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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 7 months

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more seokmin comfort fics.. i read ‘sleepless’ and its so perfect i swear 😭

YOU MADE MY WHOLE DAYYYYYYY omg. Ran to write this for you, its a bit comfort, a tiiiiiny bit spicy, hope u like it!! please ask for more if you want!

Pillow Talk

genre: fluff with an implied spicy ending?? is there a word for that?? i'm new here lmao, comfort, established relationship

warning: implied mature behavior near the end, brief mention of a phobia of doctors and surgery, brief mention of blood, spooky beginning

words: 1.2k

The scrape of claws dragging slowly against tile floors is the only sound. You are trapped on an operating table, your arms and legs strapped down to prevent any protection from whoever — or whatever — was making its deliberate, terrifying way across the blood-spattered floor toward you. Steely-cold fingers slide up the back of your skull, and you scream yourself awake.

You’re shaking, safe in your bed, Seokmin beside you as he always is. But his hand is on your arm now, and he’s blinking at you sleepily. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, propping himself up on one arm and using his other hand to brush your hair softly from your face.

You lean into his touch, the warmth of his fingertips dispelling some of the chill in your soul from the dream. “Bad dream,” you say, trying to take a deep breath, still trembling. “Really bad dream.”

You know where this dream came from, too. In just a few days, you’ll have a surgery to correct a ten-year-old gymnastics injury. It’s a procedure that will vastly improve your quality of life, has very few risks, and has one of the easiest recovery processes in modern surgery, but you are petrified of doctor’s offices -- the sterile chemical scent, the people with faces mostly covered by masks peering at you from strange mechanical glasses, the powdery feel of latex gloves against your skin. And if doctor’s offices were frightening, it was nothing to the fear you had of surgery, which was just all of those things combined with a drug that made it impossible for you to fight back and the menacing glint of metal in a dim overhead light.

His brow furrows as he looks down at you. “Really? Do you want to talk about it?”

You give him a slow smile. “Why? So you can scare yourself into not sleeping for the rest of the night?”

He smiles at your teasing. “Fair enough,” he says, knowing he is a bit of a scaredy-cat. “Why did you have a nightmare, though? What were you thinking about when you went to bed?”

You sigh. “The surgery, I think.”

He nods in understanding. “I guessed it might be that. Do you want to tell me what you’re worried about?”

You give a humorless laugh. “Oh, just getting kidnapped, dissected, and sold on the black market. Or waking up with my brain in a different body. Or them accidentally operating on the wrong leg.”

Seokmin chuckles, but not in a dismissive way, and the mood immediately lightens. To say these things out loud is so ridiculous that it almost erases your fear, and you find yourself finally able to take that deep breath.

This isn’t lost on Seokmin, who is still watching you carefully. “Do you feel better after talking about it?” he asks.

You assess. Still a little shaky, still a bit panicky, but he’s looking at you with those adorably worried eyes ... it all kind of balances out. Plus, the way he’s leaning over you right now, and the way his biceps are handling his weight, and the tightness of his white t-shirt against his muscular chest...

You find yourself blushing instead of replying as you take in the sight of him, and Seokmin smiles at your expression. “You just thought of something that’s making you bashful,” he realizes, his eyes suddenly mischievous. “Tell me what’s going on in your brain.”

You avoid his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you claim, deciding to tease rather than be forthright -- you’re in the mood for a bit of a game.

His expression turns dubious. “Really? No thoughts, head empty?” he asks, clearly in disbelief.

You nod solemnly. “Nothing but the wind whistling through my skull cavity,” you say in a spooky voice.

He chuckles. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be all weird and creepy.”

“And you’re cute all the time,” you admit, knowing Seokmin eats that kind of thing up.

True to form, his eyes light up at your words. “Go on,” he says, laying back down beside you and pulling you into his chest. “Was that what you were actually thinking about while you were lying through your teeth about not thinking about anything?”

“It was...a little different,” you admit, grateful he’s hiding your face so he isn’t able to see you blush even deeper.

He doesn’t catch the hesitation in your voice, but he does start rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back, brushing away any tension there. You melt into his chest, and his arms tighten around you. “Well, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” he says quietly, his voice gentle and sweet in the darkness. “But what a gift this is for me, to get to be here to hold you through the nightmares.”

You pull back to look at him. “Really?” you ask.

“Of course!” he exclaims. “I love that I can ease your mind in this way.” He pulls you back in and kisses your forehead several times in rhythm.

You are extremely aware of another notable way that Seokmin eases your mind, especially when he’s holding you like this. Seemingly subconsciously, Seokmin’s hand slips under the back of your shirt, and your body erupts into chills as his warm fingers begin to trace soft patterns on your skin. You try to resist the urge to sit up and rip the clothes off both of you, reminding yourself to be patient -- you knew he’d never say no to you if you asked, but the longer he made you wait, the more delicious it was afterward. So you settle for a soft sigh against his chest. “Still, I’m sorry for waking you.”

He kisses your cheek this time, and you try not to tense up, knowing that will give away what you want, and then it’ll all be over. But it’s hard not to notice how Seokmin is inching his way down your body, seemingly innocently enough, but in a way that makes you wonder if you’re not the only one playing a game. Perhaps what this is is a game of chicken. Whoever gives in first loses. You decided to make your own subtle move, sliding your fingernails over the backside of his arm. “Nonsense,” he says, looking at you with a smile. “I wasn’t that tired.”

“How tired are you now?” you ask him, keeping a neutral tone, although you know your eyes are burning into his.

He adjusts his position so that he’s leaning over you again. This could just be so he can look at you -- but then again, as his hands glide down your side and over your hips, it could also be not that. “I’m wide awake, baby,” he says, and there it is -- an invitation.

“Hmm...in that case...would you like to know what I was thinking about when I was lying through my teeth?”

“Do go on,” he encourages, his eyes bright as he slowly slides in between your legs, burying his face in your neck and leaving a trail of kisses from your ear to your collarbone. “You might need to be quick about it, though. I don't know how much longer I can wait.”

You laugh. “Oh, it seems like you’ve already got the gist of it,” you tell him. “It’s almost like you read my mind.”

He brings his lips down on yours -- gently, but deeply and slowly and in a way that makes your heart pick up its pace, beating frantically against your sweatshirt. Then he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes and whisper, “it’s your turn, honey. Read my mind.”

You have to laugh -- because when he gets like this, his mind is an open book, the easiest book in the world to read. In response, you just grab the collar of that absolutely sinful white t-shirt, pulling him into another kiss, and let Seokmin sweep you away into his fantasy.

#seokmin imagines #seokmin fanfic #seokmin scenarios #seokmin x reader #lee seokmin #seokmin fluff #svt #seventeen #kpop #dokyeom

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mystra-midnight · 8 months

Text

Haunted Hoedown - DAY FOUR

summary: it felt like a thunderstorm was roaring in your head. Yyu heard him, but his words didn't register in your brain the way they should have. there was only building, mounting, and ruining pleasure that was spreading through your organs and seizing your limbs.

warnings: ghost!eddie x reader. mentions of an unsatisfying sex life/readers ex being a douche. masturbation. voyeurism. somnophilia. eddie being a tad mean/dom.

words: 5.7k

notes: day four of the haunted hoedown challenge being hosted by @inklore and @psychedelic-ink. a bit delayed because i was away seeing amy lee live and in person and fangirling. i tried a different style here with that i'm not 100% sure i love but i hope you enjoy reading.

prompt: american horror story Inspired + “i would burn the world for you.”

May 7th. 2001.

"Tell me why this place is so cheap."

You looked wide-eyed around the apartment. It was utterly perfect—exactly what you'd been hoping for when moving to Hawkins, Indiana. The walls were painted off-white, there were brand new stainless steel appliances, and there were timber floors throughout. The ceilings were high, and there was a little reading nook, two large bedrooms, and a large clawed bathtub.

But the best part was that it was advertised at more than half the true market value. It was absolutely ridiculous, crazy, and completely illogical, and you couldn't understand why.

You saw the realtor flinch at the question, which immediately brought you down from the clouds. Shit. Of course, it was too good to be true. There had to be something wrong with the property for the owner to be selling it for practically next to nothing.

With a sigh, you faced him. His expression was grim.

"Well, you see, um, there was, uh," he stammered, tripping over his words as he searched for the right ones, the ones that wouldn't scare you away. "About fifteen years ago, before the urban development and technology boom came to Hawkins, a young man died in the trailer park that used to be on this lot."

Your heart dropped as the horror of his words sank in, but the feeling was fleeting. Someone who was a stranger to you died ten years ago. They hadn't even lived in the apartment, so that didn't explain the next-to-nothing price. You said as much to the realtor, pressing him for more information.

"The owners want to sell the property quickly, rather than for money. They've explained that there were some... how do I put this? Some strange events occurred while they were living here."

"Such as?"

"Things would move when no one was around. There were always problems with the central heating. The televisions and radios would change channels in the middle of programmes or turn on in the middle of the night. I assume most of this is because of defective wiring somewhere in the building, but none of the electricians were able to find the cause."

You watched him cringe, as though saying the words aloud was physically painful to him. It all sounded ridiculous. And none of it was enough to make you turn down such a fantastic property for such a stupidly low price.

"That's all?" You teased, flashing the man a smile. "Consider the place sold.

June 11th. 2001.

Despite the realtor double-checking and then triple-checking, you crossed your T's and dotted your I's and bought the apartment that same day. You moved in the following month, piling boxes upon boxes, each one with a specific room written on it in your scribble: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, guest room, reading. You bought new furniture and decorated the walls with pictures of your family and the knick-knacks you'd accumulated after college.

It had taken weeks to sort out all the rooms and empty all the boxes, but the apartment finally felt like a real home, and you'd completely forgotten what the realtor had said when showing you the property: strange events.

It started after three blissful and uneventful weeks. Things had started to go missing, just like he said. It wasn't anything overly important, just small things like your rings, your glasses, or sometimes even your panties. Things would go missing for days at a time before reappearing in locations that they had no business being in.

And then the cold started. Not just cold, but freezing cold.

It got so bad that some nights you would see your own breath misting in the air. It never seemed to matter how high you set the thermostat or how many blankets you piled on top of you—you couldn't stop shivering.

But while all these things were certainly strange, they weren't illogical. You could explain each of them: you misplaced things because you'd moved towns—hell, you'd moved states—and were getting used to living somewhere new. It was also cold because the central heating was faulty. The lights would flicker because the wiring was done wrong. All of that made perfect sense.

But what didn't make a lick of logical sense was when things started to move while you were staring right at them. Hallway doors would swing wide open, slamming into the walls as though they'd been ripped open violently in fits of rage. Shadows would creep along the walls when you weren't looking. You'd catch a glimpse from the corner of your eyes of these stalking shapes, only for them to be gone when you turned to look at them.

Then the photos started to fall from their hooks on the wall, sometimes thrown across the room, so that the frames broke and glass shards littered the floors. You make yourself a meal only for the plate to be thrown off the table and against the wall, leaving the paint stained with splotches. It frightened you, leaving you turning off the lights, running to bed, and hiding under the covers like you were suddenly twelve years old again.

The worst of it was when the dissonant whispering started. It would wake you in the middle of the night, leaving you clutching a baseball bat for dear life. Your co-workers all agreed that you were stressed and overworked, probably exhausted from uprooting your entire life and moving across the country. None of them believed in ghosts, horror stories, or haunted houses.

You thought you might be going insane until you saw him.

July 4th. 2001.

Eddie Munson.

"Hey!" You called, startling the boy standing in front of your dresser. The top right drawer was opened, and your panties were on full display. Hidden beneath them was your vibrator, and you found yourself flustered, angry, embarrassed, and scared.

He looked at you with wide doe-eyes, swimming pools of brown that you could easily get lost in if he wasn't holding a pair of your panties to his nose like some god-damn pervert. You held a bat in your hand, ready to swing, when he turned and ran. You give chase, following him around the queen bed with fresh sheets and into the bathroom that joined the two bedrooms.

By the time you rounded the bed and made it through the doorway, he was gone, seemingly having vanished into thin air. Your panties were on the ground. You spent hours checking rooms, closets, and any nook and cranny a boy of his size could hide in. You even called the police and filed a report, but there was no evidence of forced entry.

In the days that followed, you took to sleeping with the bat besides the bed and a kitchen knife beneath your pillows. It was childish, but having them so close made you feel safer.

The next few weeks were surprisingly and uneventful, and soon you settled back into a familiar routine. Work five days a week, from eight in the morning until five in the afternoon, come home and eat, channel surf for a few hours, shower, and sleep. You were even able to have friends over without anything weird ruining the atmosphere.

It was as you were chancel surfing that you saw him again. You were looking through the music stations for something to listen to while you showered; you skimmed through the pop stations and skipped over the metal stations before setting on one that was playing When It's Over by Sugar Ray. The song was catchy and tended to get stuck in your head with how much it played on the radio, but it was a good one.

"Wait! Go back!"

You screamed.

With your heart pounding wildly in your chest and your stomach having fallen out of your arse, you stared at him. He seemed entirely unaware of your fright, instead gesturing frantically at the television. "Turn it back!"

This was the first time you'd gotten an up-close look at him. He was dressed in black jeans with rips in the knees and a shirt that said Hellfire Club. As he motioned between the remote in your hand and the television, it rode up, revealing a trail of hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his jeans. He had a leather jacket on and a denim Dio vest over it.

He looked like something straight out of the 80's.

"Back!" He yelled louder this time. He sounded panicked and frantic, and that was what snapped you from your stupor. You flicked backwards through the channels, finding the metal music one, when he ordered you to stop. He stared wide-eyed at the television, where Metallica was playing a live concert. You recognised the song; it was Fuel.

"That's James Hetfield," he said, his tone disbelieving. He flopped open-mouthed onto the couch as Kirk Hammett and Lars Ulrich began the opening rift. "This is Metallica."

"Yeah?"

"I don't know this song."

"It was released about four years ago; how can you not have heard it?"

You pressed yourself tightly into the arm of the couch, feeling it dig painfully into your back, when he whirled around to face you. His face was overcome with surprise, shock, and something else you'd yet to comprehend. Wild curls bounced around his face before settling into place.

"Four years?"

You shivered beneath the intensity of his stare and his emotions; even his presence in your apartment sent a chill down your spine. You nodded quickly, clutching the television to your chest like it was a weapon. Your grip was so tight that your knuckles ached.

"That's not possible," he whispered, turning back to the television as the lyrics started. "They look different. They sound different. This is crazy. They just released Master of Puppets?"

That caught your attention, and it was then your turn to be surprised.

"That was fifteen years ago."

"What?" He rounded on you a second time.

Over the next few weeks, you learned more about him. He’d lived in the trailer park with his uncle Wayne, and he’d passed in a tragic accident, an earthquake; his uncle had never found his body. You suspected there was more to it, but he was unwilling to give more details.

That accident had happened fifteen years ago, and the trailer park had been demolished about seven years later. A development block had been built to replace it, which eventually turned into an apartment complex as Hawkins expanded.

Eddie had only been twenty-one when he died. You learned that he liked music. Well, no, you learned that he loved Metallica and Dio. So you started to leave the television on when you went to work, letting it play from dusk to dawn to keep him entertained. Then you started buying magazines and comics to leave them open for him to read; you even bought home Metallica's latest CD.

And as the weeks dragged on, his presence in your apartment became less terrifying, except for the times he would seemingly materialise from nowhere. You even started asking him to hang out with you at night. The two of you would spend hours watching movies and music videos and just talking.

September 19th. 2001.

"Come on, Eddie!" You whined. He was behaving like a child, and you were exasperated and fed up with his antics. He was standing in front of the door with his arms crossed over his chest, obscuring the words on the front of his shirt.

"Don't you 'Eddie' me," he cautioned, his brown eyes narrowing into a glare. He hated the idea that you were mocking him, though he was smart enough to realise that wasn't what you were doing right now. "He's an asshole. I don't understand why you can't see it."

"Because I know him! You've only ever seen him! Briefly, I might add!"

Eddie threw his hands up in frustration; the sound that left his mouth was all but a growl. He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until your brains leaked out of your ears. Then you might be smart enough to realise that Michael was a fucking douchebag. "And I see you too!" Eddie spat, the fieriness in his tone making you roll your eyes and shiver simultaneously.

"Every time you've seen him, you come home frustrated, like the man doesn't know how to fuck or something! You always come back bitchier than when you left!"

"Eddie!"

If you could have hit him, you would have. His words hit too close to home for comfort. Michael was nice enough, if not vain and at times arrogant. He came from money, and he often acted and thought that money would carry him through the world. But he treated you well enough, and you enjoyed his company most of the time.

Except Eddie's intuition hit the nail on the head—Michael didn't know how to fuck. At least, not well. Each time you felt the familiar warmth of orgasm approaching, the same thing happened. It didn't matter that you'd be crying out his name and clawing at his back, begging him not to stop; he'd move, change his angle, change his pace, change his position, and you would be left a frustrated mess.

On the rare occasions he cared, he was able to make you cum. He'd work you over until you tumbled into oblivion, his fingers buried in your pussy as it clenched and spasmed around them, your back arched off the mattress. But he cared for his own pleasure above all others, and nine times out of ten, you didn't finish.

"Eddie!" He mocked. "Is my name the only thing you can say, sweetheart?"

"I'm not taking dating advice from a dead man!"

You regretted the words the moment they left your mouth. Tears burned in the back of your throat from how you swallowed the urge to cry, your emotions reaching a fever pitch as you walked through him. And as you passed, the cold of his presence enveloped you in a frigid hug but didn't stop you.

Instead, you left.

You drank too much that night; said too much, and let Michael work you over for far longer than you normally would. After being compliant and patient all night, he draped your legs over his shoulders, grunting and groaning as he fucked you, only to cum on your stomach before kissing you goodnight and slipping away. That had been the boiling point.

The relationship ended with you slapping Michael so hard that your hand hurt.

When you made it back home, the apartment was dark, cold, and empty. The television had turned off automatically at some point in the evening, and none of the lights were on. You’d expected him to be waiting for you with a smug smirk and an I told you so attitude, but Eddie wasn’t there, and that hurt more than the disappointing sex.

September 26th. 2001.

Six days later, you still hadn't seen him. Each night you tossed and turned, his absence from your life a gaping wound that often left you bleeding out and gasping for air. The apartment felt too large without him—too quiet and too empty. But you resigned yourself to the fact that you'd chased him away. He'd have found someone else to haunt, someone who appreciated him instead of insulting him. So you found something else to occupy your mind.

Except while you were settling into the mountain of pillows on your bed, the scent of clean linen and vanilla swirling around the room, he decided to make his grand reappearance. Well, no, not exactly.

The moment he chose to reappear was when you were sprawled on the bed, thighs spread wide, and heels dug into the mattress as you worked the tips of your fingers over your aching clit and into your leaking hole. You hadn't had sex since breaking up with Michael, but the ache had been in your belly long before that. The knot between your hips was pulled taut when you saw Eddie standing at the foot of the bed, panic bursting to life inside your chest. You snapped your thighs tight together, your hand flying to press into the sheets to hide the sticky evidence of your arousal.

"Don't stop," he said softly, his voice breathy and light. His wide-doe eyes meet yours. "Please."

"Eddie," you whispered as your face warmed with embarrassment. He didn't miss the way you rubbed your thighs together, desperate to stifle the ache between them. In that moment, you wanted him to be the one touching you. You wanted to feel the warmth and weight of his palms as he held you down and his breath on your neck as he kissed, bit, and sucked. You wanted him in the worst way, and it hurt you beyond words that you couldn't have him.

"Open them." His tone was harsh this time—forceful and demanding, enticing a soft whine from your parted lips. The smirk that found its way to his plump lips was sinful. "No wonder he couldn't get you off. Was he too soft, sweetheart? You need to be told what you want to do, fucked like a whore, to be able to cum?"

Eddie wanted to grab your ankles and drag you to him. Your little nub was so sensitive that he wanted to spread you open and rub the tip of his tongue against it until you were begging for him. He wanted to watch you cum on his cock, his fingers, his thigh, his tongue, and his cock again. He wanted to feel you with every fibre of his ghostly being. "Be a good girl and open your legs, yeah?"

You were slow to react. You parted your thighs slowly and shyly until you were exposed to his hungry gaze. The insides of your thighs were sticky and shiny with the evidence of your first orgasm; your puffy folds were still slick as you parted them with your fingers, moving to rub one on either side of your clit. Your breath hitched at the sensation and the way his eyes followed your movements.

"Eddie," you whined his name softly while your head tipped back, your throat exposed, and your chest heaving with each sharp intake of air. The crown of your head mashed against the pillows, leaving your hair a mess. You imagined the way his hands would feel—rough and calloused. He'd played guitar before his death; you knew he'd be good with his fingers. He'd be able to find that spot deep inside your gummy walls that made stars, no, galaxies, burst to life inside your veins.

"What a fucking prick." He spat the words through his teeth, each syllable filled with venom. "Didn't know how good of a thing he had until it was gone. Never even deserved to have such a pretty pussy if he couldn't get you off. I bet he couldn't even do it with his fingers buried in there or with his tongue, either. Bet he just rammed his dick in without getting you worked up first."

"He doesn’t.." You sighed, your breath airy and full of arousal. "He... he never tasted me."

If it were possible, Eddie would have cum in his pants like a fucking virgin. Not only had that asshole left you a worked-up and unsatisfied mess because he didn't know how to fuck you right, he'd never even tasted you, which was a crying shame. Right now, all Eddie wanted to do was have your sweet cunt beneath his mouth. You were a feast on display, and he was forbidden from tasting, touching, and fucking.

Eddie watched as you pushed your fingers into your clenching hole, chasing the orgasm that was starting to sear through your veins. You were so wet, your slick dripping down the crack of your ass, only to be lost in the bed sheets. "Forget about him," he followed up with a gentler tone, the cold of his presence enveloping the air around you until your nipples turned to hardened peaks that crowned your tits. "Forget about him. Just touch that hot cunt for me, sweetheart."

You answered him with a whimper, your lower lip quivering before being captured between your teeth as your fingers moved deeper, seeking and searching for that sweet stop. You heard his sharp intake of breath as you fingered yourself; the schlick sounds echoing around the room were obscene and pornographic. Your slick arousal coated your fingers, your hand, your palm, and your thighs, shining beneath the dull glow of moonlight that peaked through the windows.

"Harder," he barked, and you obeyed. The heel of your palm slapped against your clit with each thrust of your fingers. "Faster."

It felt like a thunderstorm was roaring in your head. You heard him, but his words didn't register in your brain the way they should have. There was only building, mounting, and ruining pleasure that was spreading through your organs and seizing your limbs. You come hard and long, crying a pretty symphony made up entirely of his name.

October 31st. 2001.

It worked for a while.

In spite of the entire situation making your face burn, you couldn't say no to him, not when he looked at you with those pretty doe-eyes or when he called you his good little whore. Thus, Eddie watched as you masturbated for him every night. He would tell you when to cum and how to touch yourself. You'd be told how many fingers to use and watched as you fucked yourself open.

It worked—until it didn’t.

After days and weeks, it wasn't enough to just touch yourself. You wanted him to touch you, but that was entirely impossible. So you threw yourself into your work and your social life to distract your meloncholy heart. But each night, in the privacy of your apartment, you belonged entirely to him. You worked a double shift today in preparation for Halloween. Eddie hadn't said anything when you'd come home exhausted. All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep like the dead.

And that was exactly what you'd done.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you knew you weren’t awake yet—you were floating on clouds in that blissful in-between. It was 3:15 a.m. in the morning, and you vaguely recognised the blurry red outline of the didgital clock on the bedside table. The witching hour on All Hallows' Eve.

It was only the sudden, sharp zing of pleasure that woke you.

You cried out. Your voice was hoarse, and your vocal cords were thick with a myriad of emotions: sleep, confusion, panic, and sudden desperation. Reality finally dawned upon you as honey-sweet pleasure swept through your limbs, making them feel heavy and sluggish even as you grabbed a handful of the thick mop curls between your spread thighs.

You bucked your hips without intention, pushing his face deeper between your sticky folds until he grabbed your waist and pinned you to the mattress. When he pulled back and wrapped his wet lips around your throbbing clit, you could feel him smiling. A deep hum rumbled through his vocal cords and vibrated through your core until you were moaning outloud, your back in a perfect arch as red-hot lightening sizzled through your veins.

"E-Eddie?"

The panic in your voice finally encouraged him to lift his head. His doe-eyes were blown wide with lust, almost entirely black. You saw the way his chin dripped with a mixture of his saliva and your slick; he was a vision of exctasy that made your brain short circuit. This wasn't possible—it literally wasn't possible. But it was real. You felt the weight of his hands on your waist, the way his fingertips dug into your skin hard enough to leave bruises, and the way his weight dipped into the mattress.

"Was wondering when you'd wake up, sweets," he mumbled, his breath hot against your mound. Your thighs trembled and squeezed around his head when he dipped his head to lick from your quivering hole to your clit, lapping at the slick that practically leaked from you. There was a part of you screaming, wanting to rage and be angry at him for doing something like this while you were sleeping. There was also a part of you that wanted to be as distraught now as you had been the day you found him sniffing your panties.

Both parts were quiet, making room for the horny, touch-starved part of yourself to come to the surface. Your nails scratched his scalp when you tugged hard on his hair. Eddie tightened his hold on your waist to stop your impatient squirming as he kitten-licked your folds. You were already embarrassingly close, and he knew. It was obvious from the way you were squeezing your thights around his head until his hearing muffled and how you squirmed and wriggled as the pressure in your belly built.

You made this sound—a little gasp of pleasure—that sent arousal rocketing through his veins and straight to his cock when he pushed two fingers into your tight pussy. His fingers were thicker than yours, larger and longer, reaching deep and rubbing against all of your nerves. You came without warning, slick walls clamping rightly around his thrusting fingers as the world shattered around you into sweet oblivion. Eddie kept his lips wrapped around your little nub, sucking and flicking his tongue against it as crystal shards of pleasure shot through her entire being. It felt like a bolt of white-hot lightning had struck your soul and set her world ablaze.

When you sagged against the mattress, Eddie climbed the length of your body, his lips leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses from your clit and up your belly, through the valley of your tits, until you were tasing yourself on his tongue. You touched him for the first time with shaking hands, feeling his skin against your palms, tracing the outline of each tattoo, and feeling how his muscles shifted and tensed beneath his skin as he settled between your thighs.

He was real; he was here, and he was yours.

As Eddie rubbed his cock against your sticky folds to get himself slick and lubricated, he groaned into your mouth. The flushed tip nudged your clit, causing you to gasp and arch beneath him. "Eddie," you moaned softly, your entire body burning and your eyes pleading for more.

"Say it." He growled. His breath was hot on your neck as he smeared open-mouth kisses along the column of your throat. He already knew what you wanted, but he wanted you to say it. He had to hear you say it. When you bucked up against him, desperate to feel him fill you or for friction of any kind, he pinned your hips down, refusing to give into your demands.

"Eddie," you whined. "Eddie, please, please, fuck me—ah!"

The stretch as he pushed inside was intense and immediate, more so than anything you'd ever felt. But it wasn't painful. No, it was deliciously mind-numbing. Your nails dug deep into his shoulders as you threw your head back. Your lips parted in breathless cries when he bottomed out, filling you so completely. The two of you have never talked about this moment, his size, or what to expect when having sex. Mostly because neither of you had expected this to ever happen.

Now that he was between your legs, holding them open with heavy palms, you knew that he was big—bigger than Michael and your other ex's. Eddie watched the way your lips clung to him as he pulled back, leaving only the crown of his cock nestled in your tight walls, and he moaned as you sucked in each inch of him when he snapped his hips forward. It felt like he was carving his way into your guts, rearranging your organs, or hitting the back of your throat. Maybe that was over dramatic; you were cock-drunk and delusional already. Maybe it was just the intensity with which you wanted him to act that made you irrational.

All that you knew for certain was that he was here, and he was fucking you, and you never wanted him to stop. You were crying, the tears having finally fallen, and you couldn’t stop shaking as lava pooled in your stomach. Eddie grabbed you by the chin, his thumb and forefinger pressing into your cheeks, so that you were pouting when he kissed her again. "Look at me when I'm fucking you."

Your eyes snapped open. When did you close them? You didn't know.

"This is what you needed, huh? You just needed a cock inside you—someone to fuck the attitude out of you. You're just a cockwhore, aren't you, baby?" His voice was rough as he growled the words through his teeth. He was hovering over you, hands on the mattress either side of your head, trapping you in the shelter of his body. You cried out when he made a particularly deep thrust; his aim never faltered. He found that spot that made galaxies come to life and made your thighs tremble around his slim waist.

"Answer me!" He repeated it louder this time.

"Yes!" You wailed. You felt racked with pleasure when he put a hand on your tit, palming it roughly and pinching your nipple to bring your attention to him. "Yes, yes, I'm a whore, just a cockwhore—of god, right there, right there."

"Whose whore?"

"Eddie, Eddie, please, need to cum—"

"You wanna cum?"

"Yes, yes, please." He was holding you at the edge of the world, leaving you staring into the abyss. You were buzzing with excitement, entirely ready and willing to take a leap of faith with him. You needed to free-fall; you needed to float through the clouds, and he wasn't letting you. Not yet. Not until you gave him what he wanted.

"Then tell me whose whore you are."

"Yours! Your whore! Just yours!"

Now that you'd given him what he wanted, he fucked you harder, impossibly so. The sound of his pelvis hitting the backs of your thighs was a constant smack, smack, smack. The headboard hit the wall with a resounding thud, thud, thud. The neighbours would surely complain, but you don't care because he's going to break you, ruin you, and wreck you.

The knot in your stomach unrolled quickly and all at once. A fresh wave of rapture raced through you like lightening arching through your veins, leaving you staring at the roof with wide-open eyes that took in nothing that they saw. Your back bowed into a perfect arch as you came harder than you thought was ever possible—even harder than you had the first time he'd watched you touch yourself.

Eddie buried his face against your neck, his abdomen dipping in and out as he chased his own release, his breath superheated against your skin while he panted. He was lost in you—the smell of your shampoo, the taste of your chapstick—utterly and hopelessly lost. Eddie came only a moment later, long and hard, painting thick ivory ropes along your quivering walls.

"So fucking good, baby. Pussy was made for me." He rambled between kisses, licks, and bites along your neck. Your nails scratched down his back as you preened beneath his praise, your mind somewhere in the clouds, no higher, in the thermosphere. "You're squeezing me like a damn vice. Fuck, you're perfect. I would burn the world for you. You're mine, aren't you, baby? My desperate whore. All mine."

Eddie kept you pinned to the mattress, legs still thrown over his shoulders as he huddled over you, almost folding you in half. He grabbed you roughly by the chin, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes were unfocused, and your face was streaked with tears. He felt your pussy still fluttering around his softening cock as you rode the coattails of your orgasm, each aftershock making you twitch and shake. He kissed you hard until you were breathless. You mewled into his mouth and pawed at him.

And you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were his.

#haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x you

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chloe-caulfield94 · 1 month

Text

I won’t do this

I can’t

I don’t want to

There’s no absolution to be gained

for my sin

by sweeping its victim

under the rug

It crushes me to know

that you wanted crumbs from my table

to be your last supper

I don’t know

what happened yesterday

A switch was flipped

in my brain

(or in my soul?)

and I became

a better version of myself

for a day

She’s gone now

but the feelings she brought

from a different world

beyond the sea

still remain

like a pirate’s treasure chest

full of Spanish dubloons

that people would kill for

I feel

bitter shame

that I left you

in the rear-view mirror

Cool relief

that now I know

why I am in this world

Sweet joy

of hearing your voice

Electric excitement

of touching you again

It doesn’t matter if we manage

to claw back from the universe

all the years I stole from you

or if a storm washes us away tomorrow

We can be happy

and carefree

and yes

we can love

even on the darkest of days

Your life is not yet forfeit

even if you can’t see it now

because of my cowardice

I want to hold your hand

even though you can’t

hold mine back

I want to kiss your lips

and I know you can

kiss mine back

Whatever time we have left

I desire for it to be filled

with many more days

like the one we just had

The real treasure is love, I said

in what feels like another life

But it was just a few steps from here

and I still mean it

I promised over and over

to stay at your side

and with all my heart

I intend to keep my word

this time

Even if you don’t want me to

Yet

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

„I am never leaving you again!”. The powerful and beautiful promise was still hanging in the air, like the last part of an echo slowly fading away, when Max regained control of her body.

“I love you” – Max said in a loud and confident voice.

Chloe turned her head towards Max. Chloe’s eyes, red and wet from crying now expressing surprise. And something else. Was it a tiny flicker of hope? Max wanted to believe that.

Max continued her confession: “I love you. I promised to always love you on that stupid recording which I sent you after your accident, as salt for your wounds. And here I am, years too late. But I love you!”

The flicker of hope was gone from Chloe’s eyes, like a tiny flame blown out by cold wind. She lowered her gaze to her own motionless body and said: “It’s fine, Max. You don’t owe me anything. I should have never asked you for that”. In a much quieter voice she added: “Your tape was not like salt. It was like a bandage. It got me through the months after my accident. I would listen to it on repeat. Even after it became clear you would never come”. Chloe lifted her gaze and looked at Max. The utter hopelessness in Chloe’s eyes broke Max’s heart. Chloe continued: “You don’t have to wallow with me in my misery. You don’t have to sit here. I release you from your promise. Go back to the life you’ve built out there, outside of my cage. Go back to the friends who won’t bring you down. You’ve spent a day with a dying friend. You’ve done your good deed”.

Even though Chloe spoke calmly, her words were like a whip. Max was filled with shame, so bitter that she could taste it on her tongue.

“I am not here because of words I said years ago. I’ve already proven that I don’t care about my own word. I am here because I love you now. I know I don’t have to be here. But I want to. You can release me from my already broken promise. But you can’t tell me not to love you”.

“What does that even mean, Max? That you love me?”

“It means this …” – Max placed her hand on Chloe’s hand. Even though Chloe didn’t feel it, she blushed. “And it also means this …” – slowly, looking Chloe deep in the eyes, Max brought her face close to Chloe’s and gently kissed her on the lips. Chloe kissed her back, making up for her inexperience with eagerness.

A smile lingered on Chloe’s lips for a while. But then her hopelessness dealt her another blow.

“God, Max, I am so pathetic. You saw me staring at you the entire night and you decided to give me a pity kiss goodbye”.

Max knew making up for years of neglect was going to be difficult. But she wasn’t about to give up easily.

“That was not a kiss goodbye. It was a kiss welcome. And I kissed you not out of pity, but because I wanted to. Very much”.

“Max, you know I’m dying, right? We don’t know how much time I have left. Maybe in six months I’ll be long gone”.

“I don’t care. If the time still left is short, that’s all the more reason not to waste even a moment of it. Chloe, it kills me to know that you wanted crumbs from my table to be your last supper. Just one day and that’s it? But what if we could have many more days like that?”

“But … I didn’t think you’d actually want to stick around with me for longer than that”.

“Whatever time you have left, however long or short it might be, I want to share it with you. Every moment. That’s what me loving you means”.

They sat looking in each other’s eyes for a longer while, processing the momentous revelations of the day. And it was still just early morning.

The beautiful moment was cut short when an alarm in Max’s cell phone started ringing.

“Shit! I have classes soon. I’ll come back straight after school, I promise, Chloe”.

When Max was at the door, Chloe said to her: “Max, please. If you don’t mean the things you've said, if you don’t actually want me, if you’re not going to come back, you have to tell me now. You can’t give a gift like that and then take it away”.

Max walked over to Chloe, kissed her hair and said confidently: “I’ve never been more serious in my life”.

Chloe was smiling when Max left the room.

#chloe price #max caulfield #pricefield #life is strange #lis #alt max #alt chloe

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 12 days

Text

Chris Redfield x Werewolf!Reader Headcanons

I went with headcanons because my brain is fried anon, I'm sorry

I'm greened out but I always provide angst

🌙 First Jill went missing all those years ago only for him to find her under Wesker's sick control. And now you? The second he heard it over his radio he wanted to throw the absolute fuck up. He almost swallowed the freshly lit cigarette whole.

🌙 He's had so much ripped from his life, he's not going to let you be one of them. He briefly thought back to Piers, the haunting memory halting his moves as the rest of Hound Wolf pulled him back to reality.

🌙 He searches harder than he searched for Jill, if that was even possible. It's not like anyone is going to say shit to the walking embodiment of a brick on steroids.

🌙 Claire is the only one who could talk some sort of sense into him, even if it was small. She stopped him from stuffing his pockets full of bullets and strapping as many guns to his person before taking off to some random and minuscule bit of information. Even then, Chris finds it hard to stay calm as his little sister tries to calm him down enough to sit and think things out.

🌙 He's normally so good at planning these kinds of things. He learned so much from trying to find Jill that it almost makes him feel insecure that it happened to him once again.

🌙 He often sits up late at night waiting and praying for his phone to light up whether it be a call or text or email. He yearns to hear his phone go off, to feel the burn in his eyes for the light to cut through the deep night that overtakes the too-empty bedroom. He leaves his ringer volume up at the maximum so there's no chance of him sleeping through it. And one night, it finally does.

🌙 He's out of bed and geared up in a matter of a few minutes. He's deathly silent the entire transport ride, the thoughts running millions of miles an hour in his mind had him grinding his teeth. He was smoking up a storm too, as soon as one cigarette burned out he pressed another one to his lips and lit it. It worried the rest of Hound Wolf to see him like this.

🌙 He lead the charge. He wasted no time, kicking door open with his heavy boots and sweeping the rooms with his finger on the trigger. His eyes were wild and tactical as he looked over the strangely wrecked rooms of the facility. It was all so odd that the place was seemingly abandoned overnight, coffee cups were half drunk, computers were still logged into, even some doors were left unlocked that normally would need keycards to open.

🌙 He found you in a room towards the back of the facility. His blood ran freezing cold in his veins upon first glance. You weren't moving. Against his better judgment, Chris approached you quickly and felt for your pulse only to be startled when you jolted with life. You looked like you had been dragged through hell as his eyes scanned your body for all of your injuries.

🌙 His heart broke upon seeing all of the deep bruises and the puncture wounds from where they experimented on you like you were a B.O.W. It suddenly struck him like lightning as the rest of Hound Wolf filed in, a few checking the computers and files around as one of the medics hovered over you. What exactly were they pumping you full of?

🌙 He read the files on the transport back, occasionally looking over at you as you laid near motionlessly as the medic worked over you. Your files contained a lot of familiar elements from Romania with the lycans. He knew what you were now, closing the files and sorrowfully looking back at you. He knew for a fact he couldn't bring himself to put you down, you both have been through so much together.

🌙 He fights to keep you alive, and somehow, it works. Of course, there's the heavy restrictions and looming knowledge that if you even put one claw out of line that it would end horribly. But Chris is determined to never let that happen. His nerves ease when it comes to light that you're different than the lycans from Romania, only transforming during the night of a full moon.

🌙 He's there for you before you turn, often in the room with you despite the protests of the others and even you. He'd be damned if he ever left you alone.

🌙 He's helping you attach the shackles and whispers to you sweet nothings while doing so. He's not the best with words but he's determined to do his best.

🌙 He's always so hesitant to go when you do start to turn, often pausing before the door as he weighs his needs for survival and the need to be by your side during a horrible time like this.

🌙 When he does eventually close the barricaded door behind him, he's immediately looking at the screen displaying the horrors going on inside of the very room he was just in. While others reel and turn away during the initial transformation, Chris stomachs it and watches closely for any signs of something going wrong.

🌙 He would often sit at the door, his back against the metal as you snarled and tore apart the room on the other side. A cigarette between his teeth was lit and he would find himself talking just to fill the void when you would get too exhausted to fight against the chains. It was his way of still treating you like you were human, even now. He would talk about whatever came to his mind; What bullshit paperwork he had to do earlier, what Claire brought up on the phone, something stupid he overheard in the locker room.

🌙 You would always wake up in the morning with the chains already off and a thick flannel blanket draped over you, a comfy pillow tucked under your head and Chris sitting right next to you waiting patiently. He always had a bottle of water fresh from the fridge, a protein bar or two and a few painkillers at the ready along with a change of clothes.

🌙 Chris is sure to clear out your schedules for the rest of the day. Your body and your mind both just went under a horrible amount of stress and pain, you need to rest. He'd rather go face-to-face with Wesker again than see you struggling around the house the day after, especially for things so basic like water or food.

🌙 He often likes to carry you inside your shared home despite your weak protests. He's a pretty strong guy and his mind is even harder to break at times, so there's no convincing him to stop and put you down. He always carries you straight to bed and lays you down comfortably and stays by your side until you eventually drift off.

#resident evil #re #chris x reader #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield

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stuffymcstuffsworld · 2 months

Text

Tell me your story

You loved books. There was nothing better. They were your passion. You've read thousands. Dare you say they were your first love.

Your fingers caress the spines of your ever growing collection. You cherished each new addition. Not willing to part with a single one.

☆I know a thousand tales. To fill a thousand nights, but now another story comes to mind.☆

You smiled as you rounded the corner. Poking your head out, you watched your favorite gargoyle writing a new book. How cute!

A demon who seems like a timeless story. Maybe that was why you fell in love with him. Why you feel the constant need to be with him.

☆A nobel young scholar ascends to wonderous heights. He's brilliant as he's handsome and handsome as he's kind.☆

Everything about him was wonderful. His kindness, his brains, his body... no wonder they say the devil is tempting. How can a man, well demon like him exist?

☆He is at once familiar and unknowable, to the frightened imp he meets along the way, and to that imps surprise something in his eyes beckons them to know him and inspires them to say~☆

You walked over and sat on the desk. Your feathered companion looks up at you warmly. Another thing you loved. He was always happy to see you.

You took one of his hands and pressed it to your cheek. Hoping to offer a fraction of the warmth and affection you constantly receive from him. You smiled softly.

☆I want to know your story. I want to know your past. So tell me slowly from the start. Leave out no detail, savor every part.☆

You were greedy. You wanted to know everything and anything about him. You often wished you had met him sooner.

☆I want to know your story. So make the story last. I want to know each twist and turn. Tell me all I've missed. I've so much to learn~☆

You could see the slightest hint of a blush behind his mask. The pure happiness in his eyes as you gaze at each other. Truly, he made you feel adored. Worthy. Loved more than ever thought possible.

☆For when it comes to stories, I thought I knew them all. Now I'm face to face with one I can't seem to recall~☆

♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆

Balam stroked his thumb against their cheek. So lucky. How did he get so lucky? To have such a perfect and impish human by his side.

♡The young student had come. To help inspire change, but fate had planned an unexpected twist. Within the schools halls, he discovered something strange, and found the missing part of him he didn't know he missed♡

He had never really fit in amongst his peers. Even Kalego and Opera had trouble understanding him sometimes. But you, well... you were everything.

You had come crashing into his life like a meteorite. Never once did you think his habits were strange. Never once had you been scared of him.

♡They are at once a comfort and a mystery to the shy demon they meet that fateful day.♡

You had brought him out of his shell. You made him feel warm. The constant affection you gave to him made up for a lot of his touch-starved youth.

♡They're beautiful and wise, and something in their eyes beckons him to know them and inspires him to say~♡

The avion pulls you closer. His wings engulfed the two of you. Your own private space. You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, gazing at him lovingly. Nuzzling your face against his clawed hands.

♡I want to know your story. I want to know your past. I want to know your future too. Fill my days and nights with the tale of you.♡

☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡☆♡

Days turned to weeks and weeks into months. The two of you seem inseparable at this point. As if there was never a time you weren't together.

♡I want to know your story.♡

You take off his mask. Carefully stroking his scared face. Your soft fingers traced his jaw like it was a work of art.

☆I want to know your story☆

The lingering touches. The soft kisses on rough lips. The warm breaths against each others skin. A private moment between the two of you within his wings.

♡☆So make the story last, linger over every part. Tell it till I know, every bit by heart~♡☆

Clawed hands combing through your hair gently. The whispered words of affection. The quiet laughter.

♡I've always chased stories, and then you entered mine~♡

He had always been chasing fairytales. Imaginary creatures. Yet here you were, really in his arms. Really there with him.

☆♡and now my only wish is that our plots may intertwine.~☆♡

You wanted to stay in the large demons embrace. His wings are a curtain between the two of you and the world. In this moment, all was perfect.

"I'm not sure what happens next." His low voice fills your ears. You look up at him, confused. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Tell me how you'd answer... if I asked you for your hand?" He says hesitantly. Looking at you with nervous eyes.

...

"YES! I'D SAY YES!" You practically topple him over as you rush to give him more kisses. You felt like you were on cloud nine.

☆♡A thousand and one nights with you is not enough to spend. So let's make ours a story with no end. So let's make ours a story with no end.☆♡

#mairimashita! iruma kun #welcome to demon school iruma kun #reader #balam shichirou #balam x reader #songfic

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merakiui · 2 years

Text

[i.] ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵉᵛⁱˡ’ˢ ᵈᵉˡⁱᵍʰᵗ

serial killer!jade leech x female!reader cw: descriptions of gore/death chapter i (you are here)│chapter ii

Today’s Horoscope: On this day, just as the stars align, your intelligence shines brighter than the sun and your positive energy uplifts those who know you. There are surprises waiting at every corner; it’s important to be alert. You will soon be rewarded for your continuous efforts and hard work.

In the large, horizontal tank, weightless, transparent globs of gel carry sparkling enchantments. Trapped in the malicious maw of mesmerization, you place your hand upon the glass and peer in at them, admiring the serene way in which they drift aimlessly in undisturbed waters. The lights from above dye their tiny, wispy bodies in the faintest, most angelic blue you’ve ever seen; the hue even reaches your fingertips, bleeding into your nails like the purest paint borne from cherub tears.

Jellyfish have always managed to captivate you. They are small and slow creatures who lack bones and a brain. Composed mainly of water, they exist for the sole purpose of protection—a gummy shield in which fish encase themselves to evade the jaws of ravenous predators. Charming as they are, jellyfish sting. And it hurts. A lot. They’re the type of marine animal you’d only ever hope to view from afar, through the transparent lens of a glass wall, lest you encounter one and it wraps its dangerous tendrils around your ankle in an electrifying embrace.

The intercom crackles to life just as you pull away from the tank, brows knitting in anticipation. “Today’s color is blue. As vast and wide as the sky and sea, as deep and dark as water’s soul, blue is the color of trust and sincerity. It is the color of bruises and sadness. It is the color of loneliness. It is the color of you.”

“I know that focused look.”

You whirl around, staring with wide eyes at the person whose back is facing you. His palm leaves a dark imprint on the jellyfish tank as he surveys the creatures inside with an expression you can’t see. His reflection is distorted beyond recognition, but his voice strikes a chord of familiarity within you.

“You’re fishing again, aren’t ya?”

“Fishing?”

“Don’t fish too deep. You never know what you’ll reel in.”

You blink and he vanishes in a brilliant explosion of playing cards under the glow of the aquarium. When you gaze beyond the spot where he once stood, all of the jellyfish have gone still in the water. You realize, with a sinking unease, that they’re dead.

“Today’s color is blue,” the woman repeats, her monotonous tone shaking you from your stupor. “As vast and wide as the sky and sea…”

You sit up in bed with a gasp, mind reeling through images of blue jellyfish, blue lights, blue skies—and your hand moves in search of your mobile phone. You locate it seconds later, tucked under the duvet like a bloodless corpse in a shroud. It glares at you when you turn it on and swipe through the pop-ups that clutter the illuminated screen. Flopping back onto the mattress, you click on the app that houses your digital dream diary and begin to record everything that just transpired.

“Blue. Jellyfish. Strange man. Cards. Intercom lady,” you mutter, voice thick with sleep. “Dead jellyfish. Blue… No, I already got that one. Um…”

Your thumbs hover over the keypad as you ruminate what’s missing. Eventually it clicks and you type the words color of loneliness into the document. Before you make another note, you search to confirm whether or not her claims are true.

“The color of loneliness…” Your eyes skim the first result and a smile claws through your drowsiness. With quick fingers, you consult today’s horoscope and scan it thrice before realization strikes. “She was wrong. That means today will go according to my horoscope. It won’t be the opposite!” You hug your phone to your chest and squeal, rolling back and forth until the blankets have tangled around your legs in a heap of wrinkles and you’ve bumped into another body.

A pair of pastel blues open in the gloom and your whereabouts in the real world come crashing down, heavier than the exhaustion that comes complimentary with a pre-sunrise awakening. No longer confined to the dreamy aquarium, you find yourself in a bedroom, tucked snugly in a king-sized bed, with a familiar man. The lights from a dozen skyscrapers cast an otherworldly luminosity on him, shining in through the slits in the curtains, and for a moment it’s as if you’re lying amidst the clouds with a seraph.

Azul yawns and reaches blindly through the shadows until he finds you. His arms wrap around your waist and you allow yourself to be tugged into his chest, where his heart beats out a steady rhythm that instantly soothes you. Combined with this comfortable embrace and the silkiness of the duvet, you breathe a satisfied sigh. When all else is swallowed by darkness—no matter what becomes of the people you once knew—Azul will remain as he always has: perfect and safe.

“Who’re you talking to?”

“No one,” you whisper. “I had a weird dream.”

“Oh?” His voice is low and husky—a brittle intonation that you’re only ever graced with in the early hours of dawn. “You can tell me about it over breakfast. I’d love to peer inside that curious head of yours.”

“Are you sure you won’t get bored?”

“Please.” A chuckle rumbles in his throat while he cradles your face with his hand, his thumb tracing circles into the softness of your cheek. “You could never bore me, my dear.”

Content with his response, you snuggle against him and slip into a dreamless slumber while listening to his heartbeat. Unfortunately, you’re not sure you can count the rest of the hours as ‘good sleep’ because your brain continues to buzz with faint recollections of your dream and the deeper meaning it holds. After lots of twisting and turning, you force yourself to wake at the crack of dawn despite your unwillingness to get out of bed. The promise of a good day is what eventually convinces you, so you throw the covers off and focus on welcoming a new morning.

Azul, dazed and sleep-deprived, tugs your robe-clad body into bed when you’ve returned from your shower, insisting on five more precious minutes before he joins you in getting ready. And because you’re so certain the day will be prosperous, you fall into his embrace as always.

“I know that focused look. You’re fishing again, aren’t ya?”

“So what if I am?” you mumble, weighing the current profile on your phone as if you’re a celestial judge and this person’s fate rests solely in your capable hands. “It’s hard to meet people nowadays. This helps me dodge so many bullets.”

“I won’t disagree with those facts.” Cater rests his elbows on the countertop, feigning dejection as though it’s as simple as breathing. “But how could you possibly look at other faces when I’m right here?”

“We’re friends, Cay. There’s a difference.”

”And I thought you said I was your type!”

“As friends you’re my type. That’s about it, though.”

“Total bummer.” The corners of his lips twitch into the beginning of a frown before promptly quirking upwards. “Well, what’s the sitch? Did you get any bites?”

“Yeah. But I haven’t reeled in anyone yet.”

“Aren’t you a picky peach?”

“I have standards,” you retort before turning your mobile his way so that he’s greeted to the sight of a shirtless man holding a fishing pole. Dangling precariously from the hook with large, glossy eyes is a sizable fish, its shimmering scales winking at whoever’s fortunate enough to stumble across his profile. “What’s your diagnosis?”

Cater’s nose scrunches as if he can smell the cloying stench of brine and body odor wafting from the image. “The doctor says he’s trying too hard.” He snatches your phone for closer inspection. “And he’s hooked the fish in the gills. In other words, if he’s careless with his fish do you want him as your main dish, Miss Marine Biologist?”

“Absolutely not.” You grin as he swipes the profile away. “Who’s up now?”

“A nature lover.”

“I like nature.”

“Do you?”

“Is it too much nature?” You sidle up to him in an attempt to get a clear view of the screen when a clipboard suddenly drops onto the counter. It clatters noisily, and you lift your gaze to meet a certain someone’s scowl.

“Slacking off again? I ought to have your heads for this.”

“My bad, Riddle. Cay and I already refilled everything and everyone’s been served. We had nothing better to do.”

Said man raises a brow before jutting his thumb in the direction of a table cluttered with dirty dishes and drying ice cream splatters. “‘Nothing better to do.’ Is that right?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Cater is already reaching for a dishrag and a bucket of soapy water. “Cay Cay’s on the case!”

“You should have been ‘on the case’ the moment the customers left!” he snaps, rubbing circles into his temples. “We aren’t running a pigsty, after all. So get back to work and don’t let me see you on your phones until the break.”

“Yes, Riddle,” you and Cater murmur in unison, heads bowed submissively. Riddle studies your expressions for a moment longer before taking the clipboard and turning on his heel with a huff. He pushes past the striped saloon door and disappears into the storage room to begin the tedious task that is inventory.

Cater leans closer to you, slides your phone into the depths of your apron pocket, and whispers, “Riddle’s always been, like, super loaded. His parents are magic doctors and I heard that makes good money. So why’s he working part-time?”

Like I’d know. We haven’t talked in years.

“The commoner’s lifestyle is exciting, or so they say. Even the rich want to experience it now. Maybe that’s why they look for partners who can hardly support themselves.”

“Yikes. Talk about a power trip.”

“Or a huge win for me. Student debt sucks.” You wave to the couple sliding out of the booth to your right. They return your gesture with broad smiles. “Wouldn’t you want to date someone rich? Then all of your problems would go poof!”

“Money can’t solve everything, lovely. What happened to personality?” Clicking his tongue, he drapes himself against the counter in an overdramatic feint of despair. “What has our world come to?”

“It must be ending if we’re letting that strawberry devil act like the king of the diner.”

“He fits the part nicely, though. You have to admit these uniforms are super cute.” Cater glances at the storage room before withdrawing his phone for a quick selfie. “And this place is a perfect backdrop for my Magicam feed! Pose with me!”

“I never really cared for it, but I guess the aesthetic is appealing.” You tap at the plastic horns on your headband and force a grin for the camera. After Cater’s put his phone away, you add, “It’s just part of the gag, right?”

“It’s so much more than that! Don’t you understand what the ‘delight’ stands for in The Devil’s Delight? It’s devilishly delightful! Duh.”

You reach into the bucket and pull a rag out. Wringing it free of excess water, you shrug at him. “People like old-fashioned, vintage things. Simpler times, simpler pleasures. Isn’t that why this place gets so much foot traffic during the high season?”

“You have much to learn,” he says with a disappointed tut.

Rolling your eyes, you pass the rag to him and reach for the dirty dishes on the table. Cater flits over to a booth near the window, where a little girl has just knocked over her milkshake. The liquid drips from the table in fat droplets, landing on the clean tiles in patterns reminiscent of blood spatter. It’s a pastel crime scene, one that’s endearingly sweet and innocently pink. While Cater’s in the process of retrieving the glass and consoling the girl to the best of his ability, you carry the dishes over to the sink. He meets you halfway, passing the empty glass to you, and you take it from him and drop it into the basin.

“I’ll make another one. Strawberry with whipped cream and a cherry, right?” You meet the girl’s teary-eyed stare. She manages a shy nod while her mother assists Cater in clearing the table so that he may wipe it down. “I’ll put extra whipped cream just for you, so don’t cry. Mistakes happen all the time. We can’t control them.”

At the mention of a larger portion, she perks up. “Thank you, miss!”

There’s never a dull moment at this diner, you muse while grabbing a stainless steel milkshake cup and an ice cream scooper. But that’s good. It means this day is going to be rewarding.

By the time you’ve reached the end of your shift, the afternoon has melted away into an array of breathtaking colors. Pinks and purples streak the sky, and you’re reminded of sorbet as you admire the retreating sun. Cater joins you at the window just as the last customer exits, the bell above the door jingling out a cheerful farewell.

“Another day in the books,” he announces proudly, hands on his hips.

“I wouldn’t make note of it just yet.” Riddle stands behind the both of you with his arms crossed. “We’re on closing shift, which means I’d like to be out of here within the next hour. Only then will this day be ‘in the books,’ as you’ve put it.”

“And we’re back to work!” you announce, turning away from the window. Before you can take another step, Cater’s arm snakes around your waist and pulls you against him for a selfie. He snaps a photo before you can look presentable, which graces your Magicam-obsessed friend with an unflattering view of you struggling to escape his grasp. Your expression is twisted in a mix of shock and vexation, and it certainly doesn’t appear photogenic despite the sun’s rays framing your head like a bright halo. “Hey! Delete that!”

“Too late. It’s going on Magicam! #Devil’sDelight. #SummerSunset. #nofilter. #besties4lyfe. #StaySeethingRiddle. And… Posted!”

“My dignity…”

“You have more to worry about than your dignity.” Riddle gestures to the room with a sweeping hand motion. “And you can start by wiping the tables. I’ll tally the register. Cater can finish the dishes and then he’ll mop.”

“No way. I did that last time.”

“Consider it a punishment for taking so many pictures during work.”

Cater looks to you for defense, but you can only offer your most confident thumbs-up. “And you did it wonderfully, too. Not all of us are split cards, my dearest Cay Cay.”

“Both of you are heartless devils!”

“Stay seething,” Riddle replies, sharing a victorious smirk with you.

It’s times like this one where you really connect with your high-strung friend. He’s always been particular about order and rules, especially when it comes to important things like managing a business or completing academic tasks. Even when the two of you were children, he had his sights set on the future while you would stand outside his window, tossing pebbles without a single thought in your happy-go-lucky brain. But with his mature outlook on life, it’s no surprise he was granted the position of manager just two weeks after starting. And here you were competing with Cater for that role, foolishly bickering over who’d make a better diner manager.

Deep in your soul, you’re certain Riddle could cut more of an impressive leader than you could. Your measly shadow only ever wavers at the mere insinuation of taking charge of things like your present and future. If you could, you’d drift through life on a zephyr and shed every fear that dares to tread upon your good mood.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket while you’re wiping the surface of a nearby table, and you glance at Riddle to check if he’s still attentively counting money. Once you realize his focus isn’t going to stray anytime soon, you cease cleaning and pull your mobile out to read the notification.

[You’ve matched with sea♡sluggi! Chat with them now!]

Exhaling a weary breath, you unlock your phone to inspect the user’s profile. There’s nothing outstanding about their bio, which lists a standard greeting, an age, pronouns, and a few emoticons. A location isn’t noted so you can’t possibly determine if they’re nearby or not, and their profile picture displays a woman holding up a cat and flashing a peace sign at the camera. Enticed by her bright grin and the mirth crinkling her eyes, you swipe to the chat feature and type a short greeting. Once it’s sent you slip your phone inside your pocket and return to the task at hand.

It isn’t until you’re standing under the awning outside, bathed in the crimson illumination from the sign that flashes the diner’s name, when you finally withdraw your mobile. Riddle’s twisting the key in the lock while Cater hums a nonchalant tune and checks Magicam, and you scroll through the app to read and respond to the messages you missed while cleaning up. Of those missed messages, the user from before pops up.

[sea♡sluggi] heey, thanks for the reply! :D i’m not used to these sorts of apps, so i was worried i’d end up making a fool out of myself… my friends dared me to swipe on someone and u looked nice enough to reject me gently >_<

[(Name)] That makes two of us lmao I haven’t used this account in a while

[sea♡sluggi] lol rip

[(Name)] But you seem nice! Are you an animal lover?

[sea♡sluggi] yep yep! i volunteer at the local shelter. hbu?

[(Name)] I work at a diner :/ nothing special or fulfilling about that. But I’m studying to be a marine biologist!!

[sea♡sluggi] impressive! maybe u can save our oceans with ur marine biology magic :D

[(Name)] I’ll do my best

[sea♡sluggi] i’m counting on u~ ♪♪

“That just about does it. Good work, both of you.”

You look up from the fluorescent, pocket-sized screen to return Riddle’s tender smile with one of your own. “Have a good night, Riddle.”

“Y-Yeah. You as well.”

“See ya later, alligators!” Cater flashes a grin at you and Riddle before turning to address you specifically. “Call me if you get any bites. I want to know all the deets!”

“Roger that, Dr. Cay.”

He mocks a salute before turning the corner and disappearing from sight, his shadow stretching in the light. And then you hear the rumble of a car as it’s started up and he drives past the both of you, poking his head out to wave. Silence fills the void he’s left, and you and Riddle linger under the striped eave, eyeing the boardwalk in the distance. The wooden slats give way to the shallows beyond, where the horizon has become a tangle of blue and gray. A comfortable breeze rushes through the walkway, and you inhale the summery scents of sea salt and bonfire smoke.

“See you later?”

“Get home safely.”

”Aw. You care. Should I be expecting a confession under the moonlight?”

“Just don’t get into any trouble.” He scoffs and storms off, but you catch his whisper as it’s carried to you on the wind. “And I’ve always cared…”

“Wait! Can… Can we take a walk together? It won’t be far. I promise.”

Riddle turns to face you and a tense beat passes between the two of you, filled with unspoken anecdotes of the past. Eventually, warmth bleeds into his sharp eyes and he nods. Smiling, you fall into step beside him.

“Is everything okay?”

If you had a single Madol for every time someone’s asked that cursed question, you’d be set for life. Probably.

“I just wanted to catch up. Ask how the move went. When you messaged me saying you were moving, I didn’t think you’d actually do it. And then you got a job at DD! That’s the best coincidence in the world! But enough of my ramblings. How’s everything going?”

You owe me that much after all this time, you’re tempted to add, but your lips clamp shut.

“Well, I was accepted into this internship program for magic doctors, but I won’t be starting it until next month. Since I’ll be pursuing another degree in autumn, I’d like to get accustomed to life by the sea if I’m going to be attending university and interning here. Moving hasn’t been too difficult either. The flat layout has been a pain, though. It has to be absolutely perfect or else there’s just no point.” He frowns disapprovingly at the ground, as if it’s to blame for the complications. “Other than that, I’d say things are going well.” Pride soon replaces his discontent, and it’s a clear portrait of a level of self-satisfaction you wish to achieve.

“For real? Seriously? That’s amazing!”

“It would be even more amazing if you submitted your application. Cater told me you’ve been stalling.”

“I… Yeah. Well.” You stuff your hands into your apron pocket and kick at a nonexistent stone on the path. “It’s complicated.”

“How so?”

“I want to do it. I really do and I’ve filled everything out. But…” A soft breath tumbles from your mouth. “I guess I’m having doubts now that I’ve come this far.” You peer down the empty street as you cross it, feeling Riddle’s eyes crawl up your face. Your feet slow to a halt and you stand there with your gaze locked firmly on your sneakers. “To be honest, I don’t know what I want to do with my life right now.”

It’s a heavy admission—one you entrust with Riddle because he’s mature and responsible—and you surmise he can handle the weight of this gut-churning honesty. Though perhaps you shouldn’t have dumped it on him so suddenly because his response has your walls upgrading to wood and then stone and then steel, until you're no longer a fractured fortress.

“Oh.”

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t know why I said that. Forget I said anything.” The strained chuckle you force out of the confines of your throat is unimpressive and hollow. Riddle doesn’t seem to buy it, nor does he laugh with you. “For now I’m happy working with you and Cater.”

“Part-time employment will only get you so far. It’s not smart to rely on dead-end jobs with minimum wage as a stable source of income. If you intend to own a house or start a family one day, you’ll need stability and a well-paying, full-time job.”

“I know. That’s why I want to be a marine biologist. I want to talk to dolphins and study merfolk and do all of that fun, aquatic stuff.”

“Do you?” His brow raises, challenging you to spill the raw, unfiltered truth. “You’re nearly finished with your degree. You’d benefit from a position at a zoo or a rehabilitation center. Even a marine lab would be happy to have you. I can look for available internships and job listings if you’re not—”

“I’m going to be a marine biologist!” This time the bold declaration sounds convincing—to your ears, at least. “I promise I’ll submit the application tomorrow. I’ll head right over after lunch…or dinner. Or whenever I get the chance.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t want to distract you from whatever it is you need to do.” You wave your hand through the air. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I don’t mind setting time aside for you.” He turns the other way and clears his throat. “So… So don’t feel like you’re alone in this, all right? I’ll be here to support you. And even if you aren’t accepted, it’s not the end of the world. They’ll be missing out on your ‘big brain,’ as Cater often says.”

“Hah! With all of this hype talk, I’d better see you at my graduation,” you say with a grin. Before Riddle can get another word in, you seize his arm and tug him towards you. He stumbles, face contorting through mixed emotions. “My horoscope said something good would happen today! What do you think that could be?”

“What does that have to do with—ugh, seriously! Don’t just drag me into the street! We could get hit.”

Your laugh permeates the air, silencing the rest of Riddle’s irritated tirade. His arm slackens in your grasp and a loud sigh slips from his pursed lips.

“She said today’s color is blue. The only blue things around here are the ocean and the sky.” You glance at the sunless waters in the distance and inhale a determined breath. “Let’s go right now.”

“Now?!” Riddle shakes his wrist free, but your hand darts out to interlace with his. He gapes at the contact for a few seconds before promptly shaking his head and fixing his posture. “(Name), it’s late. What's gotten into you?”

“We haven’t hung out like this in a while.” When your eyes lock with his, Riddle swallows anxiously and glances between you and the path you’re meant to take. “Live a little.”

“I’d prefer to live during the day when there’s enough light,” he grumbles, but he allows you to pull him in the direction of the boardwalk. The street lamps, their bulbs crowded with insects, cast speckles of amber on his face, highlighting the wine-colored hue that stains his cheeks. “What’s so special about the color blue anyway?”

“I don’t know, but she said it was the color of bruises and sadness. Uh, there was something else as well. I can’t remember it, though.”

“I’m not following. Who said all of that?”

“It’s not important right now. Look!” You gesture towards the brightly lit boardwalk. Energy pours from the people gathered on the wooden platform. Some are stumbling out of a bar and some are lingering under the glowing Ferris wheel. There are couples and friend groups populating the area, all caught up in the alluring nature of the seaside nightlife. A full moon casts a circular spotlight on the lively scene and you can feel the energy digging its fangs into you, tempting you with its candy-coated escapism. “Should we take a detour?”

“You’re more than welcome to, but I can’t indulge in this foolishness.” He huffs. “I have a lot that needs to be ready for tomorrow and I can’t afford to fit any useless interruptions into my already tight schedule.”

“I know you’re busy. I just thought it’d be nice to hang out like old times.” You toe the ground, tracing a circle into the concrete. “At least come down to the shore with me. Please?”

After what feels like an eternity of crushing silence, Riddle groans in defeat. “Ten minutes. That’s all I’m willing to give you.”

“That’s all I need.”

With your friend trudging behind, you lead him away from the main road towards the beach. The wind picks up with every step, clawing at the fabric of your work uniform with restless gusts—as if warning you to turn back while you still can. A low hum rises in your throat, spilling past your lips like a waterfall of made-up melodies, and it isn’t long until you’re skipping towards the ocean. Riddle can just barely keep up with your pace and he stumbles down the slope, a string of complaints following his sluggish movements.

With your hands situated on your hips, you inhale the briny air and watch the waves that crawl towards the shoreline. Through a thin veil of wispy clouds in the velvety sky the moon reflects in your awestruck eyes, a pale pearl withholding seductive secrets. Riddle’s feet shuffle through the grit and he stands stiffly at your side like an attentive soldier ready to throw himself into the frontlines of an intense battle.

“Why’d you come here?”

“No reason in particular.”

“Really? I’d have thought you’d have a reason perfectly outlined and annotated.”

He chuckles. “How about this? Living in a coastal city is a valuable change of pace with new avenues for opportunity.”

“Lame.”

“It’s far from lame.”

“Says the lame one.”

“I’ll have your head for that.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh. The distinct sound pierces the air and Riddle glances at you as you grip your sides. “It’s good to have you back, Riddle!” you exclaim, wiping at an invisible tear.

I missed you.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, frowning at the waves that curl and fold in the distance. “Thank you…”

Something scuttles past his shoes in the sand and he flinches away, tripping over his feet in an effort to regain his stability. His hand latches onto your arm on instinct and, caught by surprise with the additional weight you’re now forced to bear, you’re unable to support the both of you. With a yelp, you’re tugged down alongside Riddle as he falls and you land in a heap on the ground. Whatever creature startled Riddle to begin with has buried itself in a protective layer of sand, hidden from both sight and mind. Another gust of wind rakes cold fingers through your scalp.

With a grimace, you suck in a breath through clenched teeth. “I think I sprained my ankle! Damn. That really hurts…”

Riddle’s eyes grow impossibly large and he reaches for you, hands grasping air as he moves to touch you and then draws back, conflicted. “Ah, um… M-My apologies! I’ll help you to a hospital. If there’s anything else I can do to—” His distress is soon silenced by your poorly concealed snort.

“Just kidding!” You sit up and spread your arms, unflinching when Riddle sends you his meanest glare. “I’m okay. Can’t say the same for your pride, though.” Your fingertips rifle through the sand until you feel the cool, rough exterior of the crustacean that caused this entire mishap. Lifting it by its body, you dangle it in front of Riddle, who jerks away the minute its foreboding pincers snap at him. “Ta-da!”

“P-Put that thing down!”

“But it’s cute.”

“It’s dangerous,” he snaps. “Get rid of it before it hurts you.”

Rolling your eyes, you rise from the sand and brush the particles from your apron before meandering towards the shoreline. As you bend down to release the crab, your eyes catch sight of something in the distance. A shadowy outline loiters underneath the boardwalk, swaying in time with the flow of the surf like a buoy at sea or a stationary boat riding a current. The crab scurries towards the reaching waves, swept away the moment you blink. You stare at the mass for a few drawn-out seconds before turning to Riddle.

“Hey, there’s something under the boardwalk. I think it’s stuck to one of the posts.”

“What is it?” He dusts himself off and covers the distance to get to you.

“I’m not sure, but it looks like a float. Sort of.”

“Well, don’t get closer. We don’t know what it is.”

“But what if it’s something mysterious? Like hidden treasure! Ooh, that would be so cool. We’d be rich, wouldn’t we?”

“If it really was hidden treasure, we wouldn’t be seeing it right now.” Riddle shakes his head. “It’s probably litter or driftwood. The ocean carries all sorts of trash.”

“You’re being too critical. It’s not as bad as you make it out to be, Mr. Grumpypants.”

“I am not a ‘Mr. Grumpypants.’ I’m being realistic.”

“And I’m being unrealistic, so let’s go get ourselves some treasure!”

With a whoop, you drag an unwilling Riddle towards the strange buoy. He protests the entire way, but you don’t miss the way his hand squeezes yours. Once you’re within close proximity, the figure begins to take a clearer form and you approach it with slow, determined steps. From the light provided by the street lamps lining the boardwalk, the shadowy mass finally shapes into a human silhouette, their head bowed and body half-submerged in the water.

“Hello? Are you okay?” You take a step towards them, but Riddle’s grip tightens. You gaze at him. “They might need help.”

“They’re not responsive…”

“They’re probably drunk. Hold on.” You shake your arm free, ignoring Riddle as his hand chases desperately after yours, and glance at the person. “Hey, wake up! Now’s not the time to be…sleeping…”

And then you notice it. Under the moon’s silver glow, the water is stained a foggy vermillion. The person, who you’ve determined to be a male from closer analysis, has a gaping hole carved into his chest cavity, where his innards are currently oozing out in thick, waterlogged trails. Your jaw drops in muted horror when you realize he’s been tied to the post with nylon rope, the twine digging into his skin like a tightened noose. Drying blood streaks down his cheeks in twin rivers. You don’t want to assume the worst, but when you catch sight of his hollowed eye sockets you know right away that something about this corpse isn’t natural.

The water continues to rock him to and fro, simulating a mother’s loving cradle.

Riddle pushes past you, pupils blown wide. “Don’t get too close! Honestly, how careless can you be? You can’t just walk up to a—” He chokes on his words once his gray hues fall upon the grisly sight and he staggers away so quickly that he loses his footing and lands in the sand with a muffled thump. “G-Great Seven, this is—”

“A crime scene,” you finish, bile rising in your throat. “And we’re standing in the middle of it.”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #serial killer jade #death row undertow #death row undertow chapter one #happy riddle day! have a jade fic :)

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ja3gerb0mbb · 6 months

Text

flashback 2: the disappearance of eren jaeger

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word count: 2.6k

content warnings: descriptions of death (please read carefully)

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jean’s pov:

from the beginning it was always eren, mikasa, and armin. but in the middle it was me, marco, and eren. somewhere along the lines, eren found family with us, too.

“i can’t believe it! you guys we’re going to start college!” marco said excitedly; walking ahead to turn to face eren and i. “isn’t that so crazy? it feels like just yesterday we forced eren to hang out with us,” he giggled at eren. he got too excited whenever he smoked. “come on, marco, get your shit together,” he was being such a nuisance.

“jean don’t piss your pants,” eren laughed at me. “we’re living together now; at least try to sound excited,” eren got the same way. how is it that i’m the only one that acts normally? eren skipped ahead, grabbing marco’s hand before they started skipping together.

i had to run to catch up, “come on guys! you look like dumbasses!” i criticized them, but i couldn’t keep the smile off my face. the street was dark and empty, anyway. it was weird to think we were finally here; in sina. we’ve only been talking about it since freshman year. it was eren's idea, and marco would follow him anywhere. and i would follow marco anywhere. all three of us... it just felt right.

eren and marcos hands unclasped in a second. in another, eren was thrown against the wall beside him. his body hit it with so much force, the shop window shattered at the contact. “eren!” with all of my attention turned onto the brunette, i didn’t see marco get snatched. eren got up quickly, coughing lighty, “zeke..” his voice trailed. i turned to look at the direction of his gaze.

a blonde man held marco in a chokehold. he was struggling against the grip; legs trying to stay on the ground while his hands clawed at the hand around him. “what are you doing?” eren asked, his voice was quiet with shock. in the presence of this man, eren turned inward on himself. the smiles on all of our faces just a minute ago were wiped clean off.

“looks like you’re already loving college life, eren,” he spoke. i was frozen; we both were. marco looked to me, our eyes locking. it snapped me our of my state of fear, “hey what the fuck are you doing?!” i exclaimed, taking a few steps toward the strange man. he knows eren? what’s he trying to do with marco? my brain was still trying to catch up with all the information thrown at me. “you don’t want to get any closer,” he spoke again. the growl in his voice made me stop immediately. my body sensed the danger before i saw it.

looking up at his face; his eyes were completely black. it’s just a play on lighting, my brain tried to rationalize. if my eyes could get any bigger, they did when he smiled ear to ear. revealing long and sharp fangs. i couldn’t move. not even if i wanted to. “zeke. don’t. just leave!” my head wouldn’t move to face eren, but he didn’t sound surprised by the sight in front of him; just scared. his voice wavered.

marco continued to struggle, movements becoming weaker with the lack of airflow. move! do something! “let him go! i don’t need another lesson!” eren yelled out; like a scared little kid. he appeared in my peripheral vision; reaching out. but i still couldn't move. my feet were cemented in their place. i felt so fucking useless, why can’t i just MOVE.

in the next second, ‘zeke’ was across the empty street from us, letting marco go. he clenched at his throat, no longer having any pressure on it. he started coughing up blood on the pavement. he looked over to me before the man grabbed him again. his fangs sunk into marcos neck in another instant. and then marco was screaming in agony. his screams snapped me out of my state; eren started running to the other side, and i joined right behind him.

the man let him go again, but marco was on his knees in agony; his raw screaming cut through the air, “go!” he was able to yell out. his eyes glinted with terror. he weakly motioned with his hand, telling us to leave.

“marco!” eren called to him, but the man grabbed him again, and then he was even further in front of us. everything felt futile. like no matter how fast or far we ran, we would never reach marco. “so whaddya think eren, should i let him turn?” zeke had to yell to get his voice across the street, “zeke!” eren screamed; not giving him an answer to the question i couldn’t understand.

he picked him up from the floor; hands on his neck, gripping marco’s jawline with his fingers. the crack of bones registered in my ears before my eyes saw anything. and then marcos head twisted in an inhumane way; almost 180. his screams stopped- he slumped to the floor. he wasn’t moving. marco wasn’t moving. and neither were i or eren.

we just started in horror. marco’s body laid in the street as zeke approached us. he was in front of eren now. no. no not him too. i began to run to him, but zeke’s voice rang out, “just one more year,” his voice was almost soothing; his teeth were stained with the red of my friend’s blood.

as soon as he appeared, he was gone. eren and i didn’t move to marco for a few seconds, still trying to process what was in front of us. and then my feet moved on their own. my hands moved on their own; pumping on his chest. deep down, i knew it wouldn’t bring him back; his neck was bloody and his head turned in a way that couldn't be reversed.

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most people spend the first year anniversary of a death celebrating their life, or stowing themselves away all day. maybe that’s true for death’s that aren’t gruesome acts. marco’s death was vile, and the responsibility and guilt i felt for it was constantly eating away at my brain. on this day, i’d be ‘celebrating’ by throwing liquor down my throat and distracting myself with sex.

and that’s why i let historia lead me to some random dirty bedroom at a party house. our hands were wrapped around each other; our lips connected. i was in the middle of taking her shirt off when the door opened. “hey, jean,” it was eren's voice that called after me. i didn’t even realize he was at this party; when’d he show up?

we made eye contact with each other; both pausing. “oh,” he muttered before closing the door. historia started giggling beneath me, “what’s so funny,” my words were hard to get out through the alcohol. she covered her mouth with her hand, “i’ve been fucking him,” her giggling continued, “oops.” oh. shit. eren never told me. i pushed myself off, going after him.

but he wasn’t in the house anymore; must’ve just gone home. i just hoped things weren’t serious between them; i didn’t want anything to come between us. i couldn’t take losing him too. i sobered at the thought; but i figured walking to the apartment was the best option.

“eren,” i spoke. putting the keys to our apartment onto the keyring in the kitchen. “hey, i’m sorry man, i didn’t know you were screwing her too,” i laughed into the quiet room. it was then that i heard the shuffling. it was erratic.

confused, i made my way to eren’s room. passing by marco’s room on the way. i shivered, thinking about its untouched state. eren wanted to clean it up; i couldn’t bear to think of moving anything knowing that's how he left it last. i turned the cold knob on eren’s door; it squeaked as i pried it open. on his bed lay a suitcase, clothes filled it, but most of the space was taken by pictures and mementoes.

“eren..” this time, my voice dragged out laces with confusion and sadness. “where are you going?” it was a question, but my voice was a plea. it was as if he didn’t hear me, eren was still pacing around his room frantically gathering things from his drawers and walls. “EREN!” this time i shouted it. my voice finally broke through his barrier, and he turned to me. his eyes were broken; they looked the same as the night marco died. “i’m going back home for a bit,” his voice was shallow, like it took all his energy to answer me.

my hurt was soon replaced with anger. “because i hooked up with historia? i didn’t know! and what suddenly you care so much?” i raged.

“IT’S NOT BECAUSE OF HER!” eren was quick to shout back. “it’s not my choice. dad said to come home, so that’s what i have to do.” he quickly covered up his previous emotions, and he attempted to turn his face to stone. still, his features twitched. he couldn’t do this. he couldn’t just leave?

“after marco? i need you,” my voice cracked halfway through the sentence. tears stung at my eyes, i took a breath to keep them from slipping out. his face lit up again, he sucked in a breath too. “i’m sorry jean. it doesn’t just hurt you. but i can’t stay.” he stopped filling the bags in front of him, and met my eyes for the first time tonight. i still didn’t understand; he could see it on my face. “it’s zeke. i’m doing it for marco,” his voice broke.

even after all this time, we never addressed what really happened that night. the official report says marco died from a neck injury; the mysterious bite wound around his carotid was gone. healed is a better word. i know what i saw. but eren dodged any questions i tried to bring up. so i left it at that; not wanting to take the risk of him leaving, too. i guess that’s pointless now.

sometimes it feels like i chose eren over answers for marco; but i can’t let myself think that. i’m already guilt ridden over his death; allowing myself to feel a burden for that too would throw me over the edge. “i don’t know when i’ll be back. just don’t tell the others,” eren continued at my lack of response.

i couldn’t believe it, “don’t tell the others? so you’re just gonna disappear on everyone?” i knew zeke was his brother, but in this moment it felt like eren was choosing him over everyone he had here. it didn’t make sense. what does he have over him? “yes,” he was resolute in his answer. i didn’t want anyone else to have marco’s end; so i obliged.

“eren,” my voice was hallow, “you’ll come back soon right? i can’t be here without you. it’s-” i couldn’t finish my sentence. trying to live life without marco was hard enough. actually, it was debilitating. his absence was everywhere; i couldn’t do that with eren, too. at the thought; i felt empty, my vision seemed to go hazy.

he sighed, “i don’t know, jean. i really don’t.” i knew there was nothing i could do to make him stay. zeke’s distorted face was burned into my mind; and i knew this was bigger than me. bigger than eren, too. i didn’t want to face the possibility that this could be a goodbye.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i walked into my dorm. the one i shared with connie. paying a three person rent by myself wasn’t possible. marco’s room is gone; all that’s left of him is a puny box. it’s all his fault. but this night; a presence was in the dorm. turning on the light, i saw eren sitting on my furniture.

it had been about a year since i last saw him. i stopped counting the days he was missing at month three. i understood he had to go home; but i wasn’t expecting him to cut contact with everyone for so long. i had no idea what to tell my friends; getting into a fight over historia was the first thing that came to mind. so, i rolled with it until it snowballed into an even bigger mess.

i might’ve cursed him out, but i realized the man that stood before me wasn’t eren. he was different. physically, yes, but there was also something about his energy that was completely shifted. “new place, huh.” he said. his voice was cold; it cut through the air like a thin blade. i had known him for years; and i never knew he could sound like that. it irked fear inside my body i hadn’t felt since i saw zekes true face.

all i could force out was a scoff. fuck him, i internally seethed. in the beginning of his disappearance, i had imagined the day he would come back, and everything would be normal again. but i’ve known for months now that i would never forgive him. “you’re back now?” i bit into him.

“yes.” he sat unnervingly still. nothing about his demeanor or facial expression showed any sort of emotion. “for how much longer? you planning to just up and leave again,” i couldn’t help raise my voice. worst of all, i couldn’t figure out if i would be happier to never see him again. the indecision is what kept my emotions faltering.

he didn’t respond to me. getting up from his place on the couch, he strode over to the kitchen before grabbing a knife from the counter. fucking connie, leaving them out like toys. i tried to push out the twinge of fear i felt. eren wouldn’t do anything to me; but i wasn’t sure this was eren.

“sorry for the bad mood,” he met my gaze for the first time in a year, “i’m just hungry.” he chucked, letting his head fall. he just stood there laughing at the floor. when he brought his eyes back up, they were black. just like zekes. “no,” i muttered.

i took steps back toward the nearest wall, but eren didn’t follow. just stood there. i gathered my breathing; attempting to calm myself down. that’s when he reached into his pocket, pulling out a paper. i knew what it was. the picture of marco. i had enough pictures from my childhood with marco; i split the picture of the three of us and gave that half to him. surprise didn’t cover the emotion learning that he still had it.

he took a few steps closer to me, handing the knife over. he looked around, but eventually spotted a cup sitting on a table that seemed sufficient for him. “you already know,” he said. he wasn’t referring to what he wanted me to do. it was the reasoning behind it. he confirmed the suspicions i theorized in the year following marco’s death.

“can’t believe you’re one too,” i said with disgust, cutting the palm of my hand open before letting my blood fall into the cup before me. i didn’t know why i did it; maybe part of me knew he would just find someone else. and maybe they wouldn’t be willing.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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a/n: sorry for this LOL happy chapters are planned :)

#eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger fanfiction #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager #eren yaeger smut #eren yaeger x reader #attack on titan #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #marco bodt

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ria-writes-stories · 6 months

Text

Ship: Vuzin

Genre: Cotton

Description: Silly goobers

Title: Alone together

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

(No one's pov)

Life always takes you where you least expect. It doesn't matter how much you prepare for it, how much you work for it, for it will always throw you off your feet when you least expect it. You think you have your guard on, and then you forget that slowly you have slipped into a state of relaxation and before you know it adrenaline rushes through your veins as a million thoughts crowd your brain and you realise that you need to fight for all that you are and represent or drown into an ambyss of nothingness like many before you. Sometimes you loose the fight, sometimes you barely manage to pass by it, but no matter where it takes you, weather you like it or not, you wind up on a shore. Maybe it's a shore where you wanted to get to, maybe it's somewhere else entierly, maybe it's somewhere where your skin itches and your heart aches, but you are not allowed to drown yourself, because even if you do, the waters wind you up to a shore, and will it truly be better to blindly throw yourself into this scary sea unruled, wild and savage than to work with what you had been surrounded?

That's where life brought these three. Stranded on the same island, each facing a challange of their own, but surviving thanks to the help of each other, which is in the end, the greater goal for them all.

Uzi wouldn't have dreamt in a million years to be where she is now, standing between murder drones like an equal, no, more than that, like a superior. Her authority, her presence, everything about her was a threat to V. Despite what people in the colony have said about Uzi her entire life, she remained determined and fierce even if they constantly tried to stab at her core, to weaken her, to poison her with their foolishness, and that made her stronger. It has left scars, but these scars were most feared for they represent that life tried to take you down and you fought fearlessly against it. V saw her scars. She saw these bleeding wounds and the marks of stitches.

She saw the true danger she represented. Not because of her wits and tricks, not because of her skills and schemes, but because she was still standing, true to herself and to what she believes in. It was strange... It made V feel strange. It made V look at Uzi in a light that she hasn't looked at someone before... Uzi was better than her in every aspect. She was wounded, and her scars remained to tell the story of her fearsome battles. She was torn apart, yet she stood her ground. She was lost without anything to catch herself tho other than mere facades and phantoms of illusions, yet she knew exactly where she wanted to head towards to, and she would use anything that tries to stop her as an opportunity to get to her goal. A strong feeling of respect made it's way within V's mind. Uzi wasn't any ordinary drone, and that annoyed her. Not because she wasn't easy prey, but because Uzi wasn't challenging her. That's how nature works. The strong ones fight until the one that gets tired and sloppy dies out, so that's what V was waiting for. A fight, one to one on their own strenghts to see who would win, but that never happened, and unless you are oblivious to the world, you would know that when two stronger beasts do not fight it is for a common purpose, an alliance for survival, and that may include more than it meets the eye, for it could mean that pairing up together could be the most successful resort in such drastic of circumstances.

Uzi was between what was considered her world's top apex predators, and not only did she stuck by their side she also led them. It was nature's course after all. She defeated their previous leader and she took her place upon her rightful rank for such bravery and feat. For that N couldn't help but look up to her. She didn't have wings, she didn't have claws or chainsaw hands or other things like that, yet she was so powerful. He was given these upgrades, served on a silver plattern, while she has built herself from scratch.

Uzi may have been a little rough but at the end of the day she cared, and that was what made N feel the safest in the world. Yes he had a strong sense of protecting her, but her presence alone made him feel like the planet could collapse and he would still be fine because she was there with him.

Uzi knew N's feelings. She had such a charm that he opened up to her inside the pod without hesitance. He told her about V, about J, how he feels about them and how they treat them, and despite N's actions of hurting her and endangering her and her entire colony she pushed him in her own way onto a better path. She has saved his life and got rid of the one that caused him harm, while she also managed to make him finally interact with V. Yes the fight was violent and all that, but Uzi was the one to make the biggest turn in N's life, and she planned it even you could say! What reason would she have to pick out J instead of V other than the fact that J harmed N? She took in consideration N's feelings, she took in consideration how he adores V and how he fears J, and that is what she did. She was aware how deadly her railgun could be and she didn't want to take away from him the one that until then made him feel joy. At least that is how everything felt to N.

He saw her as intelligent, brave, strong, determined, fearless and amazing! N truly felt a connection and he didn't know how to express it. He didn't understand it and he couldn't make sense of it, but he knew that he cared for her deeply.

V was a strange drone, and some things simply didn't add up to Uzi. How could she have gone from a mindless psychotic oil thirsty killer into a more docile form? Either she was pretending, or that's who she truly was. But which way was it? Was V pretending to be docile and her outbursts were her true nature, or was V pretending all this time to be ruthless cold and merciless and these displays of aggression were still a make pretend due to the situation she was in?

This seemed fairly easy to Uzi to figure out. You can't go from savagely ripping off the heads of worker drones to hissing like a cat unless you got a serious head concocioun and last time she checked murder drones heal rather easily, even if N's kick to her head would have done something it would have quickly repaired. Uzi couldn't help but feel sympathy for her. V surely showed to be strong, but Uzi felt like she also hid her soften part, a gentle docile part that was predominent in N's behaviour, one that may have been numbed from the fear of being tackled down and thrown around like N was, and who could possibly blame her? Whatver she has been through of Uzi knowing or not must have been horrible but the fact that she still had this nicer side to herself showed that even if her true self was very deep down under thousands of layers, it was still there, and in this awful word it was hard to keep even that much intact. Uzi admired V for that, more than she would like to admit. She sometimes couldn't help but wonder how different were her and V truly.

V was a puzzle, but not the type that you could open up after a riddle has been solved, not even after multiples were decifered as if it was all an escape room. No. She was like a paiting, every single stroke of a brush on this wonderful masterpiece had a thousand more behind it as a base, shading or lightning. Every single detail that you could only see with a specially formed eye for such delicate and refined works of art, something that N didn't have yet, and he'd have to settle to trying to look at this wonderful work with a magnifying glass or bynoculars, but they aren't made for such purpose. N couldn't see deep into V. He couldn't understand her, he couldn't figure her out, or her process of turning the way she did, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate who she was.

She was strong, intelligent, caring. She masked all that ached her with a sheet that confused many, but even so through it she shined.

She shined like a bright star, and just like a star even if she couldn't be understood she was loved and adored beyond anything she could ever phantom her mind to, beyond anything she would allow herself to accept. She was a wort of art, he wasn't a painter, he wasn't a critique, he was simply a viewer, but it didn't mean he was any less blessed to have the oportunity of seeing her in all of her glory.

N was a strange drone. He was joyful and clumsy yet he was so careful and considerate of everyone. He tried his best to approach people, to make them feel good, to make them happy. V saw it as dumb. Not because he was dumb, no, he was a foolish pure golden heart. She saw it as dumb because he'd get walked all over. He was ignored, treated harshly and cruely, and that was dumb. He didn't deserve it, and even if it was a life lesson it wasn't justified. V saw him as too pure for this world. Even with his crazed moments at times he was still an awfully good person and that hurt her. It hurt her to see him get hurt. It hurt her to see him so alone, but in a sense she was happy, because he wasn't bothered by any of it. Just like an innocent child he moved on from it all, as if he tripped while playing, got up, and continued with it. He was there for her, even if she didn't allow him to be, he was still there, patiently waiting and his presence alone calmed her down, reason why she didn't trust herself near him, but...things change.

N was a cute and weird person. He could be absolutely unhinged in the most crazed manner possible, and yet he was as docile and as sweet as he could get. He was nice to Uzi. He was caring of her. He was apologetic and polite. He made her feel happy and safe. He made her feel wanted, something that Uzi never felt, which made Uzi want him in her life even more. First time they met she was ready to strike him down and she did, and now she couldn't possibly her life being otherwise than it was now, and it was all thanks to him.

She was so greatful to have him in her life. He has brought her out of her shell, he has accepted her for who she was, and he has made her feel like never before. He has brought her from her dull life to one full of adventure. One where she gets the answers she has been seeking her whole life and one where she got to experience it with people that truly cared for her, one way or another.

No one talks about how V was willing to sacrifice her neck in order to protect N in that prom day... No one talks about how V and Uzi slept together in the ladning pod as N slept outside. How Uzi would bicker with V only to eventually fall asleep on the floor within V's reach. V could have killed her at any given time, but she didn't. She gently placed Uzi in a warmer corner of the pod during her sleep so that when she awoke she was 'out of reach' from V who was tied up and 'unable' to move from her chair. No one talks about how N saved Uzi countless times and no one talks how Uzi saved N's life as well. They all saved each other, more than in just one way.

They never talked about it. They got stranded on the same shore and while they didn't want to admit it or knew how to, they silently agreed with no words or actions that it was the best change in their life.

They showed their affection and love in their own way. They were extremly different, and extremly confusing, but that is what brought them closer more than they could ever realise. They didn't know what the 'best' way to express their love was, but that didn't mean that the others didn't recieve their affection.

Love knows no limits or boundries, for it is a language spoken as old as time that doesn't need to be manifested within the limited understanding of one's capability of thinking. It is an energy surrounding us, summoned with ease, and dimished by only the strongest of storms, and even then, a candle, a sparkle, a glimmer of it shines brighter in the darkness, showing all of it's glory.

The end

#murder drones #murder drones vuzin #murder drones vuzi #murder drones nuzi #mueder drones envy

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greatlydelirious · 2 years

Text

𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 (𝐕)

Karl Heisenberg x F!Reader

wordcount: 5.6k words

summary: Aren't they all one in the same?

chapter warnings: smut, semi-public sex, angst, descriptions of extreme body modification, threats of violence, porn with plot

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V: The Girl, the Pig, and the Crow

It was astounding how one day could make such a difference. If you boiled it down, one not-so-chance meeting turned your mundane life into a roaring fire. An overwhelming burn of desire and hope consumed your being to a point that exposed you to possible destruction. That was a risk you were willing to take.

After you and Heisenberg came to a mutual understanding of your exclusive yet purely carnal relationship, you felt strangely content. Although it wasn’t the whirlwind “Pride and Prejudice” love story your whimsical heart longed for, it was leaps and bounds greater than any other “relationship” you’ve ever been involved in.

An outsider may think that you were moving rather quickly in your feelings, but it was the pace your surroundings dictated. Monsters and disease loomed around every corner, so you didn’t have the luxury to take anything slow.

During the walk back to your home, Heisenberg drilled in that you weren’t allowed to go trekking through the woods by yourself anymore. He would come to you when he was not busy. Not the other way around. Your near-death experience by the claws of Lycans made you not protest. Sometimes logic did penetrate your stubborn brain.

Little did you know that it wasn’t the Lycans attacking you that Heisenberg feared. No, after indulging in your body his scent was plastered all over you. It was four mutated people getting their hands on his little healer that he had to watch out for. A frightening prospect, but you were none the wiser.

By the next night, you were safely snuggled by the fire with the beautifully crafted “Machinery in Anatomy” book in your lap. Haphazard oil stains and coffee rings on some of the pages displayed how well-loved it was before you got your hands on it. Perhaps you’ll leave a mark of your own. You were sure you had an old tube of lipstick stashed away somewhere.

Since the book was so large you flipped to a random page near the beginning. Its contents seemed to be more of a safekeeping for breakthroughs rather than a chronological experience. Your fingers fiddled with the corner of the thick parchment page as you tried to soak in the complex drawings and annotations.

Sketched on the paper was some sort of breathing apparatus. The device had an elongated canister, different from all the ones you’d seen before. Small wires are drawn coming from either side of the mask which begged the question, what did they attach you? To you, the apparatus looked like something that would be used during warfare. Not that you had any expertise in that department.

The writing along the drawing read, “Subject #5: Previously was in an unstable physical condition. Discovered that securing a mask alongside the cranium’s headwear ensures stabilization to fully conduct. Check for sufficient oxygen levels before durability tests.”

Subject? Based on all the other content you briefly skimmed through, Heisenberg was testing something. “I said I was busy.” The vagueness in Heisenberg’s tone made sense now. No one had pages upon pages of contraptions just for fun. What also made sense was why no one ever saw the Lord outside of his factory. Well, except for you of course.

Embarrassment flames your cheek when you remembered how patronizing you were about what he spent his time doing. Talk about being hypocritical. You always complained about people undermining your work and you did just the same to Heisenberg.

Even though you wanted to dive into every inch of text to decode what exactly he was doing, the telltale signs of sleep started to take hold of you. Although the amalgamation of your fears and dreams inculcates a feeling of dread within you, some sleep was better than no sleep. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

As you go to squeeze the book into a nearby shelf something slips out from the pages and gently floats onto the floor. Bending down you pick up the glossy material and study it. You almost drop the photo again when you finally absorb what you’re even looking at.

Murky yellow eyes stared back at you, but no emotion could be found in their depths.

Its skin was a sickly ash color that reminded you of a mangled corpse. There was no way it could be anything else. Jagged incisions that ran endlessly on the being only strengthened your theory. They were stained red and crudely mended by what appeared to be large staples. Calling the method of suturing cruel and unusual would be the understatement of the century.

Just when you thought that was the end of the horror your eyes drifted down to its arms. Giant drills replaced the spot where its upper extremities should have been. Two thick tubes curved behind its back and you were grateful you couldn’t see what the hell they attached to.

Taking a deep breath, you fight off a wave of nausea. Although you’ve seen your fair share of blood and gore, this was undeniably abhorrent.

You didn’t know if you should be horrified or amazed at the sheer complexity of the… subject you were looking at. The Duke once warned you about the horrors beyond human imagination that roamed where each Lord lived and now you knew why. Now you didn’t want to go for trysts in the woods ever again.

Turning over the photo you brace yourself for more nightmare fuel, but are met with only cursive writing, “Soldat Zwei, success. Enhanced reactor vent with optimal drills.”

From your studies, you recognize the German word for solider and two. You also remember the glimpses of other chunks of contraptions and drills in the background of the photo. That had to mean there were more combinations of corpse and machine where that came from.

These possibly manufactured mutant soldiers must be the reason why Heisenberg didn’t want you to leave his room the other day. Just thinking about the damage those drills could cause makes you queasy. You guess that’s also what makes them so effective.

Heisenberg must be going about a “show don’t tell” way to let you in on what he was doing. A part of you felt oddly flattered that he would trust you with this book, but another part of you wished you could unsee all of it.

Looking around, paranoia itches its way up your spine. This wasn’t something you could just throw on your bookshelf and call it a day. You start to make your way toward the locked chest that holds your lei until you come to an abrupt halt.

Too obvious of a hiding place. Wherever you decided would be a life-or-death decision. As dramatic as you thought that sounded this wasn’t a little secret. It was the size of a fucking bomb that was waiting to blow up your shabby old cabin. God how you missed having no responsibilities.

This is what you get for getting involved with a metal-wielding, electricity-crackling, incredibly sexy man who was also apparently a mad scientist. If only you got a coin for every time you asked yourself, “What did I get myself into?”

Not only did you have to shield yourself from the other villagers, but now you had to hide a colossal secret from Mother Miranda. Faking a smile was one thing, but helping to hide an army of corpses was a whole other brand of trickery.

You tap your foot on the creaky floorboard while trying to find an answer. Under your mattress was too cliché and nearly all your shelves are almost spilling with how full they are. If only you were able to burrow it…

Inspiration hits as suddenly as a freezing-cold snowball to the face. You smack yourself in the head at your oversight. Hiding the book under the floorboards was foolproof. It would be easy enough for you to retrieve and no one would start out with ripping up your floor if they were looking for something.

Moving off the loose floorboard under your foot, you execute your idea and send a silent prayer to any God that lay beyond this village. Wiping your clammy hands on your night down you sulk toward your bedroom. Why waste time worrying about your dreams when you’re already living in a nightmare?

Heisenberg was going to get the tongue-lashing of the year the next time you saw him.

A blissful haze filled your body as you started to wake from your surprisingly uneventful slumber. As you bend your back in a tight stretch something hard presses against your backside. Only then do you register the smell of spiced smoke filling your nostrils and the weight encircling your waist.

Disoriented you try to turn your head but are met with the prickle of stubble. “Did I sleep too late?” You ask groggily as you try to look out the window. The fabric at your hips bunches as wet kisses are trailed down your shoulder. “No, doll. I came to have breakfast in bed.”

Heisenberg’s large hand cups your core before he starts rubbing you with the heel of his palm. Ever the multitasker he fondles your breast through the silk of your night dress with his other hand. Any arguments you had planned to have seeped into your pillow.

The hand on your breast migrates up to your neck. Encompassing the soft column in a tight grip, he pulls your head back. “I was too busy thinking about your tight cunt to get anything done last night, my little minx.” You sigh as his thick cock penetrates you deeply in one slow thrust. Heisenberg’s hips kept a relaxed rhythm that made each stroke drag out your pleasure.

Air was nothing but a concept as black spots filled your vision and high-pitched moans wrestled out of your mouth. Closing your eyes, you let yourself succumb to the bliss that was Heisenberg’s dominating touch.

As daybreak ended and the late morning began, chirping birds covered the sounds of unadulterated sin coming from your cabin. A passerby would think you were being mauled by a Lycan if they came near your door. It doesn’t take long for growls and grunts to morph into soft groans and sighs.

What a way to start your morning.

Heisenberg puffed away at a cigar while sitting on the edge of your bed. You pull on a floor-lengthened, long-sleeved dress that you saved for especially cold days. As you tie your corset you take advantage of the fact that you don’t have to look at the imposing man.

“I saw a picture in my book last night.” Although you attempted to keep your voice neutral, a light tremble makes the last word come out high-pitched. The surprise visit you got wasn’t effective in mellowing out your psyche.

“Is that so?” In your peripheral you watch Heisenberg stomp out his cigar before striding over. Instead of chiding him about burning your flooring, you continue, “Y-yes. I’ve never seen staples that large before.” You were trying your best to be vague. The image seared into your brain didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

Nerves get the better of you and you curse when your shaking hands can’t seem to remember how to tie a knot. “Let me lend you a hand.” Heisenberg pushes your hands out of the way before you can protest. Nimble fingers use the laces of the corset to pull you closer. He leans down enough so his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “Not here. Mommy dearest has more than one pair of ears.”

“If not here then when?” You whisper harshly back; frustrated about the waiting game you keep being subjected to. Patience was a virtue and those were hard to come by nowadays.

“Later. I have a couple of loose ends to tie up first.” With a tug, Heisenberg finishes tying up your corset. Turning around you move back to properly stare up at the bulky man. “That was technically a loose end.” Your snark is rewarded with a smirk, “I said a couple.”

A question that was gnawing in your heart comes out before you can think it through, “Am I going to end up like that?” Time feels as though it was standing still while you waited for an answer. A deep chuckle causes the metal around Heisenberg’s neck to clank. “You’d be dead already if that was the case.” Pausing he tips up your chin with his forefinger and thumb to kiss your lips, “And you’re worth all the trouble.”

Heisenberg’s answer didn’t start very comforting but at the end, butterflies erupt in your stomach. Boy did he know how to charm your panties off. After one last kiss that lingers for longer than necessary, the Lord leaves before anyone could come knocking at your door. He was your Lord and you were the lady in waiting. Nothing could be more literal than that.

“Note to self, Heisenberg has no concept of time.” You come to the conclusion while jarring the remedies you just finished. “Later” didn’t mean later in the day, but when he found most convenient. It had only been a day, but you were chomping at the bit for answers.

Did this make you a brat? Maybe; but at least you were a justified one. All you’ve been receiving lately were questions upon questions. Shaking your head, you try your best to clear out the deluge of thoughts fighting their way to the surface. You had to distract yourself. Work, eat, read, sleep, repeat. Follow that order and the days will soar by. “Easier said than done,” you mumble out loud.

A soft knocking sounding at your door rips you from your stupor. Smoothing your skirt, you make haste to the door. The sight of Elena makes you almost squeal in joy. Without hesitating you pull the young girl into your home and rush to the stove to start boiling water for tea. Conveniently your kitchen was in the same room as the entrance and makeshift clinic. It was a small cabin after all.

You’re surprised when Elena doesn’t immediately start gabbing away, so you opt to start the conversation while sifting through your cabinets in search of tea bags. “Roxana came to me with her tenth scrap this month! I offered to buy her knee and elbow pads from the Duke, but of course, she refused.” The giggle that leaves Elena is dryer than normal. Example number one on why you get paid to heal and not for small talk.

When you finally manage to find two bags of Chamomile tea you place them in a set of cups you traded for a couple of years ago. “Are you having trouble sleeping?” You spin your head around so fast you almost get whiplash. “W-what?”

Elena points over to the tea, “Chamomile is supposed to help with sleep, right?” Leaning on the counter you chuckle while rubbing your forehead, “Yeah, sorry.” You needed to relax. Hopefully, this tea did the trick, if not you would have to make a rare trip to the shanty bar near the center of town. “I’ve been sleeping, just not for very long. You know how I am.”

Nodding her head Elena changes the subject as fast as she started it, “When are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?” Someone was on fire with asking personal questions today. Usually, Elena spent at least an hour telling you about her week before you even got to make one comment.

Straightening you grapple for the right answer, “I would introduce you to my boyfriend if I had one. But lucky for you, you’re still stuck with me. Let’s just hope Anton doesn’t hear the news.” Elena simply shakes her head like an admonishing mother, “Hush now. It will be alright. I would never let something happen to you.” You couldn’t help but falter when you notice how Elena’s eyes drag over your form. Almost like she was searching for something. What exactly she could be trying to gauge, you had no clue.

Before you can make up an excuse the loud whistling of the kettle indicates that the water was done boiling. Immediately you turn around to pour the tea while sneaking in a sigh of relief. Elena gives you a quiet “thank you” when she accepts the cup.

As you watch her take a sip of the tea, the absence of a gold chain captures your attention. You freeze when don’t see the heart-adorned necklace resting along her neck. Ever since you gave it to Elena, she never took it off. She even joked that “as long as I have a neck, I will have the necklace on.”

You wanted to ask, but your instincts seemed to stop you. From the moment she walked into your home something felt… off. There was this warm energy that Elena carried that never ceased to calm you, but at this moment, she was devoid of any sweet sincerity.

Maybe she was just having a bad day. Or maybe the other villagers had finally gotten in her head. “Are you alright?” To her credit, Elena looks genuinely concerned. Your lips lift into your well-practiced fake smile. One that, until today, you never had to use with her. “Of course.”

Looks like that trip to the bar was going to happen sooner than you thought.

Amber liquid burns its way down your throat as you attempt to wash away all the concerns you have. The bitter flavor has you sucking your tongue, but the tingle in your brain indicates that the alcohol is already doing its job.

Day drinking was commonplace as each table was occupied. The bar was dingy and had a pungent smell of yeast, but you could care less. What made you shift in your seat however was the whiny voice coming from the corner of the room. Of course, you had to come here at the same time Anton did.

Downing the rest of your drink, you slam the glass on the wet surface. Right as you pass a bag of coin to the bar keep you can feel someone’s presence behind you. “Where do you think you’re going, little lady?” Each word came out more slurred than the last.

Turning around you narrow your eyes at Anton, “Home; and that’s not an invitation for you to follow.” The drunk stumbles his way toward you while pointing an accusatory finger. “Give up the prude act. I know you want me.” You would say he had balls, but only men had those.

Glancing around the room you notice the other patrons staring at the both of you. Great. The last thing you wanted to do was put on a show for everyone. Lowering your voice, you try to reason with him, “Just drop it okay? We can talk about this misunderstanding later if you want.” The later you were referring to was the one Heisenberg went by; probably never.

Instead of backing down, he snags your wrist in a vice grip before you could evade him. When you try to yank yourself away, he only tightens his fist. “You’re not going to make me wait any longer.” Anton tugs you so you fall against him. “All you need is a rough fucking to put you in your place.”

Your stomach roils in protest. Although he was extremely forward in the past, he was never this aggressive. In a way, you blamed yourself for brushing him off for so long. The bastard was the one who needed to be dropped down a few pegs.

Tears spring to your eyes as the pain in your wrist becomes unbearable at his crushing hold, “Please Anton, let go of me! You don’t have to do this!” Why was no one coming to help you? Couldn’t they see he was deranged?

“Put a fucking sock in it!” Anton gets so in your face that the smell of his breath invades your senses and almost makes you gage. “I’m sure you didn’t protest this much when you ran away to leave the rest of your family to die. Without me, you’ll really be a worthless hag.”

Anger bursts through to overshadow your attempts to defuse the situation. You were down being bulldozed by everyone in this Black God-forsaken village. Reeling your other fist back you punch Anton in the face.

The surprise blow makes his grip loosen enough for you to wriggle free. Seizing the opportunity, you kick out blindly. Sick satisfaction fills you when Anton doubles over while holding his crotch. How was that for a “worthless hag”?

“You fucking bitch!” Anton looks up at you in disbelief as he holds his jaw. The blood roaring in your ears made you almost miss his slurred words. This time the slur was from the blood filling in his mouth and not the alcohol.

Emboldened by liquid courage you kneel so that only Anton could hear you, “If I’m a bitch then you’re a filthy pig.” With one last scathing look, you leave the bar before anyone else made the idiotic decision to confront you. All you wanted to do was go home and rub your skin until his smell and touch went away.

The adrenaline starts to wear off while walking through the village. Your hand shakes like a ground-splitting earthquake as try to tuck your hair out of your face. Your one goal was to not make any more enemies and you were doing a piss poor job at that. The only gratification you got was knowing that the only person who could fix Anton’s jaw was you. And there was no way he would dare step foot anywhere near your cabin. At least that’s what you hoped.

When you round the corner, you see Elena walking in the other direction of the path. Her face lights up at the sight of you. “Hey! I came over for our weekly tea, but you weren’t home. Did you have to get errands?”

Your raging nerves are glazed over with a rush of numbness. “W-what are you talking about? We had tea already.” If she sprouted two heads and started flying, you still would not have found that crazier.

Elena tilts her head to the side before breathing out a small laugh. “You really need to take a day off. All those oddly named herbs might be screwing with your head.” It feels as though your limbs are dead weights as Elena hooks her arm with yours as she walks you back home. Her touch was warm, but your heart felt cold.

All you could do was pace around the small space as your head barely contained the sheer insanity you were feeling at this moment. You were not crazy. Well… not in the hallucinating full interactions way at the very least.

Rubbing your temples, you analyze every second of your conversation with Elena. Nothing seems to click until what she said earlier makes you stop dead in your tracks. “Hush now. It will be alright. I would never let something happen to you.” You have heard that exact sentiment before. The woman in your nightmares told you that once. Word for word.

Gripped by panic you rush out the door. Without a destination in mind, you run past the other houses and villagers around you. The murmurs at your strange behavior swirl together in an all-consuming way. No matter where you go, or what you do, you can never be left alone. The village people, Anton, the hag, the Duke’s coded messages, and now Elena.

Maybe one person was not trying to tear you down after all; they all were.

It is like your throat is collapsing in on itself. Running between two abandoned houses, you press yourself into the cold exterior. If only you could fuse yourself into the dilapidated structure. Closing your eyes, you try to regain any control you have left.

Despite your efforts, tears start to pour from your eyes as the ringing in your ears intensifies. Each time your body shivers from the bitter cold more raw emotions are forced out to the point where you might fall to your knees from grief. You had never felt this alone since your parents were stolen away from you.

Out of nowhere, something sinks its fingers into your shoulders. Flashes of Anton grabbing you make you switch back into full survival mode. Your scream is cut short when your mouth is quickly covered.

“Stop struggling.” Your assailant’s voice sounds as if it was underwater. Not relenting you try any trick you can muster. Kicking, scratching, and thrashing; anything to be let go. In your hysteria, you manage to land some blows hard enough that they make the other person grunt.

A current of electricity jolts your body. The searing pain was as effective as a slap in the face. Opening your eyes, you are greeted by a disheveled-looking man. His hair was tousled, and splotches of crimson were splattered across the man’s torso up to his neck. What struck you was the way the man’s wild green eyes searched all over your skin.

Upon closer inspection it was not just any man, it was Heisenberg. You bring your shaky hands to Heisenberg’s face. The roughness of his beard on your delicate skin grounded you. This was real. He was real. At this moment you needed that confirmation more than anything else in the world. Before he could open his mouth, you interrupt him, “Hold me.”

Heisenberg doesn’t try to stop you as your legs wrap around his hips and you cling to his neck. For a couple of moments, you simply sit in each other’s embrace. When was the last time a lamb ran into the embrace of a hungry wolf?

Heisenberg takes your wrist in his hand, kissing the blooming bruise, “He will never touch you again.” You should have been shocked that he knew what happened, but you weren’t. Word spread fast and probably even faster when you were a Lord.

“How can you be so sure?” Nothing you tried in the past ever stopped Anton. A dark chuckle vibrates your chest as he wipes away any tears left on your face, “Because I made sure.” The assurance should have made you feel better, but it wasn’t enough.

“I feel like I am going crazy Heisenberg. Please tell me you will not betray me too.” His eyes flash, “What can I say for you to believe me?”

Shaking your head, you pull him closer to emphasize your point, “Words are not enough. I need you to show me.” Heisenberg searches your eyes before he finds the answer he was looking for. You wanted to feel a touch that was safe and familiar.

Normally rough lips descend on you with the lightness of a falling feather. All traces of Anton’s touch on your skin disappear as Heisenberg kisses every inch he can reach. The man against you did not smell of musk and bourbon, but of copper and spiced tobacco. An intoxication combination that was successful in clouding your mind with nothing, but thoughts of Heisenberg.

You moan when he starts to suck on the spot just behind your ear. One of the many erogenous zones that made you push into his body. Heisenberg grunts at your display of need, “Do you want this?” Although your body always communicated your consent, his want to hear it for himself meant more to you than anything else. “I need this. Please.” Your voice breaks as you practically beg. You wanted him to wash away all the pain and torment.

A thumb comes up to pull on your lower lip, “How can I refuse when your pretty little mouth asked so nicely?” After a quick kiss, Heisenberg begins to push up any clothes that dared to get in his way. Hands work with an inhuman speed that before you know it, you are filled so completely it almost hurts. Heisenberg snaps his hips at an unrelenting pace. Each drag of his cock makes you bury your face further into his neck to muffle your cries of pleasure.

Pushing you further into the siding of the house, Heisenberg slides a hand in between your bodies. His fingers start to rub your clit in fast circles that leave you breathless. Each message sends sparks of pleasure up your spine.

Heisenberg was consuming you in a way that left you feeling raw and vulnerable. You offered him your flesh and bones on a silver platter, and he took them without a second thought. What was terrifying was the fact that if he only asked, your heart could be his to take. After this was all said and done, would you have anything left for yourself?

“Fuck, that’s it. Use me for your pleasure, doll. Take it all.” Spurred on by his grunted words you start to meet him in time with every thrust. The additional friction makes the pressure in your core build and build until you didn’t think you could take it anymore. Nails breakthrough skin with unadulterated desperation, but neither of you cared.

Despite the frigid weather, your bodies felt as though they were on fire. Not only that but the air crackled with an intensity so explosive it made your skin pepper with goosebumps. At every turn, the universe warned you of how dangerous Heisenberg was, but the way he worshipped your skin was nothing short of passionate.

When your inner walls start to quiver in anticipation of your orgasm, his thrusts begin to stutter. Heisenberg’s voice was so deep, it was almost unrecognizable, “Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.” You did not know how much you needed permission until you had it. Closing your eyes, you revel in the tension your body releases when your orgasm rolls over you.

“God fucking, dammit!” Heisenberg slams your lips together as warmth begins to flood your core in sharp spurts. There was no finesse in the kiss, but it could not have felt more right. Tongues slide across each other at the same pace as the slow last couple of strokes trying to prolong your joint orgasm. If only you could stay in his arms with him in you, forever.

Your foreheads come to rest together as you exchange every desperate breath. Instead of pulling away, Heisenberg lets you hold him in your iron grip. Nothing felt real anymore except for his touch, his words, and most crucially, him.

A lone crow squawks before flying away from the embracing lovers. Despite how small the creature was, it reaches its master in a matter of minutes. An outstretched finger reminiscent of a willowy branch awaits the crow’s arrival.

Mother Miranda’s smile is laced with twisted satisfaction. The intelligent little birds were her eyes and ears around the village. Each conversation and possible outlier eventually reached the ears of the prophet. Just like you had all those years ago. Everything was finally falling into place. Like pieces on a chess board, Mother Miranda was able to maneuver her metal-clad knight to trap her opponent.

The hag instilled in Anton that his fate was to be with the local healer. This was so a large event could be triggered. One that conveniently pushed Anton to attack you publicly.

Mother Miranda had assigned Heisenberg to watch over you under the guise that she wanted to keep tabs on the prominent people in the village. Her true intentions were more coveted than any of her “children” combined.

Heisenberg’s supervision over the girl was going just as she instructed. Although his attack on Anton made her eyebrows raise. After the confrontation, Miranda instructed Heisenberg to send a Lycan to kill Anton. How curious was it for him to do it himself? However, all that mattered now was that the deed was done. Soon the hag would spread to the townsfolk that you used dark magic against Anton to make him infatuated with you and when it went wrong you killed him.

The point of having the villagers turn on you is so you would be forced to come to Mother Miranda for refuge and in turn be prepped for your greater purpose. The next morning Mother Miranda will call Heisenberg and tell him to bring you to the church under the Dimitrescu estate so they can have a meeting and introduce you to the family.

Ever since you were born, Miranda could feel the potential in you. That’s why she had to get your family out of the picture and stop your grandmother from further corrupting your mind. After they were killed, Mother Miranda meticulously planned what would happen to you once you hit maturity.

When she saw you in the flesh at your home today, it only motivated her further. By day’s end, a witch hunt would be assembled. Once the villagers hear of Anton’s death after being last seen with you, they will do all the work for the Black God. Then there will be nowhere else for you to run to except straight to her.

“It’s only a matter of time before you will be ready to come home my darling Eva.”

Large wings encircle Mother Miranda like a giant cocoon. By the time they retract she is not as she once was. Instead of being wrapped in her ornate ropes, she now was adorned with the clothes of a peasant. Once-flawless skin sagged and wrinkled with old age and any traces of blonde hair were now as grey as her eyes. The hag cackles as she makes her way into the village.

May the mayhem begin.

Any and all interactions are greatly appreciated.

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenburg x you #karl heisenberg imagines #karl heisenberg #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village #resident evil x reader #heisenberg x reader #delirious masterlist #crucible of desire masterlist

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lovecite · 9 months

Text

Miguel 'O hara

Miguel enters into Miles universe and finds a familiar face.

(I believe the artist is Ethobirds)

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A quick short story not too long! Just a though that was running in my brain for months after watching the movie. Like what if Gabi was reborn into Miles universe . Since I don't know what happens when peoples worlds unravel. I like to believe they get reincarnated into another world!! 🥲 (please correct me if you want but enjoy the small chapter as well)

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It was a stormy night for sure.

The 10yr girl old held tightly to her blue ball as another fresh breeze swept by sending fresh water droplets upon her face. She was outside her elementary waiting for her foster parents to pick her up. She had stayed after school to get in some more practice for the upcoming match for soccer but when she had called her foster parents they had stated if she wanted to stay after to school she had better be prepared to wait hours.

Another flash of lighting made her jump the palms of her hand gripping to tightly to the already slippery ball making it slip out of her hands and roll its way down the street. If she knew her foster parents she'd know that they probably had forgotten her again. Looking back one more time down the lonely street she chased after the ball. "I should hurry get this ball and just walk home." she thought to her self as she hurriedly made her way down the street. The ball rolling ever so fast as if it held a life within itself.

The rain was starting to come down harder almost like a sheet of nonstop rain. She quickly picked up the run away ball and made it safely under stairs. Again another flash of light showing where she had ended up in. She had made it in an alley it seemed safely underneath a fire escape. ""Ay Coño!" She muttered to herself as she realized she had no idea where she had taken herself.

She was lucky her foster parents weren't around to hear her speak like that. Gabi had always wondered how she had learned those words since she didn't have the smallest idea what life was like when she was much younger. Her memory felt like it was covered in a haze with small hints of a males voice . Maybe that was the dead beat father her foster father talked about. The rain looked as if it would start to lessen . She let out a sigh a small fog collect in front of her. It was starting to become slightly cold as her soaked clothes were starting to stick her body.

"Don't give me that. He used the machine ! Ugh! Where else would it have brought him then? uh tell me that Lyla! "

Gabi froze at the sound of a voice above her. She looked up and see through the cracks of the old stairs all the way at the top of them stood a figure. The darkness shaded the figure so she couldn't see him very well. She placed the ball on the side of her and took a small step from under the stair and peered upwards. Her ears straining to hear this mans conversation.

"Its exactly as I said. He's not here judging from the scans of th-

What ? Lyla judging from the scans what?

Miguel there's some strange reading I'm getting just below your feet."

A flash of lighting lite up this dark alley way. She leaned even more out of her hiding spot to get a better view of the man above the top of this fire escape. The lighting showed her what she thought was spider man! There was no way she was seeing her hero spider man! She stepped out fully from her hiding place as a smile grew across her face in excitement.

Gabi took a deep breathe ready to yell for spiderman but it felt as if the whole ground shook under her as the figure she had thought was her hero slammed harshly In front of her the asphalt below this huge person breaking denting in. His hands were like claws as he swiped them In front of her. For some reason she was able to take a step back dodging the attack. Her sneakers slipped in a puddle making her fall on her bottom as she starred up at the figure.

It was like starring at a beast as he towered over her. He was wearing a full body blue suit that had glowing red lines in certain areas of his body. His arms were fawned out caging her in. " Y-You're not spider man!" she choked out as tears started to collect in her eyes. The image of the man before her blurred. "Lyla reading now!" The man yelled out his voice cracking it seemed. His arms lowered down to his side as he slowly kneeled down to her eye level. " P-please don't hurt me." She pleaded as she brought her arms up protecting her face.

Her arms were pulled roughly to her sides as she pulled from the floor and closer to the man she had thought was spider man. "Its not her Miguel. Miguel! Did you hear me its no-" The voice of the women grew quiet. Gabi starred at this man before her. His mask with holding his identity. Her heart was hammering so harshly against her chest as she in took his whole clothed face. The eyes on the mask narrowed slightly. His head titled slightly. The grip on her was starting to tighten. No words still passed between the two. As the beast of man held her at arms length.

"G-Gabriella." The man stated. Her eyes widen slightly . "He knows my name!!" The thought screamed in her mind. The man placed her back on her feet but still held her in his grip. "I- How is this possible?" He whispered. Gabi didn't know to move or just stay put as the tall man let her go. His big hands pawed at her it seemed. First he placed a single palm against her cheek and then patted her on top of her head.

"U-Um sir. I- I don't know who you are." She stated quickly. The man before her seemed to have stiffened in place. He stood up back to his tall height his arms hung loosely at his side. His wrist was glowing and making a ringing sound. "When universes are destroyed that should be it." He whispered ignoring her comment. Why wasn't this man answering her ? She had remembered some women saying his name. "M-Miguel sir." In that comment the mans head snapped to her quickly.

"What is your name." He demanded.

"I'm Gabi for short but Gabriella is my full name." She stated quickly. She watched as the man was standing and then instantly went to throwing a fist into the side of the building. It made a loud sound forcing her to cover her ears. He pulled his hand from the damaged area of the building. She jumped back in surprise. " Miguel! That is not your Gabriell-" " Lyla check her bio know." Miguel quickly stated interrupting the women. Before Gabi could ask anything she watched as the man brought his arm out with the watch and a light spilled out scanning her.

"Miguel before you do anything stupid-"

"Tell me now if she is her." His whispered.

"Yes this is her. But Miguel remember the canon-"

Gabi wasn't certain of what was going on and was hoping someone would save her quickly from this angry man. She watched as the angry man kneeled down again. His face pointed to her and she watched as his mask slowly started to come apart showing his face. There were angry narrowed red eyes starring at her. His brown hair and brown skin looked so familiar. He spoke finally.

" You're coming with me." He stated.

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I hope you all enjoyed this small short story!! I just had this thought in my mind and just went for it. can't handle a man in pain over a loss of a child!! 😣

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#miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #soft fanfic #daughter au #miguel spiderverse #miguelsdaughter #miguel spiderman #alternate universe #gabriella o’hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara #into the spider verse #spiderman

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