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fairyhaos · 3 months

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seventeen as teachers

requested by @weird-bookworm ! it's a little to the left of what you asked but i hope it's alright anyway ><

masterlist

seungcheol

architecture professor. kind of thanks to physics!cheol anon for this idea but he really encourages hands-on learning especially for his subject, and he draws big diagrams on the board and gestures wildly with his hands as he's explaining why the models work and what do the students think of it? also he definitely gives vibes of someone who high fives the students when their models withstand his shaking tests, but also laughs and claps when they fall apart. because it's all about learning, isn't it? and he's with you to help you learn every step of the way.

jeonghan

kindergarten teacher. cannot for the life of him handle kids older than that because then they get too tricksy and talkative for him and he gets tired too easily to deal with that. actually really good at handling the toddlers. he's also very pretty so all the kids unironically hang onto his every word, basically making him the god at keeping children in line. when he gets too tired of running around after them he just goes “kids :((( jeonghan is tired :(((“ and they immediately settle down to do something else

joshua

music teacher (1). he's a total department crush (and even school-wide crush) amongst the other teachers because he's so pretty and so kind, always and accidentally keeps making teachers fall for him bc he talks to them so nicely w that pretty smile of his. renowned for his ability to compose melodies on the piano on the spot, and always has students wanting him to help (cough compose for them) parts of their composition work. no one knows what he does outside of work, though. it's like he disappears into thin air after school finishes.

junhui

gives me eccentric uni professor vibes. sits on his desk with his feet dangling and asks all sorts of strange and irrelevant questions to the students that are, actually, not strange and entirely relevant. has everyone walking out of his lectures feeling like a changed person because he either a) managed to get horribly off track or b) made them rethink their entire life choices. loved by all, and maybe a bit too much. poor guy definitely had an obsessed student try to follow him home before he got lost himself and so they both ended up in the middle of nowhere

hoshi

chemistry teacher. no other reason other than i think he'd look great with a pair of goggles on his forehead pushing his fringe back at funny angles whilst he grins maniacally and goes, “hey, kids, today we're gonna set things on fire!!!!”. so passionate about teaching these things to the students, and rambles on like he only has 5 minutes left on earth and he's gonna use every second to cram in as much chemistry knowledge into the students’ brains as he can in that time. it works, too. his passion inspires so many of them to take chemistry further up in the school.

wonwoo

history teacher. all the students want him for their teacher when they take history because he's actually, like, competent and knows stuff. known for taking no shit when it comes to doing assignments on time because he sets reasonable deadlines and if you can't make them, then that's on you, not him. students love him. also super duper helpful if you have any questions and is always free at lunch to help bc he'll do anything to escape the hyperactive claws of mr. kwon and mr. wen who are always up to shenanigans

woozi

music teacher (2). mans life literally revolves around music and i can't imagine him doing anything else. department ace. conductor of both the symphony and concert orchestra, and rearranges all of the parts himself when the students find it a little too difficult. also do Not engage this man in a conversation about anything to do with music theory because he will rant for ages and any quick question turns into half of your lunch break being missed. he means well, though, and always gets ridiculous amount of thank-you presents at the end of the year.

minghao

art teacher (1). dresses like one, too, and has been voted as ‘best dressed teacher’ for the past 3 years in a row. all the art students are kind of afraid of him because if you ask for feedback, there is a 50/50 chance that he'll rip you a new one whilst explaining what you did wrong. there's never any true cruelty to his words, though, cuz hes always actually giving genuine advice and he's always right in what he advises, so students either love him or hate him for his criticisms, though mostly it's the former. he's pretty, too, and his works are pretty, so that's a plus

mingyu

teaches business studies to the older students, purely cz i think he gives maths-adjacent vibes. he teaches a “special” subject that's not available to the younger kids and he's ridiculously handsome so he's kind of like a legendary figure in the school. even if he's a bit silly and adorable at times, he's also super good at holding intellectual debates with his students about current economic and political affairs. can be found bickering with mr. yoon bc the kindergarten teacher wants him to help with his taxes.

dokyeom

art teacher (2). smiles brighter than the sun at all hours of the day, and when the senior students are drowning in coursework and artist research deadlines, he's like the one and only guiding light that helps them get through it because of how endlessly optimistic he is. half the seniors take art solely because of him, actually. also a firm believer that all art is good art and there's no such thing as a “non-artist”. scolds minghao after work when he feels like the other teacher was being too harsh to the students

seungkwan

part of the senior leadership team. takes his position veryyy seriously, strides briskly around the school with a jingle of w set of keys he managed to procure from…somewhere. is always on top of uniform inspections which is always annoying for the kids, but he's also melodramatic and smiley so they love him anyway. the students are always try to recruit him for teacher quizzes and events bc he makes everything way more fun.

vernon

classics teacher. this might seem odd but hear me out!!! dude loves ancient history and Will do deep dives on old artefacts and cultures that interest him, and i think that passion can definitely be transferred to him teaching kids about latin, ancient greek, old civilizations. known for sharing nothing about his personal life but also being able to talk for ages about something that happened over 1000 years ago. the students all find him super cool and also super endearing.

chan

the guy who's hired externally from some sports club to act as the teacher to students during after school clubs. teaches martial arts, mainly, but he supervised an impromptu dance club one semester and the students loved it so much that they managed to bring the dance club onto the permanent schedule. everyone loves him. his sports club is 10000% sure that half the children who come to them were recruited through chan's lovely personality alone.

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r0uke-k4nten · 2 months

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HIDE AND SEEK

(Yandere! Muichiro x reader)

they found you lost in the middle of the forest, crying under the tree. feeling pity, they brought you into their house for a couple of days until your parents found you, by now you being taken care of by Tokitos family.

at first, you feel anxious being around them, feeling bad cause you're not really a part of the family.

But as your bond grew, you began to talk to them a lot and play together with them; most importantly, in the game hide and seek, you usually being the hider, while Mui and Yui were Seekers. While you try your best to hide when things like this happen, they, somehow, always find you.

You and the twin are 2 years apart, and it creates a dynamic as a responsible older sibling while the twin is the mischievous youngest.

While it was fun playing, life wasn't always about just playing; you and they have chores to do, so you help each other with chores.

Weeks went by and finally, your parents found you, your mother crying and saying thank you to the Tokito family while hugging you, as your dad having a conversation with them.

As both of your parents are watching their children play, they can't help but think to themselves both of you look so cute together.

But sadly you have to move abroad to another country for some reason, so you parted ways and lost contact.

Years passed by you slowly forgot about their faces and the voices, only sharing a transparent childhood bond together.

While it makes your heart ance for the forgotten memory, you try to think about the relationship and hope for them to have a delightful and lively future.

As you decided to go back to Japan for a few years you had a slight hope that you'd meet them even though you don't remember what their faces were.

As you step again into Japan, your hometown. you feel absolute nostalgia as you look around the town you used to live in.

As you walk around the town, you don't realize that a certain long black hair boy is just walking past you...

He did notice your similarities to someone he knew though, but quickly forgot about it.

As the days go by, you Are inside your hotel room; feeling bored, you go out of the hotel and take a midnight walk to let your brain have its own thoughts.

as you walk in the middle of the road, a demon tries to eat you, but before they can, you hit them in the head. As they get stunted, you run away from them and get yourself back to the hotel.

but to your idiocy, you forgot your way to go back; you turn around to meet the demon again. They're getting closer to you, and their nail begins to look like a claw ready to stab you; you close your eyes and wait for it to end.

But it never comes; as you slowly open your eyes, you see the demon's head and arm were cut off by a certain young Hasira boy...

As you were stunned to speak, that long-haired boy looked at you with his emotionless eyes. He gave you his hand to stand up, and you took it. As you began to stand up, you looked at him with gratitude. "... thank you, euuuh miste-." " It's noting. " He cut your word and began to walk away.

The next day, you begin to meet him again and again, and you always talk to him even though he doesn't remember you nor do you know his name; he doesn't particularly even know why he was there in the first place.

At first, it was kinda annoying to him for you to have around but he was strangely fond of you.

But you didn't meet him for a few months because of the mission; of course, you didn't know about the mission, so you thought he left feeling a bit saddened.

Until he comes back to you by himself, as you begin to do your morning walk, someone familiar called your name... "(Y/N) I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE BACK." You turn around in surprise to see the long-haired boy running after you; you stay there in shock, not expecting him to know your name...

You smile awkwardly as he begins to hug you; you hug him back before asking him, "Ehhm, hello again, mister... I know we may have talked a lot over the past few months, but...how do you know my name?" You asked him, he looked you in the eyes in shock for a few minutes before screaming his name "IT'S ME, MUICHIRO TOKITO"you thought to yourself for a moment remembering this familiar name "Mui...?,mui..., MUICHIRO IS THAT YOU ?! HOLY SHI-" you hugging him a bit tighter, the regret of you forgot his name is overflowing you.

He is still a bit angry that you forgot his name, but he doesn't say anything since he forgot about you, too.

As that awkward reunion ends, you begin to have a little conversation with each other; as you sit on a bench drinking your tea, you ask him, "So...., what do you do for a living?." You said, trying to stir up the conversation. "Killing demon," he said bluntly. "Wait wha-."

So your friend, Muichiro, is a demon slayer who slays the demon. As he says by himself, as the conversation continues, you finally catch up that his twin, Yuichiro, is dead.

A bit saddened by the loss of his twin and your childhood best friend, he swore to himself that he would protect you and the close friends he ever has.

As the days go on you become close again and completely forget they don't remember each other.

But as the day flew by, he became a bit overprotective of you. Always follows you around whenever he can; if he can't, he will send someone to watch over you.

He tries his best to convince you to come to his estates to keep you there forever, have a visit once in a while. but you usually have to refuse because you feel bad for having to visit him or you are just busy because of work.

When you do visit him, you usually help him do his chores; sometimes, you get to practice your sword with Muichiro when he has spare time. but you like to watch him when he practices his swords with his other comrades.

Sometimes you like to go out of the backyard just to watch the sky with him, with his head on your thigh while petting his head, saying random things that come out in our head.

Someday, some people are insulting you, but you brush it off another, but not him. For a couple of days, the person was missing until being found in the middle of the wood with their face, almost unidentified.

And you begin to notice some of your stuff is missing. from something small like a hair tie and some of the stuff you planned to throw away, to something that creeps you out like a novel that you finished since few days ago or a family photo you had with your family got stolen to..

you tell this to Muichiro, and now he insists that you have lived in his house for a while, you reluctantly agree and move to his house.

While you do visit his estates a couple of times you still a bit hard to navigate the house, so you sometimes do not stray far from him.

While you live at his home now, there's one room that you can't ever go in. When you asked him why he just simply stated that there are a lot of swords for only him to used.

You Respected his wishes, so you walked past them but when you heard a strange sound from it. You couldn't help but be curious.

But as you are about to open it, feel bad for breaking his promises, but as soon you open it you'll be surprised by the missing stuff be found in here.

Your initial shock turned into a scared one, you need to get out of here as fast as you can but it's pointless now...

"I've told you not to be in here..." Muichiro is right behind you.

#yandere x reader #muichiro tokito #muichiro x reader #yandere kny #yandere kny x reader #yandere #kny x reader #kny x y/n #kny x you #yandere childhood friend

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naffeclipse · 1 month

Text

Wave

Reader x Mer!Map Bot

Commission Info

I have the honor to write dear @craykaycee's Mer Map Bot OC set in the world of Deep Dreams with a reader who suffers from memory problems! This has everything from hurt/comfort to good ol' angst, but it's sweet in the end, don't worry. This was so much fun to write, ah! Happy reading!

———

The stars glimmer around you, rippling in a space like a black, engulfing sea full of comets and far planets that pierce the distance with their tiny light. You float within it, held safely in a large, clawed hand. Only three giant fingers with razor-sharp talons surround you. How strange. How beautiful. You want to admire him for a little longer.

Your dreams have never been kinder to you.

A face looms above you, colossal and dream-like, but adoring. Eyes, pale and silvery like moonlight upon water, soften as he looks over you. Though you are held in a giant’s palm, you hold no fear. Though you have no memory of this place, of this being, a reassurance of safety blossoms in your chest. A sweeping warmth like tide pools sitting under the sun covers you, and you smile back.

Go to the water.

You tilt your head in confusion. What is he talking about?

Go to the secluded beach.

He is almost urgent. He lowers himself towards you on your hand, but the speckled stars of the dream are beginning to fade. The creature’s brow pinches. He warbles a low sound of a plea but gradually, slowly, your eyes close, and the darkness takes you under.

With a jolt, you sit straight up in your bed. A brush of something distant but so terribly close to your dream is at your fingertips. As you clutch the edges of the covers, you feel it slip further and further out of reach, until you are only left with a foggy recollection of something. The outline of a missing piece. The emptiness of a hole.

No. Come back.

A pang of sadness fills your heart.

What was it? Where did it go? A memory or a dream?

A heat pulses behind your rib bones. You hold still, anchored by the comfort, but where it comes from, you can’t say.

Through the haze of your memory, a phantom voice lingers. Though muffled and inarticulate, deep within you, you hear the urge as if discerning words from a whisper across the room, shielded behind hands.

Go to the water.

An image softly presses into your thoughts. A secluded beach as viewed from out at sea, like a boat coming in to dock at the harbor. Not just any secluded beach—the one you’ve been spending most of your time at. It’s your vacation, after all, and you get to choose how you spend it.

But why do you burn with such a distinct need to return?

You don’t often trust yourself to wander out alone. Yet, you’ve always found your way back somehow. It’s all so strange.

Inexplicable, you have had very little to fear while upon this group vacation upon an island lost to time. There’s so little that feels like regular life here, filled with noisy phones and clicking computers. It’s been reclaimed as a tourist destination, and you’ve had so much fun with your friends who are well aware of your injury that still haunts your head.

The car crash was over a year ago. It busted your skull and banged your brain, and recovery takes a long, long time. Longer than you can remember sometimes. The doctors could only tell you to be patient, but it’s difficult when at times you forget who you are or what you’re doing or where you are.

Sometimes you’ve wandered away, almost lost until your friends spread out and search for you. Sometimes a chore you’re in the middle of doing gets set down and forgotten about for days until it stinks, and you remember just what you were in the middle of. You trust your friends. They help you and take care of you.

It wasn’t their fault a week back that you were carried away by a wave while everyone else was diving off of the boat, drinking and laughing. You hardly understood what was happening until the boat was only a speck and your limbs were growing tired from fighting to get back. Then… you don’t remember. Not even your friends know how you returned to shore the next morning, safe and sound and strangely, dry.

You lower your head in your hands and rub your face. You want to go to the water. The urge is not just outside of you but within. You have to see what’s there, how you keep finding yourself safe despite the precariousness of your injury. Maybe you’ll remember.

There are plans with your friends today that you can’t simply brush off. They wouldn’t want you going off alone to a beach by yourself regardless, so it would be best for you to wait until the evening. A rippling warmth within you spreads. It feels good. It feels right.

Okay. This evening then.

You get dressed. If you don’t come downstairs soon, someone will come to check on you. You shouldn’t worry your friends more than you already do.

You glance at the desk in the room. A jar sits there. You brought it to collect seashells in—that you remember, but there are other objects stored inside. Slowly, you walk over and touch the cool, curved glass. A broken seashell, a shiny carved stone, and a braided palm tree bracelet are all stuffed within. You unscrew the lid with a soft sound of air. The strong scent of the sea wafts into your nose. Where did you get these? Why does the sight fill you with such happiness?

A vague recollection filters into your mind like fog, and soon, you can see nothing but the denseness concealing what’s within. Shreds of joy are littered all about. You slowly re-screw the lid on and leave it before you grow too frustrated with your limitations.

You won’t let yourself forget this. You will go to the water and find why it’s so important to you, why can't you ignore this need deep within your chest.

A lingering image hangs in your mind of stars. Someone is holding you carefully. You stop to try and hook the memory, but it drifts away from you, lost to the sea of foggy recollection.

You slip away quietly, a hand clutching a napkin full of the rest of your dinner as you make your way toward the water. The water here is beautiful. In the setting light of the sun, it becomes darker with bright glints of orange catching on the tips of waves. The secluded beach is flanked by tall, towering palm trees and a dense foliage of leafy shrubs. Jutting out into the water is a creaky dock. The wood is gray and splintery but the supports are solid and damp with the tide splashing against it.

Slowly, you make your way towards the end. It’s been good today, mostly. You only had brief moments of forgetfulness that your friends easily guided you out of or corrected. A little jog to your memory can put it back into place. They’re kind enough to take you with them here. It’s work, but they manage with you.

Sitting down, you kick your legs over the water. It’s darker, somehow. At the depth just below you, you remember swimming in the water beside the boat. You remember something below. There must be all kinds of fish in the sea. You imagine rows of teeth and tall dorsal fins.

You flip the napkin open and take a bite. A little snack eases the jumble of your nerves, forcing you to focus on chewing and tasting the morsel in your mouth. It’s okay, right? You keep munching on the remainder of your dinner until there’s nothing left.

As the sun dips lower, you shiver under a slight breeze. The constant lapping of the ocean against the support beams lures you into comfort. You slowly ball up the napkin and shove it into your pocket. The horizon is bleeding red and the last of the light is golden.

In the dark water, something strange shifts below the surface. A faint purple glow. Waves begin to rise. They start crashing against the support beams of the dock and you start. Blood pumping in your veins, you jump to your feet.

A terrifying, unimaginable form rises from below. Your feet are anchored to the worn-down dock. A great crest of white, frothing water builds before breaking as a creature the size of a leviathan emerges. Your heart skips a beat in your chest until you realize pale, silvery eyes are gazing back at you. The being emits a brilliant purple bioluminescence about his towering body.

A flicker of memory. A warmth trickles into your chest.

You gawk in pure, unadulterated awe as a being from the very depths gathers himself at the surface. His eyes squint slightly against the fading sunset, but his attention remains entirely on you. Thick waterfalls crash off of him and back into the water. Slipping closer with a mighty flick of his sleek black and gold tail, the being easily matches the dock with his height.

You find yourself eye to eye with a mer.

The stunning creature is light yellow with golden markings on his cheeks. Frills with thick, black, and purple webbing in between spread upon the sea monster’s head like a sunhat. Two whisker-like tendrils twist and wave upon the creature’s face, purple and searching for stimuli. Darkness marks the being's body, splattering its golden color like dots of stars. A strange seam crosses where its mouth would be.

Your heart warms with his presence as he knows you. Like he’s been waiting for you. The feeling is inexplicable and undeniable. You are terribly small under this beast’s gaze. You could easily be crushed underneath the palm of his hand, but you admire the finned tail he sports, flicking gently just below the black waves.

Beautiful.

How do you know him?

“Who… who are you?” you speak, amazed you can even find your tongue in the presence of such a great being. You only marvel at his appearance. Deep down, you feel no danger.

A forgotten song echoes in the back of your head, unearthly and dream-like, and then it disappears in a flash.

The creature’s brow pinches. Despite apparently lacking a mouth, the being appears wounded for a moment. You shift, uncertain, and almost wishing to comfort whatever hurt you caused. An echo of pain ripples through your chest. You hug yourself with one arm, confused. That couldn’t have come from you, could it have?

As you stare a moment longer at the leviathan, an itch begins in the back of your mind. An answer to the question you asked. Standing here, on this dock, is familiar. You know what it’s like to behold such a creature and have no doubt that he will not harm you.

But why?

He leans closer to you. You almost step back, the scent of sea salt and something deep and dark emitting from him as if he belongs in the depths where no sunlight can pierce his milky eyes. Can he see you?

A pang of emotion rings through you distantly. It is not your own.

The ripple of a memory brushes against your thoughts, and you grow still in the presence of them. There’s a sea, darkening with the sunset. There’s a boat, and your friends as they drink and laugh loudly. You remember, nudged by the familiarity. You were buzzing with alcohol and exhausted. Somehow, you’re looking up at yourself from the depths. No, not you. Him.

The strangeness continues in the vision with how you falter, your limbs growing heavy after struggling for so long trying to swim back, and a sensation of care spreads through you, warm like rain in the summer.

Giant hands reach for you, three fingers on each appendage gently cupping you into his palms. You don’t remember this—your eyelids flutter and you briefly turn, held up from the surface as water drips from between his fingers, and gaze up at him in your weariness. Then, you succumb to your exhaustion.

Rescued you.

The short, blunt words enter your mind as if a bell was rung. The place where his mouth should be doesn’t open despite knowing that he speaks to you. You almost stagger back, stunned by the connection.

“I… I remember,” you murmur, and touch your temple. You lift your eyes to his pale gaze. “Where did you take me?”

Patiently, he warbles a low sound, and another vision sweeps over your mind. You felt the seaspray as he carried you gently over the waves, swimming carefully to a secluded, perhaps undiscovered islet off the coast of the island. He swept into a cove to take refuge, cupping you to his chest as he rested, half submerged in the shallows that would have drowned you.

He waits for you and sings. The song fills your mind as he sings again, layering the distant memory with the reality of his ethereal song. Your heart beats in time with his tune. A great heat fills your marrow, and you gasp softly.

When you woke up in his palm, he saw you, and you saw him. You remember.

“Wayfinder,” you breathe. His name is whispered to you through a connection that transcends oral tradition.

A pulse of joy rolls through you and you understand now that this is an echo of himself. A song knitting you two together somehow. Magic, perhaps. You’ve heard stories of mers but you thought they were only told to the tourists who came here for a sunny vacation and lots of sand.

You remember me.

He says simply, but you understand how he cherishes the fact. You do. Slowly, you step back to the end of the dock. Wayfinder follows you with his large eyes though he squints, as if finding it hard to focus on you in the golden light. His expression is curious as you carefully sit yourself back on the edge, your feet kicking over the sea. The mer gently lowers himself to remain eye-to-eye with you. Though he has no lips, you have the undeniable sense that he’s smiling.

Gently, he lifts a clawed hand. You go over his three fingers, how they are ancient and otherworldly, but hold no fear with the wicked talon drawing near you. You hold perfectly still. He crooks one finger. A slickness to his gold and black flesh gingerly brushes against your cheek, almost engulfing the entire side of your face before he draws back, watching you closely. You reach up to touch the ocean water now drying on your skin.

“Wow,” you say, unable to help your marvel. “You’re so soft. Wait.”

You jerk your head up, searching his expression for answers.

“Did we meet here before? Have you been visiting me?”

Wayfinder gently dips his head. The frills upon his head are stunning, purple on the underside, and dark up on top. You can’t help but notice a speckling of brighter purple bioluminescence as the darkness descends. The sight triggers a surge of understanding or a memory—you know he thrives in the darkness.

Yes. Often. Here.

Here. You glance down to the worn-down dock and run your hand over the weather-beaten wood. The blanks creak and you remember the sound echoing when you stood before him, and you had felt his gentle touch before.

His tail flickers softly behind him, chopping up the waves rolling up to splatter against the support beams of the pier. You are overcome with a longing to run your hand over his slick skin and giant fins, feeling the parts of him that help him maneuver through a great and terrifying ocean.

The mer lowers himself slightly and reaches down into the water below the dock. You follow his movement carefully. What is he doing? His clawed hands dig through the sand before he finds something. His frills flicker once. His eyes, half creased as if the light is too bright, shift back to you.

“What is it?” you whisper.

A gift. For you.

He gingerly overturns his hand and in the center of his massive palm sits a chipped sand dollar. You gawk, again. How many times will your mouth hang open in wonder?

Wayfinder gingerly maneuvers his claws, and turning his hand again, he pinches the shell with a delicateness that betrays his leviathan size before he drops it a few inches into your waiting palms.

You gape as the wet seashell sinks into your hands. It is beautiful, perfect despite the chip in its side, like the broken seashell in your jar—

A flood of memories returns. Each evening, a new gift. A broken seashell. A shiny carved stone. A braided palm tree bracelet. All given to you as you stood upon this very dock. A thickness gathers in your throat. And now the sand dollar.

You look up and adore him.

“Thank you, Wave,” you say wetly. The nickname rolls off your tongue but there is no doubt you have called him such a thing before. “You gave me gifts before, didn't you?”

I have.

The answer is soft and gentle. Ripples of care flow through you, and you wish you could hug him properly, but your arms can’t even fit around his golden-marked face. He struggles to focus on you, but the sun is nearly gone. You worry for his poor eyes in this level of light. He’s built for the deep depths and darkness, and yet, he’s here for you, patiently guiding you back to the memories you both made.

You want to cry but you convince yourself that would be messy.

In the remaining light of the sun, the leviathan extends his hand carefully to you. You stare at it. Looking up into his expression, his eyes a bit brighter now as the day gives way to the night, you break into a smile.

Distant memories return to you like the tide crawling back up the shore, washing over you bit by bit until you’re dripping in them. All the times Wayfinder has carefully carried you so he might share with you the things he cherishes. Beautiful hidden spots around the island, tucked away from prying eyes. A cave opens to the open ocean as the moon reflects off the water.

He gently tapped your chest, and your heart, and touched his own to explain, in the best way he could, the connection you both share.

You fill with warmth. Eagerly, you accept his hand.

#naff's writing commissions #in deep dreams between the waves #mer!map bot #map bot #enjoy these two because they are sweet as pie <3 #naff writing

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taki-yaki · 6 months

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What if Tav is a hireling? Astarion gets attached to her, so after the brain is defeated he either convinces Withers to let her stay as a messenger, or Astarion follows Withers around so every time there's a world ending emergency Astarion volunteers just so he can get Tav as a hireling. Astarion becomes a selfish hero that keeps saving Faerûn XD

Oooh a Hirling would be interesting since from the limited in-game info, they are souls who clawed their way back from the Fugue Plane for vengeance but they can not recall how to speak.

Astarion x Hireling Tav Headcanons

You didn’t expect your life to be cut so shortly, one minute you were showcasing your battle prowess in a local tavern, and the next some so-called absolutes decided to cut your show short by slaying you, all in the name of their so-called god.

But you didn’t want it to end here so soon, there was so much more to do, clawing out of the fugue plane holding onto the last string of thread that your life was hanging on. Before a white light blinds you, wake to the feeling of soft sand under your feet.

It felt strange for the others in this little coup to make him the designated group leader so quickly. He was lucky enough that they hadn’t figured out that he was a vampire spawn, yet. Despite the unique set of people he’s gathered to journey with him, perhaps some extra muscle wouldn’t hurt to have.

When you’re summoned, you seem to be more aware of your surroundings, unlike the others he’s summoned, acting more lively than that of a lifeless husk awaiting commands. When you attempt to speak, nothing comes out, until you feel a husky voice come out from your mouth instead.

“This vessel is at thy disposal. Do what thou wilt.”

Of course, there would be repercussions for attempting to escape the fugue plane alive, as a final act of cruelty by the gods, you can only view the world through your eyes all whilst another puppeteers the words spoken through your mouth.

During your battles, you would usually follow the instructions parroted to you from the voice of the withers.

Until one fight, thrown into yet another battle with members of the absolute cult, noticing a surprise ambush about to strike him.

You attempt to react by yelling for him to move, yet nothing comes out of your throat, quickly pulling against the strings in your mind and rushing towards him, shoving him aside to take the force of the impact.

After the fight, he approaches you with a slight twinge of annoyance in his voice

“I can’t tell whether you were brave or stupid doing that during that fight, but I see that you're not like those other brainless ghouls. But maybe we should work on your communication skills instead.”

Every night from then, he would attempt to teach you thieves can’t as a form of sign language for each other, creating a loophole to the calamity that the gods wish to gift you. Even Slowly bonding, by sharing your tales with him from tavern fights to tales of your travels around Faerun.

The others in camp had thought their leader had gone a bit mad, after seeing him night after night talking to what seemed to be a husk of a humanoid with only a craving for vengeance. Even Withers lighting jabbing at him for being attached to such a person, always reminding him to “not distracted on thy quest, seeking the comforts of the flesh.” to which Astarion would respond with a short huff, before taking you away from him.

After the defeat of the brain, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to stay on this plane forever, with your soul ready to depart, unable to cling onto this body provided to you for much longer. Astarion stays by your side throughout it, promising that he’ll meet you again, no matter what.

After you left his side, he would end up travelling around Faerun in search of either, any world-ending events or withers. Sometimes he would get lucky, having to save a county or two from the new villain of the decade, those who wish to revive the absolute cult, but those fights didn’t last long enough.

Ultimately, Astarion would get ahold of a wish spell, either as a gift from a powerful wizard or one from the gods after becoming Faerun's most selfish hero after stopping numerous life-ending threats. Giving you a real physical body for your soul to finally call home.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion headcanons

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sky-kiss · 1 year

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Okay hear me out. This isn't exactly a request unless...👀

But the Raphael x Tav dynamic where he is the only one who can poke fun or give them a hard time is eating my brain.

Like "I can call them a vapid little fool, but if anyone else does the exact same thing it's hellfire and brimstone for them. For a hundred years."

He'd call it affection if it was in his vocabulary.

A/n: This is short, but I’ve been doing a lot of Carrot!Raph and not a lot of Stick!Raph. Some gore and torture ahead. XD Also I don't think this is what you wanted RIP.

__________

“All this caterwauling! You should really feel blessed, little lamb! I rarely sully my hands these days.” Raphael folded his hands at the small of his back. Isolated from the scene around him, the devil would have appeared perfectly genteel: his doublet remained pressed, hair immaculate. Only the eyes were different, violently bright in the prison’s omnipresent gloom.

Souls and prisoners howled around them, some in agony, some in a desperate attempt to catch the Master’s attention. He didn’t hear; only his guest mattered.

The cambion stopped, lingering just outside their field of vision. They’d finally stopped screaming, lapsing into hiccuping sobs, slumped in on themselves. Not his finest work, he’d be the first to admit, but the rage had come upon him too abruptly for a more cerebral punishment. He reached out, fisting his hand in the sweaty mass of their hair, and tugged their head back. Terror flooded their eyes; their mouth tried to curl back in horror but failed to manage it. His claws left the cheek a ruin of tissue. He tapped a nail against the wound. They knew better than to twitch away.

“Remind me why I’m entertaining you, little one.”

It took three attempts before they could finally choke the word out: “Duchess.”

“Ah, yes. How forgetful! You will have to forgive the indiscretion.” Raphael stepped closer. He’d made quite a mess, honestly. Bones jutted from strange, haphazard angles; he’d removed a few in a fit of pique. He didn’t believe they were essential, but it was always so difficult to tell with mortals. He yanked, and the little thing screamed their anguish. “And what was it you said? Be specific; your life depends on it.”

“W…whore. Whore queen. Raph…” they winced. The mouth couldn't form the words, an ever-increasing disconnect between the body and brain as blood loss took its toll. “Your cunt.”

“An inelegant summation.” He wiped his hand on the thing’s shoulders, glancing across the chamber. “Care to vouch for them, duchess?”

His pet chuckled. What a sight! His finest treasure, her gown set with gems, gold chains hanging about her horns. He had created art with her. “It is they say, my duke.”

“And that bodes well for you, little one.” Raphael knelt beside them, stroking hair back from their face. They turned their face into the motion, an awful pantomime of intimacy. “Though…perhaps not as well as you might have hoped. I guard my treasures so zealously, and she is first among them. You understand, don’t you?”

They nodded, miserable.

“But I am not without mercy. Should you apologize to her…we could start fresh. Would you like that, little one?” He pitched his voice lower, speaking as if in conspiracy. Two friends, ready to make peace. They released a shuddering breath and nodded. Raphael held out his arm to his duchess. She came to him with vibrant eyes and a smile, a pretty reflection of all he’d accomplished. His conquest, his might, his pretty love. “Begin, wretch.”

“Beg…beg forgiveness, dutchess. Please…gods, please, forgive us…”

His duchess hummed. “You are forgiven, wretch.” And to Raphael, “My love, must you play with your food? Are you nearly finished?”

“Very nearly, little mouse. First,” he withdrew a vial from his doublet, a draught of restorative waters. He held it to his guest's lips. Like magic, flesh mended itself! Wounds shrunk and disappeared! In a matter of moments, they were whole once more.

“Merciful King, kind lord,” they sobbed, crawling towards him. The wretch painted the toe of his boot with kisses. “Never again. Not a word against you or the lady will pass my lips.”

“No. I imagine not.” He nudged their ribs with his boots. “Alas, our fresh start will have to wait. My duchess requires me.” The imps crawled forward, hungry and eager. “I leave you in my staff’s ever-capable hands.”

#raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #asks #my fic #cw: torture #cw: gore #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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studyingmoominvalley · 4 months

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So we know the protagonist used to go to the park when he was little, because of all the memories he had. For example, when looking at the collectables in the Information Kiosk, we uncover several memories he has of the park:

• Mollie Plush: "I remember when my mom took us to the parks one summer. Her favorite was always Mollie, so when they first openes new Mollie Meet & Greet in Jetstream Junction, we were some of the first in line."

• Lloyd Plush: "I feel like as a kid, Indigo used Lloyd a lot more. He was always one of my favorites."

• Finley Plush: "The sea serpent always kinda freaked me out. I love aquariums and fish, but the size of him always made me feel uneasy as a kid."

• Rambley Ears: "I remember watching those old DVDs that Indigo would send to your house when you booked a reservation. They always advertised the biggest gift shops and made all this silly merchandise look so fun! My dad promised me he'd buy me a pair when we went."

• Souvenir Cup: "When I was a kid they used to have free unlimited refills on those things. I once drank so much Bird Up that I got sick and threw up while riding Rooftop Races. That poor kid behind me..."

It is clear our main character has a lot lot positive experiences with the park, apart from the mild fear of Finley. It may have been a park they frequented, much like Thorpe Park, Alton Towers or Legoland Winsor over here in England, which explains the amount of memories and merchandise the main character has. However, Rambley says he doesn't recognise our face, and that we either haven't been or we had plastic surgery. This is strange, isn't it? An AI like Rambley should be able to take facial recognition data and apply ageing prospects to it, being able to recognise a younger guest in the future. This is something AI can definitely do already, which would mean younger protag's facial data should be in the database, as he was a child in or before 2015, when the park used AI and when it was closed. So it's not because he's older...

Hear me out. What if our protagonist had an accident, either not involved with or involved with the park's closure, and had to have plastic surgery. However, since it happened when he was younger, he most likely repressed this traumatic memory and only focuses on the good stuff that happened. It would be dramatic irony if the accident was caused by Feral Lloyd, considering how he was always the main character's favourite. If you look at the models of the feral mascots, you can see they have blood on them: on Mollie's beak, on Finley's side, and on Lloyd's claws. Mollie's beak may possibly cause some damage, Finley would be way too big and could kill a child instantly, however Lloyd clawing up a child's front? The bodily injuries could be saved, but not the face. He would need facial reconstruction surgery.

This accident involving the protagonist's favourite character would shatter his world, sending him into denial. And with all the positive memories he had of the park, it would make sense that he would repress these memories. Adults tend to experience recovered memories of trauma they experienced as a child, as their childhood brain repressed these traumatic memories due to the trauma being too overwhelming for their central nervous system. As you get older, your brain goes through the cognitive processing required to comprehend these memories, causing them to resurface later in life, most commonly in adulthood. He can only remember the positive experiences he had at the park, because those are memories his brain can process cognitively, so the severe trauma gets shut away for years to come.

His repression of trauma could also be reflected in Rambley, since the AI tends to ignore or excuse everything bad happening to the park until it's right in his face and he can't ignore it anymore. Rambley acts oblivious, maybe even wilfully ignorant, when confronted with the park's disarray. He claims the park is under renovations, he tries to call the repairman, he still speaks about basic park functions such as the hotel, payments, etc. It is not until the protagonist is hunted down by a feral Mollie when he really processes the gravity of the situation and admits to the abandonment of the park. Maybe our protagonist will have a similar journey throughout the game, digging up repressed memories and piecing together the truth due to his brain finally being able to process everything that happened to him. Maybe it would come all at once, maybe it will come piece by piece? We'll just have to see...

#indigo park #theory #the mind palace theory #psychology #indigo park spoilers

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dracobrooklyn · 9 months

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Durge x Reader Part 1

When you really like the design of the Cannon DragonBorn and his voice is like butter making you melt. I was sad you can't romance him and your the playable character instead. So Here I am going to write Headcannons of what if he was a romanceable NPC that was in your party. These are my thoughts taking bits and pieces from the Cannon and putting my thoughts and ideas into Durge.

|| MDNI || 18+ this will contain Themes of Language, Violence, and of course Sexual Content. DO NOT READ!!

Cannon!Durge x Tav!Fem!Reader

This will be in a Fem!Reader POV!!

Word count: 1.44K

Part 1: Meeting Durge

Durge is a White Dragonborn that is a Storm Sorcerer. Literally born from the blood of Bhaal to be the perfect monster for his destruction on the world. Though... he does not remember. After being taken by the Mindflayers. He does not remember anything before he was a prisoner. The Ship Crashing, his head spinning with so many thoughts. He only remembers his name and that he can cast magic thankfully. But everything else? He's lost. Of course You Find him being attacked by a group of Goblins, coming to his aid, to make sure he is okay. Of course he's hesitant, but he thanks you for your help. You of course ask him his name, Durge. A Strange name but it's his, nothing with it. He would ask if you know where they are, and of course replying that you weren't sure yourself, being in the ship and all, you were snatched away by the mindflayers as well. A little frustrated not sure what to do, he gives you his thanks and about to leave. Is that such a good idea? To go out alone especially that you saw him get attacked by Goblins? No. You ask him if he wish's to tag along with you and your other party members. Strange bunch... why not? He accepts. After all where was he to go? He has no memories. Everything is dark. And you were all trying to find a way to get this cursed parasite out of your brain... before you did turn into a Mindflayer. Maybe you will be able to help him remember. Durge is a little distant towards your other party members. Wasn't a fan of Astarion, not one bit. The way he acted, the way he talked to you as if you were insignificant. You were very much capable of defending yourself, you saved Durge's life. So he always gives the pale elf a glare. Shadowheart he does not mind but her pride and stubbornness can be a little annoying. She at least gives you a little respect when she talks to you.

As your party grow, you get to try to help Durge try to get some sort of sense with his memories. But nothing seems to happen. He can only think about maybe... maybe he had a family or friends waiting for him to come home, or perhaps he has a lover, or maybe something else. You definitely joked to him he could be a prince that was out hunting, he did find the joke amusing though. It was good to have some sort of conversation and company. Being alone with no memories was a little sad and lonely at times.

You were having a hard time sleeping. Specifically with the damn worm wiggling into your brain. So you noticed Durge was having a hard time sleeping as well, tossing and turning into his tent, into his sleeping area. You see how his lips curl back almost in a growl showing his teeth, his eye crest furrowing either in pain or anger as his claws gripped onto the blankets, how he curls up in a fetal position. Is he okay? You quickly went to him to wake him up, and you do. He grabs your arm and pins you down onto the ground his clawed hand wrapped around your neck growling, glaring his red blood eyes into your eyes. He pauses and noticed it's you. He get's off you quickly, not wearing a shirt and only trousers in his sleep wear as Durge feels so awful. He almost hurt you. He apologizes and ask's if you were alright, of course you were shaken but told him you were okay. Everything was alright.

Those dreams... nothing but blood... screaming... yells of anguish. Remembering his dream too well, just looking down at his hands, remembering in his dream he had blood on them. Once you did go back to sleep at your bed roll and he looked at you... what if your blood was on his hands... they started to shake. Fear escaped him, he didn't go back to sleep that night. He just laid in his bed roll in his tent frightened he could have killed you.

He felt awful the next day and wanted to apologize. Durge said if there was anything to he could do for your forgiveness. Of course, you were kind to him. "You had a nightmare Durge, perhaps they were memories, not good memories but maybe your memories are trying to come back to you, and it was too much." You could see the look on his face, he looked a little... worried. You asked if Durge wanted to talk about it. He only shook his head and said "No I... I like to hope they are nightmares, and not memories."

He very much appreciated your kindness, he really was happy that you didn't treat him any different from your party members. When he was distant, it was him just thinking, trying to piece together his "Dream" he had last night. You gave him a journal that you bought from the Druids grove, for Durge to write his dreams so maybe he can go back to the, as you smile at him and say "If you need company tonight... if you have a nightmare, don't hesitate to wake me okay?" And Right there... that's when the feelings start to blossom. The gift of the Journal. The Way how you were comforting on his darkest moments, trying to remember his past. The Way you treated him normally. You invited Durge to the fire to talk with the others, bring him into the conversation, telling you about your past. Where you lived growing up. Durge is very envious of your memories. That you have them, though he out right does not tell you. He wants to know his past so much, who the fuck he is!? It leaves him in a bad mood leaving you with the others at the campfire and heading into his tent for the night. Going to sleep a little mad... but also sad at the same time. Maybe he had a group of friends that miss him dearly. That laughed with him like a bunch of chumps. He wasn't sure.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #Baldursgate Dark Urge #baldurs gate Durge #bg3 #Durge x Reader #Dark Urge x Reader #Dragonborn #the dark urge #The Dark Urge Headcannons #bg3 bhaalspawn #Bhaalspawn #Bhaal #Baldursgate Shadowheart

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tokkishouse · 2 years

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heyyy, okay so I read the cute lil Tighnari post and I died a lil (a lot actually, it was so cute pls my heart can't take it) If you have the time could you pls post more abt him 👁👁

I physically need more of that man, it doesn't really matter if it's sfw or nsfw or both. I just need more posts on this man or I will fall over and die 🛐

You 🤝 Me --> Needing more Tighnari content Say no more babes.

(Sfw) Tighnari as a Boyfriend

Characters: Tighnari x GN!Reader

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, subtle yandere themes

WC: 0.8k words

Fennec foxes mate for life. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Tighnari is loyal to a fault. Some of the villagers and even fellow rangers may try to woo him, but his eyes are focused on you and you alone

This also applies in the opposite direction-- if anyone flirts with you, he's by your side and growling at the offender, canines bared and ready to bite. Poor Al-Haitham got a bit of a shock when an off-handed, semi-flirtatious statement earned him a bone-chilling glare from Tighnari and the feeling of claws around his neck. Please give this man all of your attention

Gets very excited if you groom his ears and tails-- he likes to keep them nice and presentable for you and what better way to do that than to have you preen as you see fit?

Speaking of grooming-- if you do a particularly favorable job at it, he'll purr. Idc if foxes cant purr, Tighnari can. It's barely audible, trading sound for power as it's strong enough to be felt all over your body. Once he's purring you've won-- you could ask him anything and he'll probably say yes to it

Always brings you something from his expeditions-- from flowers to unique plants and strange creatures-- as long as he's vetted it to be safe, Tighnari will bring it home for you to keep. His tail curls up in anxiety as he watches you carefully inspect the gifts he brings home, but it always relaxes when he sees your delighted smile and you look at him with such adoration keep your eyes only on him

Speaking of his tail, it's the biggest indicator of his mood. If it's still, he's either in a neutral state or very focused. If it's swaying back and forth, he's calm and perhaps happy-- the faster it sways the happier he is. If it drags behind him on the floor like it has no life, he's upset. And if it curls up very tightly he may be a tad excited.

It also naturally seeks you out. If you stand next to him, it automatically wraps itself around your leg, waist, or just all over your body. You're familiar and safe, and it's a way of staying as close and connected to you as possible. It does make for some unfortunate moments when one of you decides to move abruptly, tugging the poor thing hard and lightly spraining it.

He will lecture you if you get in trouble or hurt yourself, but not out of anger-- only frustration and worry. He loves you very dearly and he doesn't want to think of a world without you. Tighnari's lectures are just another way of him expressing his concern for you and your safety. This also means that before you go anywhere, even if it's down the road to a local merchant, he'll make sure you have an emergency pack fully stocked. He can't have you tripping over a root and injuring yourself, and without anything to self-treat, now can he?

The cooler seasons are the best time to cuddle with him-- the fur on his ears and tail get slightly thicker to adjust to the falling temperatures, which makes sleeping curled up against the tail all the more comforting. Its extra warmth makes cool breezes and nightly chills a thing of the past.

While he does have a nickname or two for you, he doesn't call you by it often. Saying your name is loving as it is-- it's your name. It carries the weight of your history and how far you've come-- who you are. To him, that is the most precious thing and every time he says your name, all that information floods his brain as he conjures up the image of you, his lovely partner. During more sappy and romantic moments though, he will throw in a nickname for you here and there.

He may tease and be sarcastic with you, but if you express your discomfort, he'll stop immediately. However, if you can match his snarkiness and shoot back your own witty retorts, you'll have him completely ensnared. An off-handed comment turns into a full-blown snark fest with neither of you willing to give up until you leave the other completely stumped. It makes those around you either annoyed or amused. After all, anyone that can keep up with Tighnari's wit is sure to make a worthy opponent.

All in all, Tighnari is a very caring boyfriend with his own quirks. If you're lucky enough to be chosen by him, you'll have quite the satisfactory relationship-- one that only inspires joy and free love. Just be mindful not to set off one of his more fox-like instincts. It often can get...messy.

Requests (both sfw and nsfw) are open~! If you want a nsfw version of this lmk

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact tighnari x reader #genshin impact tighnari #genshin headcanons #tighnari fluff #tighnari x reader fluff #tighnari headcanons #tighnari x reader #tokki writes

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who-knew-a-sheep-can-write · 4 months

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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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evergreen-femme · 3 months

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edgy vent writing cw: suicide

i think about the corpse i’ll leave behind all the time. it used to frighten me. maybe i’ve shot myself in the woods behind my house, and the body is crawling with insects and maybe has already had some of the meat torn off of it. maybe she finds a fragment of the skull without too much gore attached and keeps it. i wonder if it would still hurt to be eaten after i’m dead, if the nerves will somehow still be active and i’ll feel thousands of tiny mandibles tearing into me and not be able to do anything about it. or maybe i did hit a tree head-on and follow through with my intentions. parts of the body are crushed by the car, completely unrecognizable; there’s a branch piercing the throat and leaves glued to the face with dried blood. maybe i’m falling into the quiet ocean where the corpse will be buried in the mud and slowly feasted on by crabs and amphipods and worms. no one would find it there. i used to feel revulsion when i thought of these things, but now i can think about them with ambivalence and even a level of fascination. the corpse isn’t mine, the body isn’t mine. if i died like this, i could return the elements that comprise what’s left of my existence to nature, and there’s a strange comfort in that.

my corpse, the one that belongs to me, is inside of me, and has been for a while now. it’s a young girl’s body; i don’t know the age, because she had memories i don’t. this body grew around it like rings on a tree; what’s left of me is cocooned deep within this sarcophagus of flesh, and it is, of course, dead. maybe i was stillborn, reanimated by my mother’s desire to have a perfect mirror for herself, a kitten to play with, an entity to play the emotional role of her partner, completely bound by the rules that govern infant psychology and development. i don’t think that i’ve ever been me. what i see in the mirror isn’t me, and it never has been.

how do you live when you are a corpse within a walking corpse? there isn’t anything that excites me, there’s nothing in particular i want to do, the only things i feel are pain, shame, and guilt. it is difficult for me to get out of bed; sometimes i just don’t. i can’t do basic tasks without feeling like i’m dropping my brain in a vat of acid. one day people will lose their patience with me, and the scraps of work i’m able to do won’t be enough anymore, and i’ll lose my income and my home. i can feel it growing closer. it’s always crawling closer, inevitable, lurking in every shadow. i don’t have the energy to resist it anymore. every effort i’ve ever made has been for nothing. i’ve never seen personal gain from it in a way that actually spoke to me. all the ‘gain’ i’ve had from working, working, working, making my life be work, has been worthless gains for the construct of flesh that is sealing me in with no escape. the gains are the promise of more work of greater difficulty. i am a young girl who somehow got a last few gasps of air and realized she was alive inside this living tomb, who tried to claw her way out, before realizing that it was impossible. there is no way to regain what i’ve lost.

i can’t keep going on like this. my brain won’t cooperate with my attempts to keep the construct functioning enough to keep my life in stasis anymore. nothing is in stasis anyway, it never was. flesh grows old, breaks down, mutates and warps unrecognizably regardless of whatever is going on in your brain. i just can’t make it keep going anymore. i will lose my job. i have nowhere to go. there must still be a part of me that’s alive in there, because i don’t want to die, but the pain is too much to bear, and any life i could have will be a fraction of what it should have been, consigned to the margins of society and left to rot and fall apart. i used to wonder if i would be in the news when i killed myself, but i know i won’t be. people kill themselves every day, it’s one of the most common causes of death, and nobody cares about another dead tranny. the world will blink and i’ll be gone and it won’t matter.

what i need is a love that is impossible, one that i could never reciprocate, because i’m incapable of real love or affection. i wouldn’t even be able to recognize it if i was getting it; hell, i probably am, i’m just too broken to feel it. maybe nourishing an ecosystem at the bottom of the sea is what love feels like.

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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 11 months

Note

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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chloe-caulfield94 · 5 months

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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lemurlegs · 4 months

Text

Bewitched

Hi everyone!! This is my first fanfic I've ever written so it's probably not gonna be too great, but I had this idea festering in my brain for months and I just need to get it out into the world. Also if some sentences seem a bit strangely worded or there's some grammar mistakes bare with me, English isn't my first language.

That being said I just want to say a few things before we start this journey. So this is more of an OC fic then a y/n fic. I don't want to say much about her character since you guys will learn about it later, but there are a few things to note before starting off.

Her name is Elizabeth but uses a fake name with is Ginger. She was born in 1539, and she died of foxglove poisoning. That's all you need to know for know.

Wordcount: 3.5k

Also a few warnings: swearing, murder, death, torture, stabbing.

Chapter 1.

I Payed Off The Reaper And It Only Costed Me My Soul

As you lie on the cold, unforgiving hardwood floor of your apartment, a chill crawls up your spine, matching the coldness creeping into your veins. Your once-steady heartbeat falters, each thud weaker than the last, as if whispering its farewell. The room spins in a dizzying whirl, blurring the edges of reality, a cruel trick played by the poison coursing through you. Your trembling limbs betray you, shaking uncontrollably, as if bidding farewell to the world above. With each shallow breath, you feel the darkness beckoning, pulling you down into its silent depths, offering solace in the embrace of oblivion.

Your senses reel as consciousness returns, greeted by a sharp stab of pain in your back. Gradually, you rise to your feet, wincing as you gingerly assess the source of the discomfort. Eyes adjusting to the surroundings, you find yourself standing in an open field, the sky ablaze with hues of crimson, casting an otherworldly glow upon the landscape. A single road stretches out before you, disappearing into the horizon.

"So this is what hell looks like, huh?" You mumble to yourself. You always knew you would end up down here one day. Certainly didn't think it would be your "loyal" apprentice who would cause your demise.

You were a powerful witch, powerful enough to avoid the cold hands of death. You made sure to prolong your mortal existence by performing intricate rituals and potent spells. Anything to not face them again.

While your spells certainly made sure you wouldn't die of old age, in fact wouldn't really age at all, you were still vulnerable to other types of deaths. For example, the little witch you've been training that had oh so graciously poisoned you this morning.

With a cautious hand rubbing your tender back, you take your first steps forward, embarking on a journey into the unknown under the watchful gaze of the scarlet sky.

A sense of urgency propelling you forward, you choose to follow the road ahead, leading towards the promise of civilization. As you tread the asphalt path, your senses remain heightened, scanning the horizon for any sign of life while silently praying that your pursuers remain far away from you. They must know you're down here now, you just hope they don't know your exact location.

After a half-hour trek, the sight of a sprawling cityscape emerges, it’s bustling energy pulsating like a beacon of hope in the distance. A sense of relief washes over you as you take in the towering buildings and labyrinthine streets. "Perfect," you whisper to yourself, here you can definitely hide away for a while.

As you walk down the city streets you finally have the time to observe your surroundings. How interesting all the sinners looked, and how similar this city was compared to the ones topside.

Gazing down at your hands, you're struck by the startling transformation that has taken place. No longer the familiar appendages you once knew, they now resemble claws, sharp and menacing, as if longing to sink into flesh with every twitch of your fingers. A sense of surrealism washes over you as you take in the sight of your newly acquired extremities, a stark contrast to the hands you once relied on.

Turning your attention to your behind, you're greeted by the unexpected sight of a fluffy fox tail, swaying rhythmically with each step you take. It’s russet hue stands out against the backdrop of the urban landscape, a hellish addition to your newfound form. You wonder what other strange features you've gained, do you also have fox ears?

In the midst of your bewildered observation, a sudden onslaught of hands ensnares you, their grip firm and unyielding. Panic courses through your body as ropes constrict around your body, binding you in a suffocating embrace. A gasp is stifled by the rough pressure of a hand clamped over your mouth, silencing any attempt at an outcry. Darkness descends as a blindfold is forced over your eyes, robbing you of sight and further disorienting your senses.

With a surge of primal instinct, you thrash and struggle against the unseen captors, desperation fueling your futile attempts at liberation. Yet, despite your efforts, their grasp remains steadfast. You recognized them immediately, your old coven members, who else could it be? They must have used a tracking spell to locate you, that's why they knew where to find you the moment you fell. Those bastards. They shoved you into a vehicle, your body still bound by what you assume are some anti magic ropes, since you can't use your powers. Escaping now would be impossible.

After a few minutes of travel, the car came to a halt, and your old coven members forcibly pulled you out, their grips unyielding. You realized the urgency of escaping this predicament. Given your past with the coven, forgiveness wasn't on their agenda, and what you did to them? Well, they sure as hell would want payback.

You were ushered into a chilling chamber, momentarily released before being bound at the wrists with heavy shackles, suspended from the ceiling. Only then, as the blindfolds were removed, did you behold the revenge etched upon their faces. Ten of your former coven members stood before you, clad in their ritual cloaks—dark brown fabric adorned with bloodstains, their signature hoods concealing their identities. It was evident that you had been brought into a space where sacrifices were made or where their dark magic was practiced.

One of the cloaked figures broke from the group, unveiling herself—a woman with goat-like features, her gaze filled with disgust as she closed in on you. With the chains restricting your movement, you could only retreat slightly, snarling in defiance, baring your pearl-white teeth as a warning. Despite your display, the goat demon merely chuckled, unfazed, and persisted in her advance.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Elizabeth," the witch sneered, "It's good to see you finally join us, High Priestess."

"Oh fuck you!" you spat back at her. Pulling on your shackles as they rattled, digging into your skin.

"I see you're still as charming as ever. We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival, but since you refused to cooperate and die, we had to take matters into our own hands."

"Now that you're here," she continued, "we can finally exact our revenge for our premature demise."

You scoff at that comment.

"You have nothing to avenge Sabrina; you got what you deserved. You know what you did, what he meant to me. He was everything, and you all took him from me."

"Still upset that we rid you of that unclean brat of yours? Honestly, Elizabeth, I fail to see why you're so attached to such a vile creature. I consider what we did to be quite generous. Don't you agree, girls?"

In unison, the other members echoed their approval. Sabrina turned to you with a smug grin, closing in. She seized your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

"Now, it's time you learned your lesson."

The coven members surround you, they form a circle around your strung up body. As the goat lady puts a hand on your shoulder, grabbing onto the shirt you've been wearing, with a swift motion, her claw snags your clothes, ripping them apart, revealing your bare body. You feel a sudden coldness surrounding you, the chilly air makes you shiver. Out of the corner of your eye you notice one of the cloaked figures pull out a knife, and hand the object to the demon in front of you.

Your eyes widen in shock "What the hell are you doing?!!?" You shout at her, as she turns to you with a sinister grin, she brings the knife to your chest

"My, my so distrustful towards your old friend?" She chuckles as she digs the knife into your skin, wincing as Sabrina carves a pattern between your breasts. Looking down you're unable to recognise the sigil. Panic fills your every being as you realize what exactly is happening. They're putting a curse on you.

You start thrashing, trying to lean away from the sharp blade, or at least mess up the sigil work, anything to get out of this situation. Sabrina withdraws the knife, casting you a glare laden with pure animosity. She then addresses the cloaked group, approaching one of the figures clutching a large leather-bound book. She whispered to the demon, you couldn't seem to make out what she said. Though soon you found out what she whispered. The feeling of their dark magic, like thick, heavy chains wrap around you, constricting tighter and tighter with each passing moment. It's as if invisible shadows grasp at your limbs, pulling you into a suffocating stillness, rendering you unable to move.

Desperately trying to make any sort of movement, trying to move away from the approaching blade, but all you could do was endure. You watched as the goat in front of you continued to carve into your skin, tears rolling down your face like rivers. Amidst the pain you hear eerie chanting, and the curse seeps into your body like icy tendrils. It feels as though a heavy weight has settled deep within you, dragging you down into a suffocating abyss. Every breath becomes a struggle as the oppressive magic wraps around your soul, binding you in its dark embrace.

As the chanting begins to die down, Sabrina removes the knife from your chest. As the dark magic leaves your body, your ability to move comes back too, but you feel a burning sharp pain in your abdomen. A loud scream leaves your throat as you look down to your stomach, as Sabrina leaves a big gash making you howl from the pain.

She takes a look at your pained face, clearly enjoying the suffering she's putting you through. You start heaving, trying to calm yourself as best you can, trying to ignore the wound on your stomach.

Sabrina takes a step back, inhaling deeply before letting out a heavy sigh.

“You have no idea how long I've been cooking up this curse for you, it's the perfect retribution for your betrayal against the coven, against me.”

“Wha… what have you done..to m-me?” You managed to stammer, weakened by the wound, blood staining your thighs as it trickled down.

The goat demon hums in amusement.

“I'm glad you asked Lizz. This curse is quite special. It's a fusion of three sigils, forming what i call 'the soul-rotting sigil’. You can probably guess it’s implications, but I'll elaborate anyways.

Sabrina comes up behind you, grabbing your throat while pulling you into her body, your back leaning into her. A gasp leaving you as you try to move from her grip, only for her to tighten her hold.

“The curse will decay your soul like a carcass. It will take a whole year to wither away completely, and when It does… Well, let's just say you're gonna discover what comes after the afterlife.” Her laughter drips with malice as you absorb her words. “Of course we will certainly have fun tormenting you until that day arrives.”

She pulls away from you, letting go of your throat. The goat lady appears in front of you as she continues her speech. “Now I must depart, being the new High Priestess is a very demanding job after all. But fear not, I'll ensure one of the girls keeps you company.”

She turns away with a sinister grin on her face as the coven follows her to what you assume is the exit out of this place. Your eyes follow them, disappearing as they turn the corner.

Turning to the sound behind you, a cloaked figure approaches you, she pulls the hood off her head revealing her cat-like features, she leans in towards you, smiling like Sabrina did moments ago. She looks at your wounded and beat up body. Then she begins circling around you, making awful comments about you, but you don't acknowledge them, as your mind is already thinking about an escape plan.

You quietly assess your surroundings, searching for any potential exits or tools that might aid your getaway. The cat-like demon's words become background noise as you mentally map out your next move. You look up to the shackles, tugging at them slightly. On closer inspection you realize that they're just regular metal chains. Not some anti magic bullshit like those ropes were. As you focus your energy, a warm sensation emanates from your palms, enveloping the chains. With each passing moment, the metal begins to soften, succumbing to the intense heat of your concentrated magic. The links start to warp and bend, like molten wax under a flame.

Your determination fuels the transformation, the once solid chains now resembling twisted strands of metal, weakened and pliable. It takes you a few moments to free yourself, since your body is very weak at the moment, the pain and blood loss certainly not helping your situation either. But with a final burst of energy, the weakened chains give way, breaking apart like brittle twigs. Freed from their restraint, you take a deep breath, relishing in the newfound sense of liberation. Your escape plan is now in motion, empowered by your resourcefulness and resilience.

As your hands free from the shackles you turn to the cat demon who looks at you with a shocked expression. With adrenalin coming to your rescue, you lunge at her and begin tearing her apart with your sharp claws. The demon lets out a guttural scream as you sink into her flesh, blood splattering across the room.

In a flurry of motion, you overpower her, your primal instinct drives you forward. With each swipe of your claws, the demon's resistance weakens, until finally she collapses to the ground.

Breathing heavily, you take a moment to assess the situation. Blood drips from your wound, mingling with the demon's on the cold stone floor.

You lean yourself next to the wall, trying to steady yourself, putting pressure on the wound on your stomach, trying to lessen the blood loss. Slowly limping towards the room you saw Sabrina and the coven pass through, you enter some sort of lounge or dressing room of sorts? You're not entirely sure, the point is they kept their cloaks here. You reach up, pulling one off the coathanger, ripping one of the sleeves off of it, turning it into a makeshift bandage of sorts. It's not great but it's the best you can manage now. Taking another cloak, putting it over your naked vulnerable form, you continue looking for an exit

Despite the pain and weakness gnawing at your body, you press on, determination driving you forward. Carefully navigating the unfamiliar surroundings, you scour the rooms for any sign of an exit. Your eyes scan the walls for hidden passages or concealed doors. Your heart pounds in your chest as you push through the pain.

Finally your perseverance is rewarded by a faint glimmer of light emanating from the corner of a room, you stumble towards it, hoping to get out of this maze of madness. As you draw closer the source of the light becomes clear. A small narrow doorway partially concealed by heavy drapes. Without hesitation you push the fabric aside and step through the threshold.

You are greeted by the red sky once more. Though now it's darker and much more foreboding. You take a deep breath, the smell of sulfur filling your nose. You need to find shelter before they realize you escaped. You might have gotten away, but you weren't out of the frying pan just yet. You slowly limp towards the sidewalk, scanning your surroundings. You remember that the journey to the chamber was quite brief, indicating you can't be too far from where you were ambushed.

You begin walking, trying to find a place to hide away, feeling weaker and weaker by the minutes. As you struggle to keep yourself conscious, you notice a beacon of hope emerging in the distance—a hotel, appearing almost like a heavenly gift amidst the chaos. It's the ideal sanctuary to seek refuge and regroup, provided you can reach it before bleeding out from your injuries.

Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you press on towards the hotel. Each step feels like a herculean effort as you battle against the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you. Your vision blurs, the world around you swirling in a haze of pain and exhaustion.

But the promise of safety drives you forward, a flicker of determination amidst the despair. With each faltering step, the hotel grows closer, it’s lights a comforting reminder of the safety and respite it offers.

As you draw nearer, your body screams in protest, the agony of your wounds threatening to overwhelm you. But you refuse to succumb, gritting your teeth against the pain, fueled by sheer willpower and the desperate desire to survive.

Finally, you reach the entrance of the hotel, collapsing against the door with a ragged gasp. Relief washes over you as you feel the cool touch of the doorknob beneath your fingertips. With your last ounce of strength, you push open the door and stumble into the lobby, collapsing onto the floor in a heap.

As darkness edges in from the corners of your vision, you cling to consciousness, clinging to the hope that help is near. With a final, trembling breath, you surrender to the darkness, your body giving in to the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

When your awareness returns you're met with two ruby red eyes staring back at you. You jump up as you realize you're laying on the lobby floor of some strange hotel, with some strange demon in front of you. You look at the owner of said ruby eyes, a man who looks like he's dressed for 1930s styled Chinese new year or something, all in red. You notice his deer-like characteristics, he exudes an aura of mischief, and oh god that sinister looking smile of his is downright terrifying.

“Ah you're finally awake dear” the demon greeted you "I thought you were going to meet your end on our freshly cleaned floors. My name is Alastor, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

You blinked up at the tall demon looming over you, unable to say a single word as you continued your staring contest with the strange deer man. You broke your gaze away to look down at your stomach, you were still bleeding heavily, you realized your dire predicament.

“You know it's quite rude to not introduce yourself after i oh so graciously kept you from your second grave” he chuckles.

Struggling to lift yourself slightly, you propped up on your elbows, gazing back at the smiling demon before you.

“ Than…thank y-you… my na-name is ….”

Well shit you can't just tell him your real name. you hesitated, it would be unwise to reveal your true identity. This man seemed dangerous, and your intuition screamed caution. Besides, how were you still alive? If you passed out from blood loss, you were surely done for, and you doubted this peculiar deer-man knew anything about blood transfusions.

Realizing you'd been lost in thought, you heard him clear his throat, snapping you back to reality. Quickly, you give him a fake name.

“...My n-name is Ginger….”

“Ah what a pleasant name for a young lady like yourself. It seems you’ve gotten yourself in quite the pickle, didn't you Ginger?”

All you could manage was a slow nod, hoping against all odds that this demon could somehow help you.

“Well, I can certainly assist you with your… situation, let's say.”

You scoffed inwardly. Situation, he said. I'm literally bleeding out, dude—you thought.

“Pl..please “

“Oh, why of course, after all, I wouldn't be the gracious facility manager if I didn't help poor sinners like yourself.”

“Thank yo-

“Ah ah ah, not so fast, darling,” he interrupted with a sly grin. “You didn't think I would be handing out freebies now, did you? Ohoho, how silly; must be the blood loss making your mind all fuzzy. No, dear, nothing's free here, I'm afraid. So, why don't we make a deal?”

Leaning towards you, the demon extended his hand, surrounded by a swirling green light, a soft glow emanating from his palm, casting a neon color glow. You stared at him, a mixture of shock and exhaustion clouding your expression, feeling your consciousness slipping away. Something tells you that it has to do with the demon in front of you, as if he was keeping you alive and conscious till this point.

“Wha-what would you like to gain from m-me?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why, your soul, of course. I think it's only a fair price after saving your life,” he replied casually.

Your soul?? This guy wants your soul?? Well great, you knew this was too good to be true. You weighed your options, die now or sell your soul to the strange deer man with a color scheme reminiscent of a strawberry.

Perhaps it was the delirium, or maybe it was the sheer desperation of not wanting to die just yet, or perhaps it was because deep down, you knew your time was limited regardless. Against your better judgment, you shook his hand.

“Deal.”

#hazbin hotel #fanfic #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x oc #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hazbin x you #alastor the radio demon #radio demon

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mystra-midnight · 1 year

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 sell 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 as 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 melancholy 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 digital 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 out loud, your back in a perfect arch as red-hot lightning 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 ecstasy 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 thighs 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 tasting 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.

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