choke out a mangled “no, please” before you hear her walk away.

“Maybe I'll check in on you again sometime,” she says, and then she's gone.

It's a long time before you can bring yourself to stand, before you can even claw your way up to sitting. When you finally do, though, it's only a few moments before you taste the blood dripping from your ruined eyes, a wonderful taste that's so uniquely you …

It's less overwhelming than her blood was, not that mapley sweetness, not ambrosial filth but so reassuringly Yours. You can't help but moan as it fills your mouth, as it washes the last bits of her away—gods, it tastes so good! And you can certainly imagine all those beautiful colors flowing across your face, a rich neon river so unlike the dull reds that your blood always used to ooze out in …

You grin as you finally come to your feet, as you feel the world begin to unfold around you. This isn't at all what you wanted, but you can tell that you're going to have fun with it.