#All the memories I left on the Internet are gone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 1 year

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stay, at least for breakfast ✴︎ cl16

genre: angst, just. angst, fluff

word count: 9.2k

You love once and miss always.

notes... internet translated ita/fre, non linear format so might b a tad confusing but thats it

auds here... this fic is a tad long sry. many thanks to mack who recommended the most painful songs to me that got me through writing the last couple of scenes. ik i said i wasn’t sure when i’d release this but here it is :)

You’re the only person Pierre knows in New York, so you’re the first one he calls. You suggest you meet just at your place, so you can smoke more freely, because so many people complain about the smell these days. You stall. You say the L train is broken. You say you’re tied up with work at the firm. But Pierre sees through you and eventually you meet anyway.

He looks the same, and just seeing him reminds you of so much. Shadows and outlines of memories long gone. You try to keep up the pretense of being okay, to remember that truly, your mind has been elsewhere lately—off everything, off the memories, on work, on cases. You try not to bring him up, even if it’s inevitable that he arises; you keep conversation to a polite minimum.

Pierre offers a cigarette, a Camel light. You’re a fourth’s way through the stick.

“He asks about you, sometimes.” And then just like that, your world has ceased to turn.

“Oh?” A beat. “What do you say?”

“Just the usual. You’re working on this and that case for the law firm… you went to Greece in the summer.”

You and Pierre are still close, but it’s difficult to forget why. You two are connected by Charles, by a friendship so sacred it warranted a dinner for a Pierre-exclusive introduction. You’d grown close then, and when the breakup happened, it became hard for Pierre to maintain close contact with both of you.

Selfishly, you wanted him to see how broken you were, so he could report it all back to Charles, etch every last detail of your pain. But Pierre is more mature than he’s given credit for.

“Okay.” You say blankly, unsure of how to bridge a less tense topic.

Perhaps sensing the apprehension, Pierre does it instead. “Do you remember when we bought shaving cream and made Charles look like Santa?”

It was in here in Manhattan, you recall, when Charles had dragged Pierre along with him to visit you over winter, when he’d been dating you for nearly two years at the time. Your flat was just above a bodega that had a comical amount of cheap cans of shaving cream that you and Pierre had found so absolutely silly, birthing a series of Charles-related pranks. After your grocery run, you’d returned to your place, where your boyfriend was fast asleep, mouth half open.

Shh. Quiet, you’d said, spurting shaving cream along his chin, his jaw, laughing silently.

Pierre had followed suit until finally, a beard of Nivea Men bounded down to Charles’ torso. You’d snapped a picture; the shutter sound had woken him up to a red-faced you and Pierre.

He was a good sport about it, kissed you with laughter, so you, too, had a beard of froth. Pierre took a Polaroid with a gifted camera of you on Charles’ lap, arms entwined around his neck, both of you bubbly with the cream, cheeks achy with smiles and laughter. You pretend to forget where it is, to forget that it’s tucked in a box you open once in a while.

“I miss him sometimes, you know.” The confession rips through you, exacerbated by the cigarette.

“I know.” Says Pierre, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You realize maybe it is.

I still have so much love for him, you wish to say. But where will I put it? Will I keep this inside of me forever? A great, monstrous, shameful thing it is, to love somebody who’s left. But here I am doing it, trying to fill a void that feels like a crater. Where do I put this love? Maybe I can give it to somebody else, somebody new—but I’d say it’s not the same.

You think you’ll always hold a torch to Charles, even when the fire burns through the wood, ash trickling onto your arm until it hurts. And even then, when the light’s gone, when the flame’s wounded you and licked deep into your heart and bones, like it has now, you’ll linger, still holding this torch, still yearning, still unwanting to let go. Still loving. How desperate, you think. How human.

You clear your tobacco-flavoured throat. “It’s em—it’s embarrassing,” you say instead, throat closing up midway, in a futile attempt to water down your intense emotions. They threaten to crawl up your throat, force secrets out of you with the ease of ripping a piece of paper in half.

“Is it?” He asks, open-ended. “N’est-il pas honorable d'être si aimant?”

“Pas si ce n’est pas réciproque.” You scoff.

But he’s relentless, persistent in his pursuit to prove a point. “No. Love isn’t embarrassing, or pathetic, when it’s one-sided. It means more that way, when it’s not reciprocated. It means you’re selfless. It means the love is real.” He turns toward you, and in a billow of smoke, asks, “Does it not?”

You stare, left speechless. All you muster is: “Va te faire foutre.”

—

You exit the room at eight-thirty with your toothbrush still foaming in your mouth. You stretch your arms over your head, combing a hand through your bedhead. Your eyes are half-shut, and already you smell it before you see it.

Pausing in your tracks, you rub the sleep out of your eyes. “Charles?” You call out, still out of the kitchen’s view. You try to remember if he was in bed when you crawled out, but your mind was still cloudy then, and the desire to pee took precedence.

You turn toward the bedroom door. “Charles, come out here. I think something’s on fire in the kitchen. Babe!”

You speedwalk, concern taking over—you didn’t pay enough attention to fire drills in primary school, clearly. Once you peek into the kitchen, however, your concern is only exacerbated, but not nearly as much as the extreme confusion that begins to well up inside you. There, at your stove, is your boyfriend himself, clearly fully awake and conscious, and holding a frying pan in mid-air that’s billowing smoke.

Having heard your voice already, he feels your presence and turns slowly. His gaze blinks from the pan in his grip to your totally incredulous stare.

“I can…” He pauses. “I’ll try to explain.”

“Very smart save, babe,” you say, but it’s muffled by your toothbrush.

“You sound stupid,” he retorts.

You remove the toothbrush and try to speak as coherently as you can through the spearmint foam. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be giving me criticism right now.”

“Fair,” he says, flitting his gaze over to where he holds the frying pan in mid-air. “I will explain as soon as you rinse your mouth. I promise.” You narrow your eyes, wondering if maybe this is another tactic to get himself out of trouble, but you figure it makes sense. If you’re going to scold him, might as well not spray toothpaste everywhere.

You grab your phone on your way back, where the disarray has not subsided in the least. He’s wearing your kiss the chef apron, stained with grease and pancake batter, both vital ingredients to bacon and flapjacks, neither of which are to be seen anywhere.

“What’s going on, Charles?”

“I wanted to cook you a surprise breakfast. But I can’t get the stove right.”

“Tu es fou.” You laugh, inspecting the smoke-scented pan. “Pourquoi n'avez-vous pas simplement pris à emporter?”

“Je voulais être pensif!” He defends, pouting. “Sorry. I’ll clean up the mess.” He deposits a batch of dishes at the sink as you watch in amusement. Your boyfriend is usually a good cook, you’ll say—he makes a mean stack of pancakes, and anybody can cook bacon, really. You suppose this is all just one honest mistake, born from a desire to surprise you on this morning.

He’s scrubbing at the pan when you wrap your arms around him in a backhug. “Thank you anyway. You’re the sweetest, Charles.”

He turns, a bubble of dish soap on the tip of his nose and hums. “Does this get me boyfriend points?”

“Alright, Jesus, a hundred of them.” You smile fondly, meeting his lips in a soft kiss. He makes you toast as compensation, takes the time to cut the crusts off the bread and the pulp out of the orange juice and the big bits out of the jam. He does his best, perfecting the art of toast and breakfast and, by extension, making you happy.

—

“Un amaretto sour, une bouteille de rose et un dirty martini,” you order smilingly in smooth, sure French.

The waiter nods and after thanks are exchanged, he leaves your table alone. In your limited knowledge of Paris, you’ve chalked it up to a few things: many people will be rude, the serving sizes will be petite, and the men will be anything but trustworthy. You’ve tried them before and they all go the same way, slipping out of hotel rooms with disarming desolés, buttoning their polos as they go.

So here you are, characteristically silent, because your friend is flirting with a guy and you refuse to do the same.

“You speak French?” The guy across you asks curiously. He talks like he’s always smiling, eyes turning into half-crescents. He’s accented, but you’re unsure of the origin—it sounds French, in the same way it kind of doesn’t. You nod politely.

“Ah? Où est-ce que vous l'avez appris?”

“Université,” you respond. “J’ai etudie le langue français, mais… est trés difficil.” He laughs, nodding like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world. Half-crescents.

“I’m Charles. I grew up—I’m from Monaco, so I speak it. And Italian. Joris and I.” He elbows his friend, who your friend is flirting with. Oh, Monaco. So… not French.

“I’ve never been,” you say, letting yourself loosen up a bit more.

“It’s very small. You should go sometime.” An implication of something hangs in the air, like clouds over France. You smile, bashful, nodding along.

“I’ll make sure to.” The drinks arrive and flow through the night, laughter passed along the table like wine. At some point you and Charles get up to dance, but are quickly put to your chairs by the waiter—you mutter some slurred remark about how why play music if you can’t dance?!

But he is funny, and charming, and pretty. You find yourself staring at him in a very desperate, schoolgirl crush way, lip bitten and cheeks warm when he catches you.

Later that night, tipsy off the alcohol, Charles the Monegasque presses a kiss to your cheek and asks, shyly, if you’d like to come to his hotel. You tease him, just to see the half-crescents again, and then you’re in his car and in his room, top pulled off and bra unclasped, laughing drunkenly into his neck when the pleasure reaches its crux. And you hope he doesn’t ask you to leave the next day, drifting into sleep with his arm slung over your waist.

—

You like Charles’ voice in real life.

This is because it means you feel it more than hear it, a low thrum through his chest and into your ear. It lets you know he’s close by, which is the best kind of reassurance, because he never usually is. It doesn’t matter what he talks about—the day past or about to begin, racing, family—all you can really digest is the amount of love and care he puts into his words.

Most of the time you hear his voice through the layered, stuffy audio of your phone or your laptop, when they can’t quite catch up to his lips, when the Internet lag is just that awful. If you’re lucky, he sounds more like himself, but nothing compares to hearing it for real, the whispers and murmurs and roughness of it all. He’s here, and you’re home, content just to listen.

You’re in Monaco; it’s your fourth day here. You’re off school for two weeks before you dive into midterms, so you spend it in Europe, because you haven’t seen Charles in ages. Lately he’s been pixels, voice memos, bubbles of words. But now he’s Charles, real, tangible, yours.

Life has become easier when he’s around, a fact wholly owed to his presence. When he’s here, you feel at ease, like laughter is effortless and loving is natural. But there is a ticking timebomb you sleep on, and it’s your impending departure, your flight back to the city, your resuming of normal life. Of life without him.

“I’ll be in Geneva next week,” he tells you, voice throaty from having just woken up. They’re the first words out of his mouth after he hangs up the early morning phone with Andrea. It’s an invite, even if it’s phrased as a statement; he awaits your affirmation, should it come. He invites you to these things often, as a way to introduce you more into his world. The words rumble through him, slowly onto your fingertips that waltz silently across his bare chest. They skate while you formulate a response.

“Okay,” you say quietly, half-asleep still. “I have… a huge recitation coming up, so I don’t think I can make it. Criminal law.”

He tenses, and you feel it. But his words say something else. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wish I could,” you say, as compensation. It’s what you’ve both grown used to lately, wishing. Wishes that, for all your trying, never seem to come true. I wish I could make it. I wish I could visit. I wish we could celebrate together. I wish I was there for the podium, or the grades release, or the job offer phone call. I wish, I wish, I wish, and not much of anything else. Just wishing. Wishing, wanting, never getting.

“Yeah,” he says, sighing. “I wish you could, too.”

The dissonance between the voice that rumbles through him and into you—comforting—and the words that leave—a touch too sharp—strikes through you like electricity. “I’m sorry,” you say achingly, and the morning is silent as you both fall back into ignorant, blissful sleep.

—

“Aaaaand that pretty much evens us out to a solid 12-3.”

You finish tracking the score on your Notes app, closing your phone and facing your boyfriend’s pouting face of defeat.

As always, the loser packs up the chessboard first—the wooden pieces click noisily against each other as he folds up the game, to be won (by you, no doubt) another time. Between work and the general upkeep of a relationship that’s constantly long distance, you and Charles find it difficult to begin and maintain romantic traditions.

But there’s always the assurance of chess. To air out grievances, to pass the time, to play footsie under the table. You and Charles always play, keeping a seasonal tally of near-daily games—during flights, pre and post race, after sex, at brunches with family.

“You’ve been cheating,” he accuses jokingly, storing the chessboard and inviting you onto his lap.

You’re in Nice today, housesitting for a friend while Charles spends time off racing. He claims it’s sufficient practice for when you one day buy a place together; two, at that: one in New York and one in Monaco. The days have passed in chess games, pots of coffee, and slow dances in the kitchen while you wait for pasta to boil or rice to cook.

“You’re just jealous,” you tease, clambering atop him. Your arms loop around his neck, his around your waist. “Don’t worry. The tally will restart in September.”

“I’ll best you then.” Here, in this still moment of silence, where the sunlight from outside filters in just right and illuminates every detail of Charles’ face, you can almost feel your heart swell to an unimaginable size. You connect the moles and freckles with the tip of your pinky, traveling lower until it rests softly against his lips. He smiles, flexing against your touch.

“Sore loser,” you say, flirtatious, playing with his hair.

“I think I keep losing,” he starts, hands tightening around your frame, “because every time I see you, I forget how to do the most ordinary things.”

You bite back a smile. “Hey, don’t try to charm yourself into a win.”

“Can’t help it, the winner’s too pretty,” he teases back; your lack of retort leads you to press your face into his chest. He smells like he always smells, clean and woody and a bit like your own perfume, your pretty boy. You inhale, breathe him in and ground yourself. Here, miles away from Monaco, even farther from Manhattan, you are home.

—

“How do you tell people you broke up?”

“I say we wanted different things,” you reply, two puffs into your second Camel.

A white lie, a half-truth, a rehearsed answer after being asked the same repetitive question so many times. You and Charles broke up because at that point, nothing about you made sense. You were growing older, and with age came the stupefying realization that nonsense wasn’t always romantic. If it didn’t make sense, it never would. But you did want the same things, you suppose, at least to some extent.

You know you wanted marriage. After law school, it had to be, and in Europe, somewhere sunny and windy and flowery with a sea nearby. A small affair, family and friends. You know you wanted kids, two or three, a bunch of Charles lookalikes, tufts of light hair and bouts of crazy energy. You know you wanted a house—not a flat, a house, a brownstone in Manhattan, a big property in Monaco. You wanted so much of the same things.

Perhaps that is why Pierre will never understand the magnitude of the way you miss Charles. You dream of him when you’re awake, of the times you spent together that finished abruptly. You look for him in everyday objects. You keep the tissue paper conversations, you want to say, even if it’s so, so mortifying, so raw to admit it.

“But you didn’t,” says Pierre, because he knows it.

“We didn’t. But what other explanation is there?” Where a concrete summary of your breakup is supposed to be, there lies grey matter, webs of explanation spanning years and months and questions unanswered.

“I get it,” he replies. But he’s not you, or Charles, so he doesn’t.

—

Charles looks at you and imagines your smiling face in every moment of his future. Holding a child, under a veil, half-asleep in the morning, flushed and warm after a few beers.

You’re—you’re you, and he just loves you, in a way he will never be able to articulate. He drives for a living—he looks at all kinds of statistics, worded and encoded onto machines and computer screens. But this love isn’t quantifiable. Not in numbers, not in speed, not in words, stanzas of Italian. His love for you is indescribable; it exists in a wordless plane, massive and all-encompassing, carved and chiseled finely.

When you’re absent, the world seems duller, a bit more empty. But it’s okay, he thinks—you’re here now, across the room, in nothing but lingerie, your dress pooled at your feet. You’ve both just arrived from another social gathering, with so many people, and an afterparty arranged by Max.

You’d utilized your well-used secret signal for parties that directly translated to “let’s go home”—bringing up peanut butter meant you were well past exhausted and needed to leave. One “the dessert would’ve been so good with peanut butter” later and you’re here. Years of being together means you’ve both created a vocabulary all your own, lexicon and phonetics making up a language of love and familiarity. Nobody else will ever get this, he thinks. It’s just yours.

You’re removing your makeup in the mirror, and oh, well, you’re beautiful. He wonders what he has to do now to be able to find you in the next life, to be able to meet your eyes again for the first time and fall in love with you the way he did.

You’re what he looks for after a race, after a win, after a DNF. So he can, if just for a moment, let his guard down and allow himself to be yours, yours and only yours, collapse into your arms from ache and overwhelm and find reprieve there. With you, he lets himself go, lets the façade fall, lets himself stay in your touch before he deems himself ready to be with the rest of the world.

“Hey, you,” you call, and he blinks. “Eyes up here, buddy.”

“I just love you,” he says sleepily.

You tug on a nightshirt—his, from ages ago—and crawl into bed beside him, raising a teasing brow. “Sex is off the table.”

He laughs. “I wasn’t trying to get into your pants.”

“Good,” you half-yawn, yanking the lamplight closed and nestling yourself beside him. “I look horribly un-sexy.”

“The shirt’s kinda doing it for me.”

“Go to sleep.”

—

It’s raining today, for the first time in a dull stretch of weeks. The fall comes in angry, noisy sheets, made more furious by the wind. Wrapped in one of his hoodies, you clasp a mug in your hands, staring sullenly out the window, wondering when Charles will be home. Something has shifted in the weeks since you last saw each other, since you flew back out to New York and Charles didn’t finish in the last race.

Sometimes everything feels impossible to touch, like you don’t know what the next step is, let alone how to take it. There’s a certain uncertainty to where you stand, a possibility that, if the seconds tick just right, everything will crash down. This isn’t a feeling you’ve ever had before, but you suppose this is the only way to learn how to deal with it.

It’s comforting, then, when you hear the keys jingle at the door.

Your flat, as expensive as it is, has a quirk to it; the door only opens when you jerk it with your knee twice. You hear it, the double thump, and in almost childish excitement, you set your mug down and pad gently over to the foyer, so you’re ready for him when the door opens. Everytime you’re apart for this long, the routine is standard, and first thing you do is hug—so hard, so tight, your legs wrapped around his waist, his face in your neck.

“Hey,” Charles says, seeing you wait idly by the front door. You inch forward, but freeze. He heaves his luggage in, smiling softly, tiredly almost, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek and then disappears into the bedroom. The lump in your throat doesn’t go away when you slowly realize the hug you’d awaited, prepared for even, does not come.

You follow him instead, to the bedroom, where he’s still quiet, shirtless and picking out something from the drawers. He turns when he hears you. “Have you seen my grey hoodie?”

“Yeah, it’s in the wash.” You pause. “I used it last week, sorry.”

“I tol—it’s,” he says, inhaling, “it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, taken aback by how affected he is. “I can get it dried.”

“It’s okay.” He insists, a bit sharply, tugging on a different shirt instead.

The air is thick, threatening to break, and you’re hopeless, lost, left wondering—what the hell is going on. You try your best anyway, humming as you take a seat on the bed and fold the bits of laundry you’d abandoned in the morning.

“Pascale’s inviting us over tomorrow,” you open, finishing a pair of shorts and depositing them into the drawers. Your arms wrap around him, and he holds them there. This is good, you think. This is okay. “For brunch, because Arthur’s going to be home. I told her okay—since I’m back in New York by Tuesday and you’ll be in Italy then, too. We haven’t had brunch with your family in forever. God, they’re going to be asking questions about marriage, and engagement, and ki—”

“Stop.” The room goes still. “Why did you tell her okay?” He asks, disengaging the hug and turning toward you fully.

You’re like a deer in the headlights, confused, lost all over again.

“Charles?” You prod, gently. “Is… are you okay? I mean, we always greenlight brunch.”

You watch him pinch his nose bridge, exhale, close his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You echo, stepping forward. He steps back, avoidant.

“Don’t,” he says. “Please, just… don’t.”

You’ve heard this often lately. In fact, no—you’ve maybe felt this more than heard it. This—this distance, this space, this push. Every call unanswered, every flight missed, every text answered with a brief, apathetic OK. You can’t quell the fear, the panic swelling in your chest, because you can feel him floating away, just out of grasp.

“Talk to me,” you say, because it’s the only thing that can bring itself to leave your mouth. It’s weak, it’s desperate, lacking composure and firmness. “Nous pouvons travailler à travers cela.”

“Non,” he says, as if he knows it already. “This, I—I just. I think I just need some space.”

Space.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll be in the living room.”

“No, I’ll go,” he insists, like he’s doing you a favor. I’ll save us the nasty fight, he seems to convey. I’ll go. So he does—grabs a coat and wrestles himself out of the door, with barely anything left to reassure you, just a short kiss and a hand on your hair. It’s performative, you know this, but you’ll take it. You don’t have much to accept these days.

The night passes, still and quiet, without the jingle of keys or the double thump at the door.

Even in memory and introspection you will come to find this moment and remain capable of recounting every thread of detail, ones as small as the eyes of needles, every prick of pain that pokes at you. Because even if you see him the day next, and even if he greets you with a kiss, and pulls you aside to apologize profusely, and even if you feel so loved in this very moment, with hugs from Pascale and jokes from Arthur and check-ins with Lorenzo, the fact has secured, burrowed itself into the dark crevice of your heart.

You will look back on this one day, and think, with the kind of certainty so crushingly absolute: yes, this is when it all went wrong.

—

“Is he seeing anybody?” Halfway through the third stick.

“No,” Pierre says, blowing smoke out into the air.

“Be honest.”

He snorts. “D’accord. An Italian girl, few months ago, but it’s over. It was quick. Very. And you?”

The information makes you weak in ways you refuse to share. “Just… testing things out with this guy.”

“Does he know about Charles?”

The silence is telling. “About Charles” is an awfully broad topic.

Charles was such a big part of who you are, and who you’ve been, and what you’ve been through. How would you even begin telling somebody about you both? The bits and pieces, the great figure eight, the tiny infinity. The moments within the moments, memories within memories. The love. The way you loved, the way you sought him, the way you have yet to replicate the feeling of loving him, the way you wait for the next life, so you can seek him all over again.

There is “does he know Charles,” and there is “does he know about Charles,” and the two are so cruelly separate and different. Anyone can know Charles; he is, after all, world-famous. You don’t know how he’s doing in motorsport these days, because a lot of the time the Google search for his name suggests ex girlfriend right beside it, and that’s enough to stun you into not searching again. But still he’s famous and renowned, so of course he’d be known. But for someone to know about him, what he meant to you—it feels like you’d be reciting a novel in an effort to explain how the both of you began, became, and ended. Reciting sonnets and stanzas of prose, of moments painfully intimate, of habits that have yet to die, of things you wished to be taught by him.

“So, no.” You nod softly.

—

The possibility of spending Christmas with either of your families grows thin as December begins. Between final exams and racing meetings, neither of you give, discussing over hours-long calls and coordinating calendars. You find that your only common free day is the seventh of January, which is effectively well past the holidays. You’ve sunk into a pile of misery at the very real chance of spending the holidays by yourself. It’s not a pretty idea, despite the fact that you’ve befriended loneliness lately.

Outside your window, Manhattan is caked in snow; it reminds you of Santa Claus Charles, with his foamy frizzy beard and kisses of froth and the Polaroid on the fridge. You wonder if Charles, wherever he is in Europe now—traveling multiple times a day—remembers you, too, in these little mundane things.

He’d called on the third of December, when it was three in the morning in New York. You picked up after two rings, busy studying, and mumbled a sleepy hello into the receiver.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, clearly excited over something.

“Bit early, honey.” You’d said back amusedly, highlighting phrases on the textbook.

“Just saying it now, because the next time you hear me say these words, it’ll be in New York.”

You didn’t register his words until you realized you’d tinted two entire paragraphs fluorescent yellow.

You blinked. “Wait, what’d you say?”

“I’m there by the twenty-fifth, evening. Found a sweet spot in my calendar thanks to Joris.”

“If you’re joking, Charles, I swear—”

“I’ll see you then,” he had said; even then you could hear his smile through the scratchy audio of international calls.

That’s what you’re doing here, over your stove cooking chicken to commemorate your first Christmas together. You stick a thermometer inside it, busying your mind with thoughts of dinner instead of the fact that you haven’t spoken to your supposed guest in over a week.

Like many fights lately, this began over something irrational and grew into a serious, temperamental discussion about your future.

About moving in together and how impossible it seemed. About raising kids or getting engaged. Everything was written on different pages for the two of you. Your plans were always years too early, years too late, never aligning. Bilingual paragraphs eventually devolved into exhausted intermittent texts, check-ins if it mattered, and barely any concrete discussion at all.

It’s mortifying to have to say the phrases “like many fights lately.” You wonder what it proves about the two of you, about the relationship you share. Has it gone sour? No, you tell yourself. But this yogurt dip will, if I don’t put it in the fridge. You wipe your hands off after you do, rechecking your phone; still no texts or calls or updates. He’d texted this morning, a brief and simple see you soon, but hadn’t responded to your text.

Chicken, mashed potatoes, candles ready to be lit. You fiddle with the pink Bic, lighting and unlighting, sighing.

You dial the airline eventually. They man both public and private flights, so they should know something about his jet. Something, anything—any tidbit of information is useful to you right now. You’re embarrassed, alone on Christmas in a dress you thought was beautiful hours ago but now only seems over the top and mocking. A woman picks up your call after it’s transferred thrice.

I just need to know the ETA of this flight, you say. Under Charles Leclerc. He gave me the flight code.

Silence. You hear the bustle of the airport on the other end and wonder if Charles is there in that bustle, in his puffer jacket he uses in the winter, holding a suitcase and waiting for the delayed plane. Or maybe he’s already here in your timezone, in a cab bumbling with excitement, or in the elevator, or right outside, fist posed in front of the door—

A snowstorm, she says, her voice tinny through the phone. The pity in her voice makes you want to smash the landline to pieces. So sorry. If you’d gotten your husband to book just two days earlier, you two would’ve been together. Why don’t you call him, sweetie?

She is right about the unsolicited booking advice, wrong about the title. Charles is not your husband. You hang up after mumbling something you can no longer remember, too exhausted to be rude or polite at this point, and turn to face your dining room. Your texts go unanswered, and in your earlier effort to save energy, the lack of heating has caused your phone screen to grow cold to the touch. The roast chicken is getting cold now, too, the mashed potatoes cool, the sourdough stale, the butter melted into ugly coagulated puddles, the wine sweating all over the table.

You eat two bites before depositing a clean plate at the sink. The flat smells of pine and citrus; it’s stronger because you’re by yourself, with no Charles to cloud the room with his own scent. Your phone remains silent, your heart drowning slowly in a cloud of imprecise sorrow. And you realize, remembering the airline officer’s words as you unplug the lights from the Christmas tree and let the moonlight swallow the room, that Charles is not your boyfriend, either.

He texts the morning next, says he’ll make it on the next flight, twenty-six. He doesn’t apologize and you unwrap presents alone, from friends, shipped from family. You wallow in your loneliness, humiliated by your need for him, a need that is met only on the seventh of January.

—

“Are you and Charles okay?”

Lorenzo is always the first to ask. He’s intuitive, and you think maybe it comes with age, but damn if it isn’t infuriating when he knows something is up before anyone else. You purse your lips, hope your laugh is a good enough substitute for an answer.

“Are you?” Obviously, it’s not.

“We’re… we’re just working through things.” You’ve had two glasses of bourbon, and your eyesight is blurring the way your words do. You’re in a big Manhattan ballroom, just several floors underneath your hotel room. Charles is somewhere socializing, because of course he is, and you can’t take your mind off school, because of course you can’t.

“But you’re good, right?” He sounds hopeful, like your answer is the only thing that can convince him. Does he think you aren’t? What has Charles been telling him? Your breathing quickens, grows frantic.

“Yeah.” It convinces nobody, not even yourself. He nods, smart enough to drop the subject, and you’re alone again. This is the umpteenth gala you’ve been to this week alone, all for something or other along racing. You grow used to the faces, the introductions, the gentle nos when asked if you two are engaged, because why would you be? It’s a farfetched idea, engagement.

The bathroom is half-full when you usher yourself inside in your gown, almost tripping with how fast you try to make it to the mirrors. There are two middle-aged women beside you lazily drawing lipstick onto their faces, their French accents thick as they converse.

“…So I decided to divorce him.”

You stare deep into the mirror. You look like a caricature of yourself, a puppet. Where is Charles? He overestimates your capability to be alone.

The other woman goes, “I can’t believe he didn’t see it coming.”

“I know! You’d think he would notice, no? Bah, men.”

“You’d felt it for a while then, too.”

“Tch, I really did. Just goes to show.”

Before you digest it, you’re turning and intrusively asking: “How did you know you wanted to divorce him?”

They exchange a look that’s as condescending as it is patronizing. Here you are, a naive twenty-something asking for relationship advice like you’re some know-it-all. You feel like a child suddenly, meek and curling in on yourself. Answer me, you want to say, tell me how it feels, tell me how you knew. You look petulant.

“Well,” she says, eyes meeting yours as she closes the tube of lipstick, “sometimes, dear, you just know.” It clicks closed.

“Yes,” says the other. “You just know. When you wake up one day and you feel it, that’s just it.”

Bullshit. Easy answer. You won’t know, you want to say.

No matter how stupid, how cliché, it sounds, you’ll never know this feeling. This feeling of nonchalance over a relationship lost, of laughter over unsuccessful love, of casually coloring the same lips that talk so abrasively of a lover. Because you have Charles, and Charles has you, and what else is there to know?

The rest are candles on a cake, kisses under a blanket, orange juice served over toast, arguments that end with compromise and a hug. The rest is love. These two know nothing about it. They know hurt and heartbreak and denial. They know nothing but this sad, sad feeling.

It must be sad to know, you think, even if the exact suffocating feeling crawls up your spine and wraps around your throat on the elevator ride back to the room.

—

This is boring

You scan over the scribbled phrase on the embossed, no doubt above asking price, tissue paper given at this (granted, boring) charity ball. Stifling a laugh, you fish a pen out of your purse, rereading the words and judging your outgoing response. In neater penmanship, you quickly write a message below it.

OK let’s end things.

He laughs when he reads it, eyes crinkling into half-crescents, mouth in a wide, silent smile. He mulls over a response and when you get it—

No goodbye sex? Quelle poisse. You giggle, rolling your eyes and squeezing his hand underneath the table, putting your little game on pause lest you get in trouble for not listening to the speaker onstage. This kind of lovely, comedic push and pull is what keeps you always entertained with Charles; he always, without fail, manages to make you laugh. Your easy, instant, but equally profound connection to one another constantly has you revisiting the idea of soulmates, of destiny.

Prior to meeting, your and Charles’ lives were barely entwined. You were a law student in America, Charles a racing driver based in Europe. A year ago, to the date, you’d been in Paris on vacation, when a friend invited you out to get drinks somewhere along the Seine. You had three case studies waiting on your laptop, but something tugged at you to accept the invite.

Had you not been up for drinks in Paris that night, for instance—you’d never have met. And the drinks wouldn’t have been suggested in the first place if Charles got home from a meeting early, expressing boredom over the phone to Joris, who relayed it to the girl he was currently flirting with, who relayed it to you. You would never have talked if you didn’t order cocktails in French, prompting him to ask where you learned the language.

And if you hadn’t, in a haze of rosé and amaretto sours, accepted the handsome guy’s invite back to his hotel—where would you be now? The series of little things make up where you are now.

“Je t’aime,” he whispers into your hair.

But, then again, Charles has never felt like a stranger. You’re so sure that if you’d declined, or if Charles’ meeting ended on time, or if Joris was single, or if you ordered in meek English instead, you’d still be here, laughing over irrelevant tissue paper conversations, holding Charles’ hand under the table.

“Moi aussi,” you murmur. So sure.

—

God is the best scapegoat.

You first realize this when you’re ten and your favorite necklace snaps in half. You’d been running around, you moved too fast, it stuck on a branch, and became forever unfixable. You’d skipped on the usual nightly prayers as some sort of petulant, rebellious counterattack. You’re fifteen when you’re friendzoned, a first for you. You convince yourself it’s God playing tricks on you. You’re sixteen when you get an F for skipping class too often; you tweet God wtf is happening to me and you giddily watch it get thirteen likes. You’re not alone in this revolt, you think. You’re seventeen and a half when you lose your virginity; it sucks. You’re on top and you learn the art of faking. So you lay on your bed and bemoan Him for the misleading introduction to sex.

It becomes easy to blame God, moreso than usual, when the matter is one of life and death and danger. Being with Charles puts you in this position often. You curse God when something happens during a race that causes your heart to snag in itself and skip a beat or go five times faster. Inversely, it’s dreadfully difficult for you, innately unreligious, to pay thanks to God. Charles knows this, and is always the first to say “thank God” when a race goes well.

You throw around the phrase a few times, but it’s rare. Most, many, all times—it’s “oh, thank fuck” or “I’m so happy you’re safe.” It’s almost like you actively avoid the phrase, so whenever you say it, Charles is momentarily stunned; sometimes it’s after a particularly nasty circuit, or a rainy race day when you physically cannot withstand the stress of watching the love of your life drive fast under such bad conditions.

You have nothing to thank God for.

The hotel room is thin-walled and cold. Just last night you’d been tangled into each other for warmth, but now you’re throwing your suitcase onto the same bed and shoving laundry inside. No folding. No organizing. You make quick, messy work of it to avoid the conversation Charles so desperately tries to coerce out of both of you. The chessboard from last night’s game—5-7—lies abandoned, folded up at the foot of the bed. You ignore it.

“I’m sorry I left you alone,” he says, lazy almost. He seems to say oh, fine. If you need me to say sorry I’ll say it, here.

“You don’t understand.” You say, cutting phrases short to avoid saying anything you’d rather harbor inside yourself.

“Then enlighten me,” he shoots back. “Please, really. Dis moi tout.” He sounds sarcastic.

“I don’t fit here,” you respond cuttingly. If he chooses to be sarcastic, you think—then be it. You’ll be blunt. You’ll exaggerate. You’ll be impulsive, if for once in your life, you have to be.

“Here, in your life.” You clutch a shirt to your chest. “We don’t make sense. We never did, and you know what? We never will. I honestly don’t know why we keep trying. It’s pointless to believe this could ever work. In between our careers, friends, and schedules, it takes more work for us to see each other for just a day than to push a fucking rock uphill. Ç’est inutile et tu le sais—tout ce travail pour rien.”

Your words sting, join the draft leaving through the crack in the window, turn into dew that stains the vines of the hotel exterior. The ones about to leave his mouth, though, stay put, cement themselves in the grooves of your brain. You’ll think of this exchange years from now, and the words will never blur, sore on your tender heart.

A pregnant silence follows your soliloquy, prompting you to look up and meet his eyes. He says it then. “Pourquoi se disputer pour rien? Let’s just end things.”

“Fine, let’s just end things.” You repeat. Struck, hurt, and angry, you say one last thing, in a valiant attempt to get the last word in. “Thank God.”

The seconds tick by like days, where you look at one another, thinking the same thing. So that’s it? When did it all turn to this? You push past him, bearing your suitcase and messily wiping your face of tears, pretending not to notice the hitch in his voice when he mumbles a quiet goodbye.

Your steps to the elevator tick by like hours, and you take the time to think of how you’d lived much of your relationship thinking that, with how strong your and Charles’ personalities are, a breakup would be messy. Loud. A yelled out fight, tears, thrown curses and hurtful names. You’d always thought, with much conviction, that you would end with a bang.

Many previous fights had gone something like that. There was Thanksgiving, where you ushered him out of your family home to avoid anything escalating into a yelling match. Bang.

There was post-race, where, in the throes of frustration, you two had a heated exchange and you left the paddock in tears. Bang.

There was nothing, however, that couldn’t be solved without a shag and a kiss and an apology. So, reasonably, you expected the final fight to be the loudest. The angriest. This relationship, you were so sure—this would end in a bang. Because you and Charles love the same way: strongly, with so much conviction and noise, and the line between love and spite is more frail than you think. A great big bang, where finally you collided in ways you’d never done before, every frustration, every complaint, thrown back and forth like comets, like war.

But you are wrong. It doesn’t.

It ends with you softly sighing, arms crossed over your torso to shield yourself from the ache in your chest, tears slipping then falling unstoppingly in the elevator. It ends with a night’s sleep taking up one side of the bed. It ends with Charles deceiving himself into thinking you didn’t just thank the Lord that your relationship has just crumbled to nothing in the bounds of this thin-walled, cold hotel room.

—

“Say something to me,” you say quietly, like you’re afraid to disturb the still morning silence of Paris. “In Italian.”

It’s a corny, cheesy request, no doubt inflamed by the butterflies in your stomach when you think about the night before and one romantic comedy too many. But you ask for it, anyway, your leg bumping his under the too-thin cotton blanket of his hotel. You found yourself here this morning after a night of sweet French alcohol and slurred, flirty conversation.

“Assomigli al resto della mia vita.” He says, smiling.

“Okay. What’s it mean?”

“I won’t translate it for you, because it’s a bit cliché.” He narrows his eyes.

“All of European language is cliché.” You laugh. “Come on, tell me.”

“I will one day,” he says, “I promise. I swear!”

The promise of “one day” is upsettingly romantic. Barely a day after you first met, first bonded, first kissed, first had sex. Okay, fine, you two hadn’t really gone the traditional route of dating, but here he is waxing poetic in Italian, finger tracing your bare arm. “One day,” you say, just so you’re sure.

“Yeah. One day.”

His hand finds yours, and fingers are laced together. Words wrestle themselves out of your throat nervously, a question that might seal the morning. “Should I go?”

The question rests in the air. How do you want your eggs, he wants to ask. Or would you want pancakes or waffles or bacon? Or bread, a croissant with coffee and compote? He wants to know all these things, hear all your answers, watch your eyes twinkle with amusement at the silly questions. So he’ll ask them, he figures. He’ll ask them if you don’t go.

“Stay,” he says. “At least for breakfast.”

—

Pierre leaves after a few more hours. He says Yuki texted him about some Mexican place they need to try. The night next, he is brought up in conversation: “Who were you with last night?”

“A friend,” you explain. “He’s an old friend, Henry.”

Henry Maxwell, the Wall Street guy you’re seeing, who’s inviting you to a charity ball a month into dating. To you, that’s basically a sign to end things, but you allow him to explain his invitation. Babe, don’t you think networking in New York is a gold mine for everything great these days? Don’t you think we need to network if we ever move in together?

“Henry, n—I mean. It’s just going to be another one of those stuffy city galas where everyone tries to out-wealthy one another,” you half-joke. In truth, the reason why you’re so adamant on not going is because this is just about the worst first date idea ever conceived—from experience, you’re sure you’ll have barely any time alone to get to know each other, whisked away to socialize with groups of other people.

“Oh, lighten up,” says Henry, with a sheepish smile. “You’re my plus one on the RSVP, so you can’t complain.”

“Am I?” You ask, chuckling. It’s a bit weird. But he’s excited, and asking, and convincing, so you tug a green silk dress out of your closet and take an Uber to the hotel address. Nevermind the fact that you’ve been here before.

You squeeze Henry’s hand when you walk into the massive ballroom, and not five minutes later you’re facing a crowd of people, drowning in taffeta skirts and wool suits and champagne and snooty small talk. Henry is charming, Henry is kind, Henry is a smooth talker.

He’s the ideal prototype of a guy you should be dating right now. His hand never leaves the small of your back, playing with the satin of your dress, laughing into your neck. You’ve faced several groups of business magnates and supermodels; right now, he’s introducing you to a big journalist for the Post.

She’s in the middle of talking about some hippie retreat to Thailand or somewhere or other when your eyes glide across the room, bored, searching for something to occupy you. To be frank, you really don’t care about ayahuasca.

The hands on the clock seem to halt just for you, just for now, suspending this moment in time like a mosquito in amber. Your eyes meet—and if you’d been less careful or maybe more tipsy, you might have mistaken his gaze for a stranger’s. But your heart demands hurt, demands the memories, demands the sick, sweet nostalgia threading through you like needle to cloth. Your heart demands you to remember, but the demand is so painfully easy to obey because you’ve never forgotten. All at once hate and love arise in you, like great big waves conflicting against one another, until you feel swollen with longing and spite, finding reprieve in the green of his eyes.

Timing, destiny, God. Whatever it is, it’s decided to play some silly joke, because here you are. In the precarious balance of a memory and a figment of your imagination, here you are. In the gap between never and always, here you are. You might appear to be strangers, stranded across opposite ends of this marble ballroom, but to both of you, the idea is almost unfathomable. No, not strangers; you two are anything but.

You are you, and he is Charles, here again in the place where it all ended.

He is never a stranger, and he could never be. He is Charles, your Charles, the beautiful boy who took up years of your life and explored every inch of your heart and mind. He is Charles, who broke your heart, he is Charles, whose heart you broke. But now, he is just Charles Leclerc, racing driver and charity gala attendee, conversing with the same crowds, mingling as he always does. Did. The usage of past tense is a painful pill to swallow.

Charles feels like it’s torture, suffering, a slow punishment, to be rooted to the ground and to do nothing but look. How can he look away now? He is rooted to the tiles, thick vines keeping him here, even if his heart tells him to go, run, now. He is stuck, tacked by the stillness of the memories that play back through his head, the love and the sorrow. You’re still you, hair a little shorter, brows a little darker, but you’re still you. The you he had once, held once, loved and lost once. The you he wishes to have, hold, and love once again.

For a moment, a fleeting, short, moment, he wishes to blink, to nod and to signal for you to meet him outside, on the balcony, so he can straighten his tie and press a polite hand to this person’s shoulder and say excuse me and leave, slip quietly into the night. So maybe you can tug on Henry’s suit jacket and say I’m sorry and join the crowd of gowns and satin and leave, run, go. Because you’re you. And what a sweet lie it would be if he said he wouldn’t do anything for you.

In the end you stay, and you stare, rooted still, time moving the way grass grows. When he smiles, you smile back, and the answers to what if are quietly fabricated in the limits of your imagination.

—

“I miss you. I know it’s—I know this is weird to say, after so long. After not talking for such a long time.”

“No, I understand. I miss you, too.”

“Right… well, how have you been?”

“Same old. You?”

“Yeah, same. How’s everything?”

“It’s… it’s okay. How’s life?”

“Tough, but great.”

“I noticed you were with someone.”

“Yeah, no. That’s—it’s sort of—I don’t see it going anywhere, really. It’s kind of over.”

“Oh? Is it?”

“Listen, I’m… sorry. For—just for everything. I’ve lived the past few years thinking about everything and still hoping I could someday apologize properly. I’m just glad I’ve been given the chance. And I think things ended without… without… I just don’t think we were mature enough. And sometimes now I think—it’s you, it’s still you.”

“Don’t apologize. Can you believe it happened right here?”

“I know. It’s almost crazy—”

“You left a bottle of scent at my place. It’s… it’s still half full. Sometimes I—nevermind. I mean, I think of you a lot. Probably too much for my own good. I think of us, our past, our relationship.”

“So do I.”

“—I love you. I try to stop it, I keep trying but I always end up here. Always here, back here, loving you.”

“If you didn’t see me tonight—would you have felt this way?”

“Oh, I feel… I feel it everyday. I think I’m always going to love you.”

“I’m always going to love you, too.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc angst #f1 x reader

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scribblesofagoonerr · 2 months

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God loves a trier though, right? | Inner Demons

⟫ Alphabet Challenge, G - God loves a trier though, right?

Pairings: leah williamson x teen reader, arsenal wfc x teen reader

Hi, sorry for the wait on this. This is a bit scrappy, not been proofread at all and I'm currently battling a headache while writing this so apologies if it doesn't make much sense, like at all!

I'm overwhelmed by the amount of support on this. It's definitely become one of my favourite things to write!

As always, my asks are open for anyone to drop me any ideas’ on this fic or anything else that people would like to see be written, however, I am only comfortable writing anything platonic though :)

Reader returns from the hospital, which leads to a heart-to-heart with some usual classic teenage sarcasm.

TW: heavy angst and mentions of SH, MH, suicide and death.

"Home sweet home" Leah pulls the car into the driveway and turns off the ignition, turning to look at you.

You fake a smile in the blonde's direction as you tug at the sleeves of your hoodie to fight the urge. "Glad to be home" You speak quietly.

You knew going home wasn't going to be as easy as you thought it would be, the reminder was right there in front of you.

A reminder of what you did, what could have been your end.

Until Leah had walked in and saved you.

You didn't really want to die, the voices on the internet were just too much to deal with.

The hate from the fans. The pressure from the media.

At times, everything can be overwhelming. But, being home makes it easier to regain control of being able to hurt yourself.

If you're being honest, that really does scare you.

The vague memory from that night still haunts you as you walk through the flat, sending a chill up your spine.

"Bubs?" Leah calls out to you, as she watches you freeze as you pass the bathroom.

"Uh, I'm... I'm a bit tired. Think I'm gonna have a nap" You tell her, slowly moving in the direction of your bedroom.

"Alright, I'll go and cook us some dinner. I doubt you've eaten much in the last few days if hospital food is anything to go by huh?" Leah jokes as she presses a light kiss to the top of your head. "Have a good nap, I'll wake you up when it's ready, yeah?" She adds.

Slumping into your own space, you glance around your bedrom and you're glad to see it's exactly how you left it.

You had missed your private space when you was in the hospital and you're just glad enough that the blonde hadn't gone to the extreme measures of removing your bedroom door at least.

"So the girls wanted to come around tonight but I thought it was best to hold off for now" Leah slides the dinner plate in front of you, you can't help but smile when you see it's smiley faces and nuggets.

One of the only things that Leah can actually cook.

You actually missed the small things like that while you were on an extended stay in the hospital.

"Sure" You agree as you reach for the ketchup bottle and squeeze a decent amount on your plate. "I'll be able to see them tomorrow at training, won't I?" You ask.

"Bubs" You can tell Leah is cautious to speak.

"I can train, can't I?" You look directly at the blonde as you await her answer.

Although you have a feeling that you're going to be sitting on the sidelines for a while.

"I have to train, Le! I can't put it off. I've gotta be ready to be selected for the matchday squad!" You insist as you stab your fork into a chicken nugget.

You watch as Leah frowns and hesitates to speak and that confirms your thoughts about it.

"We have a meeting tomorrow with Jonas, Kim, and some of the other staff at the club to discuss things--" Leah begins to explain, starting to eat her own dinner.

"I'm being sidelined?!" You interject in disbelief.

Leah shakes her head as she swallows her food before she speaks. "I didn't say that, Y/N" She states.

You can't help but scoff. "But you sort of did. I can't be sat on the bench-- I can't do it!" You try to insist. "I... I need some kind of purpose. I need a reason to get up in the morning!" You fight back the tears that threaten to spill.

You have to play. You have to be able to do that. You can't have that taken away from you.

"Bubs, let's just see what is said tomorrow. Okay?" Leah frowns and tries to take hold of your hand as you snatch it back.

"I have to be on the pitch, Leah. I can't be sidelined. I... I just can't do it" You state as you push your chair back and bolt up from the table.

"Where are you going?" Leah asks, confused.

"I need to get out. I'm going for a walk, or is that not allowed now?" You sneer as you move to walk over to the coat rack and grab one of your jackets.

"I'll come with you" Leah stands up from the table.

You huff and roll your eyes. "I don't need to be monitored. I want to be alone" You all but plead with her.

"I... I can't let you do that. You know I can't" Leah shakes her head in disagreement. "So we either go for a walk together, or we don't go at all" She states sternly.

"Guess we're both going then, wonderful" You mumble sarcastically and shove a pair of trainers on.

"It's cold out here this evening" Leah mumbles as she tries to pull her jacket more around to try and get warm, you decide to take a walk alongside the canal not too far away from the flat as you always thought clearer when you were near water.

"You didn't have to come with me" You mutter as you keep your hands shoved in your pockets.

You'd never been too much of a fan of the cold, but you just needed an escape as you felt like the walls were caving in around you being inside the flat.

"You know that I did" Leah replies quietly, exhaling a sigh.

"Oh yeah, of course, that's cos' I'm on suicide watch, right?" You can't help but joke with the blonde.

Leah tenses up at the mention of the subject that's joked about so casually as the two of you walk alongside the canal.

The blonde can't help but try and reach for your bicep to try and pull you away from being too near to the edge of the water.

"You can relax a bit Le, I'm not gonna try and off myself again" You continue to crack jokes about death like you're talking about the weather. "Although jumping into the water seems like a great idea" You add.

The blonde clicks her tongue. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that sometimes" She states in disagreement as she hesitantly looks at the water, trying to pull you back from the edge.

"It's the easier coping method" You quietly admit as you shrug your shoulders as you linger dangerously close to the edge of the water. "How deep do you think it is?" You ask, looking in the direction of the blonde.

"Come away from the water" Leah tries to pull you away from the edge again.

"Why? Afraid I'll actually jump in" You fire back as you can't help but laugh slightly. "You know I can swim, right?" You ask her.

"I know you can swim, but..." Leah looks nervous as she eyes your every move.

"But you think I'd rather try and purposely drown instead?" You wonder, already knowing her answer.

Leah shakes her head and exhales a sigh. "Y/N" She states in a knowing tone of voice that you knew all too well.

"The pressure is too much sometimes, the media... They can be ruthless" You admit quietly, looking back out to the water in front of you.

"I know" Leah replies just as quiet, waiting for you to speak again.

You tug at the sleeves of your hoodie and bite your bottom lip. "It's all too much sometimes. Sometimes I think the world is against me" You tell her, honestly.

"Bubs..." Leah starts to speak.

"Why were you and Katie fighting when I was in the hospital?" You change the subject, refusing to let your vulnerability show.

Leah exhales another sigh. "It's complicated" She says.

"Bullshit" You can't help but scoff and roll your eyes.

"Language" The blonde scolds.

"Well, why aren't you?" You repeat the question, wanting to know the answer.

"Well, adults have disagreements sometimes" Leah states, looking out to the water.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "C'mon Le, I'm a not naive kid-- Why're you not getting along?" You feel like you're constantly repeating yourself right now.

Leah exhales a sigh and hesitates to speak. "She just thinks that my decision was wrong, to allow the doctors to detain you in the hospital" She explains.

"I know that. You guys were literally fighting about it right in front of me" You remind her with the usual teenage cocky attitude you have.

"She thinks you should've been at home instead, with all of us watching out for you" The blonde defender continues to explain. "But Y/N... I don't know how I can keep you safe when you're at home. You joke about death so casually, I'm so scared that I am going to have to leave you alone, that when I come home, I'll find you lying dead on the floor in a pool of your own blood. At... At least this way when you were in the hospital, I knew you were safe and you couldn't hurt yourself" She confesses the truth.

The truth that leaves an eerie silence.

"I knew you were safe and you couldn't hurt yourself" Her words were like a continuous loop in your head.

Her confession hits you suddenly, leaving you feeling numb.

#woso x reader #arsenal x reader #woso #woso fanfics #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #woso imagine #heavy angst #woso one shot #awfc x reader #arsenal x teen!reader #leah williamson x teen!reader #arsenal wfc x reader

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sena-shi · 1 year

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SAGAU but with Scheming Creator!Reader Imposter AU

PT. 1

*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You were going about your day as usual when you decided to read some SAGAU Imposter AU fanfictions on the internet. The plot does not provide you with as much satisfaction as you would want, and the readers' ability to exact revenge seems too — in your opinion, quite lacking.

On the other hand, you consistently maintain a nonchalant attitude about it. You are still going to go ahead and read it, then continue scrolling until you discover another fanfiction.

A retribution in the form of exile? You probably won't find this interesting. Taking your newfound powers and using it to wipe them off as payback? That is quite thrilling; however, wouldn't it be preferable to make them regret and bear the sins of killing their one and only creator for the rest of their lives?

The shame and remorse that would slowly consume everything within them until there was nothing left.

The vivid memory of them using the blessings that you bestowed upon them to dishonour your divine existence is particularly satisfying.

The effort that you put into everything to get them to the position that they are in right now.

The memories that they will carry with them for the rest of their lives of how they used everything you blessed them with to get rid of you.

The SAGAU AU fanfictions you've been reading have somewhat convinced you that the characters in the game can actually hear your voice, so occasionally you open the app, play the game, and talk to each character as if you think they can hear you.

The characters with the most heartbreakingly repetitive lines would receive your highest praise and reassurance.

You would hear Zhongli speak his infamous voice line, “Osmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember, but where are those who share the memory?”

And you would always reply with, “If the universe permits it, I would be delighted to share a drink with you and listen all about the wonderful times you and your loved ones have had together over the years.” In the warmest, and gentlest voice you could muster.

It's possible that you've gone insane because those are only fanfictions, yet you still find amusement on doing it.

And then, all of a sudden, it was as if the heavens had listened to your thoughts and made the decision to send you to the world of your creations, directly in front of the divine statue they had sculpted just for you.

Specifically designed with you in both heart and mind. The very statue that they would bow down to and pay respect to, something that they would look upon with reverence in their eyes.

You, the one who brought them into existence. You, the one who gave them life. You, their one and only creator.

Who would have the audacity to imitate the appearance of our Diving Creator and to step foot on the sacred ground!

Our Goddess was right; now that she has chosen to descend to our humble plane, a great number of people will attempt to copy her and steal her divination while her body is still adjusting to the conditions of our realm.

“Ah,” A sound like a gentle whisper was coming from your mouth. You did not move from where you were seated on the ground, keeping your attention fixed on the floor below you, which featured the most exquisite carvings you had ever seen. A smirk grew on your lips as you tried to stifle the chuckle; perhaps it was a maniacal laughter that was threatening to break forth. Fortunately for their sanity, they were spared the trauma of seeing it.

The fake, as one could have anticipated, displays an excessive amount of caution.

You were familiar with those lines. Where they would straight out deem you as fake. Imposter AU, huh? Then you guess that there’s no need to negotiate. After all, all of them will act like rabid dogs and probably decapitate you.

You slowly lifted your head, revealing long, wavy, glittering white hair that had fallen to the ground and was streaming down your back. The color of your hair was the most pristine that any human being could ever hope to witness. And your eyes. If one were to stare into them, they would be as dark as the abyss, and upon doing so, they would reveal the universe that is contained inside themselves. It appears to be a reflection of the night sky, where stars would shine brightly in honor of the one who nurtures the world, one whom they would always protect and one whom they would always look after.

As their attention was drawn to your face, those who were entrusted with the responsibility of guarding the sacred grounds began to tense up. The eye that had the most loving gaze was staring at them, as though the person they suspected of being an imposter is connected with them.

The imposter observed them in a manner like to that of a mother observing her children.

Despite their threats, they saw how you continued to lovingly glance at them with a hint of curiosity, perhaps wondering why they are so hostile to you.

Seeing them come to a complete halt makes you feel amused, but you keep up the act as if you are a compassionate and forgiving divine entity. However, at the bottom of your heart, you secretly wish for them to be ashamed by the way in which they regarded you as a fake.

Are you too vicious with your thoughts? Maybe.

Are you meant to ignore all of it simply because they are completely devoted to you?

Then why aren't they able to recognize that the imposter, who you believe was probably seated on the throne and bearing the title of God of the Gods, is the one who is being deceitful?

Is it because of your appearance?

You maintained your position on the ground, staying perfectly still as you watched them patiently while keeping your amusement well veiled in your eyes.

The only thing that can be seen by them is a stunning woman who is smiling warmly in answer to their presence. Simply the fact that the woman was watching them caused them to increase the pressure they applied to the grips of their spears and swords.

The wind that was not intended to enter the enclosed place unexpectedly caressed their bodies as if it were talking to them—

Do not hurt our Creator.

The grounds trembled, as if enthusiastic and pleased to be blessed with your presence, that their Creator was willing to dirty their feet to step on the land. The grounds were evidently happy that their Creator was willing to bless them with your presence.

It's not even an exaggeration to say that the entire Teyvat, the first child of the Creator, is likely experiencing an incredible amount of joy just from recognizing your divinity.

The big and broad doors swung open with a bang, and the glances that your beloved and wonderful acolytes gave you as they heard that someone was copying their dear God seared deep holes into your skull. In all honesty, you would prefer to stay and witness how they will act from that point on.

My, my… You thought. Have their IQs decreased dramatically in the span of a single night as a direct result of the arrival of the real fake?

The holy grounds are far too little for a game of "hide and seek," despite how much you love to have fun playing with them. You can't wait to discover how they will deal with someone they have identified as an imposter like yourself. You are patient, and you will embrace everything they will give you.

You would counteract any evil intended for you with acts of kindness. You, in turn, wish they wouldn't let you down as the shame destroys them from the inside out.

After all, it's hard to see a mother being the source of any kind of harm to her children.

If they wish to hurt you, then so be it.

You wonder.

Who will kill you first?

Them?

Or yourself?

You heard them running after you as you escaped the place, which you didn't find particularly difficult. Your lips formed an unconscious sneer as you ran, not too fast, and not too slow. You want them to catch up to you so that everyone may play together.

And perhaps, if they decide to give you the performance you want to witness, you would forgive as any other benevolent being would.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

#sagau x reader #sagau impostor au #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #genshin self aware #genshin x reader #imposter sagau #scheming!reader #i was just chilling in another fandom writing fics and now i've been dragged into this #creator!reader #grab the lore and put it on a cheese grater

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bearsintreesofficial · 8 months

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a recreation of a sonic fanfiction i wrote when i was 10

ok y'all, some context is needed.

we have a song called cassiopeia coming out tonight. i made a tiktok that said if the sound for cassiopeia is used 100 times, i'll publish the sonic fanfiction i wrote when i was 10 that i joke about a lot but have never shared. anyway, this happened in an hour. i am shocked. i did not expect it to happen so quickly, if at all. i begin my search.

well, it turns out i can't publish it because the places it was published no longer exist, and 10 y/o me didn't back it up (although i thought i had). bummer. an early internet relic gone.

either way, the plot details are seared into my memory because honestly? for some reason, that small act of creativity was a core memory in my life. so while i can't share it, i can retell it, because it's silly and pretty accurately captures what it's like to be 10 and obsessed with a piece of popular media. so here goes.

enjoy, and stream our new single cassiopeia tonight.

SCENE OPENS

the fanfiction was about a page long. the story opens with me - in school, as i did most every day of my life up to that point. in the story, sonic/tails/knuckles live in the human world, and essentially function as superheroes. there's no explanation for it, they just are there keeping the earth safe and such. we are also friends. there is no explanation or backstory for that either.

with the setting established, we're straight into the action; an alien pod crash lands in our school playground after school. me and my friend are the only kids left. where are the teachers? who knows. as is evident, worldbuilding was not my strong point.

anyway, in this alien pod is...an alien. it was a spider that looked a lot like the facehuggers from the alien film franchise, because i'd seen a clip of that as a kid and it freaked the hell out of me. i call sonic (where did i get a mobile phone from?) and let him know something Serious is going down. sonic and tails arrive - knuckles is too busy trying to get the master emerald back from doctor robotnik in this instance.

my friend and i take a back seat and let sonic and tails deal with the weird alien thing. they deal with one, but as soon as they get rid of it 10 other capsules drop in the area. sonic and tails can't take them all, so me and my friend join in to help take them out. i didn't really account for how, but we're fighting all back to back and it's very epic. (sonic x was the prevailing sonic show at the time, and it was y'know - very dramatic. so this was like a scene from that.) tails even brings in the tornado two, his personal plane, to run rings around them. after we finish the final facehugger alien off, a final alien pod descends. but out of this pod emerges...

shadow the hedgehog.

the aliens had been sent by him, and he was here to take sonic down. this was all part of his master plan.

the piece then ended, because i suppose i was going to follow it up at some point. but alas, that did not happen.

moral(s) of the story:

archive the silly stuff you wrote when you were a kid, it'll be fun to look back on later.

stream our new song, cassiopeia. it has nothing to do with any of this, but i think it's neat regardless.

thank you.

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softdykellie · 1 year

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ੈ✩‧₊˚ ivy | ellie w.

PAIRING: ellie x fem!reader

SUMMARY: although years have gone by, ellie cannot seem to get over the one that got away when a drunk night with friends lead to unexpected past places.

WARNING: somewhat nsfw and somewhat angst

WORD COUNT: 1.049

love, what’s it good for? a neurological con job, an excruciatingly slow but certain downwards spiral towards heartbreak– ellie was painfully aware of the sole two outcomes the feeling could possibly amount to, both of which meant agony ripping at her insides, a flesh eating beast doomed to haunt her ribcage as a lonely heart’s guard. she drowned out the sound of her cries permanently stuck in a lump between the clavicules with alcohol as though it would wipe her insides clean of romance’s remnants. five years was an eternity of time; she cursed the motherfucker who claimed time healed all wounds while hers remained too fresh for scabs. jesse was the one to pull her away from the destructive thoughts, a hand to the shoulder immediately flinched from.

“you know when we first became friends i lost a ten dollar bet ‘cause i was sure you’d be a fun drunk? two cups later you turned into fucking nietzsche or some shit. every time we go out just know i mourn my money”

ellie smirked in response before her body reminded itself why it has become that way.

eighteen year olds with raging hormones smuggling contraband to a half acquaintance’s garage party were the stupidest people allowed to carry hearts on their sleeve, always a truth or dare game away from confessing shakesperian feelings in stutters and chokeholds. your first kiss together was a seven minutes in heaven, where ellie swore she’d moved the empty bottle through newly acquired telekinesis.

she was cocky back then, careless too. entered the closet with a hand by your lowerback and so quickly crashed your lips together there was barely time to catch a breath. it was chapped, and desperate, and golden. she tasted of weed and every shooting star wish you ever made coming true, you tasted of cheap wine and candy rush on a five year old– your bodies pressed so close against eachother the wooden shelves trembled at the embrace. ellie used to be funny and you, god, you used to be made of giggles that put the sun to shame. she remembered your laugh into the kiss, the way it echoed down her throat, and that thought in its pureness lead to less holy memories of your moans, of how she used to rub herself against you till the wetness made you one, and her core ached. another sip of her drink to mask your taste still so effortlessly by her tongue through thought only she was sure to be going insane.

“you just need to get laid” jesse pointed out every attractive girl by the bar that drooled at her sight and blushed under her gaze, all predictable, none you. she wanted to get laid alright, she just needed it to be with you.

ellie remembered the last time you fucked; remembered the airport bathroom becoming increasingly smaller with every finger thrust, remembered whispering in your ear you would always be hers, remembered best of all you agreeing in hushed, choked out moans. you were late and you were wet dripping past your thighs, she licked you clean and savored it.

“found your little miss sunshine” dina struck her out of her thoughts so frantically ellie’s head spun even as she coaxed words to come out.

“what are you talking about?”

“her address. it’s wonders what one can do with a full name and the internet nowadays. it’s a five hour drive, if we get going now we’ll be there by two a.m for sure–“

“are you insane? what the fuck am i gonna do, ring my ex girlfriend’s doorbell at two in the morning half a decade after we last seen eachother and go hey i haven’t gotten over you since you left me five years ago to a new city, wanna get back together?” ellie mocked sincerely.

“i mean you don’t really have to do anything, we could always just stand there and think this whole thing was super funny tomorrow”

half a whiskey bottle in and two road trip! chants that coaxed the entire clueless bar of drunks to join in unknowingly later, it was a mostly convincing idea. that’s how she lost a hundred bucks to an unknown chatty bartender newly designated driver who had nothing to lose but a job shift and spent the next hours of her life being sobered up by dina’s relentlessly flirting towards the girl. ellie wasn’t sure when she had fallen asleep, only noticed jesse’s shoulder beneath her cheek poking her face as to wake her up once the car was at a full stop, anticipation bouncing off of every member of the drive choking her in anxiety now fully soberly aware of her actions.

the neighborhood was different, quiet, green. it was odd knowing your exact house despite never being close to it before– she knew by the garden, infested of dandelions. you called them the wishing flowers and teared up when ellie told you they were actually weeds. you two had planned a dandelion filled front porch together, and there you were, living it alone. she felt pathetic, letting the feeling sink to the pit of her stomach, refused to get out of the car and finally had her arguments interrupted by a loud meowing. and saw you. messy hair left to roam free, mismatched socks, an oversized band t-shirt, her t-shirt, and nothing else.

“joel” you cooed, raising the impatient and loud kitten up towards your arms and it nuzzled onto your tired face “you have to stop leaving in the middle of the night okay? i can’t keep waking up like this”

ellie was frozen in place, watching your every move. your baby voice so soft she barely heard it from parking, the softness of your touch melting even a cat into submission, the way you had not changed one bit immediately transporting her into the past. the spell she had been under to observe you endlessly having only been broken by the front seat window rolling open noisily, though not fast enough to stop the wreckage coming as dina opened her mouth, inconsequential.

“hey, miss sunshine! i got your ex girlfriend in the back!”

your eyes met. the kisses, the taste, the skin, the caressing, the warmth, the words, the foreheads, the flowers, everything rushed back.

“els?”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem!reader #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #tlou #softdykellie #ellie fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #ellie x you

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xcherricutie · 10 days

Text

「 ✦ love doesn't die ✦ 」

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

[Yandere!Zombie!Silver the Hedgehog × Human!Reader]

[Word Count - 10k]

[Summary - You've been living in an abandoned city for years. You figured your luck had finally run out when an infected hedgehog finds you, but it seems like he's not entirely dead]

[Tags: Zombie AU, reader is a human because I don't like writing anthro readers I'm sorry, Silver is also a bit taller than his canon height because I mean, come on, blood and gore, some guy loses an arm, Silver isn't super yandere for most of it because I suck at writing]

[Notes: First time writing for Silver, don't expect a masterpiece. Also, the ending is kinda doodoo mainly just cause I wrote 8k of this in one day and just wanted to be done, I didn't feel like coming back to work on it haha. I got the inspo for this from another one shot that is WAY better, I was also rereading the zombot arc and needed to do this. NOT PROOFREAD]

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Dark thunder clouds rolled in, covering the overgrown city in a deep darkness. As the city grew darker, flashes of light beamed down the corpse of what used to be a lively city. Turning a corner, the light revealed yet another empty street, much to your relief. Despite having walked these streets every day for the last five years, you were still wary of any signs of life. After all, most life left were the undead, the immortal corpses of loved ones long gone. As far as you knew, you were the only person left alive. You considered yourself especially lucky, you had never even left your apartment building from before everything collapsed. You maintained your old life to the best of your abilities, just with more isolation, and no internet for entertainment.

You still recalled what life had been like before with vivid recollection. You remembered your old life back in high school, with all of your friends, human and mobian alike. You remembered the fairly frequent emergencies your world used to face, at the hands of a mad scientist. But that was a time gone by, a distant memory soon to fade from this world entirely. Assuming you were one of the only people left alive and sane, you were the sole carrier of those memories. It felt isolating, lonely, but you tried not to let it get to you. You didn’t want to live out your last days miserably.

Letting the light of your flashlight guide you back toward the safety of your home, you silently walked across the street, glancing around occasionally for any stray undead. You had discovered they tended to stick together, following sounds, likely blind. But the darkness almost heightened their senses, so you had quickly made your way back home upon noticing the signs of a storm. Unfortunately, you hadn’t beaten the dark clouds, and had been forced to use your flashlight. While you were certain most undead were blind, not all were, and that had you worried. Coming across a human undead wasn’t much to stress about either, they were weak, bones and flesh crumbling at the slightest touch. It was the mobians that had you worried. Most mobians had strength beyond the comprehension of humans in their life, and that had carried over into their undead. You had managed to avoid them for the last five years, but that didn’t mean you weren’t stressing over finally finding one every time you went out for supplies and food.

As the rundown, boarded up apartment building you called home came into view, you let out a sigh of relief, a small smile tugging at your lips. Just as you took a step forward, you heard a soft tap behind you, sending a violent shudder up your spine as you whipped around, flinging your flashlight in the direction of whatever had caused the source. The sound of your heart thundering filled your ears as your gaze bounced around in a panic, trying to identify the source. As your eyes fell to the ground, you noticed a tiny, circular dark spot on the ground, a wet spot. Staring at it as your panicked mind tried to piece together what was happening, a swashing sound filled your ears, your body suddenly soaked as the sky poured rain. Finally realizing it was only rain, your shoulders relaxed as you scoffed with a smile, rolling your eyes at your own paranoia. Perhaps isolation had done more damage than you had initially realized.

Turning around, your heart came to a screeching halt in your chest, your blood freezing ice cold in your veins as your eyes met a pair of muted golden, bloodshot eyes. Tufts of messy white quills stood tall, nearly taller than you, stained a deep red shade. His maw was soaked in gore, the heavy stench of iron wafting from his being. He stared lifelessly into your eyes, almost as if looking straight through your head. Your mouth hung open, fear freezing your whole body as a silent scream began to build up within your throat. It seemed your luck finally caught up with you, as the especially tall mobian stood before you, his very presence setting your demise. There was absolutely nothing you could do to fend off the mobian, so as your instincts finally began to kick in, you chose the flight option of flight or fight.

Turning tail, you immediately bolted down the street. Biting your lip to swallow your terrified scream, you glanced back to see if he followed. Your eyes flew wide open as his eyes were directly in your face, his presence filling the air behind you. He was fast. The scream you had bit back finally freed itself as you whirled around, slamming your flashlight into the side of his skull. You had expected the sounds of squelching to fill the air, but you had been surprised by how intact his flesh still was. How great for you. He just so happened to be one of the especially strong mobians. You were thoroughly screwed.

His head whipped to the side as your flashlight smashed into his temple. The flashlight flew from your grip, momentarily distracting the undead hedgehog as the light whirled through the air. In that single moment of hesitation, you took the opportunity to run away, zigzagging through the dark. You hoped, prayed to anything that would listen that he happened to be at least slightly blind, but your luck had run bone dry as you heard the drum of footsteps just behind you.

You pushed yourself harder, running as fast as your legs would carry you. If you could just lose him, for just a second, you could wrap back around and run home. You knew the city like the back of your hand, but you couldn’t risk leading him directly to your safe place. No amount of boards and nails could hold something like him back.

Beginning to pant wildly, your lungs felt dry, suffocating you as you forced your legs to keep going. You couldn’t let yourself die like this, not after how long you had survived. Your eyes brimmed with tears as you swallowed, your mouth burning and dehydrated. But your ears were zeroed in entirely on the footsteps behind you, or rather, the fading sound of them. Pushing yourself onward, you immediately noticed the lack of footsteps behind you. Hope had instantly begun to overflow within you as you turned a sharp curve, circling back to your apartment building.

Rushing through the doors, you slammed them shut behind you, taking a shaky breath as you slid to the floor. You were fairly certain that whole escapade shaved off ten years of your life expectancy, but at the very least, you were still alive. You supposed somebody out there must’ve heard your prayers, you thought for sure that undead would never run out of stamina. He is undead after all.

Taking a moment to calm your breathing, you sucked in a deep breath, relaxing against the doors. Just as you thought to get up though, a loud thud rang through the room, vibrating against the door. Your heart jumped into your throat, eyes flying wide open as you forced your back firm against the door. You could nearly feel its presence just beyond the barrier of glass and boards, banging on the wood.

Sucking in a sharp but silent breath through your teeth, you slid the bag that hung over your shoulders off, freeing your shoulders of its weight. Grabbing one of the loose boards, you steeled your nerves for whatever came after your next move. You knew you didn’t stand a chance fighting him, so you had to find a way to hold him off while searching for an escape route.

With the remainders of your courage, you lifted yourself off the floor, back still firmly pressed against the door. The slamming grew more violent, almost as if it were getting impatient, the doors rattling as the boards weakened. You could hear the glass beneath the boards begin to crack, soon to give way. Taking a deep breath, you jumped away from the doors, the doors flinging wide open just as the pressure of your body gave way.

The hedgehog stood before you, his silhouette being illuminated by the strike of lightning in the far distance. His golden eyes, despite being muted by the lack of life, nearly glowed in the dark, highlighting the spatter of blood across his face.

You had expected him to immediately run for you, but he hadn’t budged from his spot, staring at you with an almost curious-like aura. You held the wooden board tightly in your grip, prepared to use it as a weapon, waiting for the lifeless body to make its move. Your body was nearly shaking now, the effects of your adrenaline beginning to wear off as your exhaustion caught up to you. You grit your teeth and bore through it, but the suspense had begun to take its toll as your body shook with fear.

Your gaze had shifted down to his feet as you noticed his leg twitch, foot sliding forward ever so slightly, as if trying to sneak up on you. Your eyes widened upon the realization, an audible gasp slipping from your lips as your mind began to panic. It was intelligent, enough to attempt to evade your alarm. Your whole body bristled as your grip on the board tightened, before the tension in your body suddenly snapped.

Letting out a scream of terror, you swung the board with all of your strength, the end hitting him square in the neck, knocking him to the ground. You lifted the board once more, slamming it on his head, before turning and taking off further into the building. You could hear it let out a frustrated growl, as if annoyed, his blood-soaked boots squeaking against the floor as he rose. But you didn’t dare look back as you ran towards the stairwell, flinging its metal door open and taking shelter inside.

As soon as the door slammed shut, clicking into place, you ran up the stairs, your mind panicking as you tried to come up with a way out of this. There was no way out of the building other than the entrance that you had come in through. All of the first-floor windows were heavily boarded up, and there was no exit within the basement. The only other way you could think of was the fire exit, which was in the lobby, where the hedgehog hunting you down was.

Through your jumbled thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed you had made it to the roof of the building until you pushed the door open, immediately being soaked by the onslaught of rain and wind. Thunder cracked in the sky, streaks of lightning flashing in the clouds. Your attention had momentarily been forced on the storm directly above you, before the sounds of footsteps echoing through the stairwell dragged you back into reality.

You shut the thick metal door behind you, walking toward the edge of the roof. The wind pushed back as you stepped forward, the slick ground making you stumble as you stood over the edge. The drop was far too long for you to make the jump and survive, which meant you were now trapped here, with a hedgehog that had been very persistent in getting to you. This was it. You had finally met your end, after all these years. But you wouldn’t let the undead corpse have its way, even if you had to take your fate into your own hands.

A loud thud pulled your attention back to the door, the sound repeating as visible indents had begun to form. You inched backwards, ever closer to the edge, until your heel was pressed into the edge, ready to slip with any slight movements.

And then, with one final violent slam, the door burst open, revealing the infected hedgehog. An almost animalistic look glinted in his eyes as lightning struck, and you could’ve sworn you saw a faint aura surrounding him before disappearing in small flecks of glittering light.

Taking a step forward, the hedgehog was immediately soaked in the rain as he approached you. A sharp gasp pushed past your lips as your eyes snapped from the undead to the edge just behind you. Your foot slipped ever so slightly, a startled cry catching in your throat as your arms flailed, attempting to regain your balance.

Your heart leapt into your throat as your body tipped over the edge, your mind suddenly in a flurry as you realized this was your end. At the very least, you weren’t going to be eaten alive like you had feared. That was the only comfort you received as you fell over, your balance slipping as the ground disappeared from beneath your feet.

Eyes squeezed shut, you had expected to feel the wind rush past you, before meeting a swift end. Memories flashed through the darkness at a dizzying rate, your heart beating so fast you thought it’d explode before you hit the ground. You had expected everything around you to disappear, the chill of your soaked clothes fading into nothingness, or the feeling of your heart finally stilling. But the only new sensation that had hit you was the feeling of a hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, yanking you upward.

You felt the air forced from your lungs as your body collided with something wet, freezing cold. A chill ran down your spine as your eyes opened, vision being filled with white despite the darkness. Your nose tingled as strands of fur tickled the tip, leaving behind a cold sensation as your senses were suddenly overwhelmed, overflowing. You were still alive. You had been pulled back up into safety. Or so it had seemed, but the false sense of safety suddenly washed away like the rain as you finally realized what had pulled you back up.

The hedgehog’s grip around your wrist remained, his other hand now holding your opposite wrist. You stood completely frozen, your mind trying to understand just exactly what had happened. Never, in the last five years of your isolation, living in a world with the undead, had you seen anything of the sort. Not only had every single thing that could walk wanted you dead, but none had the capacity or understanding to save you from death, not even for their own gain. Whatever this thing was, it certainly wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t entirely dead or alive.

You didn’t know what to do. Judging by the blood spatters dotting his body, the hedgehog was definitely infected. The blood couldn’t have been his own. Which meant that, regardless of his mental capacity, he was still fully willing to eat a living being. Your life was still in danger, even if he had pulled you into some twisted form of safety seconds ago. You were stuck in place, you couldn’t move. Who was to say he wouldn’t sink his teeth into your throat the second you moved even an inch? He certainly had the perfect view of your throat after all, his muzzle leaned against your shoulder.

After a long moment, one that had felt like years, you finally gave off a sign of life, your wrist twitching in his hold. When he made no efforts to bite into your neck, you gently pulled away just enough to look down at him, to at least try to gauge what was going on beneath the surface. But there was nothing in his eyes to suggest any thought process, no expression that told you he was in control. He simply stared up at you, his eyes shining with the occasional strike of lightning. Even without the sparkle of life, they still seemed bright, a remnant of what once was.

A particularly close flash of lightning caused you to jolt, eyes going wide. As your facial expression changed, so too did his, eyes going wide slightly, like a delayed reaction. Almost as if mimicking you. You sighed deeply, unsure of what to do. You certainly couldn’t shake the hedgehog, you were stuck with him, but you couldn’t just stand out here and wait for the lightning to finish the job. So, despite what your gut was warning you of, you gave the undead’s hand a slight tug.

“You, ah...” You paused, half wondering if he could even understand you. What were you even thinking, of course not, but that didn’t stop you from at least trying. “You seem smart. Do you understand me?”

No reaction. Not even a blink of the eye. You didn’t know what you were expecting, a twitch in his facial muscles or a fully constructed sentence. Regardless, you continued, with the hope that maybe some nerves in his brain were still alive and kicking. He did save you, after all. “We need to go inside. It’s not safe out here.”

Still unreactive, you decided to just hope your words got through to him, and gave his hand a stronger tug. You pulled the hedgehog slightly, waiting with bated breath for a violent reaction. But he simply let you tug and pull, dragging him back inside, back into the safety of the building. And yet, it had lost its sense of safety as you pulled the undead hedgehog behind you, straight to your safe space, your own room.

Pushing the door open, a sense of security washed over you, happy to at least be home once again. Even if the hedgehog killed you here, at least it’d be in your home. You had to look on the positive side of having an undead follower for now.

“This is my home,” You spoke, despite knowing your words would never reach him. You had even shot him a nervous smile, trying to be friendly. It was the least you could do to calm yourself and hopefully the hedgehog as well. Your mind was in shambles.

“We’ll be safe here. I’ve been here for years.” You said, leading the hedgehog further into your home, telling yourself over and over in your mind to just pretend he was alive. Pretend he wasn’t a threat.

As you continued to speak, walking around with the infected in tow, you attempted to pull your wrist from his grip, the same wrist he had grabbed to save you. The wrist that he hadn’t released the entire time since pulling you back from that edge. You pulled your wrist away, without even thinking as you spoke all about your time surviving the last few years. It had been your first time talking in years, and had gotten carried away, forgetting that you were still in the midst of danger. You had been forced back to reality as he gripped your wrist nearly painfully tight, pulling you back to his side with force. You looked down at him with wide eyes, your heart rate quickly picking back up as you looked down at him.

Still showing no signs of life. You didn’t understand what was happening, what was going through that head of his. Some thought must have been present, he had the ability to understand your life had been in danger, he understood to follow when you pulled. He had the ability to resist killing you. So why? Why did he seem so dead, when there was obviously still some amount of life hidden just beneath the blood coated surface?

“Um... You can let go now,” You tried to calmly say. Instead of seemingly not understanding though, now your words seemed to annoy him, as his empty stare turned into a frustrated look. You felt his fingers tighten around your wrist, his grip quickly growing painful. “I-It’s okay, really. I won’t go anywhere. I’ll stay right here.”

You hoped that was what he wanted to hear. It was the only thing you could think of that made sense. He didn’t want you to leave his side, but why? Was he saving you for later? Did he still fully intend on taking your life? Why wait? You tried to wrap your mind around the situation, despite knowing there likely was no explanation. At least not one you could get to on your own. Likely, the hedgehog himself was the only thing that knew what was going on. He definitely had some train of thought, you were certain of it now, especially since he confirmed being able to understand you, to some degree.

“Uh...” Mind scrambling for anything that could help you, you looked around your small apartment, trying to find something to get you out of this situation. “Wh-Why don’t you sit down? Come on.”

You gave a light tug, trying to direct him to the slightly tattered sofa in the room. He didn’t budge for a moment, staring at you, as if he were eyeing you. But after a second’s passing, he let you pull him toward the sofa, sitting him down. He sat down with no direction at all, which had surprised you, as you didn’t think you’d ever actually seen an infected sitting down.

You sat down next to him, being sure to put a few inches between you and him. He stared at you once again, putting an unsettling feeling within your being. But just as that feeling began to form, you felt his fingers loosen around your wrist, surprising you. His eyes remained trained completely on you, but at the very least, he seemed calmer.

As your eyes met his, your brows furrowed as you thought. You had never even thought you’d be in a situation like this. You wondered if you could even take this to your advantage. He didn’t seem to be after your life anyway.

“You can understand me, can’t you?” You asked. When you received no indication that your words got through, you began to think. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely capable of showing that he understood? He could show facial expressions, but so far you had only seen expressions of annoyance or frustration. Maybe he couldn’t show signs of other emotions. You hummed, finger tapping your chin as you tried to think of something to help you get through to him, or at least form some type of communication. A thought crossed your mind, making you perk up as you jumped to your feet. Your sudden movement clearly startled the hedgehog, but you failed to notice as you rushed past him with a burst of excitement.

Practically shoveling through a closet of your old belongings and things that just had no use nowadays, you finally found what you had been looking for. You slammed down a pencil and paper on the coffee table before the hedgehog, missing the sudden jerk of his body as you surprised him. You looked up to him with a bright grin, unable to contain your excitement at the idea of getting to study the infected, getting to know him and have a look into his mind, without your life being in danger.

“Okay, so you obviously have some capacity for thought,” You began, reaching out for his hand. He didn’t resist when you grabbed ahold, placing the pencil in his hand. “Try writing something, anything. A word, a number, your name, whatever you want.”

The hedgehog just stared at you, unmoving. As seconds began to turn into minutes, you wondered if you got too excited. It did seem silly, now that you thought about it. You had assumed that since he managed to express some emotions, especially to your words, that he had some understanding of language. And he had shown himself to possess some motor skills, so why not writing? At the very least, he could do a little scribbled drawing. But it was pretty farfetched to think that something like him, something lacking thought and morals, could communicate.

But your thoughts were cut off as you heard the scratching of lead against paper. With much applied force, the hedgehog began to slowly but surely make out letters, and soon, a very poorly written word had been forcefully drawn on the paper. The paper had ripped in some places, and the pencil had broken, making the lead appear rubbed. But despite that, there was still very plainly a word written in large across the paper. “Silver”.

“Silver...” You squinted your eyes at the paper, before they widened as you made the connection. “Is that your name? Silver?”

The lack of reaction this time finally confirmed your thoughts. If you had been wrong, he would’ve shown signs of frustration, but there was nothing. This was your sign. You had been right. He just lacked the ability to show other expressions, but still had the ability to think. There were still signs of life inside him after all.

“Oh wow, this is...” You fell to your knees in front of the table, sitting across from him. You stared into his eyes, momentarily awe-struck. You had found somebody; somebody you could actually communicate with. “I can’t believe it. You can actually talk. I-I haven’t spoken with anyone in years. Wait, can the others talk too?”

Silver’s brows furrowed slightly, your sign of communication, his version of “no”. You visibly pouted, disappointed by the answer, but you couldn’t be surprised. Silver was the only one who could even think, let alone show emotions.

You wanted to ask him more. You wanted to get to know him. You had gotten lost in your thoughts, trying to figure out more ways to talk with him. You had come up with the idea of asking him yes and no questions and having him write down the answers on the paper. He had been bad about writing too big to fit multiple words on the paper, which had resulted in you running out of paper and ending up just writing on the wooden table. But you didn’t care at this point, too interested in finding out everything you could about Silver, which ended up being quite a lot.

You had discovered that Silver was once one of the heroes who used to defend the world from the mad scientist who often put it in danger. You had also found out that he was the very last hero to live in the end, every one of his friends dying off one by one to the virus. Thanks to his psychokinesis, he had survived for years, only recently finally losing the fight. Apparently, he had been searching for the cure all this time, a person with special immunity to the virus. In the end, his efforts had gone to waste though, and he had died. You didn’t even know how to begin to process any of that, and by the time you had found out everything, it was late into the night hours. You were running on fumes, eyes struggling to stay open as you thought of another question to ask Silver.

Your eyes widened slightly as Silver set the pencil down, leaning back onto the sofa. You couldn’t get past the jarring, dead and empty look in his eyes, which never even blinked. It felt odd seeing him move around, seeing him interact with his surroundings, with you, despite the obvious lack of life. For the most part anyway.

Silver’s hand caught your eye as it softly pat the sofa next to him. You tilted your head in confusion, before realizing what he meant, surprising you. You didn’t think he was capable of that level of awareness, noticing your own emotions. You let out a soft chuckle as you stood, stretching out with a yawn.

“I’m still shocked that somebody like you even exists,” You said, giving Silver a smile. You failed to notice the slight twitch of his eyes; the flicker of some emotion hidden deep within him. “I guess all those years of perseverance keeps you going. I bet you could cure yourself if you tried hard enough.”

You joked, but it also made some amount of sense. He was a super powered hedgehog, far beyond anything like you’d ever seen. If anyone could overcome the virus, it would likely be him. You had assumed at this point that his interest in you was because he’d finally found someone alive, someone who wasn’t braindead. You would quickly find though, that wasn’t the only reason for his interest.

You had decided against Silver’s offer, telling him you were going to sleep in your own room. He had expressed slight annoyance at this, but calmed down after you told him he could sit and watch for danger in the living room. And while it felt nice to know there was somebody who wanted to protect you now, you also didn’t trust that Silver could control his hunger. So just in case, you had locked your bedroom door. You knew it’d do little to stop him, should he really want to get in, but it gave you some comfort.

Despite your initial excitement, you couldn’t help the fear that Silver was still a danger to you. He could think and communicate, sure, but did that stop him from eating people? Had he actually eaten anyone before? You didn’t dare ask him, scared it was a touchy subject. He had emotions, so it was obvious he must’ve felt something toward his sickness, his “condition”. He was dead, of course it was a touchy subject. So, you lived in uncertainty now, fearing the day Silver lost control.

But you’d find out his hunger wasn’t what you had to worry about. You found that out almost immediately the next day, explaining to Silver that you had to go out again and search for food. To put it simply, he was not happy.

“Silver, I have to go out! I will literally die without food!” You argued, pulling on your wrist as Silver held you tightly. He didn’t move or even budge a single muscle, your efforts doing little to escape his hold. You grumbled in annoyance, glaring down at him. “Would you rather me die? I don’t think I’ll be as lively as you when I’m dead.”

Your words seemed to cut through whatever stubbornness he had been feeling as he returned the glare tenfold but released you. You huffed, rubbing your pained wrist, turning away from him. You grabbed your bag that you had retrieved from the lobby (without Silver, of course), stuffing inside anything you may need on your trip out. You had to leave space for food though, which meant you couldn’t bring very much with you, aside from a flashlight and a knife.

“I’ll be fine, Silver, promise. I’ve been doing this longer than you, after all,” You teased, though you’re unsure he found it very humorous. But you didn’t linger on it, slinging the bag over your shoulder. “You could even come with me and help. It’d be nice to have some help for once.”

This seemed to perk Silver up, as his glare relaxed into that empty look you were coming to know. You smiled, a small chuckle escaping your lips. Perhaps he still retained that heroic personality he had in life, trying to protect you from any and all harm.

With that settled, you and Silver headed out. Silver took the lead right away, keeping a lookout for any infected. The city was empty and silent, most undead out in the woods, looking for wild animals for sustenance. The eerie silence was still jarring to you, even after all these years. Even with all of the plant life overrunning the city, there was a lack of wildlife. No birds chirping, or squirrels running about. As far as you could tell, Silver and you were the only life for miles. Or so you had assumed.

A splash of water broke through the silence, drawing your attention as you looked down into the murky puddle your boot had stepped in. Your reflection rippled through its surface before disappearing as you lifted your boot, unsettling the mud. You let out a soft hum, eyes glancing around your surroundings. All was quiet, even with Silver at your side now. You found his silence gave you almost a sense of foreboding. Were the infected all this quiet?

Your attention focused on Silver; you didn’t even register the sound of water splashing just behind you. You barely had time to process the hand that reached out from behind, a shiver running down your spine as your mind lagged behind, realizing just seconds too late what was happening.

Silver’s feet dragged as he trudged forward, bleary eyes shifting back and forth as he looked around. All was quiet, and his sharp sense of hearing didn’t pick up anything other than the thuds of your footsteps just behind him. Hearing a splash of water, Silver’s ear twitched slightly, but shrugged it off as your presence. It was strangely quiet, even for him.

A sharp, shrill scream pierced that silence, startling Silver as he whipped around, trying to focus his eyes, trying to find you. His eyes landed on your form, legs kicking as you tried to fight off the infected that had snuck up on you. Its hand wrapped around your face, other hand holding your shoulder as it leaned in close to your neck.

Swinging your body back and forth, you tried to shove it off, letting out a startled cry as you felt its hot breath down your neck. Tears brimming in your eyes, you grabbed it by the arm, using all of your strength to fling it over your shoulder. Its body slammed against the ground, the rotten flesh of its arm tearing clean off.

A shudder ran down your back as you dropped the dead flesh, your blurry eyes landing on Silver as he rushed to your side. But you didn’t have time to focus on him as your peripheral vision caught sight of movement, whipping to face whatever was approaching next. Your eyes widened to see not just a few stray infected, but an entire horde. The streets were filled with undead, the putrid scent of death hitting your nose.

“Th-They’re everywhere,” You muttered, turning to look at Silver. If an infected could look panicked, Silver surely did right now. His eyes were wide, shoulders stiff as he leaned closer to you, as if to try and protect you. But even Silver couldn’t fight off an entire horde, he had found that out in his final moments of life.

The storm had to have led them in, you assumed. They relied on their sense of sound and must’ve lingered even after the storm passed. They had you and Silver completely surrounded, and there was nothing you could do to get through. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breathing growing erratic as your eyes darted around for any kind of escape.

Body trembling, you felt your knees grow weak with fear as you realized, this was likely your end. It had been just your luck to finally find someone who could change your life, only to have it all ripped away from you. You squeezed your eyes shut as you noticed the infected beginning to approach, your tears streaming down your face as you tried to shut the world out.

Just as you closed everything out though, you felt a cold hand wrap around your own, fingers squeezing gently. You peeked your eyes open, meeting the pair of golden eyes you thought you’d never get the chance to see again. But something was different, there was a whole new layer of color to them, a turquoise aura surrounding both you and him. But that wasn’t what caught your eye. It was the smallest upturn of his lips, crinkling his muzzle ever so slightly. You hadn’t even thought it possible for him to make any expressions other than aggravation, but in your final moments, he had given you the comfort you didn’t even realize you desired for all these years.

Your mind had been distracted from what you had assumed would be your final few seconds in life, your eyes entirely on Silver. Something about your gaze, the way your eyes lit up upon seeing his smile, it made something deep within Silver flutter to life. Something he had rarely ever felt, even in his days alive. It gave him the strength to use up what little power he had access to in his rotten body, lifting his body from the ground. You hadn’t even realized what was going on, having closed off the world as your mind focused entirely on Silver’s face, on his smile, his soft and kind eyes. It wasn’t until your feet had left the ground, did you finally come back down to Earth.

Your eyes widened as you looked down, the ground getting further and further away as Silver lifted you just above the infecteds’ reach. Your eyes practically lit up with exuberance, nearly welling with more tears as you realized Silver had once again saved your life. But that excitement quickly dissipated as your eyes met his, noticing the strained look written across his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a soft groan as the aura surrounding you had begun to flicker and disappear. He had just barely managed to land on the roof of a tall building, thankfully with no entry to the roof. They were safe, for the time being.

“Silver, that was amazing!” You exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him without even thinking. Silver’s eyes widened as he felt you squeeze him close, muttering words of thanks over and over as you pressed your face into his shoulder.

A sharp jolt burst through Silver’s body, causing him to twitch slightly in your hold. It felt electrifying, like something within him had been shocked to life. It almost felt as though his heart had been jumpstarted, his cold, dead body, blood that had long since stagnated beginning to heat up his body. But it wasn’t just that. It wasn’t that your touch had brought his body back to life, more so that it had given life to a brand-new feeling, an indescribable feeling that Silver immediately knew he had to protect at all costs.

“Oh, but...” You pulled away slightly, much to Silver’s dismay, as you cast your gaze over the edge of the building. The sky was still cloudy, blotting out the sunlight, the wind sending a chill down your spine. “We’re stuck up here now. Do you think you could fly the rest of the way home?”

Silver frowned deeply, giving you your answer. You sighed, shoulders drooping in disappointment. That meant, that until the horde either dispersed, or Silver gained enough energy to fly once again, you were stuck up here. And the fact that you had yet to eat anything today was finally starting to catch up with you, your body feeling tired and weak.

Your gaze lifted back up to Silver’s, finally realizing your arms were still wrapped around him. You could barely even recall the fact that he was dead anymore, the only reminders being the sickly sweet smell coming from him, and the droopiness of his eyes. But the way he held you softly in his arms, the smile he had given you to comfort you in what could’ve been your final moments, it felt so much like a real person. Like there was still somebody in there. Somebody who cared for you.

“Can you smile again?” You asked, both genuinely curious, and missing the presence of his smile. Silver seemed a bit caught off guard, his body tensing slightly. His hands pulled away from you, leaving a cold, empty feeling where they had been, which you ignored. It had been far too long since you felt physical contact with another being.

Silver’s cheeks twitched slightly as he struggled to curl his lips upwards. He had even squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pull his lips upward, but they simply wouldn’t budge. You frowned slightly, wondering if doing even the simplest things overexerted his muscles. They were pretty much dead, after all. It was shocking he could even do it before.

Letting out a frustrated growl, Silver lifted his fingers to his cheeks, pushing the corners of his lips upward. Your eyes widened at the annoyed hedgehog who forcefully turned his lips upward, giving him a very strange and almost scary appearance, had you not known what was going on. For a moment, you could only stare in pure surprise, before a sputter of laughter escaped your lips. Covering your mouth, you tried to hide the laughter that bubbled up within you, but you couldn’t help the giggles that escaped. Soon enough, your hidden giggles turned into uproarious cackling, sides nearly splitting as you doubled over.

Like an infection, your euphoria spread to Silver, nearly having to do a double take as you caught sight of his face. His lips had been pulled into a tight smile, mimicking your own. His sharp canines stood out, stained slightly red, his gums showing from how hard he was pulling. But despite that, you couldn’t help the excitement bubbling within you at the sight, chuckling.

“You have a lovely smile, Silver,” You said, your words causing Silver to falter, his lips trembling. It felt like his heart was trying to stutter back into life, almost painfully so. He didn’t think he’d ever felt an emotion as strong as what was going through him now. And your words only made it worse as you continued. “I’m so glad I met you.”

Silver knew from that moment that he needed to keep you, he wanted you at his side, forever.

It had taken a few hours, but the horde of the undead had finally begun to disperse, following sounds in the woods, looking for their next meal. Silver had also gathered just enough energy to fly back home, holding you tightly, taking every chance he could to squeeze you against his own body. You were so warm against him; it was becoming addicting.

Before finding you, Silver had assumed there was no life left aside from the occasional wild animal. But even those were becoming rare. He thought it a curse that he could see the world around him, that he still had some thought and comprehension, but that he lacked control of his own body. It wasn’t until he saw you for the first time, roaming the dark streets, did he finally feel like himself. He needed to see you, to see an actual living being. He had died all alone and thought the rest of his undead life would be the same, and you changed that. You were like his lifeline, keeping him connected with his humanity. He needed you.

Once you had made it back home, you made sure to lock the front door, pushing a shelf in front of it with Silver’s help. It wouldn’t stop a group of infected, but it might stop one or two. Maybe. Silver didn’t make it seem like a silly idea, so you found comfort in that.

As the hours grew late, putting a close to your second day since finding Silver, you found yourself practically attached at the hip to Silver, the same going for him. Asking him more questions about himself and his life, you were enthralled by him. It had been many years since you got to bond with anyone, it felt like you couldn’t detach yourself from him if you tried.

Letting out a yawn, you leaned back onto the sofa, having run out of ideas to ask him. Communicating with someone via yes or no questions could only get you so far, and you felt like you had hit that limit. There wasn’t much left to ask him, now the information you sought could only be given by him, and that obviously wasn’t possible. As much as you wished for it, Silver still lacked the ability to actually speak, and likely would forever.

“I guess that’s it for today. It’s too bad we couldn’t find anything, I’m starving,” You mumbled, your stomach growling. It wasn’t like you hadn’t gone a day without food before, but it was still slightly painful. You sighed, standing up as you smiled at Silver. “I guess I’ll just have to try again tomorrow. Hopefully they’ll have cleared out by then.”

As you turned away, going to prepare for bed, you failed to notice the look of disapproval on Silver’s face. He watched you walk away, a slight scowl on his face.

Walking into your bedroom, you stretched out your arm, though came to a screeching halt as an intensely sharp pain stabbed through your shoulder, nearly drawing a cry of pain out of you. You hissed, letting your arm go slack as you rushed into your bathroom. The dim moonlight bathed the room in an almost blueish light, highlighting the red gash that had been scratched across your neck and shoulder. You could only stare with wide eyes, your mind unable to process the sight before you, breath caught in your throat. How had you failed to notice that? When did it happen?

As the memory of the infected that had snuck up on you passed through your mind, you faintly recalled feeling an uncomfortable scratch across your collarbone that you hadn’t given much thought to at the time. Your life was in danger, you were focused entirely on escaping the situation. But now that you were home, and hours had gone by, the blood had dried, and the wound had begun to heal. It wasn’t a deep scratch. Just enough to break the skin. But was that all it took to turn? To become infected?

It had been hours, you reminded yourself. Turning was usually immediately. But you also knew there were rare cases where it could happen over a course of time, slowly killing the host. You had been infected. There was no doubt about it.

Stumbling back into your bedroom, you collapsed against the old, beaten mattress. There was nothing you could do except hope that you woke up tomorrow morning. You couldn’t tell Silver. He had finally found someone he could talk to. Someone he could bond with. You didn’t want to crush that so soon.

Closing your eyes, you ignored the pain in your shoulder, letting slumber take you. You had been fully prepared to just never wake up again, at least not fully. But much to your surprise, you woke up the next day, sunshine pouring into your room through an unboarded window. You blinked away your sleepiness, slightly confused as to why you were still you, before jumping out of bed.

Rushing to your bathroom, you checked your collarbone once again. The scratch remained, still healing. You had honestly thought it to be a dream when you woke up, but seeing it there, feeling the remaining pain as you moved your shoulder, you knew it was real.

You didn’t know what to do. Your mind was rushing for a solution, or at least a way to keep this from Silver. You didn’t want him to see you change. You had to come up with some sort of plan to get away from him before changing, and today was the perfect opportunity.

That was what you had thought, until Silver had decided not to let you out at all today. Just like yesterday, he held you by your wrist tightly, refusing to let you walk through your door. You had even tried the same reasoning as yesterday, saying that he could come with, but he still wouldn’t let you go. You had thought it was because he hadn’t been there to keep you safe from being grabbed, but you were fine as far as he was aware. There was no reason for him to feel bad.

“I have to go out, I need food, I’m hungry! Just let me go!” You huffed in frustration, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you tried to tug your arm free. Silver simply glared up at you, visibly growing more frustrated the longer you fought him. He didn’t understand why you thought it was okay to go out again, not after yesterday. Not after he nearly lost you.

“Let me go!” You raised your voice, trying to urge him to free you. It seemed your tone only made him mad, as he roughly yanked your arm, a searing pain shooting through your shoulder. You cried out in alarm, holding your shoulder as you hissed. “You’re hurting me, Silver!”

Your cries of pain seemed to startle him as his grip loosened significantly, almost enough for you to pull your arm free, but his grip returned just as you tried to pull. As your eyes met his, you could see a look of not just frustration in his eyes, but confusion. Guilt suddenly squeezed at your heart, making you sigh as your shoulders fell.

“Okay, if you don’t want me to go, then why don’t you? You’re one of them after all,” You said, giving him a small, comforting smile. “That way, I can stay safe at home, and you can bring me food.”

Silver let you go at that, agreeing immediately. He walked past you, shoving the shelf blocking the door aside with ease. As he looked back, your eyes widened as he gave you the tiniest of smiles. The sight made your heart flutter, but at the same time sink, knowing it would be your last time getting to see such a smile. The smile of someone with perseverance great enough to live beyond death.

You gave Silver a bright grin in return, your smile remaining until the door had closed behind him, leaving you alone with your own thoughts. It was just like before now, when you were all alone. Silver was gone. And it had left a bigger hole in your heart than you thought it would.

But you had no time to waste. You didn’t know when it would happen. You had to disappear before Silver could return, without being noticed. You waited until you were certain Silver was gone before preparing.

The table was covered in Silver’s scribbles now, with little room left. Taking a marker, you wrote over Silver’s handwriting, writing a small apology, that you didn’t want him to see you turn. With your final words written, you took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your old apartment one last time. Since showing up, Silver had left that sickeningly sweet smell everywhere he went. A smell that once made you sick and terrified, you found some sense of comfort in, knowing it was from him.

You wished you could’ve had more time with him. You wished you could’ve met Silver before everything, before he and everyone around him died. You imagined you would’ve been great friends. But you couldn’t linger on that, not anymore.

Slipping out of your apartment, you made certain that you were completely alone before exiting the building. The streets were silent once again, but this time, you knew nothing was around. Not even Silver. You were alone.

Making your way into the woods that had begun to creep up on the old city, you were surrounded by the darkness the trees provided, hiding you from the light. Even in the woods, it was dead silent aside from the wind rustling the leaves and branches. It was a lonely final resting place, but you preferred that over putting Silver in even more pain.

With one final glance back, you could see your memories flashing through your eyes just like before, but at a slower pace now, reminding you of everything you’d lost, and the friend you were going to lose now. You were simply thankful you got the chance to meet Silver. For a mere second, you thought it might’ve been possible he himself was the cure he had been searching so long for. After all, he was still alive, even though his body technically wasn’t. The thought made you smile, comforting you as you disappeared into the darkness.

The sun had begun to drift lower and lower into the sky. Silver stared up at the sky as it turned from a bright blue into a brilliant orange. Despite the beautiful view, Silver only wished you could’ve been with him to witness it. He knew he had made the right decision in leaving you home, especially since he had seen a few infected during his search. But he still couldn’t help but miss you, wanting to be always at your side.

Making his way back home, Silver pushed the door open, mustering up his best smile as he held his arms out, showing off the food he had found in his search. But upon seeing the empty room, Silver dropped the food without a thought as he looked around. Where were you? Why were you not here waiting for him?

Red ink scrawled across the table caught his attention, golden eyes landing on the message. Taking in its words, Silver didn’t even think it possible to feel his blood pressure skyrocket, and yet the feeling that overcame him in those two seconds rivaled the feeling.

Silver didn’t think he’d ran that fast since he was alive. He didn’t even know he could run as fast as he was, nor did he think he had the same heightened sense of smell as the other infected until he was completely zeroed in on your scent, on the blood in your scent. He couldn’t lose you, not now, not after he’d finally found someone to be with. Someone who was alive and made him feel alive. He had to have you, no matter what. Even if you were infected, he’d find a way to help you. You could be just like him; he would make you be just like him. Even if he had to infect you himself.

The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, and the woods grew darker with each second. You shivered as the wind blew a chill down your spine, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth. Despite the pain in your shoulder, you couldn’t feel any effects of the virus. Perhaps you were one of the rare cases that had to suffer longer? It certainly lined up with the luck you had.

The leaves crunched softly underneath your boots as you walked, your mind drifting as time slowed to a crawl. You were just ready for it to be over. Silver was probably already home, though you couldn’t even begin to guess what his reaction would be. You guessed he might try to look for you, but you’d already be turned and long gone before he could find you. You felt guilty, but it wasn’t like letting Silver watch you turn was any better.

Your mind was brought back to reality as you heard a particularly loud gust of wind. Looking around, you felt your fear begin to crawl from the pits of your stomach, and up your spine. Squeezing yourself tighter, you forced yourself to take a deep breath, before continuing on.

Before you could take even a single step forward though, you were suddenly and violently tackled to the ground. You let out a startled cry, your shoulder slamming against the ground, forcing a scream from your lungs. You felt a hand grab your injured shoulder, flipping you over with great force, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

Your eyes met a pair of wildly glowing golden eyes, a sneer pulling at his lips, revealing his canines. You cried out in alarm, trying to crawl away, Silver’s tight grip holding you in place underneath him. You had no time to react, no time to stop him as he bent down, immediately sinking his teeth into your collarbone. You let out a shrill scream, feeling your own blood soak your clothes and skin, staining Silver’s muzzle. You fought and shoved against him, feeling the cool air hit your skin as he pulled away, revealing his dripping maw, blood trickling down his canines.

“Mine,” A strained, raspy voice spoke, startling you. He repeated the word over and over, rubbing his nose against your neck. He switched to the other side, making you panic as you felt his sharp teeth brush over your skin. He sunk his teeth into your flesh, taking in your scent, practically burning it into his brain. He was never letting you out of his sight again. You were his, he needed you, you were all he had left in this world.

Pulling away, Silver stared at the sight of you below him. Your neck was littered with bites, and after the third bite, you had lost the strength to fight him, just waiting to succumb to your death. Your eyes drooped, a sleepiness unlike anything you’d ever felt washing over you, granting you relief.

As your eyes fell shut, you could feel Silver lift you, holding you against his fluffy chest. You leaned into his surprisingly warm hold, deciding to just go with it. You were dead anyway, so you might as well soak it in. Despite everything, you were still glad to have met Silver.

It felt like time had slowed to a near stop, and you couldn’t differentiate minutes between hours, and days between years. It felt like you had been forced to wake though after a long time, sunlight pouring over you, bathing you in its warmth. It was strangely warm. You had expected everything to be cold, dead.

Eyes slowly peeking open, they blurred in the light, making you groan. Just as you began to stir, you heard a gasp, startling you fully awake, eyes clearing up immediately as you sat up. Just before you stood Silver, or what you had assumed was Silver. He was strangely... lively. Almost like he was alive.

“You’re awake!” He exclaimed, his crystal-clear voice startling you to your core. It wasn’t like he was almost alive; he was alive. His golden eyes held that flicker of life that was once missing, his lips curled into the biggest smile you had ever seen.

As if able to tell you were both shocked and confused, Silver chuckled, sitting down next to you on the bed. “A little while after I bit you, I got better. It surprised me too, believe me. I guess it turns out you were the immune person I’ve been looking for all this time!”

Your brain didn’t process a single word he said. You were shocked you were even still alive, especially after how Silver had bitten you, and many times at that. The memory of Silver biting you over and over suddenly filled your head, the pain still ever present in your neck. You ran your hand over your neck, feeling the deep teeth marks scattered across your skin. Silver’s eyes fell to your hand, his smile remaining, but the glimmer of innocent cheerfulness fading from his eyes.

“I wanted to be the one to turn you,” Silver said, his voice forcing your attention back on him, looking up at him with wide eyes. He smiled at you, the corners of his lips reaching his eyes and forcing them to crinkle. “I was going to make you like me. But this is better! This means that you can’t turn, and even if I do, I can just bite you and cure myself!”

Something about Silver’s words, or the way he smiled, put an unsettling feeling in your stomach. Something about this didn’t sit right with you, but you couldn’t quite place it. Was it kind that he wanted to turn you himself? You couldn’t tell.

“What does this mean? A-Am I going to have to cure everyone else?” You asked, confused. You didn’t think you could handle getting bitten that much. You didn’t even have enough blood to spare a few hundred people. And wouldn’t that, you know, kill you?

“Oh, no!” Silver chuckled, shaking his head. He took your hand into his own, squeezing it much more gently than he had when he was infected. “I can’t let you be getting hurt. It’s just you and me against the world.”

Silver gave you a big smile, his eyes filled with love, and yet, you knew, there was no real love to be found. His love had died with him when he died so long ago.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

#sonic the hedgehog #silver the hedgehog #silver x reader #silver the hedgehog x reader #yandere silver the hedgehog #yandere silver the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #sonic #zombie au but I'm bad at writing #yandere #yandere sonic the hedgehog

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808airsoftbros · 9 months

Text

Under The Red Hood (S) (BXG) (Natty)

Author: This one is hella long just so you know and I just love Red Hood. Also if you want to check out more of my fics have a look at the Masterlist.

Y/N's POV

People say they know the definition of suffering... But what they don't know is feeling the end of it. I was abandoned by my parents and the one I looked up to as a father figure for that clown to torment and use me as his ragdoll.

I was left rotting in that abandoned wing of Arkham City for a damn year with that bastard. He beat me, stabbed me with a hot iron to mark that I forever belong to him, you name it.

Foolishly, I kept faith that Bruce would someday come to rescue me someday but that day never came.

"Tell me kid what is your name?"

My name is Jason Todd...

"Who do you hate?"

Batman

"Hahaha... Good... You hear that Bats? The kid is not yours anymore!"

"Hey, I never asked... Who is the big bad bats?"

Of course sir... His name is-

*bang*

That was the day Joker put my lights out and I thought finally after all that hell he put me through, it would be all over. But no. There was more.

After my death, the League of Assassins recovered my dead corpse and took me back to their underground lair.

Ra's Al Ghul has always used the so-called reviving gooey shit, the "Lazarus Pit, " which allowed him to live for over a thousand years, but he had a theory...

The Lazarus Pit doesn't just revive or recover an hosts injuries but it also has the power to bring life to the deceased.

However, when I was dropped into the pit, I wasn't myself, I was confused, forgotten who I am, and all I felt was agony. I became a monster.

I killed and destroyed everything that came my way, but eventually, I regained my composure and my memories and came back to a city absent of the so-called hero Batman.

To my surprise, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne were all gone too. Curious to find out what happened to them, I interrogated Gotham's street criminals and did some research on the internet.

Breaking News: Bruce Wayne Confirmed Dead in Fatal Car Accident

Turned out that the others were apparently with him during that accident but I knew better... It wasn't a car accident that killed them. It was something elise.

Luckily, I managed to get some information from Harley who was working at an adult entertainment restaurant and she didn't bother resisting since her beloved Mister Jay is dead too.

"You live under a rock or something? Bats and the whole gang were going all out in Ace Chemicals and Mister Jay as a result blew the whole facility taking not only his life but everyone present in the plant." She explained and I sighed.

"Thanks alot, Harleen," I thanked her and she rolled her eyes.

"Just the hell out. I don't want to see you again," She replied and I chuckled.

"Don't worry, you won't be seeing anytime soon," I assured as I got up from the table and exit the restuarant.

With that clown bastard gone, crime actually plummeted and the GCPD was able to finally handle themselves without Bruce assisting them everynight.

There wasn't much for me to do besides just watch over the city as my new identity the Red Hood. I don't exactly follow Batman's moral code of no killing.

Not every criminal is redeemable like the Joker, so I cannot fight crime without bashing some skulls in.

*bang*

"Where is Black Mask?" I sternly asked as I point the barrel of my gun at his forehead.

"I've got nothing to tell you!" And I bashed his skull using the bottom of the grip making him grunt in pain.

"Last chance," I warned as I pull back the hammer.

"Fine! I'll tell you! He's holding up at his tower east of Gotham! But you won't get to him!" He confessed.

"Thank you," I replied before knocking him out cold.

Calling in the Batmobile to my location, I jumped high in the air and landed in the cockpit, and drove off to Black Mask's tower.

Seeing that Bruce won't be needing his car or any of his assets anytime soon you mind as well put 'em to good use.

With the fast mobility and maneuverability to do sharp turns and drifts I got to the location of Black Mask in no time but I parked it into an dark alleyway to avoid losing the element of surprise.

Grappling onto the rooftop, I activate detective vision on my mask to see the inside of the building to get a recon on the number of goons.

"Great, this is going to be a massive waste of ammunition," I said to myself.

Using the line launcher to infiltrate the building I ride the ropes and broke through the massive glass window and catching Black Mask and his goons off guard.

"W-What the?! Who the hell are you?!" Black Mask asked as he drew out his pistol.

"Your worst nightmare," I answered as I smirked under my mask.

Swiftly drawing out my pistols, I shot the gun off his hand and in just a blink of an eye, neutralize the guards leaving him defenseless.

Grabbing Black Mask by the collar, I held him out of the broken glass window at my mercy and it pleasures me to see the look of fear in his eyes.

"P-Please I-I'll do anything you want! I can give you territory! Drugs! Money! Guns!" He begged.

"How about you go to hell?" I proposed and let go of him to fall to his death making him scream as he quickly descends to the streets.

"Say Hi to Joker for me," I said as I turn around to exit the building as my job here is done.

--------------------------------

Meanwhile...

???'s POV

Walking down the streets of Gotham City, it was surely more peaceful and quiet ever since the death of the notorious criminal Joker.

But that doesn't mean that all crime and corruption didn't stop lurking and hiding in the shadows.

This city needed a change or otherwise, it needs to be cleansed. There are so many orphaned children helpless in the streets and not even our full efforts is enough to save them.

How cruel humanity can be? Batman is no different... Even though he fights crime every night his ridiculous code doesn't solve the roots of the problem.

I did hear that the caped crusader along with his assistants are now gone after Joker suicide bombed Ace Chemicals. Good riddance to that evil doer.

However, just as I was sitting on the bench on the lookout for any orphaned child I heard a scream coming from above the building and soon after a man plummets on the streets to his death.

Everyone was shocked and screamed in horror as they were confused as to what was going on. Looking up I see a shattered window and what seemed to be a silhouette of a hooded figure.

Unfortunately, I was only able to get a glimpse of the figure until he disappeared into the building.

With police and EMS arriving at the scene, I decided to vacate the area for the night as I was unsuccessful to find any orphan children for the clan.

Utilizing my super speed abilities, I got back to my clan's hideout, I unlocked the door using my key and walked inside the house.

"Welcome home, Sister Ahnatchaya Suputhipong~!" Mother Kwon Eunbi greeted as she gently hugged me and I return the hug.

"Thank you, Mother Eunbi but just call me Natty. I've told you that how many times already?" I jokingly replied and she giggled.

"It's still a courtesy to greet you by full surname, sister," Eunbi-Unnie said and I nodded.

"From what I can see, you were not successful to bring a child," She mentioned.

"That may be true but I did see something of interest," I replied and she raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" She asked.

"Yes, mother," I simply answered.

"In that case, please do tell me every detail," She insisted as she guides me into the living room.

Recalling and explaining my encounter with this strange hooded figure and the falling-dead criminal Black Mask, she was intrigued by my encounter and wanted me to tell me more.

"Do you perhaps know what he exactly looked like?" She asked and I shook my head.

"I'm afraid no, he was too high up so I couldn't get a good look. All I could make out was that he was wearing a black and red leather jacket." I answered.

"Oh, that gives me an idea of who this mystery vigilante could be... There had been rumors going around in the criminal underworld that there is an anti-hero who calls himself the Red Hood." Julie-Unnie explained.

"Anti-hero? What's the difference between him and Batman?" Hanuel asked.

"Well, Red Hood actually kills criminals if he sees it necessary while Batman's righteous code forbids it," Julie-Unnie answered and she nodded.

"He could be a huge help for us, IF he agrees to that," Belle pointed out.

"In that case, we shall recruit Red Hood into our cause, but Natty seeing that you saw him first, you may claim him as his wife," Mother Eunbi settled and we all agreed.

--------------------------------

Y/N's POV

Heading into the Batcave, I parked the Batmobile on the platform, seeing the cave once again brings back memories of when I used to fight crime alongside Bruce and Dick.

Those were more simple times, until I was kidnapped by the Joker and tormented to death. Now, it's all lonesome with just myself and the bats lurking around the cave.

All the artifacts, souvenirs, and trophies were all still here like the giant robotic dinosaur that the museum owner gave to Bruce as a thank you present, the giant penny from battling two-face aka Harvey Dent, and the big ass clown card.

There was still some work to do in the Batcave and make some adjustments to the gadgets to my liking and come up with new tech.

*alarm*

"Who the hell could that be?" I wondered as I went to the bat computer to check the surveillance cameras.

Looking at the footage coming outside Wayne Manor, I see a woman in a black coat with pale milky skin, with black high heels, and what I could tell she was concealing two katanas.

Suddenly, she busts the front doors open and walked around the manor like she owns the damn place.

Deciding to confront the uninvited guest, I went to the elevator and ascend to the study room and quickly made my way into the ball room where the intruder is located.

Getting visual of the woman, I draw out my gun and fired a warning shot.

"Who are you? And what are you doing in Wayne Manor?" I sternly asked.

"Are you what they call Red Hood?" She asked and I raised an eyebrow.

"Are you fucking stupid? I asked you a question! Now answer it!" I angrily replied and she sighed.

"Now that is not how you greet your future wife~," She mentioned as she takes off her coat and sunglasses revealing her thicc figure.

"What's the matter~? Do you like my body that much~?" She teased and I shook my head.

"I have no time for games lady! Get the fuck out of my house!" I barked and her eyes turned a crimson red.

"Oh will be fucking soon, darling~. But first, will you cooperate?" She asked and I fired another warning shot.

"I guess not," She replied before drawing out her katanas.

Leaping in the air she dives toward me but I blocked it using the fins of my gauntlet. Attempting to shoot one of her kneecaps I missed as she misdirected the barrel of my pistol.

Giving me a turning kick in the stomach I stumbled back and in response I threw shurikens but she avoided them by leaning back.

"Silver ninja shurikens? Did you perhaps knew I was a Vampire?" She curiously asked.

"I'm always prepared for anything but I have a question..." I paused and she gave me a smuggly smile.

"I'm all ears," She replied.

"Do you bleed?"

Loading in hollow point incendiary silver 50 AE into my pistol, just one of these is enough te kill a Vampire and meet an unpleasant death.

Preparing a shock blast from my gauntlet, the Vampire charges toward me and once she was close enough I let her have it.

Taking this as my chance with her senses blinded I fired a shot and landed a direct hit on her knee causing her to scream in pain as she feels the burning sensation in her body.

"Hurts doesn't it? Just one bullet should've killed you already but you seem to be more persistent," I said before chuckling.

"Alright, darling, I didn't want to do this but it seems that I'll have to force you to submit to me," She angrily said and I smirked.

"I'd love to see you try, sweetheart," I replied.

Drawing out my combat knife which is also made of silver, I used my close combat knowledge against her whilst using my gun.

Indeed she's a tough cookie but I've faced tough opponents before and not once have I lost.

But she was starting to get more quicker and aggressive with her swings and even cut parts of my jacket. Which is hella expensive btw.

"Someone trained you well," She complimented.

"I can say the same for you," I replied.

Throughout our duel, I could catch a glimpse of her massive tits and ass. Clearly she takes care of her body and outshines any woman I've met in my life.

Starting to lose stamina and energy to fight while she was still energetic and vigilant. I knew I wasn't win this one so I have to come up with a plan.

"Just give up baby, there is no point in fighting," She insisted.

"I'm just getting started," I replied as I threw a smoke bomb.

"I can still see you," She mentioned as she casually walked through the smoke.

Attempting to grapple onto the gargoyle statue at the wall, she snatches the hook and crushes it with her bare hands. She's fucking strong that's for sure.

"Running out of tricks?" She asked.

Throwing a wave of shurikens she catches one by hand and deflects the others with her katana.

"You know you can't hit me," She mentioned.

"Who said I was?" I asked and the shuriken in her hand began to beep loudly and exploded.

However, she survived that and gave me a front kick in the stomach launching me into the wall. How much firepower can a Vampire take?!

I'm out of those special vampire hunting bullets leaving only my silver knife but that was knocked out of my hand and she soon pinned me to the floor.

"Looks like I've got you~," She said as she smirked.

"So what are you going to do? Kill me? Suck me dry of my blood?" I sarcastically asked and she shook her head.

"Oh no, darling, we don't feed anymore... We are not just Vampires anymore. We are Demi-Gods." She answered and I scoffed.

"Now, it's time to teach you who you belong to now," She whispered into my ear.

--------------------------------

Start of Smut

Y/N's POV

The Vampire who apparently is now my wife drags upstairs to the masters bedroom and pins me on the bed.

"Now let us see who you really are," She said as she grabs a hold of my mask and takes it off revealing my face.

"Wow, such a handsome face you were hiding~," She complimented as she examines my cheeks.

"Jason Todd, what's your name?" I curiously asked.

"Oh, how rude of me! My name is Sister Ahnatchaya Suputhipong but you'll refer to me as jagi, darling, or babe. Understand?" She instructed and I nodded.

"I want an answer, baby~," She whispered into my ear sending chills down my spine.

"Y-Yes mommy," I nervously replied and she giggled.

Locking lips with each other, she easily outclassed me as she was more experience in this while I've never kissed a girl in my life meaning she just stole my first kiss and soon my virginity.

Strangely, I put my hands around her hips as she goes under my shirt and I take my hands off her to take off my jacket and shirt revealing my chest.

"God, you're so sexy, I can't hardly believe this is all mine now~," She admires as she traces each line.

"Why don't you stop talking and let's get to it," I suggested and she smirked.

"I like how the way you think~," She replied.

Taking off her tight dress, revealing that she wasn't wearing any bra or panties and showed off her huge mounds and clean shaven pussy which instantly made my cock hard.

"Enjoying the view~? Good, because I'm going to make sure your balls are drained tonight~," She seductively said and I gulped.

Not wasting any time, she pulls down my pants along with my underwear and was surprised to see my ten-inch dick. Comparing my size to her head. It was a sight to see a beauty right by my cock.

"Uhhhhh~," I moaned.

Taking my length into her mouth, the tightness and the feeling of her tongue as she bobs up and down. I'd be lying if I said I haven't fell in love with this lusty Vampire.

What made it more exciting is that she kept eye contact with me the whole time she was blowing me and she switches position with her pussy on my face which is dripping wet and I can smell the aroma of candy.

Without hesitation I devour her pussy making her moan as she works on my cock tasting her was so addicting and we kept going until we came into each other's mouths.

"You taste amazing, baby~," She said after swallowing my load.

"I can say the same, it's so sweet that I just want more," I replied and she smiled.

Getting into position she sits on my dick before slowly inserting it in taking away my virginity and slowly begins riding me and it was fucking tight down there.

"Oh my God, you're so fucking huge baby, no man has ever stretched me out like this~!" She screamed as she increased her pace.

"Your fucking tight as hell!" I replied as I grabbed onto her hips to match her rhythm increasing the ecstasy.

After riding my dick for a bit, she decided to switch positions to missionary style.

"Now darling I want you to fuck my brains out! No more holding back!" She demanded and I felt like a beast inside of me has awaken.

"Fine, you want me to fuck you so hard until you can't walk! You got it!" I replied and she bit her lip.

Not giving her any time to get settled into the position I rammed her in and out as rough and fast as I possibly can making her scream out of pleasure.

Thankfully this room is soundproof and the manor is on an isolated island so nobody will be able to hear me fuck my slutty Vampire wife.

"Baby I'm so close~!" She warned.

"So am I!" I replied.

"Then let's cum together!" She said and we did just that.

"Hehe~. You still got more in there don't you~?" She asked and I viciously nodded.

Agreeing to go for another round, we switch position into doggy style and I rail her until she was screaming on top of her lungs.

"Keep going baby~!" She encouraged as I hit her G-spot.

Feeling the beast wanting more and more of her gorgeous pussy, I increased the pace and groped her ass whilst giving a few spankings increasing the pleasure.

"I want you to fuck me until I'm pregnant baby~!" She demanded.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll make sure that you'll get pregnant!" I assured.

Feeling the tightness of her pussy and fucking such a beautiful Vampire really takes my mind off my problems and traumas that I've been through in the past.

Maybe it was destiny that lead her into my home, guess I could use the company and she has an amazing body.

"I'm going to cum!" I warned.

"Good! I'm close too!" She replied.

In no time, I cum deep into her womb and we screamed one last time as I came inside of her and I felt my dick was in the shower.

"No I want you to keep it inside of me," She insisted as I was about pull it out.

Cuddling with each other on the bed despite it being all messy and wet from her juices, I was too tired and exhausted to care as long as I was in her arms.

--------------------------------

Natty's POV

It's been three days since I officially claimed Jason Todd aka Red Hood as my husband and partner in crimefighting. I still crave more of him but I have to let him rest.

Eventually he started opening up to me about his past life when he was the second Robin to Batman but was left to be tormented by the clown and how he was revived by the Lazarus Pit.

To this day, he still has Lazarus visions and behaves erratically at some nights but I can handle it with no issues whatsoever and he told me that he was grateful to have a loving wife like myself.

As for my clan, they continue to patrol the city for any abandoned children to take in while we clean up the streets for them.

Based on observation his abilities were growing faster, before he could take only ten men at a time but now he can take on about fifthy criminals at once.

With Jason being forged into my heart and soul, our relationship is eternal as I've granted him the gift of immortality.

"I love you my dear Jason~,"

#kpop #kpop idol #kpop gg #bxg #x male reader #kiss of life #haneul #kiss of life natty #natty #julie han #belle #anabelle shim #kpop smut #red hood #batfamily #vampire #vampire au

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stevenbasic · 4 months

Text

Growing into the Job, Post 372: Gone Viral

At this point I’d watched the video, the twenty-second clip from Amelia’s Saturday-night stream that had gone absolutely viral, more times than I could count. The clip was everywhere now. My phone was broken but I still had my desktop computer, and the video player filled my screen.

MAN MAKES GIRLS GROW BY CUMMING!!!

It still made my mouth gape, it still made my skin crawl, and as I sat in my office alone this Tuesday morning it made me deathly afraid. What the actual fuck is happening?!? What had I become involved in?!? What had been happening to my body and - what was I doing to theirs?!?

Josie’s breasts broke out of her top.

It was a trick, had to be something with editing, or a really good animation, or something - right?!? People don’t just…grow! It was physically impossible! It broke so many fundamental laws of nature and physics and physiology. It had to be fake. Didn’t it?? And, of course, it wasn’t me that caused it. It couldn’t be!

Lakshmi’s ass ballooned.

Someone - one of the girls, or some online perv - had obviously made this clip of Amelia’s live recording of me sitting on Melissa’s lap, on her couch, surrounded by girls in bikinis and pajamas and getting whacked off by Josie. They’d clipped it, done weird things to it, and posted it…everywhere. That was the only explanation, that it had been altered. But…no. Now that I thought about it, I remembered. Memories came flooding back.

Katie’s feet grew and burst from her flip-flop sandals.

And what was happening with Josie’s hair?!?

And Melissa…Melissa looked enormous!

Oh my god!!

As I relived it again - the first time, in fact, back in the breakroom after a few bites of that terrible scone this morning - the memories started to get clearer. The girls had grown, all around me, my female staff had burgeoned and swelled. They surrounded me pressing around into me on Saturday night right after my handjob in Josie’s grip. And, though it didn’t make it onto the clip’s audio, I now remembered Randi’s whispered voice in my ear: “Get ready little man, your girls are going to eat you alive.”

Again: Oh my god!!

Three million views! More! More than three million views this thing had already, just on GirlToob (this popular, rapidly growing new video platform filled with content “for a female audience”) and it was posted only two days ago! I watched it again, looping.

There I was, naked as day (certain parts of my anatomy were pixelated out for modesty on some sites, like this one, but I was full Monty on many of the re-uploads) and spasming in climax like a rag doll. And then, as the camera left me and scanned the surrounding women all suddenly consumed in ecstasy, the growth began. Josie’s top, Lakshmi’s bottom, and Katie’s feet, they all got bigger. And, by god, they all got taller too, right after I’d obviously climaxed Yes, it was subtle, and maybe a trick, but the fact remained: I was now internet famous for making girls grow.

Can one actually die from humiliation? Is there an ICD-13 code for End-Stage Shame? Because I had a terminal case of mortification that was currently making my blood ice water and I felt like I should just go hide under a rock for oh…I don't know…the next decade or so.

I watched the loop again, still in stunned silence staring into my future and feeling the world close in all around me. Though I tried my best to deny it as trickery, part of me knew this was no joke. It was as if I’d realized this all before, sitting there that Saturday night, but only now had it actually become real. And it was very, very public. Had I been mad at Amelia for streaming this, on Saturday night? I don’t think I was. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t even know it was happening at the time, but when the girls showed me the video early this morning I kind of freaked out a bit. They all just laughed as they watched my reaction..

“Aww! Don’t be so dramatic,” one of them had said.

“It’s all good,” said another.

“People love you,” they tried to tell me.

“Here, look at these comments, there’s hundreds of them,” I was told, “one girl calls you a hunk!”

“Or this one: ‘He’s every girl’s dream’.”

‘I want to hug him like a teddy bear.’

I want to eat him for breakfast.

Can I be next haha??

Though most of the commenters were women, men had chimed in too: ‘ugh the dude is supersimp’ and ‘fuck yes make them all biggger u fuck’ or ‘STOP JUST WATCHNG WE NEED TO STIP THIS’

GOOD LORD!! I was, suddenly, a pariah, a savior, an object of lust and envy all at once. Millions of people had seen this! My heart thrump-thummed in my chest as my skin prickled with ignominy and the anxiety that was coming on like a horde of locusts. It was eating everything! Did I need to go to the authorities? Did I need to go to the hospital to find out what was wrong with me? Or did I just need to commit myself to the psych ward and be done with it?

I needed t-

A knock at my door.

“Dr J?” came Aubrey’s voice, followed by Aubrey herself. Goddamnit even in my discomfit, my soul-panic, my eyes went to her tits. Jesus, her chest. Holy Christ her figure. This is Aubrey?!? Little Aubrey?!? She’d been six inches shorter - easily! - three months ago. If somehow I was responsible for all these changes to all these girls - What have I done to her?!? She stepped in, closing the door to my office behind her, wearing a sensible - if overmatched - blue blouse, a mid-length skirt, and a look of concern. She was also carrying my ‘World’s Best Boss’ mug.

“H-hey Aubrey, c-C-ome in,” I greeted her, hearing my voice crack again. It had been doing that more and more recently, especially in times of stress. I sounded like a pre-teen. I glanced at the white mug, which after a contrite thanks she offered to me. I hesitated. I remembered the cup the girls had poured me earlier; I hadn’t been able to stomach even a sip. “Is that my coffee?”

“No,” she said, a funny shiver to her voice, “I…I know you haven’t been drinking coffee, so…so I brought you this.”

I didn’t even notice her eyes watching me, studying my face as I accepted the mug and took a look at its contents. Jesus the mug felt heavy to me. And inside - milk, of course it was milk. Melissa had been insistent we keep a gallon of both 2% and whole in the breakroom fridge now, in case I ever got thirsty, or hungry. It was - I had to admit - the easiest thing on my stomach these days. I was more than a little self-conscious that I’d become a milk-drinker and blushed a little here in front of Aubrey. The smell, though, cut through my perturbation. Wow, I guess I’m really craving this. It made sense: I hadn’t eaten much at all this morning.

Aubrey continued to watch as I brought the mug to my lips and took a sip. Wow. It was delicious. Creamy, sweet, earthy. Maybe this is a new brand? And…

“You warmed it up?” I asked. It was warm, perfect. Like body temperature.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Aubrey answered, still sounding slightly nervous as she bit her lip, “in the, um, microwave? Is that okay?”

“Sure,” I answered, taking another sip, and then another. It caressed my mouth, slipped down my throat and immediately went to work filling my body with warmth and a new sense of something good, familiar. Holy crap this is great. I fought the urge to just gulp it down. “Thank you so much, Aubrey.” There was something different in my voice. I sounded calmer.

“You’re welcome,” she answered.

This, of course dear readers, was Katarina’s breastmilk. I didn’t know that at the time though, and somehow, in that moment I didn’t put the memory together, or recognize the taste. Again, my abilities to avoid the truth were Olympian. I’d drank of it over the weekend and this was the same thing, but goddammit as I sat at my desk my mind was if nothing else a fortress of denial. Subconsciously I refused to acknowledge it - but I was drinking breastmilk.

I looked up at Aubrey and instead of seeing a woman complicit in a plot to overthrow my authority here at the office, physically infantilize me into a cretin, and help herald in a new age of overwhelming female power, my eyes saw someone else. I saw a girl who cared about me, an employee who wanted my day to go well, and a budding friend. A daughter-figure in some respects, a cool younger protege in others.

Christ I was so deluded!!!

But, no. Aubrey - all the girls, really - was all these things. Our little story here, if you haven’t figured it out by this point, is complicated. Good guys, bad guys, heroes and villains? It was all too convoluted for labels. What was I, for that matter? A culpable anti-hero working against my gender? A victim, a helpless simp? Was I the lead actor in a comedy, tragedy or reality-show from the most fucked-up universe ever? I don’t goddamn know, even now. But the fact of the matter is, at that moment in time - gazing up at Aubrey with my “World’s Best Boss” mug in my hand and my medical-records clerk’s breastmilk worming its way into me - I felt great.

“What are you watching?” Aubrey asked, noticing that my screen was on, video player playing, looping.

“Oh, yeah, this,” I said, taking another sip of warm, delicious milk and turning the monitor towards her, “this is great. Wanna watch..?”

====================================

mucho thanks to RiF for editing and guidance

#growing into the job

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deluluriddhi · 1 month

Text

𐙚 ❛ Authors In Love ❜ Society

PART 2

( 🪞 LIB? ) 𐙚 synopsis: two childhood best friends who are separated and can't reach eachother, becoming authors just to write about each other.

𐙚 pairing: author!Sunghoon × author!yn

𐙚 contains: Jake as Sunghoon's kpop idol friend, a little bit enemies to lovers, fluff, plotties plot, mentions of a big misunderstanding, heart warming, a little bit of agnst at the beginning, mentions of struggles of authors, total sfw content. (Lmk if I forgot anything)

𐙚 w.c: ???????????

𐙚 note: PLEASE READ THE PART ONE FIRST OR ELSE YOU ALL WILL NOT BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND ANYTHING. FEEDBACKS, LIKES, FOLLOWS AND COMMENTS ARE TRULY APPRECIATED ♥️🫵🏻‼️ part 3

𐙚 Riddhi speaks: thanks to all the people who showed love to the first one. Most of the people didn't want a part two but who cares, am gonna do a part two bcuz I liked this FF hahaha.

𐙚 taglist (drop a comment to be added on the first part or the second part): @en-chantedtomeetyou @kimmm3-blog2

𐙚 playlist: Lovers Rock by tv girl. Bound to fall in love

(THE NEXT DAY)

4th April

Y/N's bedroom

Your hands skimmed skillfully on your laptop. A sigh followed by a smile left your face as you stared at your now finished new book saved in Google Docs. "Time to send this to Hana", Your murmured clicking on the send button. Hana is your proofreader , the one person you always send your books to before publishing for feedbacks.

Closing your laptop and tiding up everything, you went to your balcony to get some fresh air.

TING.

A notification from your phone ruined the beautiful atmosphere.

Curious, you opened your phone, to your disappointment, it was Park Eun.

Knitted eyebrows ran through your face....

Because why would he text you?

You left him on seen, mood completely ruined.

(AFTER DAYS OF NO CONTACT AND PUBLISHING BOOKS ABOUT EACHOTHER OTHER)

8th May

SUNGHOON'S BIRTHDAY, AT THE BIRTHDAY PARTY WITH HIS FRIENDS

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUNGHOONNNNN", all his friends shouted in unison as he opened his bedroom's door after a tight sleep after a long time. "Oh wow wow wow", a smile broke in his face, "I love you guys so much! Oh what would I have done without my minions?"

Jake ran towards him to give him a hug and after pulling out he took a large set of Heavy books stacked over one another and wrapped in gift wrapping paper from one of the guys standing beside him, "LOOK WHAT I GOT YOU"

Sunghoon excitedly teared out the wrapping paper, thinking it was the new series of books from his favourite author, Hagumi Haru.

To his utter disappointment, it was not the latest series from Hagumi Haru but the latest series from Lee Nari!

He gave an angry glare to Jake but poor Jake only grinned.

He spent rest of his birthday with his friends yet occasionally thinking of how fun would it be to have You here with him and remembering all the memories you both spent together.

That night, before sleeping after everyone was gone he started to read Lee Nari's books for the first time ever. And to his own surprise, he was so engrossed in the series that he lost track of time. Being a fast reader, he finished reading that WHOLE BIG series in one night! But he found something weird in the series so he decided by not text the real author. That night, he also decided to dig up some things about Her from the internet, to his bad luck, he couldn't find anything. She is so secretive, he thought, just like 'HER'.

(NEXT MORNING)

Y/N Eating Breakfast

You turned around your head after hearing a notification from your phone. Opening it she was surprised.

A TEXT FROM PARK EUN AFTER SO MANY WEEKS?!

A/n: will be having a part three cuz Tumblr isn't allowing more than 10 pics in one post (sorry you all)

#deluluriddhi #enhypen #kpop smut #kpop hard hours #kpop hard thoughts #enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon hard hours sunghoon sunghoon hard hours sunghoon hard thoughts enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #sunghoon #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #riddhi writes✏️

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oncewhenalongtimeago · 3 months

Note

I was curious about hiccup's drawing.

What is he going to use it for? .🍬

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 15

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,632

Berk gets just a bit more colorful.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse

You shook your head as you wandered past short stone walls, shallow benches and bushes and a bunch of other things you didn’t pay much attention to, the afternoon sun shining on your back like a burning weight, though not like one that was unwelcome.

It was an unusually bright day on Berk.

Interestingly enough, you were free. It seemed as if no one had any tasks for you, being too hot for any of the typically busy Vikings to bother.

You spent most of your time walking with your eyes closed, taking in the heat and the mostly open village, many of the Vikings having fled to the forest for fun, to spend time in the lakes and ponds and springs.

It was a while until you took the time to look around.

When you did, the first thing you noticed was that the village of Berk seemed a bit different than you’d last left it that morning., at least in this row

You realized, then, that at least in this area, the houses were really… Colorful. Like what you remembered from the second movie. Or was it the third? Your memories of the both of them were vague.

There wasn’t too much of a difference; maybe a few painted dragon heads and dots and knots painted onto the sides of houses, though your eyes were drawn to the small patterns, criss crossing over and under pillars, saturated over paint that used to be pretty dull, if vaguely colored.

Instead of making things seem a little grayer and cooler, the gloomy sky did a lot to make the houses seem even brighter, and you couldn’t help but be awed by the sight.

It seemed like a completely different village.

You heard vaguely as you neared the end of a ramp somewhere in the middle of the village a steady thumping of a hammer on nails.

You peered around curiously, mood considerably brightened by your newest discovery, wondering who it was that had done this.

Was it the twins? If that was the case, Mrs. Thorston would definitely be angry.

But you wanted to see who it was before you pranced off into the wilderness. You were curious.

You peered down the thin alleys made by too close together houses, some of which you knew were built that way on purpose, tunnels underneath in case they got buried under snow during the devastating winter. You’d had to repair a few on a few different occasions. Your stalls got kind of cold in the winter.

It was behind a tall, particularly thin hut that you finally found what might have been the source to the hammer-on-nail noise. You could, now, hear it much more clearly, aided by the sound of varnished wooden house tiles clattering against each other.

You wondered if you could paint the tiles, too. It would be easy to slip something into the seed oil the vikings used to protect their homes from rain now that they at least stood long enough to gather mold before being burned down.

The oils had a hard time mixing with anything though, so it was anyone’s guess whether or not it would work. For all you knew, whichever group of Vikings had gone around painting houses had already tried that.

The ladder was thin and the type you’d expect to see in a cartoon, brown and rickety and leaned against the hut, braced against the ground and held by a small, lumpy patch of grass surrounded by pale, dry dirt.

Quickly, you grabbed into the sides and began to climb up the ladder, listening for any rustling above.

You were minorly cautious, as it wasn’t uncommon for people to come falling down ladders or dropping things off the side of buildings, but you were too curious and found usually that you didn’t mind a little bit of danger, not as much as you did before you jumped back in time to dragon war country.

You still missed the internet.

You pulled yourself up, one foot after the other on shaky rungs, until you reached the top of it, long wooden bars laid against the frame that separated the roof from the back face of this particular hut.

You perched near the top of the ladder, just high enough so that your fingers were able to peek over the edge as you peered over.

You were quickly greeted by the face of Hiccup. There was paint on his face in multiple colors.

You would have assumed someone swan dived on to one of the huts again if he wasn’t just up there with a hammer, some nails and a few roof tiles.

He was sitting next to what looked like a set of paint cans.

And he was staring right back at you, mid-hammer on a nail he held onto the roof with one hand.

“Hi,” You said, moving your hands back so that they were holding onto both sides of the ladder.

“Hey,” Hiccup said, putting down the hammer.

The roof was hot like a plate under your hand.

You took a step downwards, resting your chin on the roofing under you as you looked up at him bashfully.

He was a lot closer to the edge of the roof than you’d expected.

The wood was warm against your inner neck and you couldn’t help but be pleased by the feeling, too used to the cold and colder Berk days and frozen and freezing Berk nights.

“What are you doing?” You asked, staring at him for a few moments as you waited for an answer.

“Fixing the roof,” Hiccup laughed awkwardly, “Astrid- she axed one of the twins. Or, she tried to, anyway… “

Hiccup looked down at you, still hanging onto the ladder. You felt a breeze blow by, causing it to creak a little bit and your skirt, much shorter than usual, and the baggy legs of your trousers to blow around just out of view of him.

“Oh, well, uh, sorry,” He scooted back, which you took as an invitation to come up.

“Thanks,” You said, looking down cheerily as you reached up and pressed your hands against the frame around the roof face, practically feeling the distance between yourself and the floor below in sharp, breeze jolts as you pushed up.

You were careful not to press too hard on the roofing as you shifted up and over, aware one wrong step could cause a lot of leaks in the roofing next winter.

The scale-like wood was smooth under your fingertips, though short and bulky and awkward to slide over with your knees.

“And, uh- the- My Dad wouldn’t let me paint the house -He really wouldn’t. I didn’t ask him, but I had to do some asking around for- this-” Hiccup shrugged bashfully as he continued, “I got the idea from the beads, heard someone talking about it. The dragon scales do a lot in terms of- They’re good fireproofing, so…”

“You did all this?” You asked.

You did your best not to slip down the steep roof side, slightly embarrassed as you shifted around, the edge of the roof close to your back, one foot hanging off the edge.

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck, looking skywards, “I mean, most of it, yeah…”

He tugged down his shirt. The green one. His vest was absent, probably laid out somewhere behind him. There was a piece of folded, thick paper parchment stuck precariously behind the bottom of the cloth he used as a belt holding his tunic tight to his waist, corners slightly missing a smooth, folded match, splattered with what you assumed to be his fingerprints in both paint and charcoal.

You were pleased to note he was wearing some of the beads you made, sort of mismatched and oddly spotted but lined neatly together. Most of them were glass, but some were wood.

He must’ve picked them out special, because they were all near that one brilliant shade of blue you’d pulled from one of the baskets still set up in the Great Hall.

Hiccup followed your eyes, looking down at his collar.

You beamed.

Then you blinked, as the paper pinned to his waist began to slip.

“Your-…” You were a bit curious. Was it a blueprint?

You pointed to his side just ast the paper blew free, half drifting half dropping towards you with the wind, practically falling towards you.

Hiccup nearly slipped off the roof, dislodging a thin turquoise can of paint and causing the liquid inside to splatter down the side of the hut, prosthetic catching against the tiles at just the right angle to send one flying down the side of the roof like a scale off a pinecone or one pulled from the flank of a dragon.

You startled, eyes shooting to him as you stiffened and your hand twitched forwards to offer help.

Then you tried to grab for it as the lost folded paper slipped away from you, jumping from its place nearly resting against the hut into a swirl with a tough wind.

You stopped as you nearly lost your balance off the backside of the hutt and jerked your head back towards Hiccup whose mouth was set in a thin line, eyes wide.

Then, your eyes followed Hiccup’s as his relaxed, brows falling as his eyes dropped to the side as he spoke dryly, “Well, there goes-”

Like fate or something stupid, with another strong gust of wind, the paper blew back, falling open and staying that way against the roof tiling between you.

It wasn’t a blueprint. As it turned out, you knew exactly what it was.

A charcoal sketch.

Most specifically the It was a charcoal sketch of yourself, one that you vaguely recognized from Hiccup’s room.

You blinked at it, as Hiccup grabbed for it, staring at you like a deer in headlights, eyes filled with an emotion you could only describe as cat-out-of-the-bag.

“I remember- Snoggletog, and… Well, I wanted to return the favor,” Hiccup said quickly as he covered his face with his free hand, smearing a long streak of yellow against his cheek as he dragged it downwards, “I- uh, I- I made this. For you.”

That made sense.

You blinked, then blinked again, taking it from his hand as smiling down at it, holding it with a hand on either corner.

You wondered how long he had to look at you in order to get your features so nice.

You thought it was… Kind of weird. He was still weird; definitely weird, or maybe not.

You remembered the hour you spent before Snoggletog trying to figure out how to sketch out his face, mostly relying on what you remembered from the cartoon movie and the small glimpses of his face you’d catch occasionally, sometimes peering around at you from behind corners and across clearings.

So really, if he was weird for watching you all the time, then you had to guess that you were weird too, for doing the same. Maybe. You definitely hadn’t spent as much time staring, so maybe he was still kind of the weirdest, or definitely probably just somewhere in between on the higher end of an average amount of weird.

You breathed in the crisp morning air, reaching up high to stretch your arms, walking against biting coastal winds, which didn’t mean anything more than usual, considering all of Berk’s air was both coastal and biting.

It felt a lot like you were brushing your hand up the back of a cat’s smooth coat, breeze brushing past your trousered legs, much like it did usually on windy days.

You blinked drowsily up at the sky, still dark, sun only just barely peeking over the horizon where the sea met sky, and not enough to really turn the world into anything warm or bright.

The thought of the previous day still made you feel bright, and so even with your drowsiness you carried a skip in your step that you would be hard pressed to smother.

You spent some of yesterday helping Hiccup bear the brunt of Ack’s wrath, upset as he was about the new, bright turquoise spatter against the side of his house.

In the distance, a few ships dotted the ocean, fishermen and sailors up and early, just set out to make their first catch.

You blinked over the docks, before turning slightly, grabbing at a thin oar rested against a flat rock face by your side.

Hiccup had been spending a lot of time in the forge again. On and off.

You’d heard overhead Snotlout the other day and it sounded like the other Riders were beginning to get annoyed. Or maybe he was just a little bit bitter because, as it seemed, no one had given him any beads yet.

You’d seen parts of his journal, open to different pages, the beginnings of a map of the Whispering Death tunnels hastily sketched onto one of the pages.

You quirked your lips. You’d just finished secreting away a nice large package of seeds by the docks for an anonymous patron.

You pulled the oar over your shoulder, nearly stumbling back a little bit as you struggled to balance it, before walking confidently, perhaps a bit too much so, forwards.

You reached the edge of a stone platform stationed by the docks which was the groundwork for the forge, half lined by bushes and all by dirt, and decided to peek to the side.

Instead of darker darkness or light or just the closed door forge, though, you saw the large back of the Chief peeking out the doorway to the forge, his head hunched in a way that told you he was making an effort not to bump into the top of the doorframe.

You were surprised that he was up so early. You knew he had some pretty early mornings but to spot him out this early made you gawp.

You knew Hiccup had some pretty early mornings, definitely.

You tilted your head, angling it towards the entrance of the forge and honed in on muffled voices.

“What am I supposed to do, Gobber?” You could barely make out the low tones of the Chief, speaking tiredly, “I already have a hard time trying to bond with the boy…”

Most of him was covered by his large, brown, furry coat, making him look a lot like bigfoot.

You might have felt guilty about it before, but as you spent more time on Berk, you grew a little more used to the idea of snooping around.

You leaned forwards, scooting closer to the side of the forge, before shaking your head, letting your arm down and feeling your center of balance shift slightly.

“Talk with him!” Came the voice of who you thought was Gobber, mostly muffled by the wood of the door, “Take an interest in his hobbies-!”

You startled when the back end of the oar clattered against stone, looking back and forth between the oar and the door to the forge, nearly squeaking as you saw the Chief shift back.

You scrambled for a place back around the corner of the forge, just barely in front of the back of a large stone furnace.

You felt a bit guilty for listening in, hiding away in the hopes that you wouldn’t be caught unawares. You kept your neck deathly still, very aware as the thin string of glass beads by your neck shifted and your heart beat, though you were certain neither the Chief or Gobber could hear anything.

You listened for a second more, though not close enough to tap into hushed words again, and after a moment, you gave yourself the clear and began to scramble away.

#httyd #how to train your dragon #fanfiction #x reader #hiccup haddock #hiccup x reader #httyd imagine #fem reader #female reader

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

Text

Signed Away: Part 4

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader Series

Summary: You find out about the contractual marriage your parents arranged with Jake’s when you were a baby. You’re plently angered by it, but Jake doesn’t seem too bothered. He might even be happy.

Notes/Warnings: typos, i’m sure, cursing, fluff, eventual smut, angst, contract marriage, loss of rights, feelings of being trapped, poor parent/child relationships, use of the word ‘whore’.

As always, comments can make my bad days worth getting through, so i’ll never not appreciate them. Reblogs and likes make me smile uncontrollably, but no pressure :)

Masterlist

Words: 1900

-----

“So what did your mother have to say about this?” Jake asked, leading you through the front door with one of your moving boxes in hand.

The apartment was nice, far nicer than you expected; a two-bedroom with tall walls on a floor high enough that the sun flooded the space with light and warmth. Jake had picked up the keys the day before and called to tell you to start packing for the move while he spent the day furnishing the place, setting up the internet, and stocking the fridge. I don’t want you to have to worry about any of this, he had told you over the phone. I’ll take care of it all. You just start getting everything together and I’ll come get you tomorrow around noon, ok?

Jake was silent, waiting for your response, but you were too busy staring at the shape of his muscles straining under taut, tanned skin from the weight of the box of books in his arms. He was strong; he always had been. The summer before he left for college, you remember looking out your window to find him lifting weights in his backyard, sweat dripping down his torso and dampening his brow. He was a man, freshly eighteen years-old looking like damn twenty-five-year-old with years of physical training under his belt. Those college girls undoubtedly salivated at the sight of him, likely walking up and down the halls of his co-ed dorm donning revealing skirts and short towels, begging for his eye. Hell, he probably spent all of orientation week flirting and fucking and flirting and fucking some more.

You weren’t blind. At fourteen you had a very good understanding of what women wanted. Being in high school changed that perspective. You started finding the boys from middle school lacking in charm and physical appeal as freshman, and that maturity was what gained you the attention of your ex, three years older and well-experienced.

You shivered, brushing away the unwelcome memory.

Jake set the cardboard cube on the floor with a thud, put his hands on his hips, turned to you and rose an eyebrow. You realized you still hadn’t answered him.

“Oh…she’s in full support.” That brought a little smile to his face, but then you said, “As long as I don’t throw myself at you out of desperation. Because letting you fuck me so easily would just make me a whore and she doesn’t want her grandkids to have a whore for a mother.”

The smile fell to a flush, a delicate pink rising and coating his cheeks. Jake rubbed the back of his neck and released a light chuckle as he looked down to the dark flooring. His chest heaved; the deep breath pushed his perfectly carved pecks to definition against his t-shirt.

“Right, um…I’m going to go get another box,” he said.

“I’ll come, too.”

“No! I mean, you stay here. Relax or unpack.” He was already walking himself backwards toward the door, almost tripping over the threshold into the hallway. “Whatever you want, just…stay.” And then he was gone.

-----

You were going to kill him, plain and simple. Just by being who you are—with your words and your smile and face—you completely ruined him through and through, and chances were you didn’t even fucking know it. But that didn’t keep you from succeeding. He didn’t want to imagine the power you would have over him if you were actually trying. A shudder flew down his spine.

All you had to do was speak in your sweet voice words of sex and future babies and Jake turned into a blushing mess. Never in his life had he been flustered in front of a woman. Not even his girlfriend in his freshman year of high school could reduce him to the current state he was in, and she was the first girl to pay him a significant amount of attention besides his mother. But like with all of his girlfriends, he was in control then. He knew how much girls liked him well before he thought to make any of them his girlfriend. He had them in the palm of his hand the way he knew he never would with you. No, it was you who had him in your hand, wrapped around your pinky, on his knees and at your beck and call.

Jake blew out a breath and adjusted himself in his jeans. He willed his hard on to go away, praying no one else needed to use the elevator midday on a Tuesday. He wanted you; no ifs, ands, or buts about it. He wanted you like nothing and no one else.

-----

You wanted a shower, so he promised dinner would be ready by the time you were done. But it wasn’t until you walked back into the kitchen, fresh-faced, smelling like soap and clean laundry, that Jake realized the mistake he’d made in allowing you out of his sight.

The spoon he was dipping into the pasta sauce to taste fell from his fingers, sinking entirely within the marinara pool when he saw you. A large t-shirt hung over your body, the hem brushing against your thighs just barely keeping you decent, if even that could be said. Your nipples pebbled under the thin material, and god, Jake was thankful the counter stood between you, otherwise you’d get the shock of the growing tent in his sweatpants. He wasn’t so sure you were quite ready for that, which was a damn shame because pure sin was in front of him and he couldn’t think of anything other than bending you over and burying himself balls-deep in heaven.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Jake’s mouth snapped shut, bugged-out eyes settled back in his skull, and he shook his head as he grabbed a fork to sink into the sauce, digging out the lost spoon. “No, you can sit if you want. It’s pretty much done.”

You sat in one of the chairs at the small round table, tucking one leg underneath you as you started to unfold your napkin. From your right, Jake could see your t-shirt ride up with your movement, gathering by your navel and now barely covering your ass. He cursed under his breath. Fucking torture.

He set the plate of pasta in front of you and handed you a fork that you accepted with a smile and a nod of thanks. But before the first bite could pass either of your lips, a banging echoed down the hall. Your heads twisted to the sound, then you looked back at one another, your eyebrow quirking and Jake’s two pinching in the middle. He rose, taking the napkin from his lap and placing it on the tabletop.

“Stay here,” he said, walking around the corner into the darkened hall and out of your line of sight.

As far as he knew, no one had your address but his parents. Yours hadn’t asked, thank god. Not that that would guarantee keeping your mother from you. If Deanna questioned Amelia, the information would not be withheld. His mother didn’t have it in her to lie. From that good nature, Amelia insisted on helping with the move, but Jake begged her to let him handle it alone. You didn’t need to pressure of a future mother-in-law in your brand new space while you got acquainted with it. But unlikely was she to go against Jake’s wishes by showing up now.

Peering through the peephole, Jake groaned and rested his forehead against the door. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“We can hear you, you know,” came the voice from the other side of the wooden slab. “You ought to just open up.”

So he did, reluctantly. The grins of his three friends clashed with his glare of irritation. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

Rooster smirked, Coyote was practically hopping on his toes with excitement, and Phoenix said, “We’re here to see your new lady.”

He knew he shouldn’t have told them. But had his high school friends found out about his engagement through their parents, forgiveness would be an uphill battle. However, perhaps stupidly so, Jake thought they’d stay tucked away in Maryland until otherwise advised. “You’re two weeks early,” he snapped. “How did you even find out where we live? I didn’t give you the address yet.”

“Went to your parents’ house,” Coyote said.

Phoenix smiled. “Asked Amelia.”

“She was very willing to give over your personal information,” Rooster snorted, crossing his arms. “So, can we meet your girl now?”

“She’s not available. Come back in two weeks.” Jake began to close the door only to be stopped by Phoenix’s firm hand pushing back.

All three pouted in sync. Practiced puppy eyes shining in full force. “Why?” Coyote whimpered.

“Because I haven’t told her you’re coming and I don’t want to overwhelm her. We literally moved in today, so you all need to—”

“Jake?” Your voice came from behind him.

He froze. Fuck, he loved that sound. But of all the times for you to say his name so beautifully melodic, why did it have to be now? He closed his eyes, thinned his lips, and let out a slow exhale in preparation.

“Is that her?”

Jake shot Coyote a look. “Obviously.”

Then Phoenix was shoving past him, leading the pack in making their way over to you despite your deer-in-headlights look. “Hi,” she grinned wide, encasing your hand between both of hers and giving it a few light shakes. “I’m Phoenix.”

“Phoenix?”

She nodded, glanced at the two men beside her, and said, “This is Rooster and Coyote. We’re Jake’s friends. Well, a few of them anyway.”

“Oh,” you said with a note of surprise, looking around the group to find Jake’s eye.

He shook his head in apology and you giggled, barely, but it was there. He felt his heart clench behind the cage of his ribs. OK, maybe his friends weren’t so bad if them arriving rudely unannounced led to getting a laugh out of you.

You excused yourself for a moment, likely to go put on some pants, and three pairs of brown eyes landed on Jake.

“She’s so cute, Jake!”

His lips couldn’t help but curve at Phoenix’s enthusiasm. Coyote patted his bicep, and said, “Yea, I would not be upset about this marriage thing at all.”

“I’m not.” Jake shook his head. That was the understatement of the year. “Now go to your respective houses and leave us alone.”

“Oh, we can’t do that,” Phoenix said. “You see,” She sighed dramatically, “It’s late. Rooster’s grandmother is already in bed, Coyote’s parents are out of town, and—”

“Everyone can sleep at yours.”

“No can do. Mine were at an arts festival all day in the city and are staying in a hotel overnight. Won’t be back until tomorrow and they don’t keep a spare key under the mat anymore, so...” Standing on tiptoes, she rested one arm across Coyote’s shoulders, the other across Rooster’s.

The latter grinned. “You’re stuck with us for the night.” He glanced around the apartment. “So where do we sleep?”

Wedding Countdown: 581 days

A/N: Those three ending up being like Lock, Shock, and Barrel by the time I was done with this chapter. Not exactly my intention, but I don’t hate it. Also, I know I used their call signs, but it will be explained in the next chapter. Oh, and the pilot friends are not the friends from the flashback in part 1.

tags: @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @dempy @chaoticassidy @alana4610 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @dracosluvbot @smoothdogsgirl @smit41 @princessphilly @kkrenae @castle-bookworms-world @xoxabs88xox @blackwidownat2814 @acupnoodle @callmemana @zippitydoda @asteria33 @the-mouse27 @111angelnumbers111 @shanimallina87 @creativitybeware @love2write2626 @adaydreamaway08

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bamnamuu · 7 months

Text

smooth fox hamster 이희승

w.count 780 | idol heeseung x fem reader | warnings! none except this isn’t well written or proof read so beware | em’s note! this is probably the worst written thing i’ve made but i love it and the scenario so i gave her a chance

heeseung made it his mission to get you to one of his shows, he's been trying for the past year and every time he plans it out something else comes up, you're car breaks down when you were driving to the venue or you had a school or work thing. it's not like you didn't want to see him perform, you did desperately and that what makes it so much sadder. heeseung calls it ‘the curse’ with finger air quotes and an evil voice for dramatic effect. when talking with your friends on how silly everything is that you never get to see your boyfriend perform they tell you it's probably the universe telling you that you aren't made for each other, it's offensive to even think that you and heeseung are made for each other without a doubt it's just a coincidence, at least you hoped.

this was the second tour you've been with heeseung, and you vowed to yourself to go even if something went wrong. When the tickets went on sale you were ready to fight anyone and anything, was it a little silly that you bought tickets to your boyfriends show? maybe if heeseung knew he would call you dumb for not letting him get them for you, but you didn't want him to know you were coming just to be safe, this was also a surprise after all! you counted the days till you would get to see ur boyfriend, just one month left. In the mean time you figured you should make something for heeseung. After scouring the internet for ideas and signs but nothing seemed right, your phone going off made you lose focus only to decide maybe you should check it out, come to find out it was none other then your boyfriend sending you photos of him rehearsing, after gushing over his face you look at the background to find a jean jacket with his name on it, a lightbulb popped over your head. after a long needed facetime you began to make a replica of his jacket.

You might be the best partner ever, not only are you surprising your boyfriend but also wearing his name on your back with pride, he’s gonna lose his mind when he sees you! You made your way to the venue, it’s big and new, walking through you see signs of the members, fans with posters and banners for the boys, one banner read ‘heeseung ur better than my ex, but could you be my next??’ you can’t help but giggle to yourself, knowing that you’re his and he’s yours. after getting through security and scanning of your ticket you made it to where you could see the stage, in just little time you will be able to see heeseung on there, plus the other members but heeseung is more important right now. you find your seat in the aisle and take it, after scrolling through your phone someone in front of you says “OMG!! i love your jacket, where’d you get it?” “Oh i made it actually!” you say beaming. after chatting for what seems like forever you notice how hot it’s getting you take off your precious jacket and stand up, moving out of the way for people to find their seats when you go back o sit down however you notice your jacket is gone, with a quick scan of the back of the seat, the floor, it’s gone someone must have taken it when you weren’t looking. With a new found sadness you open up your phone to post a instagram story on your lost child jacket, leaving the pictures you took before the only memory you have.

unfortunately for you the one person you forgot to block from viewing the story saw it. Heeseung was backstage getting ready for the show when a notification pops up that his wonderful girlfriend made a story, so he clicks on it to find out not only are you at the show right now but you also made a jacket for him, and also that someone stole it. he couldn’t do much backstage but plan some way to make you feel better , through out the entire show he was looking for you and lucky for him you bought the good tickets that were close to the stage within walking distance. It got to that time during the show where the boys walk around and high five engenes without even thinking heeseung jogged straight towards you taking off his jacket “don’t lose this one okay!” he spoke into your ear. it didn’t matter if people wanted to take your other jacket now because now you had his.

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selective-insomniac · 1 year

Text

Rottmnt fics i found, ao3 edition. Join me in my misery

Updated: March 14, 2023

Key

word count guide:

🟣 - long finished (70k+)

🔵 - long unfinished (70k+)

🟢 - short finished (70k-)

🔴 - medium unfinished (20k-70k)

🟠 - short unfinished (20k-)

🟡 - comic

Subject:

🐢 - Future Leo

🐬 - Crossover

🐙 - Recovery/Aftermath

🌈 - LeoSagi

🦍 - Trapped Leo

📦 - Seperated Au

🐆 - Different World

🌂 - Donnie Centric

🦊 - Mikey Centric

🍓 - Raph Centric

🐊 - 2012/other iteration

💧- Major Character Death

Ottherwise, it’s Leo-centric lol

🟣📦Red Rover Red Rover Send My Brothers On Over! - Theserpentsnight

🟣🧢🐢🐆His World - SkylerSkyHigh

🟣🌂👾The Dawning of the Hour - Faiakishi

🟣🌂🤕Causa Scientia - urlocalllama

🟣🐙🧢Aftershocks - Katiemonz, McBethins, octolingkiera, theashemarie, this_kills_the_man

🟣🧢🐢💧Dead Man’s Deal - loneAnonon

🟣🐬🐊Dagger From the Mirror - TotallyNotASecretAO3Account

🔵🧢🐢Mutant Ninja Midlife Crisis - a_platypus

🔵🐬A Tale of Spirits - unorthodoxx

🔵👓🧢I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good - Dandy

🔵🧢🌈Worlds Apart - ash_kunoichi1925

🔵🐙The Aftermath - Starcrossrose

🔵🧢Change of Perspective - characcoon

🔵🧢🐬Shredder’s Vendetta - Cass_Phoenix

🔵🧢🐬Two Souls - Virgilisspidey

🔵🧢Like Father Like Son - eternalglitch

🔵📦Blood is Thicker than Ooze - mybrainisacandywrapper

🔵🧢🐬💧Tattered Remains (the sequel to Frayed Knots)

🔵🧢🌂🐙Brother Dearest - Wardenov

🔵🧢🐢Trial and Error - ApatheticRobots

🔵🍓🐬The Eldest Brother - dEBB987

🔵🐙Power Up - pickledcarrotsandradish

🔵🦊A Mystic Connection - rytheoneandonly

🟢🧢🌈🐙Rest With Me - sometimesimakebadchoices

🟢🧢🐙The Call Back Home - Gooselnsurance

🟢🦍🐙What Happens After - Fandom_Brat

🟢🧢🐆The golden flowers of life - Fandomnerdfrogs

🟢🐬Recoil - unorthodoxx

🟢🦊Empathy Amplified - Filsamek

🟢🦊🐬The Fight for Mikey - hinacu_writes

🟢🌂 Unmaking - corvidown

🟢🧢🐬Of Leo’s and Leonardo’s - Toothlessbored

🟢🍓First Words - less_depresso_more_espresso

🟢🧢Would It Really Matter? - Angelpuns

🟢🐢Remember Me - VanillaVengeance

🟢👾👓🐙So Many Different Ways To Say It - CupidsAroAce

🟢🐢🧢🦇if i don't make it back from where i've gone, just know i loved you all along - purpleturtle9000

🟢🌂With (Internet) Friends Like These - StormFireGirl

🟢🧢🌈Paper rings - lydiasgrace

🟢🧢Games We Play - NewFallenLeaves

🟢🌂Dial Tone - SleepyCyborg

🟢🧢🐬Frayed Knots - renawaywithme

🟢💧Fading Memories - HellsTrojanHorse

🟢🐊B.E.A.S.T - skylerskyhigh

🟢💧🌂🦊Quiet Your Mind - daedelweiss

🟢Bed bargain - VeryCoolKid69

🟢🌈🐙give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around - taizi

🟢🐙🐬waiting on a miracle - lydiasgrace

🔴🧢🐢Odd man out - cosmoscrow

🔴👓🐬Behind the Scenes - catboycamdotcom

🔴🐢🧢At My Worst - teainthesnow

🔴🐢🧢Yesterday (it was so far away) - Midnight_Duel

🔴🦍🧢Never Do That Again - DiscowingSuit

🔴🌂Carapace - SkeletalConstellation

🔴The Same Little Faces - awkwardusagi

🔴🧢🦍Adrift - Zanrelle

🔴🧢🐬Neon - characoon

🔴🧢🐢We’ll meet again, soon - chiangyorange

🔴🍓📦We Share Blood - Clovrtree

🔴🧢🐆Rotten Reflections - Nicoforlife

🔴🐊Fusions - AmevelloBlue

🔴🐊🐬The hogwarts remix aka screaming and magic at all times - cxlesstial, HeyAssbuttImBatman

🔴🌂🐙Do The D. A. N. C. E. - Pariscite

🔴🧢🐢Last Grain Of Sand In The Hourglass - TjLockticon

🔴🌂📦Nothing Left To Lose - halfwayzone

🔴🌂Donatello’s guide to overanalyzing things - LasciviousEnby

🔴🌂🐬👓Ghost in the Shell - AmevelloBlueb

🔴🦁Fracturing Time - ofdogsandwriting

🔴🐬🐊🌂Arcadia - SkylerSkyHigh

🔴🧢🌂👓The Old College Try - theashemarie

🔴🦁Too lucky to count - iooiu

🔴🧢And… We’re Off!! - SailorSaysAhoy

🔴🧢🐢🦇In The Bottom Of The Bottle (I See Your Reflection) - BeeCeit

🔴🦁🐢Just this once, everybody lives - TheDragonTribes

🔴💧🦊Mystic Hands - characoon

🔴🧢🤕Every Night the Longest Day - ashtreelane

🟠🧢🐢🦁🐀Not quite kintsugi, but close - katterv

🟠🧢🐢Three-Sided Coin - Willow_Wept

🟠🧢Let’s Make A Deal - BeeCeit

🟠🧢🐢To See Another Day - teainthesnow

🟠🌂🤕Young Root, Old Rock - SirryGray

🟠🐢🦇Traveling Memories - Camiliero

🟠🧢🦍💧Ghost with the most - Moth_mutant

🟠🐢I think I would prefer the prison dimension - PurpleCatGhost

🟠🐬💧Different Places, Different Faces - RoyaltyStudios

🟠🌂🦊🐬The Purpleest Man Alive - Cloud_Hater

🟠🧢🦍Krang Graveyard - Blue1Pheonix

🟠🧢🐢Wrapped in Regret - Vallmo_05

🟠🐙🌂Seven Times - Fastern

🟠🐬Is This A “No Way Home” Reference? - ShadowOfFandoms

🟠🐙🧢In Time, We’ll Be Alright - MetamorphicRocky

🟠👓Brotherly Snippets - Secret_Universe

🟡🍓🌂The Brains and the Brawn - jadethestone

One shots:

Shellshocked - redhairedmuses

On Understanding Caring Hearts - ParvumAutomaton

Lined with gold - mad_and_thick_as_thieves

Catch - Annkey

Promise? - TechnicalMachine

Indigo Sunset/Indigo Sunrise - TheObsidianSun12

Bar the door - ApatheticRobots

A Throbbing Headache - DiscowingSuit

Someone just as inspiring - mad_and_thick_as_thieves

🦊Angelo - daniartonline

Leonardo's Secrets - ofdogsandwriting

Patterns - FanGirlFreak16

🐊In The Aftermath - sccredhead

Nothing to Say - morning_sun

It’s About the Peace of Mind - characoon (sequel to Neon)

🐙🦊Hold him tight (and never let go again) - ItzZaira

Somehow It’s Worse - Filsamek

🌈Fifty Cents - emiartse

🌂Switch 404 (dead man's error) - VeryCoolKid69

💧Meteor Shower - Surmie

Lay It All Out - NicoleAW

💧🐀A Ninja’s Greatest Weapon - get_scrambled

🐢🐙Chiquitita (Or, The Complicated Act Of Forgiving Yourself) - Bubbly_Kandy

💧🌂🍓Rocks fall, everyone dies - Tenka

💧🌂Forget-me-not - TheArchetypeArchives

Feel the Colors in Between - GalacticDreamer

🐙Electric Blue - MidnightDuel

😷Who’re you hiding - sunflowerstarfruit

🤕Sword and Shield - The_City_Kitty

🤕👾This heart of mine that’s guilty, not remorseful - strawberryfwog (karamarinara)

🤕🌂🧢I Feel You - GriffinStone

I guess this is my life now

#rise of the tmnt #rottmnt #future leo #rottmnt fanfiction #rottmnt fic #rise donnie #rise mikey #rise leo #rise raph #rise april #rise casey

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descendantofthesparrow · 2 years

Text

Once Upon a December - The Invitation - Walter x Reader - P1

first vampire/the invitation fic les gooooooo NOTE HEAVY SPOILERS, DOES FOLLOW THE MOVIE/PLOT CLOSLY...that is until it dont, i’m a sucker for happy endings~

(i specialize in Thomas Doherty characters x readers so if i wrote something wrong no i didn't)

They said I was found by the side of a road, there were tracks all around; it had recently snowed. In the darkness and cold with the wind in the trees A girl with no name, and no memories but these

It was dark, cold, and wet-that’s all you could remember-the flashes of fire and lightning, the echo of screams, a hand in yours, pulling you to what seemed to be safety, and then…gone. Someone screaming a name that-seemed to be yours, their voice sobbing and desperate as they drifted away until you couldn’t hear them anymore.

“(y/n)-NO-(y/n)!!!”

You don’t know how you got separated from them, they seemed to care a lot about you, just from how they screamed for you. But you could recall your foot hitting something-metal and slippery, and you fell; hitting your head. You had a nasty scar from it to this day.

You woke up to what felt like-hundreds of years later but couldn't have been more than a few weeks realistically, you couldn’t remember anything, only your name, your age, and the feeling that you were missing something…or someone-by your side.

All you had was a ruby crystal, silver stems and thorns holding it tight to the leather cord around your neck with two small letters engraved into the gem. ‘H.D’. Along the silver vines was another engraving, in the same style as the first except it seemed to simply be an extension of the last letter.

Deville.

It was so simple; you had the initials and the last name. All you had to do was match the name to the person, but-even after years of searching, be it through books or the internet; nothing popped up. A clue that led to nothing, it left you to wonder; who was this H. Deville?

And could you find them? Could you discover your lost past?

It seemed like a long shot, since this-Deville didn’t seem to exist, not a single search engine had any answers, not even a family tree to maybe help you find them.

Maybe this-Deville had disappeared in the same incident that had caused you to lose your memories 10 years ago, you sighed remembering the day you woke up; all alone on a roadside, freezing cold with snow covering you and the forest surrounding you.

You had wandered into the town nearby, a kind family taking you in and warming you up, giving you new clothes, and doing their best to help you. But with no memories, and no account of-who you were other than your possible name-they couldn’t. Somehow you ended up in new York, homeless and doing your best to survive.

That is-until you met Evie Jackson, your now roommate and one of your only friends, whom you had met during a catering job and hit it off pretty quickly; when she heard about how you were homeless and just looking for a place to crash until you could save up for your own place, she offered her apartment.

You had told her many times that you were grateful for her offer but-you couldn’t just-take half of her space, especially as someone she just met. But she insisted and now here you were, four years later, still living together.

With your combined paychecks, you had been able to move out of her studio apartment to a two-bedroom only a year after you met/started living together, and you were both just scraping by, doing your best to survive in a world that didn't favor you. Evie was a wonderful girl, smart and kind, with a wonderful sense of humor, and wicked ceramic skills. Your favorite thing from her was a beautifully made vase you always made sure to keep stocked with flowers, she had made it for your first birthday in the apartment. You did have to admit, you did cry.

You were just grateful that you had someone, two people in fact, that you cared about so deeply and they felt the same; you wouldn’t trade Evie or Grace for all the riches in the world. They made you feel just-so much less alone than you really were, a girl with no memories of her past other than voices and snow.

You were ripped out of your thoughts and memories as Evie walked into the apartment, sighing heavily as she kicked off her heels and gently threw her backpack onto the couch; before plopping next to you with a raspberry “long day?” you asked, knowing Evie had to work at this boring catering gig about a 10-year anniversary or whatever. She just groaned, leaning into you and hugging your arm.

You laughed gently, squishing your cheek into her head “Long day. I made pasta if you want it? Ravioli~” Evie perked up, opening one eye to get a good look at you “it’s that uh-lobster and ricotta cheese one I bought a few days ago, made some garlic rolls to go with it too”

Evie hummed, realizing the smell of garlic and lobster still waved about in the small space that was known as the living room and kitchen. “yes please” Evie muttered, huffing as you slipped out of her hold to go make her a bowl “Can you get me a Fanta too? Please?”

“Yep yep!” you called back, taking the leftover pasta out and heating it up in the microwave, sticking your hands in your hoodie pockets as Evie went to her room to change, sick of the full black outfit she had been wearing for hours on end. You took out Evie’s preferred pasta sauce and an orange Fanta, getting one for yourself as well; eyeing up the chocolate cake that was inside the fridge before closing it and finishing up Evie’s bowl, setting it on the counter with a re-toasted garlic roll on a paper towel.

“Orders up!” you yelled down the hall, laughing as Evie made a sarcastic laugh, coming back out of her room in a comfortable-looking set of overalls and her hair up. “Thank you (y/n), I really appreciate it, today was just-guh” Evie muttered, giving you a quick hug before collecting her food and drink, plopping back down on the couch to eat.

She un-paused the movie on your laptop and you sat down next to her, the two of you enjoying the near silence as you watched the cheesy vampire “horror” movie you had pulled up. By the end of it the two of you were cheesing it, sharing the small bottles of wine Evie had brought back in the little goodie bag grace had scored.

“I mean, who would be scared of that?” Evie snorted, gesturing to the goofy-looking vampire with obviously fake teeth and horribly done hairline. “man’s looks like Dracula on meth” At this you cracked up, sliding down the couch as Evie smirked in victory, finishing off her bottle before standing up to go wash her bowl “Thanks for dinner (y/n), really” you smiled at her and gave her a thumbs up, sitting up to change the movie as Evie washed up. “I’m gonna do some ‘pottery’” Evie mocked, using air quotes as you rolled your eyes “I said I was sorry, Ceramics~” you teased, having referred to her art as pottery only once and she still made fun of you about it to this day. Evie stuck her tongue out and sat down in her chair, taking a chunk of clay and slapping it down on her table.

You glanced at her as a few minutes later she made a frustrated noise and smushed down the bowl she had been making, pulling it up with the cord and throwing the clay with its ruined brethren. You looked away as she sighed, wiping her forehead. “Please tell me there's more mini-wine bottles in that bag” Evie muttered, standing up and walking over to you, holding her hand out as you grabbed the back and checked.

“Two more” you muttered, handing her the bag and looking away as she muttered thanks and took out one of the two wine bottles “You okay?” Evie shrugged, fiddling with her necklace like she always did when she was feeling alone. “You still have clay on your hands.”

Evie’s eyes widened and she yelped, looking down at her now clay-covered necklace and slamming the wine bottle onto the table, rushing to go wash her hands and necklace. You took a paper towel and cleaned the bottle before setting it back down on the table, resting your feet on the table as Evie walked back in, rubbing her face with her now clean hands.

“You wanna talk about anything?” you asked as she grabbed the wine bottle and the bag, smiling softly as she shook her head “Okay, I'm one doorway away if you need anything, okay?” Evie smiled at you, nodding as she turned to retire to her room “Goodnight Eve”

“Night Anya” you rolled her eyes at her nickname for you, but if fit; you matched the fictionalized Anastasia all too well. You just hoped your story would follow her’s in turn. Soon enough you were going to bed, passing by Evie’s room to hear her mother's voice faintly through the door. You frowned, knowing Evie was feeling just as lost as you did, she had no biological family left, simply floating by in life; just as you were.

You fiddled with the crystal hanging from your neck, thumbing the engraving on the vine “H. Deville” you whispered, sitting on your bed and leaning against the wall. “Just who are you?...who am I for that matter” you muttered to yourself, letting your hands fall and your head flop into your pillow, curling your hands to your chest to hold the necklace close.

“I’m never going to find out who I am” you whispered, feeling a tear roll down your cheek as you fell into a dream-filled sleep of grand parties and a soothing voice in your ear, strong hands holding you close.

A week later, you, Grace, and Evie were in the living room, Evie scrolling on her laptop to find a movie while Grace helped herself to some white wine. “Did you ever go out on a date with that bartender guy?” Grace asked, Evie made a gagging noise, sticking her tongue out as you giggled, curling the leather cord of your necklace between your fingers.

“I’m ignoring his texts” Evie muttered, looking back at her laptop screen as she switched over to her email, unable to find anything interesting to watch. Even your cheesy horror movies looked boring. Grace frowned, turning to Evie with a shocked look “why? I thought you said you liked him! Didn’t she (y/n)?”

You nodded, giving Evie a teasing smile as she glared at you for helping Grace mess with her “Yep, she said, and I quote ‘oh he’s cute’~ think I can get his number?’ with a capital c” you said almost proudly, and Evie chuckled a pillow at you, rolling her eyes as you giggled “For someone who doesn’t remember a lick of her past, she’s got our words down pact” Grace laughed, sitting next to Evie as she rolled her eyes and you blew a raspberry at Grace.

“I’m just-not-I can't handle the new York dating scene right now” Evie muttered, sipping at her coffee when her email pinged, Grace agreed with her opinion on the whole dating thing. “it is exhausting” Grace hummed, tilting her head as Evie blinked in surprise at what she found in her email. “What?”

“Yeah, what? You gasped like when you got 500 bucks off that lottery ticket” you asked, repeating Grace’s question as you moved from the love seat to sit on Evie’s other side. “I got a cousin!” Evie proclaimed, leaning back to show you and Grace the screen.

Well, there it was, right on the screen; Evie had a 2nd cousin, Oliver Alexander. “Impossible he’s white as hell” you muttered, laughing as Evie pushed at your shoulder. “What she said, that is the whitest man I’ve ever seen, and he’s British” Grace said with a small laugh, watching as Evie read what Oliver had messaged her.

“He wants to meet up” Evie muttered, licking her lips in thought as Grace choked on her wine “A stranger? On the internet?” Grace said with raised brows, as if the idea was stupid “mm-mm, you’re not doing that” Evie tried to justify it, stuttering on her words as you leaned closer to the laptop, clicking on the ‘family tree’ to see how she was related to this, Oliver.

“He’s family” Grace just gave you a look that said ‘and?’ which made you snort a bit, slapping your hand over your mouth and nose to let Evie go on without making her feel like she was being made fun of; because you both knew how important finding her family was to her.

There was a reason you got along so well, especially after her mom passed away. Evie continued, glancing back at her laptop “And-I don’t have any” Grace hummed, pursing her lips as she looked at Evie, mostly teasing but she didn’t want Evie to walk into something that was only going to get her hurt.

“Oh, so you wanna be catfished? Oh, interesting” Evie let out a small scoff at Grace's playful yet serious words, shrugging a bit as she gestured to Oliver “I mean-look, he’s wearing an ascot. What could he possibly want with my broke ass?”

“Your kidneys?” Grace joked, still kinda serious as you let yourself laugh, Evie rolled her eyes at Grace’s wild guess “That’s probably exactly what this site is, tinder for unassuming organ donors” Evie laughed, shaking her head as she clicked ‘read more’ on Oliver.

“Well, he’s British, they’re all absurdly polite” Evie muttered, pursing her lips as Grace snorted, standing up to move to the love seat. “Yeah cause they’re wracked with colonial guilt! Doesn’t mean you need to mistake that for good manners.” Evie nodded, turning to you; playing with your necklace as you stared off at nothing.

“What do you think I should do?” Evie asked quietly, and Grace leaned forward; because you would know what Evie was going through the best, both of you without families and feeling lost without a map. You hummed, glancing between Oliver and your necklace, before you smiled.

“I think you should meet him, if just to meet him and know you have family. You don’t need to get all-buddy buddy, but-you know” you shrugged, leaning into Evie and resting your cheek on her shoulder “just make sure you meet in a very public place and update us about everything. British or not dude could be dangerous” Evie snorted, patting your head as Grace pointed at you.

“Exactly, if you do go through with this, keep us updated, he’ll make a group chat even.” Evie rolled her eyes again “you keep doin’ that you’re eyes gonna get stuck” Evie stuck her tongue out at grace as she stood to make sure dinner was ready while you leaned forward to check the family tree again, seeing they were related through Evie’s great grandmother Emmaline.

“maybe I should do this, see if I have any family” you muttered and Evie shrugged, playing with her necklace as she glanced between the family tree and Oliver's message.

Finally, she took the laptop from you and clicked the ‘respond to message’ bubble, taking a deep breath before she started to type.

-end of part 1-

yeeeeeeeeeeee im hyped for this, I've been thinking about it since i first saw the invitation~ just-ah~ inspired by Anastasia, Beauty and the beast, nnnnnnnnn...idk my stupid brain XD

idk who wants to read this soooo no taglist yet? this isnt my Harry Hook stuff so no perm taglist...if anyone wants to be tagged just lemme know i guess?...okay byyyyyyyyyeeee

#the invitation #Walter Deville #Evie Jackson #x reader #Walter Deville x reader #Walters original name is Harrison #i can do what i want its a fanfic #ill let him keep the deville #but walter is a dorky ass name #memory loss #immortal reader #evie n reader are besties #happy ending #some angst to come up but its a vampire horror movie of course theres gonna be angst #watch me write walt as Harry when it comes down to it i know i will XD #i do the same with Jeff i just fuckin write all Tommy's as Harry XD #Harry is the blueprint

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mlmxreader · 5 months

Text

Can't Let You Go | David Hesh Walker x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Pssst.... what if, hear me out here... I know "I think he's come back for his noon feeding" is from Jaws but!!! It's Y/N feeding people to their beloved that got turned into a zombie because they just CANNOT let go. Beloved in question is Hesh.

Optional but would be very funny if Logan helped capture victims because "It's not too different from hunting deer." and he also can't let Hesh go. The brother in law helps out.

Also optional, but would be interesting if Hesh could somewhat remember things even un-dead. Like Y/N tells him "I love you." and he'll sign it back because muscle memory or some shit. Establish a bit of motive for the whole "Letting my dead boyfriend murder and eat you." thing. - @tokillamockingbird427 ❞

: ̗̀➛ You're the only to blame for what happens to him, yet even still, between you and Logan, nobody can be quite sure who is less willing to part ways with him even though they know they should.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, graphic depictions of corpses, fatal injuries described in detail, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, murder, gun violence

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You blamed yourself for it, more than anything, knowing that the others had done everything that they could whilst you were over with a different task force doing some training; it was your fault that he had gotten that way. Your fault that he turned into a monster.

You should have known that the people they were after would have used the gas; infecting Hesh when he was alone in the control room.

You should have protected him, and look what you had done; he was far from the Hesh you had fallen in love with.

His beautiful, smooth skin was now covered in dried blood, the white cloth he had tried to use to protect himself was melted into his skin and had torn open to expose his fleshless jaw. Hanging on by tendons, dribbles of blood staining the once white fabric.

His skin was grey, pale and thick like a dying scab. Claw marks on his head where he had tried to fight the infection. His right eye was completely gone, melted from his skull and exposing the deep and empty socket; you could see right through to the back of his skull.

Bits of bubbled flesh stuck to his lower eyelid. A hole in the side of his neck where he had tried to kill himself in desperation, blistered flesh around the entry point. His hands were cracked and blistered, skin hanging off in thick scabs constantly, all up to his shoulders.

He could hardly speak, the words sounding more like an imitation of human speech; he sounded human in voice, but the words were just wrong. You had done this. It had all been your fault.

You and Logan knew you couldn’t let him go out on his own, knew that he couldn’t be given up to the US military; you also both knew that you needed Hesh, you needed him around. A life without Hesh… you didn’t want to imagine it, and neither did Logan.

Logan had never been without his big brother, and you had been Hesh’s significant other for so long that you just couldn’t stomach the thought of being without him anymore.

Together, you and Logan took Hesh to a cabin in the woods that you had been left in an inheritance; you put up six foot tall fences made of thick wood with a doggy door that only opened if Riley’s microchip was scanned, and ensured that the rest of the property was littered with barbed wire and traps to make absolutely sure that no one would ever find Hesh.

No cellular phones. No internet. No computers. Never anything that could ever be tracked to the location, not even burner phones.

Nobody else was ever allowed to know; Logan told Elias and Keegan that he was going to see some friends for a while whenever he came to visit Hesh, and you had no one to talk to anyway so you didn’t really need to worry about anyone finding out.

You moved into the cabin, Logan could only ever visit when he could manage to get away. It worked well enough, though, nobody in, nobody out except you and Logan.

If he ever felt like he was being followed, he would immediately drive past the cabin and head down to the local hotel; sign in under his own name, and remain there until it was time for him to go back to Elias’s house.

Never risk anything.

You were both adamant about that.

But every day, even though it always came back the same, you would always check Hesh’s state over and you would always try and clean up some of the wounds; he would sit there patiently, watching you with such softness in his eyes that it was almost hard to believe that he wasn’t fully human anymore.

No heartbeat. No respiratory rate. No reaction to being tapped on the knees or elbows. He didn’t bleed when he got paper cuts from thorns he picked up. He didn’t feel anything when he bumped into objects around the cabin. Never even flinched.

He didn’t sleep. He didn’t produce any bodily fluids like sweat, drool or mucus. He was a rotted corpse, through and through, but he didn’t seem to be rotting even more; like the gas had caused him to decompose up to a certain point and then let him be.

You almost wondered if they did it in hopes of creating soldiers, but you didn’t really care.

Hesh was still mostly himself; still pressed himself to your back when he saw you cooking, still nuzzled into you at night while you slept, still smiled and grinned when he saw you singing and dancing as you put the washing away.

He was still free to roam during the day, though, having access to everything within the six foot tall fence at least; it spanned quite a large area, but you still worried.

You checked every day to make sure that every panel was secure so that he wouldn’t get out and get caught by someone who wouldn’t understand.

Didn’t change the fact that he was always so fucking cold to the touch, though. His fingers always felt like ice, and his lips never failed to make you shiver; it took a while to get used to it when he peppered kisses along your neck like he used to when he came home from deployment.

But like every other being on the planet, Hesh still needed to feed; he still needed to eat, and you and Logan knew what you had to do; you knew that Logan was a skilled hunter, but you still felt bad about asking even though you knew he would agree - you still felt bad about asking him to do such a thing, knowing how much it would hurt you both.

But you had to keep Hesh going, you couldn’t let him fade away, you couldn’t let him leave - neither of you were ready for that, you needed him.

It started out small.

Logan would go hunting in the woods when tourism was slower and there were less people around to notice him going after whatever game there was; he would hunker down, wait for one to become separated from the herd to get lost, and then take the shot when it wasn’t looking.

He made sure to never use his car, and to always be within walking distance; leaving the prey on the small table you had made for Hesh. He would wash his hands of the blood he had spilled, watching Hesh bite chunks from the large carcass, tearing it apart with grunts and growls.

But it was only deer, that was all; it was only ones that ever became separated from the herd, and it was only ones that wouldn’t really be noticed.

“We can’t keep this up,” Logan whispered. “Someone’s gonna find out - I know it’s only… deer. But still.”

You frowned, knowing that he was right. “We need to find a new herd, that’s all… there’s an unmarked, inconspicuous trailer… it’s big enough for a deer or two… and you can attach it to the car. Just say you’re using it to help someone move.”

“And the blood?” Logan asked with a raised brow.

“I’ve got some buck fur,” you admitted. “And antler velvet, a few hooves leftover from old taxidermy - covers it up nicely.”

Logan nodded, pursing his lips as he looked over at Hesh, who was reaching into his chest; the flesh separated easily, a gaping hole of pale grey flesh hanging open like putty, when he heard a crack, Logan growled softly.

“Hesh! No!”

Hesh looked at Riley, then back at Logan, pouting. “Fetch?”

“No!” Logan commanded, huffing loudly. “Not with your own ribs!”

You whirled around, looking at what Hesh had done and sighing heavily. “Oh, baby… come here, let’s get that sorted.”

Hesh looked at you sadly as you examined the open hole. “Bad?”

You shook your head, looking up at him as you sighed and dared to gently kiss his scarred forehead. “You’re not bad, Hesh… you’re okay. You just made a little mistake ‘s all.”

He nodded slowly, sighing. “Miss. Be. Warm.”

Your breath hitched a little as you swallowed thickly. “I know… I know…”

He outstretched his arm, a loud peeling sound coming from the insides of his elbows where the flesh was full of sharp scaps; taking a step forward, he tilted his head down slightly.

Even in death, that fucker still knew how to use the puppy dog eyes with only just one eye, and you couldn’t fucking resist; wrapping your arms around him and letting him snuggle into you as you held him.

It seemed like he couldn’t get enough, trying to keep you as close as he possibly could and trying to get his hands under your clothes; yet he couldn’t feel the warmth against his hands, and he couldn’t tell if his own were getting colder or warmer.

He just knew that he missed the feeling of being warm, and that he missed being able to actually feel you; the sensation of sweating at night because you were snuggled into one another and he was overheating beneath the thick duvet.

You missed the feeling of his warm hands on your body, almost scared to touch him thanks to the ice; it made you feel like a part of you was missing, a chopped off limb. A removed organ. You sighed, your eyes thick with tears as you sniffled, letting him go and gently kissing his cold, cracked lips.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Do me a favour,” you told him, turning away from Hesh.

Logan shrugged. “Sure.”

“Let me borrow your rifle,” you said, voice shaking. “I need to go hunting.”

Logan silently pointed over to where he had left it, and watched as you and Riley left the fenced off area, leaving him alone with his brother. He looked at him, studying his brother's features. He knew that it was still Hesh; when he looked into that sad, singular eye, he could still see his brother trapped within it.

Yet his cheeks were completely gone, the flesh sloughed off long ago during the gas attack, leaving the sides of his jaws hanging on by tendons and strings from the stained cloth. His hands were blistered and bloodied, no longer the calloused hands of his elder brother who used to ruffle his hair when he was upset.

His arms were covered in thick, long scabs just like the scratches across his hairline. His chest was agape, the skin slapping against itself dryly when it caught the slight wind. Of course Logan knew that it was still his brother, it just didn't look like him anymore.

He swallowed thickly, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his back pocket and offering one to him; Hesh took it, and put it in his mouth as Logan lit it. The smoke drifting into the hole in his skull where his eye used to be; up close, Logan could see the tunnel all the way to the back of Hesh's skull.

He could see the grey mass of lumpy muscle that should have been pumping and thumping, that should have been light pink and squishy. That should have been a brain. He watched as Hesh took a long drag, but never blew out the smoke again, and he frowned.

In every sense, it was Hesh, Logan knew that, but it was… he was wrong. He was Hesh, but he was wrong. But he was still Hesh, and Logan wasn’t ready to be without him - even if it meant having the wrong one.

He sniffled, daring to look at his brother’s remaining eye as he nodded slowly.

“Dad misses you, y’know,” he said, his voice shaking. “I wish I could bring him here, but… it’d hurt him… but he still talks about you all the time like you’re… still here.”

Hesh nodded. “Still here.”

“You were my big brother,” Logan started, tears in his eyes and his voice falling apart with every syllable that left his mouth.

He wished he could have had more time, he wished he could have even though he knew that he would never.

Still, he cleared his throat, and he dared to continue despite his voice giving out, “you protected me, you taught me how to do all the shit Dad wouldn’t - how to smoke, how to drink, how to misbehave, how to sneak into pubs without ID… and I’m lost without you. I was never… I never wanted to… to be alive without you, man. You were always meant to be there for me, you promised.”

Hesh frowned. “Still here… still brother.”

“I know,” Logan whispered, taking a shaky drag from his cigarette. “But you’re not… you’re not you… you’re not… you’re not alive anymore, and I… I can’t let you go because I can’t picture a life without my big brother.”

“Love,” Hesh growled out, his hands signing the words. Muscle memory. “Love you.”

A sob left Logan as he whimpered and did his best to steady himself. “I love you, too.”

Riley was crouched in the bush next to you, sniffing the air as you steadied Logan’s rifle, hunkered down, you used leaves to pad the gun so that it was even more silenced, and with the commotion from all the lorries nearby, nobody would ever hear a thing.

You had your eyes on the prey, and so did the dog beside you, ready to pounce if you needed him to; you watched as your prey took a few steps forward, right into your sites, and then you pulled the trigger.

It reached up to grab its neck, suddenly slumping to the side and twitching violently; you pulled the trigger again, and this time, an orange spray rained through the woods, and you could easily see that part of the head was missing.

It was done.

Riley ran over, sniffing it and making sure that it was dead before he sat down, waiting for you to come collect your prize; you sighed, grabbing the ankle and trying to ignore the bits of metal slapping your hand as you dragged it.

Riley was the first to go back, while you followed behind shortly after. The dog was happy, but as you hauled your prize onto the slaughter table, you couldn’t help but to feel slightly empty.

Usually, hunting helped you to clear your mind, but… not this time.

Logan came over, Hesh following behind him, and he looked at what you had managed to get. “Good eating.”

You nodded, removing a boot and tossing it aside with a pile of others. Logan helped you to remove the coat, hat, scarf, gloves, shirt, trousers and underwear in total silence. “Check the coat for a wallet, same with the trousers.”

Logan nodded curtly, heading over to the clothing pile that was steadily starting to pile up against the fence. “On it.”

Hesh stood on the other side of the table, watching as you grabbed a knife. He brought his hands up, and smiled, daring to slowly sign four words: “you are my sunshine.”

You looked at him, and sniffled as you nodded. “My only sunshine.”

“You make happy,” Hesh told you, then pointed at the grey skies. “Even when.”

You couldn’t believe that he still remembered that song, the one you used to sing in the car together when he picked you up for date nights; the one that he was going to sing at your wedding. You wanted to sob, but nodded slowly as you swallowed thickly, watching him head over to his little food table.

You whistled at Logan, and pointed over. “I think he’s come back for his noon feeding.”

Logan nodded, daring to come over and aid you with chopping up the limbs and removing flesh from bone. “Is it wrong I still love him?”

You shook your head, daring to meet his gaze even though your own was teary. “No, because I still do, too… I know… I know he’s not our Hesh, but…”

“But you can’t imagine a life without him,” Logan whispered, picking up a pile of goopy, dripping flesh as he cleared his throat. “Nor me.”

You continued to grab what meat you could while Logan put what was done on Hesh’s table.

Immediately, he gathered up as much as he could in his hands, blood dripping from between his grey fingertips and staining his skin harshly.

He bit into it, a loud squelch echoing all around as he started to rip it apart; Logan could see the bits of flesh moving in his mouth through the holes in his cheeks, and was almost sick at the sight.

Still, he went back and picked up some more meat from your table before giving it to Hesh.

“We need to burn all of this,” you told him, nodding at the piles of clothes and mouldy bones. “Or at least bury it.”

Logan nodded in agreement. “You got a shovel?”

“Back room in the cabin,” you told him, clearing your throat. “Logan?”

He hummed as he looked back at you.

“You’re the best brother-in-law I could ask for,” you told him sincerely. “Thank you.”

Hesh got up as Logan walked away, dragging himself over to where you were and planting his hands on the table as he glared at you, tilting his head to the side. “Love… love you… my… sunshine.”

He looked pleased with himself, and you just couldn’t help it, grinning as you nodded eagerly. “I love you, too, baby… go eat, you need it. We��ll have more for you tomorrow, alright?”

Hesh nodded, extending his hand and showing you what he had in it, gesturing for you to take some. “Eat.”

You looked at the boneless fingers, and you smiled. “Maybe in a minute, I gotta get all this cleaned up.”

Hesh left them on the table, nudging them your way. “Eat. Love.”

You sighed, licking your lips. “In a minute, I promise.”

He frowned, but reluctantly slunk back to his table; you weren’t really sure what to do, whether to engage in what could only be described as polite cannibalism, or to wait until Hesh was too busy to notice you throw them away.

But you supposed, you deserved such a torment; it was all your fault that Hesh had become what he did, and you knew that you could not change that even if you did your best.

You knew that you deserved such torment for letting him die, for not being able to save the man you loved so much.

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