Disclaimer: Do not own Marvel or The 100
Warnings for child abandonment, sleep paralysis and sexual assault
Sort of inspired by Wheelhouse101's "demon deal" stories. Why are all the stories I like not updating?
The demons of her sleep
Sleep paralysis was horrifying. Ask anyone who had experienced it.
Clarke had experienced it for almost years now. Since she was sixteen. She would see them. Figures. Demons. Demons shifting about her room, staring at her, moving ever-closer as the years passed by.
Then one day, there was no need for them to move closer. They were no longer just inching close. They were on her.
It all started two months ago.
By then, when the demons were at her bed, she was twenty-four.
And there they were, looming over her.
They had all varied. Many men, many women. Many of them were white. A few black. All of them had horns. Some had horns like two small prongs sticking out of their foreheads. Some had a ram's horns.
Their eyes all appeared normal; brown, blue, green and hazel.
That was, until they decided to throw away the pretense and allow their eyes to turn what Clarke presumed to be their "natural color" and their eyes all turned green and reptilian.
Clarke had been unable to do anything, except lay there, unmoving, staring up at them.
And she was going to be waiting for them tonight. Because she knew there was nothing else she could do.
They would come for her. And when they did? They would take what they wanted from her. Just like they had the night that they had first assaulted her, months ago, when she first turned twenty-four.
Months ago? She was in her room, suffering from sleep paralysis.
She lived alone, as after her father had died of cancer when she'd been young, her mother had neglected her for years, then abandoned her when Clarke had been fourteen, thrown her out on the streets.
Clarke got taken in by an orphanage, but was never adopted. So, she lived on her own now. Had a job, a few friends.
But her life felt mostly empty and lonely.
She wondered vaguely if that was why she suffered from sleep paralysis. Maybe it was her mind giving her company when she felt like she was completely alone.
But if that was the case? Why did her mind have the demons…..sexually assault her every time they were with her.
And it started then.
That night, only a few days after she had turned twenty-four.
That night, after she had dealt with another night of being alone, she had gone to sleep, sometimes wondering if it would be better if she didn't wake up, and she suffered from sleep paralysis.
And that was when the demons arrived.
Clarke had counted them over and over again in prior visits. And they were always the same demons. Always.
And it was the same amount of them too.
Thirty of them.
Now they were here, looking at her and for the first time? Talking to her.
"It's alright, sweet thing," One of them, a woman with long, dark brown hair and dark brown eyes said, smiling, her voice sounding like it was Russian, oddly enough, "We won't hurt you. Just the opposite."
They had very threatening appearing fangs, as they stuck their tongues out. Large tongues, forked. And they had more than one forked tongue in their mouths.
One of the male demons came up; he appeared in his early or late fifties, but Clarke was guessing neither, since she had to assume that demons weren't actually the ages that they appeared, were these demons actually real.
The male demon had salt and pepper colored hair and almost soft brown eyes as he looked her over, smiling. There were a pair of horns sprouting from his forehead, right at the top of his brow, curving over his hair.
He crooned, his left hand reaching down and beginning to stroke along Clarke's inner thigh.
Clarke's heart leapt in its chest.
No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be having this type of sleep paralysis, right?
Demons screaming in her face and staring at her as she was forced to lie still for long periods of time were bad enough.
But this? No, this was horrendous. This was too cruel. Monstrously cruel.
Almost as if they heard the pounding of Clarke's heartbeat, one of the women, with long, orange hair and piercing blue eyes said in amusement, "Oh, Clarke, you don't have to worry. We won't hurt you. We'd never do anything to hurt you."
There was pressure on the bed, and Clarke's throat tightened when she saw two figures hovering above her on the bed. Even I the dark, she could make their features out well.
A man and a woman. The man had short, white hair and dark eyes and the woman had long, wavy, orange hair and dark green eyes. They lowered themselves down as they smirked at her and Clarke noticed a pair of horns sticking out of the sides of their foreheads, in identical positions and locations.
Their hands went down to the bottom of Clarke's shirt and lifted it all the way up. It was rolled up till it was above Clarke's breasts.
Clarke shivered, feeling their lecherous gazes on her body and she tried to push out a weak "no," when she saw the figures descend, but could say nothing.
Practically at the same time, their lips wrapped around her nipples. The orange-haired woman and the white-haired man sucking on her breasts at the exact same time.
Clarke felt a slow jolt begin to work its way between her legs.
She couldn't move, but she could feel plenty.
Clarke tried to think of some logical explanation for all this. It sure as hell wasn't puberty. She was an adult, had been for six years now. She was well away from puberty. It wasn't hormones doing this.
This wasn't some kinky part of her imagination. At least, she didn't think.
She realized, as she felt that pleasure that began to spread through her groin increase with each of the suckling motions at her breasts, that maybe she should go see a doctor. If her sleep paralysis bouts were ending like this? Then that seemed cause for concern.
It was sleep paralysis, so, by default, it was cause for concern, but she had never before encountered visions like this.
She'd seen shadows stretching themselves out in unnatural manners along the walls or even over her, figures sliding in and leering at her.
But this? Where her sleep paralysis demons actually were about to touch her?!
Where they were feeling her up and assaulting her?
This had never happened before. Not during her eight years of suffering from sleep paralysis.
Clarke was still in the throes of said sleep paralysis, but she could have sworn that she was capable at this very moment of letting out a gasp, when she felt a thumb press against her clit through her thin pants.
Light flashed in front of her eyes as that thumb stroked and kept moving.
A soft chuckle filled her left ear as the stroking against her clit and the suckling at her breasts continued, "Enjoying yourselves, are we, baby?" It was a man's voice that spoke, "Don't worry. We'll make you feel even better."
Clarke would have shuddered if she could, when she felt claws begin to hook over the top of her shorts, and she felt her shorts be pulled down.
The hand that had been stimulating her clit, moved away, as the shorts were being removed from her person.
She saw a man with blonde hair and blue eyes appear, behind the man and woman with identical looking horns, that were sucking at her breasts, and she watched as he and another man, a man with dirty-blond, almost brown hair and blue-green eyes, lowered themselves down between her legs, grabbing her ankles and holding her legs open.
Clarke thought to herself, (what the fuck is going on?! How is this happening?! This can't be happening! None of my sleep paralysis visions have acted like this before!)
But still, a pair of mouths went to work fast and diligently.
Two tongues pushed out and stroked all along Clarke's clit. Clarke could feel the tightness in her belly become almost unbearable. Heat was shooting through her groin at a merciless speed.
Her clit continually was being licked by the two male demons, as if it were a competition between the two of them, to see which of them could lick at Clarke's clit the most.
A new tongue was added, only this one pushed into Clarke's cunt, the tongue pushing all the way in and stroking along her inner walls and darting the tongue in and out stroking all along her cunt.
Clarke wanted to scream for them to stop, she wanted to scream for them to continue, she wanted to scream for them to stop touching her, she wanted to scream for them to never stop, ever.
But she couldn't so much as whimper a word out, could she?
She was a captive of her condition, and as a result, incapable of so much as uttering a sound.
But inside, it was like someone had set off over a thousand fireworks.
Her loins were going insane; were she capable of moving, she would be humping the faces of the three working her clit and cunt.
A fourth tongue was added, stroking along her vulvae.
Clarke's forced orgasm came again and again. She had never known as much pleasure as this.
She'd had boyfriends before. Some girlfriends too.
She knew what sexual pleasure felt like. But nothing like this!
She never came like this before.
And never in such abundance.
She was forced to climax and orgasm again and again and again with those mouths and those forked tongues-multiple forked tongues at times were inside her. The first three tongues that had besieged her, weren't forked, but the next several ones were.
And it made things all the more intense, needless to say.
Then some of the women got on top of her and took turns rubbing themselves against her slick pussy, getting themselves off as well as getting her off too.
Then the men thrust their cocks into her, stroking their thumbs against her clit as they did, her and them coming together.
Clarke finally passed out.
And when she awoke?
She found…evidence that what she had seen, actually happened.
Her clothes were discarded; her shorts, underwear and shirt on the floor by her bed, and her sheets soaked. Not from sweat, she knew that. Why would there be a puddle of sweat that was pooled between her legs?
Because it wasn't sweat, that was why.
Clarke shuddered.
It was real. Or at least, her hallucinations had been real.
Had she really been fantasizing about her sleep paralysis demons raping her? Why? And she had gotten off on it?
That was just so disturbing.
Clarke tried to ignore the disgusted lump in her throat, as she got up out of bed, moving away from the bed, wanting to be as far from the sheets as possible.
That, she knew, couldn't last for long. She knew she'd have to watch the sheets eventually. Which she did.
She pulled the sheets, blankets and pillowcases off of the bed and threw them into the washing machine, then the dryer.
She felt somewhat better when she had finished washing everything. Still, it didn't help that she had this icy feeling all throughout her back and the back of her neck.
Because she had never experienced a sleep paralysis hallucination like that ever before in her life.
What the hell had that been about?!
Clarke tried to distract herself throughout the day; contacting friends, focusing on her work-the articles that she sent to her work, and tried to draw or read. The few things to eat she had in her fridge, she consumed quickly.
She made a mental note to go to the grocery store tomorrow.
She dreaded when it would be time to go to bed.
But she knew that eventually, she would have to.
When it was bed time, she mentally begged to whatever power that was listening, if any, that she not have a sleep paralysis hallucination tonight.
It was a plea that was clearly ignored. Or mocked.
Because that night, the demons came again.
Clarke was unable to get up from the bed, bound to it practically.
And the demons crawled up onto the bed, beginning to take her clothes off, and began their violation as they had last night.
Clarke would have arched into their hands, their mouths, their groins if she could. She started pleading, begging with it to all stop mentally, desperate not to cum, but she kept coming. Her climaxes and orgasms kept being forced from her.
This continued night after night.
One thing Clarke would say? After her bizarre encounters with these hallucinations, she was rested better than she ever had been in her entire life each night.
She hated that. And hated that she enjoyed what the hallucinations did to her.
She made the decision after the eighteenth night of the assaults, and felt herself being lulled off to sleep because one of the demons, who identified herself as Wanda, sang to Clarke.
Clarke knew that she needed to speak to a therapist. Try to get an explanation for this.
Because she couldn't keep living like this.
Physically? Nothing, apart from the sleep paralysis itself, was wrong with her.
Again, she would be so tired out, that she would get long nights of restful sleep.
And she had gotten off so many times she could barely keep count.
She had been eating better than before, because the demons would warn her practically to eat more healthy foods. And Clarke, regardless of how much she hated it, couldn't help but obey the commands given to her by these demons.
She soon arranged a meeting with a therapist.
Meeting with the therapist, Dr. Carbone.
She regarded Clarke and asked Clarke the usual questions; what types of sex dreams she had, what was her childhood like, how did these hallucinations make her feel.
Honestly, Clarke wasn't sure why people even paid for therapy. She'd heard that there were individuals who benefited a great deal by going to therapy. But maybe she just wasn't a good fit for therapy.
Because she didn't see what she'd get out of this.
"Well," Clarke asked the woman in front of her, "What do you think it means?"
"Good question," Dr. Carbone answered, "Might I suggest that this might be revolving around repressed sexual desires? Or a repressed traumatic memory?"
Clarke almost snorted. Because she had already entertained those two possibilities.
She was positive that the first of those possibilities wasn't likely. No, she hadn't been fucked as much by any of her previous sexual partners, but sexually speaking, she wasn't that repressed for fuck's sake.
The second possibility? Clarke honestly had thought about that as the explanation.
Clarke's childhood had been…complicated.
Her father dead of cancer. Her mother happy to verbally abuse her and ignore her and then throw her away like trash. No one adopting her. Essentially being alone.
She had plenty of traumatic events in her life without needing a repressed one.
She asked, "Why would I repress any memory? I have a lot of traumatic memories. I think I can handle one more."
"There are degrees of trauma, Clarke," the therapist answered, a nearly sad tone in her voice, "There are some degrees that are too much for one person to deal with."
Clarke clenched her jaw. She didn't want to think about that possibility.
She was sure that no one had sexually assaulted her in any way when she'd been younger. But then, that was why it was called "repressed memory," right?
Maybe she'd been attacked in some way when she was younger and she just couldn't remember.
After that first session, feeling like she was left with more questions than answers, she went to the nearby diner and grabbed something, then went back to her apartment.
She got a call from her friend, Harper, asking if she wanted to get lunch on Saturday.
Clarke smiled and happily agreed.
That night, she knew what to expect.
She hoped it wouldn't happen, but sure enough, the demons arrived that night.
This time, though, Clarke couldn't help but let her mind wander to some new questions.
One of the loudest questions in her mind being, (Is this because I was assaulted when I was younger, but I just don't remember that?)
Clarke didn't expect it, but the demons stopped their ministrations.
Several of them looked down at her with troubled eyes.
One of the men who had previously identified himself as Bruce, said, "No, Clarke, we're not the result of some repressed trauma."
Clarke's eyes widened.
They could hear her thoughts? Then again, that made sense, right? Sleep paralysis had to do with the mind, right? So, of course, these things could hear her thoughts. They were from her own brain, just like the demons were.
To Clarke's surprise, one of the women who had identified herself before, as Carol, answered that thought, "No, Clarke. We're not a figment of your imagination. We're very real, my love."
Clarke would have gasped if she could.
She supposed she shouldn't be surprised by her hallucinations claiming to be real. But still, this was rather disconcerting, even more so than most sleep paralysis hallucinations.
Hallucinations shouldn't be so…aware.
"You don't believe us, do you?" Another demon woman, Peggy said as she leaned down, lying next to Clarke and pulling Clarke closer so that Clarke's face was nuzzling between Peggy's breasts, something Peggy had often done while cooing to Clarke, acting almost like a mother, "We can give you proof. Go to your friend, Harper on Saturday. We'll be busy in the meantime, understand, sweetie?"
Clarke was left with questions. But her brain wasn't able to articulate those questions, when she felt a tongue enter her cunt and felt it lash against her clit, then she was sent over the edge, screaming.
She was overstimulated again and again, as usual.
She was left with more questions after that.
Two days later? On Saturday? Clarke tried to pretend that she wasn't still thinking about what those demons had said to her. And she met with Harper.
Clarke wasn't sure she understood that demon, Peggy's meaning when she had said what she'd said, but she chose to ignore it.
She met with Harper in a restaurant, outside, where there were a bunch of cameras and a bunch of other people.
The bill was split between the two of them and Clarke and Harper both paid with a credit card.
That night, Clarke was at her apartment, about to get dinner, when she heard a loud knock at her apartment door.
Clarke slowly turned around, frowning and went to the door carefully. She peered through the peephole and froze.
There was a police officer on the other side of the door.
Clarke stiffened.
She wasn't going to let the officer in. She knew that legally speaking, the officer couldn't come in without a permit, not unless she let them in. And she wasn't going to let them in. The door was locked, as well.
Clarke looked at the man on the other side, and shouted, "Can I help you, officer?"
The officer said, "Clarke Griffin?"
"Yes, sir," Clarke said, "I'm sorry, but I'd like to know what this is about before letting you in!"
The officer looked mildly affronted, but answered, "Clarke Griffin, I need to ask you a few questions about a murder. The murdered woman is named Abby Griffin. I believe she's your mother, right?"
Clarke's eyes grew huge.
Abby Griffin? Her mother? The woman who had thrown her out on the street like she was trash?
Clarke stared at the officer through the hole.
"My mother?" She asked loudly in disbelief, "How?"
"Will you let us come in?" The man asked.
Clarke stepped back. The uniforms looked real enough. But she knew anyone could get efficient looking police outfits if they tried hard enough.
Besides, she knew how some police precincts worked. Sometimes they went with the "easiest possible suspect."
Meaning even if she didn't have anything to do with Abby's death, they might be willing to pin it on her.
If it meant it made their job easier.
She couldn't let them in.
Clarke spoke loudly to the officer, "A moment, please. Please leave. I'll go down to the station and answer whatever questions you have. But unless you have a warrant? I can't let you inside."
She knew the way she was acting probably sounded suspicious.
But again, she knew how some police precincts acted.
What if this was one of the crooked cops? Or his partner was? Or both of them were?
Clarke had grown up in a system where adults mistreated children and each other badly. Anyone would take advantage of you if they felt they got something out of it.
Clarke wasn't so foolish as to think that police officers were any better.
Clarke watched the face of the officer appear flummoxed, but then the man said, "Alright. My partner and I will leave. And you can come down to the station when you feel ready to answer our questions. But we need those questions answered soon, ma'am. Abby Griffin was killed today."
Clarke felt cold run through her chest.
Her mind, for reasons she wasn't really sure of, went to the demons.
Had they…..could they possibly have had something to do with this?
But no, that wasn't possible, right? Because they weren't real. They were a figment of Clarke's imagination.
That was what hallucinations were, after all.
Maybe a twisted part of her imagination. But her imagination, nonetheless.
How could they possibly have had anything to do with Abby's murder? Hallucinations couldn't touch anything in the real world.
Clarke said, "Please leave, I'll be down at the station in thirty minutes!"
She watched through the peephole as the officers retreated from her apartment door and she breathed out in relief.
She waited several minutes, before grabbing her things and peering out the window of her apartment.
The officers had gone back to their car and were beginning to drive off.
Clarke had meant to go to the police station, like she had told the police officers.
But she would speak to the officers and answer whatever questions they might have, while outside of the police station, in public, surrounded by witnesses.
Not in her apartment where if something amiss happened, that it would be her word; a grown-up orphan without any family ties against that of a group of police officers.
Clarke got everything she needed, left the apartment, locked the apartment and went out to go to the police station.
She got to the police station, turned her phone on and pressed "record" and stuck it into her pocket, allowing the edge with the camera to stick out, to record anything someone said, just to be safe, and requested speaking to the officers outside of the station, in public.
The officers had looked puzzled by this, but had done as Clarke had requested.
Only when Clarke and the two officers across from her, were in public and surrounded by multiple people in the park near the police station, did Clarke listen to the officers' questions and answered them truthfully.
She wanted to make it clear whether or not she was a suspect and she made it clear that if she was? She wasn't answering any questions without a lawyer.
She watched their reactions, watched very closely. The first officer nodded and explained that Abby Griffin had been killed that afternoon. Someone had broken into her apartment in Ohio and had torn the woman's stomach out, left the woman bleeding all over her living room floor.
Clarke's shock and horror must have been clear, because the officers nodded, as if not surprised that Clarke couldn't have done what they said had been done.
Clarke swallowed weakly and said, "I don't think even think with an airplane, I could have gotten to Ohio and back. Let alone do all that and kill someone. I haven't seen my biological mother in years. Since I was fourteen."
The other officer nodded. "We know," he said, looking tired, "Ms. Griffin, we know there's no way you could have gone to Ohio, then come right back. We've done the math. A flight from Los Angeles to Ohio, would take up to three and a half hours or something. And three and a half or so hours to get back. The coroner contacted us and said that she died this afternoon. Around 3 PM. There's no way you would have gotten back, by the time we came to question you at your apartment."
Clarke let out a deep breath, though still glad she was recording the conversation.
"So," she said carefully, "Why are you questioning me?"
"Because, Clarke," the first officer said, "We just wanted to know if Abby contacted you at all before. Or if you know of anyone that might have wanted to kill her."
Clarke shook her head. "Like I said, I haven't seen my mother in years. Since I was fourteen years old. So, no. I know nothing about any of this. Also, I'm sorry to ask, but why are you questioning at all? If Abby was in Ohio when she was killed, this technically isn't your jurisdiction."
"True," the first officer said, "But the people in Ohio found your name and discovered you were dropped off at an orphanage in California. Los Angeles. And they asked if we could track you down and ask if you knew anything."
Clarke scowled. "They thought I was a suspect?" She asked angrily.
The second officer chuckled, "I'm afraid so. We know that that's impossible. But they'll still ask where you were during this period."
"I was at lunch with a friend," Clarke said, and begrudgingly, she gave the officers' Harper's name and number and gave them the location of the diner where she and Harper ate.
After the officers said she could leave, Clarke went back to her apartment and texted Harper, warning the younger woman of the questioning she was probably going to get.
Clarke then thought over everything she had learned.
Her biological mother was dead. Had died while Clarke had been speaking with Harper at the diner.
Someone had brutally killed Abby. Why?
Sure, Clarke had reasons to want to kill Abby. But actually doing it? As opposed to just fantasizing about it?
No way. Clarke was positive that she wouldn't have done it. Even if she actually was confronted with Abby and had the chance to do it, she was positive that all she would do, would be punching Abby in the face a few times.
It was then that Clarke's disturbed thoughts went to the demons of her hallucinations.
Clarke tried to tell herself that it wasn't possible.
That it couldn't be possible.
Because how could it be possible?
The demons had told her that they would prove to her that they were real.
And Abby-she'd been disemboweled, from the sounds of it. And Clarke had gotten a look at those claws on the demons.
Those claws were really, really sharp.
Clarke swallowed.
But it couldn't be, could it? Because how?
Clarke tried to ignore the coldness seeping through her stomach.
If the demons were real, and they were capable of killing people, then that meant that…they actually were in Clarke's room at night. Actually sexually assaulting her.
It wasn't just her having sleep paralysis.
Clarke felt sickness in her throat as she shuddered, leaning against a wall and balancing against it.
She tried to think of a logical explanation, but could find none.
The demons appeared and then later on told her they'd provide her with proof that they were real, and then Abby died the next day? Killed?
That sure as fuck didn't feel like a coincidence.
Clarke hugged herself.
If the demons were real and they actually killed her biological mother? What then?
They were clearly going to come back for her tonight, as they had for multiple nights now.
What did she do?
What could she do, if anything?
(Nothing,) a somber voice whispered in the back of her brain, (You can do nothing.)
She hated that she was happy that Abby was dead. She was. She wished that she wasn't happy that Abby was dead. But she couldn't help it. No, if she were given the option, she likely would never kill Abby. But she couldn't say that she wasn't happy that the bitch was dead.
Still, the implications of how she had died and the circumstances behind it, she had too many questions.
The demons…if they were actually real? What the hell did they want?
To kill Clarke next?
Why? What did they get out of that? Then again, they were demons. Who knew why they did what they did?
Clarke glanced at the digital clock on the shelf and her stomach fell even more.
It was getting close to her bedtime.
She knew that she'd have to sleep at some point. And well, she knew what came with sleep. Sleep paralysis. And what came with sleep paralysis? Them.
The demons.
She then thought about how they'd picked up her thoughts from her.
If they were real and they could read her mind? Then she was about to have a long argument with them later when they appeared to her again.
After she ate a light, late dinner, she went off to bed, preparing herself for the worst.
And the worst arrived soon.
They appeared, in droves as usual.
A big group of them, and they did as they wanted with her.
They stroked her thighs and breasts, squeezed them, licked at her inner thighs.
Clarke pushed through the pleasure that she was being hit with and forced the question out mentally, trying to ignore her fear, realizing now that there was a strong possibility that these demons actually existed and weren't just her hallucinating.
The mental question she asked was, (Did you kill Abby Griffin?)
The demons must have heard the question, because all of them stilled their actions.
Two of them; a man, who called himself Steve and a woman, who called herself Natasha, lifted their heads and they looked at her.
Natasha smiled, a look that was startlingly sad, from what Clarke could see of the expression in the limited light given to her by her nightlight and by the digital clock on her bedside table.
Natasha answered, "We did, Clarke. And we don't regret it. That woman hurt you. Threw you into an orphanage when you were fourteen, threw you away. We wanted to kill her for what she did to you. It was fun to do, too. It wasn't the first time we've killed for you, either. You might recall Bellamy and Octavia Blake? Not to mention John Murphy, Jasper Jordan, Nathan Miller, John Mbege, Raven Reyes, and the rest of those pathetic pieces of scum?"
Clarke felt like her heart might stop.
She remembered them, alright.
They were people that had bullied her for years at the orphanage.
Bellamy had aged out of the orphanage, because he was a few years older than her, and he had adopted his younger sister, Octavia.
But he would come by, seeming to "grace" his gang with his presence. And Murphy, Miller, Jasper, Mbege, and all the rest would eat it up like the parasites they were.
After she had aged out, she had left happily, even if there was a wound in her heart that would never heal over having never been adopted.
She couldn't get away from those disgusting shit-heads fast enough.
But what did they have to do with anything?
At the question that Clarke most likely was projecting subconsciously, Steve said, smirking, "Clarke, I would have thought it was clear what we did. Check the news in Santa Fe. After that piece of trash, Bellamy, left the orphanage in Los Angeles, he set up shop in New Mexico. And he recruited his old gang from the orphanage. And they all went there. We decided to get rid of them. Tomorrow? Check news articles from Santa Fe. That was two years ago."
Clarke was sure if she could, her eyes would have grown huge.
She had heard of something like that.
A fire.
In Santa Fe, New Mexico.
She had heard that several people had been trapped in a building and had burned to death. But the bodies hadn't been identified.
Or if they had? Clarke hadn't heard what the identities were.
She watched as the demons smiled widely, their eyes becoming that creepy reptilian green again and they lunged for her, violating her over and over again.
As one of the male demons, Tony, put his mouth on her, as she felt herself coming into his mouth, a thought fell through the pleasure, (why would you kill for me? I don't understand.)
Tony stopped licking along her clit, just for a moment, before chuckling and continuing.
Clarke heard Peggy asked, amusement in her voice, "Clarke, we are demons. And I would have thought it was clear why we're after you. Why we've been after you for years. Because we were drawn to you. We've wanted you since the moment we saw you. Demons often have mates. And sometimes? Demons have mates that are human. You are our mate, Clarke. We've known that since we saw you. But we weren't able to get closer. Until now."
Clarke's mind didn't understand this, couldn't understand this.
What the hell was going on?!
The demons which she had previously assumed to be only hallucinations, apparently were real enough to kill people that had hurt her in the past, including her own mother.
And they claimed that she was their mate.
Whatever that fucking meant.
Clearly hearing her confusion, one of the demons, Peggy, grinned and laughed, "Oh, our darling little girl, don't worry, we'll take care of everything."
Suddenly, through an invisible wave of some sort that went through the room, hitting Clarke, and before she knew it, she could move.
She gasped, hands suddenly unbound from where they were against the bed, her legs able to move.
She looked up at the demons and tried to scramble out from under them, but one of the demons, Frank, grabbed her arms and pinned her down to the bed, smirking, his small horns sticking up through the front of his dark hair.
"Sweet Clarke," Melina laughed, "We got rid of your sleep paralysis, only so that we could watch you move in the throes of pleasure as we take you over and over again."
Clarke struggled, but her strength was no match for the demons'.
"Don't worry, baby girl," Frank purred against Clarke's right ear as he leaned in close, "We'll take care of you."
Natasha purred out, "We are very capable of altering things. You may be human, Clarke. But we can change that. You will stay with us forever. And we will love and take care of you forever. We will give you everything. You will never need to worry about anything ever again. We know you were abandoned and never felt loved. But we will give you so much love. You will never be alone again, love. Just let us give you everything, sweet girl."
Clarke gasped out, "No…," but those mouths went to her throat and breasts and thighs, sucking and licking and nibbling.
Tony's mouth wrapped around her clit and sucked hard.
Clarke screamed and arched.
She heard a series of chuckles and Natasha leaned forward, her mouth capturing Clarke's in a deep kiss, sucking on Clarke's tongue as the demons who promised to give Clarke everything and had every intention of doing so, continued to suckle at and stimulate her.
The demons all over Clarke grinned as they licked and sucked. Clarke would be like them soon, they would make her immortal. Keep her safe forever. And they would give her everything. Everything that this world had been denied to Clarke.
Author's note
Please note, I don't know anything in detail about sleep paralysis. Don't take anything I've written as me presuming to know anything about it.
And the last name, "Carbone" gets used in my fics a lot. I just like that last name. Don't know why.