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just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago

Note

Hey love! if you're still accepting requests, could I get an extremely wild, rough and feral nsfw Daemon x wife fem!reader please? (feel free to ignore and sorry if the request is weird, but I'm thirsty for this handsome fictional man who unfortunately doesn't exist)

Frost Bite

Daemon Targayen x Stark!Reader

Summary: You were travelling back to home soil in anticipation of your wolf's heat cycle. Besides the fact that you could not stand the sound of your prince husband's breathing and the fact you were certain he would perish in the cold, there was one more reason why you did not want him to join you: the fact the heat was affecting you too.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Basically PWP, 5k+ SMUT T_T (non-con [daemon touches her while she's asleep], virgin!reader, she cries for various reasons, fingering, choking, biting, degradation kink, corruption kink, spitting, marking, edging, oral [fem receiving], breeding kink, cream pie), RIP feminism, opens with a wet dream, brief mentions of near death experience in a snow storm, dark!daemon (but imo its just canon daemon) fem!reader, wife!Reader, soft!daemon, typos, etc.

A/N: YEAH MINORS DNI. LOL SO I was planning to write this for my part 2 of my Stark!Reader, but i got lazy and didn't want to create a whole plot leading up to the smut, so i removed it all together, which I guess worked out swell for you nonnie, since I was planning something absolutely unhinged. I hope you liked that fic of mine since you're basically getting a p3 of it So here's part 1, here's part 2, but you don't need to read any of them to understand, but i suggest you do for background cos lol this is PWP T_T Next part ig but its a blurb "✨Magic✨" OMG NEXT PART BUT ITS NOT A BLURB "Moon Cycle" Also nonnie, i wanted to tell you albeit asking for smut is pretty awkward HAHAHAH you gotta process these feelings somehow you know. i mean, we could have been criminals, like Daemon, instead but we're not, and that's what matters (unless you are a criminal in which case im closing my eyes) this gif of him is so large on pc but idc he's so hot MATT I WANT YOU SO BAD FUCK OFF if someone snitches to big brother again like in In Your Defense /: Idk if you want to be, but I'm tagging everyone I tagged in the previous fic, as well as the others that commented there SO HI THIS IS SMUT YOU CAN GO IF YOU WANT LOL HAHHAH @aralezinspace @em-the-lurker @blue1006 @mukduk-not-murder @min-jianhyung @deniixlovezelda @moonmaiden1996 @thatmysteriousblog

I caught him. I caught him doing the very thing I dreaded to catch him do. The one thing I accused him of doing every night, though in my heart of hearts I wished he did not... not that I would ever admit it to his face. Because why would I? Admitting it would mean- "You want me," Daemon heaved against the neck of the woman beneath him. He cranes his neck up as he thrust into her, smirking, eyes dark, "you want this to be you," he pants as he stares at me, "don't you?" I am in my place, frozen, watching and hearing the woman come undone underneath my husband who kisses her tenderly. "Daemon," I whimper helplessly, teary eyed, "Daemon please." "Fuck off."

I jolt awake, sweat sheening my neck and chest. I turn to my bed, empty, because though Daemon insisted we sleep together and I could not fight him in his decision, he did not return to me until nigh dawn.

I wipe my face as I recall my intensifying dreams.

It seems my travels up North would come quicker than anticipated.

And as much as I wanted to tell him I told you so, oh to all the gods, how badly he deserved it, there was no time for me to gloat when Daemon did the very thing I warned him not to, fall into the icy river.

It was instantaneous. The cracking of the ice, the splashing of water, the scream that escaped me. Maybe I should have left him in the cave we kept Caraxes, who he insisted on bringing. But then again he would have insisted on joining me to the cabin, the way he insisted on joining me here up North in the first place.

And now I had to deal with the consequences of his actions.

It was sheer miracle that I got him out of the river without falling into it myself, sheer stupidity of me to rid him of his coat and offer him mine when the blistering snow storm was not relenting, and quite clearly the sheer will of the gods that both of us made it to the cabin... barely.

The moment we walked in, I shut the door and scrambled towards the fireplace. As my fingers shivered, I thought of Havoc, and how at least I know she would find mine and Daemon's corpses if ever we do not make it. I had sent her away when the storm came out of nowhere because we had to find cover for Caraxes, and she would not have been any of help to us if she were here with us anyway.

My poor pup. She would be heartbroken if she saw me frozen. And Caraxes...

I curse the flint, I curse the cold, I curse the gods, and I curse Daemon for every time I failed to light a fire. I thanked the Stranger for finally allowing me the mercy of my eventual success.

Once the fire was burning steady, I get on my feet and run to Daemon, hauling him over to the fire roughly in haste where he helpelessly kneels in front of. He could do nothing but shiver as I scramble to get some dry clothes and sheets for the both of us.

I yank him closer to the fire and begin to undress him.

Seeing as he is nothing but docile to my actions and how his skin was turning grey, I began to grow frantic, "you cannot fucking die, you prick!"

I rip his top off and quickly clothe him, "I did not go through all the trouble of marrying you for nothing. I refuse to be forced into another marriage because your stupid ass froze to death."

Daemon's shudder comes out in a thick condensation.

"Fuck," I whimper, as I struggle to get him out of his boots and breeches.

I shrivel up at the feel of his frozen fingers then brush against my arm and I shake my head rapidly, realizing there was no choice. The only way I can warm him quickly enough is if I share my own.

I strip him naked, pulling off the shirt I struggled to put on him as well, then wrap him in a fur blanket in the meantime. I then take off my own clothes and hiss at the nipping cold.

The fact Daemon does not even look at my naked form strikes a chord in me.

I straighten him up and fix the blankets on his legs and thighs before I sit on his lap. I press my bare chest against his and whimper at his dangerously concerning coldness.

He shivers against me as his face rests helplessly on my shoulder. His breath that hits my skin is not even hot.

"Remember, you're too fucking stubborn to die," I say as I wrap my legs around his torso and graciously place his fingers beneath my bottom.

His lack of warmth literally brings tears to my eyes.

I reach out for the other blanket and wrap it over myself, consequently Daemon, before I wrap my arms around him and breathe hotly against his face.

I rub his back, "will you allow irony to take you? The hot blooded prince defeated by the cold?"

He releases a shiver and moves his head. He mutters something, but his quaking body does not allow me to make sense of it.

"Do not waste your energy," I chide.

And so for a long moment, we stay like this, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing each other's heat. I do my best to warm him. I even nuzzle against him, the way Havoc did me, just so I could warm his stupid face.

Daemon finally finds it in him to lean against my touch, and when he does, he mutters under his breath, "irony-" shudder, "-would be if the- N-Northern princ-ces-s-ss died in the cold."

My face contorts and yet I cannot help but chuckle at him, glad he can sputter his nonsense again, "then I should make Caraxes burn you for your stupidity."

I shiver when I feel his icy lips kiss my neck. Goosebumps form on my skin when I feel the hot breath that follows. My hands rake up to his nape, where I then dig my fingers as I pull away.

"N-n-nno!" he stutters, hands coming around my hips to brace me tightly, "I ss-swear I'm not warm yet-t-t."

I pull back again though to face him when I said, "I only wanted to tell you," I lean my forehead against his face, "I fucking told you so, you stupid idiot."

I rest my face on his shoulder and close my eyes, knowing I would not be off him any time soon.

I dream about him. I dream about kissing his shivers away. I dream about pulling the fur blanket that separated our legs away, and riding him until he was warm.

I dream about how good he feels, and how he burns inside me. I dream about calling his name, unlike how I did in my other dreams. I was no longer calling out in betrayal, I was calling out in pleasure.

Daemon.

"Daemon," I trail off in a groan, willing my heavy eyelids open. I feel pressure building up inside me before I understand what's happening.

I not know how, but I am laid on a bed, head on a pillow, form still naked. Daemon is sat up beside me, peering down at me and his hands.

I whine.

His fingers-

"Oh fucking hell," he groans as his other hand begins to knead at my breasts, "you feels so good wrapped around my fingers, I-"

I cut him off with my squeak, hands flying to his arm, thighs closing shut, squeezing this hand in between my thighs.

"Daemon," the dazed quality of my voice is gone.

He tilts his head, face twisting, a challenge.

When I struggle and wrangle against him, all it takes is his hand on my throat to make me go still. I barely manage a choke and my breath continues to leave me as his fingers quicken their pace inside me.

He only releases me after I shake and shudder when I come.

It is overwhelming and nothing at all like I have dreamed or imagined, unlike all the times I've touched myself in secret. It was intense but there was a shame tied to it.

My entire body is hot and tears prick my eyes at his relentless ministrations.

"You were too fucking ready for that," Daemon mutters dryly as he quickly pulls away and shifts in his spot, "how long have you imagined fucking me, hmm?"

Before I even have the brain to do something, he crawls down the bed, "was it when you caught me touching myself to you?" He sinks down, grabbing my legs, "or have you done it before and withheld me of your sweet cunt for no fucking reason?"

All at once, he brings his face between my legs and begins to lick all the slickness off my pulsing core.

"DAEMON!" I scream, pressing my thighs close as I push myself up on my elbows, trying to break free of him.

He ignores me and forces my legs open even as I kick them in protest, "you will not deny me something you so clearly want yourself."

He grunts and pushes my legs down before grabbing my hands that were shoving him away, "you fucking bitch," he grips me tightly, "you will not find it in yourself to fight me off once I make a whore out of you."

I growl at his words, feeling my stomach drop along with my tears because of it.

I was realizing just how strong he really was, and how in moments where our arguments got a bit physical, he has probably holding back. The revelation of this does not cease my attempts at freeing myself, but it is as pointless as I feared.

Daemon rises up from his spot, nearing me, up until he is breathing against my cheek and rubbing his hardened length against my wetness.

I turn away from him, unable to really do anything else and shudder as he speaks, "you said it yourself, you did not go through all this trouble marrying me for nothing."

I screw my eyes shut, feeling tears fall, "Daemon."

He shushes me, pulling my arms up above my head, "you should not worry. I refuse to die now that I know of your lust."

I whimper as he rolls his hips against me, "still, the idea of someone claiming you- fuck-" he groans gutturally, "had I died..." he trails of in another groan, "someone else would have gotten my prize and it would have been all be your fault."

Daemon squeezes my wrist in one hand then grabs my jaw, forcing me to turn to him. I keep my eyes shut though as he heaves hotly, "I should utterly ruin every part of you so you can never have anyone but me. Though make no mistake, I would never let that happen as I so fucking breathe."

"Hypocrite," I scoff.

He laughs and I tense at the feeling of his vibrations, "she speaks."

I dare to look at him as I pant, "you do not desire me. You're just a spoiled brat who merely wants to wet his cock, just like how you do every night."

"Oh," he groans, "is this jealousy I hear?" He squeezes my cheeks, "is my pretty whore jealous that she is not the only one?"

"Fuck you!" I manage out though muffled.

Daemon laughs at the feel of tears rushing down his fingers, "do not cry, foolish wife. I'll have you know I have not wet my cock ever since I called out your name when I fucked someone else before our wedding day."

He releases my face. I attempt to even out my breath.

"I hadn't even realized until she asked me who-"

"And you think you deserve an award for that?!" I quip through my heavy breathing.

He lets out a laugh that makes me whimper, "I think you ought to know that mine own want for you has made everyone else undesirable," he licks my cheek, making me pull my head away from him, "I have been so pent up in want and for what? Because you're too bull headed to allow me anything other than my lonely hand?"

I try to wrangle out of his grip again, and he presses his whole body on me in response, "it's quite adorable that you still have it in you act like you didn't just call my name out loud while you dreamt of fucking me."

He rubs his nose against my jaw, "you wanna know how I know?"

"Fuck off-"

"You were rutting against me like a hussy," he sighs, "by the gods, had I known you were so wanton at night, I would have never granted you the insult of sleeping alone."

I could feel myself burn hotter with each word that leaves his lips despite myself. I did not want him to catch me like this, but there was no use; I was already caught.

As Daemon rocks his hips on mine, he hisses, undoubtedly feeling how much wetter I had gotten was beneath him.

"Fuck," he trails off, "here's what going to happen," he whispers, rutting against me rougher.

I cannot for the life of me withhold my whimper.

He chuckles as he presses his face against mine, "I'm going to make you come with my tongue and then I'm going to fuck you until you cry."

"Daemon, please stop-"

"Your heartbeat against my cock and how fucking wet you are disagrees with your protest, little liar," he croons. He lifts his head, then leans his forehead against mine, "don't worry, my little virgin, you will not cry because it hurts, you will cry because you'll want it so bad that it hurts."

"Daemon-"

"You will not refuse me," he whispers, though it is anything but sweet, "not when there is not a sliver of doubt in my mind that you want this too."

He brings his hands to my neck again and I wait for his grip to tighten, but it does not, "now say it."

I look up at him as my breathing quickens.

"Yield," he commands, breathing heavily all of a sudden.

I look up at him feeling my belly swirl in ways I could not ever explain.

"Admit to both our ears that you burn for me just as I have been fucking burning for you."

I yelp when he puts pressure on my throat then releases it.

"Say it," he barks.

"I-"

"Say you want me," he says softer this time.

I am disarmed by his quick change in tone and a shiver leaves me as the cold finds its way to my belly as he pulls away. Daemon releases my hands then begins to crawl down. His eyes are fixed on my as he mutters once more, "say it."

I shudder as he presses my thighs against his cheeks then whispers, almost begging, "say it."

I turn away from him and close my eyes, awaiting his next actions, for it was not like I could stop him if I refuse.

"Say it," he urges louder, "you know you want to."

I clench my jaw, "just do what you want and be done with it."

He growls, and goosebumps form on my skin when I feel him bite at the inner most part of my thigh. I grip at the sheets at the feel of teeth and tongue. I bite my lips tightly to keep myself from making any noise.

"I should, shouldn't I?" Daemon mutters.

I yelp and look down at him when his finger strokes my core.

His eyes are dark as he airily chuckles at my reaction, "after all I have given you my name, my Targaryen queen. You are no longer your own, you are forever mine."

I watch him as he lifts his head up and kisses my sopping heat. I flinch when he nips at me, drawing my nub out with his teeth. He lifts his head as he releases my flesh. His chin is glistening with my slick as he says, "I want you."

My breath leaves me when he says this.

"And I know you want me too, but I have to-- I need you to say it." He repositions himself in my thighs, "you are after all married to maniac," he breathes against me, "now, say it."

He shakes my thighs, "SAY IT!"

"I want you," I snap, "Daemon, I-" a loud cry rips out of me before I can even continue.

The sound of him lapping his tongue on me, eating me out as if I was his final meal, was somehow louder than my cries. I cannot help but so violently react to him as he devours me. He forces me still in his grip and fights off the movement of my thighs with his face.

It seems as though my admittance has reduced me into nothing but needy sounds.

Without another thought, my hands reach down at him and dig into his silver hair. I arch my back and pull at him when his tongue flicks into me.

"Fucking slut," he mutters, squeezing my thighs as he pulls me apart.

I scream out his name as he digs his face deeper into me. I lift my head up when he pulls away to laugh, "look at you, rutting against me like the needy whore you are."

I don't have time to find offence in his words because I still, not even realizing I was in fact moving my hips against him. He laughs as he continues his work, leaving me no time to feel embarrassment and only hot pleasure.

He is fucking good at what he does. He's so fucking good that my mind wanders where it should not. How much practice has he gotten to be this good? It is precisely because of this that I finally break, "all for you, Daemon," I grab his cheeks, "all for you-- all mine."

I do not see how his eyes dart up to me for I then throw my head back and whine. I feel myself come close to my undoing, "fuck, Daemon, don't stop."

I shriek when I bites me.

Just as I am inching so close, all at once, he pulls away from me.

I pant and stiffen as I hear and feel him spit on me. Much like all other moments, I do not have time to react. When I turn to him, he grabs my legs and shoves me to my side.

I begin to panic when he rises to his knees.

"I'll be fucking damned if I don't make you come on my cock right now," he grunts, making my eyes drop down to the very thing, erect, hard, and angry.

"Get on your knees, bitch," he blurts, though he doesn't give me much of a chance to as he drags me up into the position he wants me by my hips.

I haven't even propped myself up on my arms yet when he unceremoniously begins to pound into me.

I am certain if anyone could hear us in the middle of this storm, they would think I was mad, or worse, being tortured.

"I'm going to breed that prurient wolf in you, just as I'm sure your wolf, Havoc, is being bred right now."

I growl at the idea and feel my belly tighten at his words.

Daemon groans before he chuckles, "that's it, isn't it?"

His relentless thrusts begin to grow sloppy. Suddenly, he yanks me by my hair and lifts me up. His other hand slaps to my throat to offer painful support as he pulls me up against him.

I choke on my spit when my form presses against him with difficulty. He sinks down on his knees, my core wrapped around his length as he shifts me in a snug position atop him.

His hands make their way to my breasts to roughly grope them. His teeth sink down on my shoulder.

I release a wild sound as my own hands come on top of his. I am left moaning at how his mouth sinks into my skin.

Daemon makes sure to suck hard before pulling away. For a moment he catches his breath before speaking, "you did not want me here because you are affected by your wolf's heat, aren't you."

The way I begin to slowly bounce on top of him is enough of an answer to him.

He laughs as his hands depart from my tender breasts, one going down to my sensitive nub, the other sealing my throat again, "you are a fucking selfish bitch for keeping your cunt from me."

My breathing becomes arduous when he tightens his grip around me.

"You would have preferred to touch yourself to the thought of me?" he questions as he rubs on my sensitive nub.

"Daemon," I gasp, pushing my head back as his lips latch on my neck again.

He ceases the moment of his fingers as he finishes grazing on my skin. "Yes, my pretty whore?" he mutters in between his kisses, "what do you want, hmm?"

My breathing strains when his hand tightens around my throat more. I catch my breath when he releases his grip to push my hair off to the side, "tell me what you want me to do to you."

I call out his name. He calls out mine.

I find myself grabbing his hands as I moan out, "I want you to fuck me."

Without another word, I am thrown down to the bed. The only reason I'm still on him is because of his hands that latch on my hips.

I am nothing against his strength. He handles me like a ragdoll, fucking me with absolutely no regard and nothing else in mind.

I make sounds that mean nothing. His name is polluted by my whimpers and cries that you cannot make head or tail of.

I would not last any longer with how he was handling me, even if I wanted to, even if I tried.

"That's it my easy bitch," he pants, "come around me like the needy whore you are."

"Daemon-"

"Your eager cunt will take my seed well when I fill you up," his one hand leaves my hip and rips my head back by my hair again, "don't you think, pretty wife?"

"Yes," I reply without thinking, "yes, yes, yes, yes-"

"And you will give me your pups," he mutters, "bare my dragons, like a dutiful wife will you not?"

My only response is my body breaking orgasm. I shiver beneath him, falling powerless as I scream his name and crumble, absolutely boneless.

Daemon lets out a string of curses as he milks out my reaction for all he's got.

He does not waver once bit and it maddeningly delicious.

My voice hikes up when I feel him release inside me not too late after.

"Fucking come slut," he barks as he snaps his hips in me, "take it all just like that."

I bury my screams in the cushions he presses on, unrelenting. When he finally does grow sloppy, I take a moment to catch my breath and relish the feel of him.

I whimper when he pulls away and slaps my ass.

"The absolute mess you've made of yourself," he coos, as he rubs the skin he slapped.

I can feel myself leaking, I can feel it all over my legs, on the sheets, and I could practically feel his pleased smile as he watches the lewd display. I could not bring myself to care at all though, not when my legs begin to fall.

I squeak when Daemon rearranges me on the bed. He is not at all as rough as he was with me a while ago, but his strength and my lack thereof does not really allow him to be gentle.

He falls onto the side of the bed next to me and gathers me into his chest. When I roll over to him, I groan at the feeling of my wet thighs pressing together.

"Do not make issue of that," Daemon says as he watches me squirm. He pulls me close to him, arm over my shoulders. His other hand hooks behind my knee, dragging me atop him. I whimper and push my hand on his chest when I feel core empty out on his thigh.

He does not allow me to pull away and I turn to him because of this. Daemon forces me close against him, "are you so haughty over my come that you cannot bare the thought of it-"

"But it's getting everywhere," I start off loudly but end with a whisper.

Daemon's nostrils flare as he shakes his head, "I should sure hope so."

I feel my cheeks burn and so I decide to hide my face in his chest.

His laughter intensifies, and I do not enjoy how my head bounces on his ribcage because of it.

"Oh meekness suits you well, my dear."

I weakly mumble, "fuck off."

His amusement continues as he rubs my arms, "you mean, 'I want you to fuck me, Daemon.' "

"I did not say it like that!" I quip, lifting my head as I turn to him, finally making him cease his stupid laughter. The sight of his stupid smug face still glimmering in slick renders me frozen.

Suddenly I am aware of how cold the room still was.

"Pray tell, how did you say it?" he hums, pushing hair behind my ear.

I furrow my brows and press my cheek on his chest again, admitting lowly, "I didn't say your name at the end."

"My," he draws shapeless figures on my skin, "I'm glad to know the moment is burned in your very being."

"Fuck off," I mutter under my breath, scratching my eye. It dawns onto me that my face was equally as wet as Daemon's. Heat rises up my face again when I realize I really did cry because of how good he felt.

"Don't fret," he sighs, "there is a reason why you should not worry yourself about how your pretty cunt is leaking blood and come. I shall fuc-"

I turn to him in concern and push myself up.

Daemon furrows his brows and shakes his head, "it is normal," he soothes, grabbing my cheek, "or did you just forget your maidenhood was still intact after imagining fucking me?"

I am suddenly aware how real everything was. My husband has finally gotten me to consummate our marriage and all his talk of me bearing his seed could may well come true. My chest begins to constrict as my mind floods with endless scenarios.

"Well, if you start frowning like that, I might actually feel bad," Daemon mutters, lifting himself up on his elbows, "what's wrong?"

I look at his concerned expression and find myself speaking before I realize, "did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" he clarifies quickly.

"That you want me," I quip just as fast.

He stares at me for a moment, as if he was taken aback or measuring the truthfulness in my voice. When a prolonged moment passes between us, he realizes I was serious.

"Fuck," he drops his head back, "it must be exhausting to be a woman with your overthinking."

"Well, pardon me for not-"

"You are pardoned," he blurts, making me whimper when he suddenly flips us over.

I am beneath him again. He does nothing but press his weight on me, but I struggle beneath him, not enjoying the idea of remaining in an uncomfortable position.

He misreads my intentions and hinders me from moving, as he wraps his arms around me, "I just told I want you, that I burn for you, that I want you to mother my children. Do you honestly think I am one to say that to anyone?"

I gulp as he shifts to nestle his face in the crook of my neck, "I..." he breathes against my skin. He does not continue as he opts to kiss my neck instead.

When I move to wrap my own arms around him, he speaks again, "I am at your mercy. You saved me from freezing to death when you could have easily decided to rid of me."

I press my cheek against him and begin to comb through the long hair on his back, "I was serious about my distaste to remarry."

"Well, you will not," he quickly retorts, "you will have me until the end."

I bring my legs around him as I release a sigh, "consider me overjoyed by the thought."

He chuckles as he shifts, "you do not sound-"

"I did not want to admit it," I cut him off, "but I think I..." I turn to him as he lifts his head, "I think I... care for you, Daemon... I-"

"Love you," he finishes, staring at me with an unreadable expression.

And for the first time since our nuptials, he kisses me. He kisses me not because he has to, not for the sake of showing everyone present, but because he wanted to, for the sake of showing me.

He is nothing but warmth, nothing but fire, nothing but him. Daemon is not sweet, but in this moment he put even honey to shame.

He begins to stir on top me, though he makes sure his lips do not leave mine. It is because of my moan that we are broken apart, the moan that leaves me when I feel him slip inside me.

"Daemon-"

"You know how I fuck," he sighs, rubbing his nose against mine, "but now we'll both know how I make love."

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maliland · 9 months ago

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RESENTMENT: PT. 2

"how could you lie?" part one angel(s): e-42 miles morales & black fem reader includes: angst, infidelity, homewrecking, depressing themes, & heartbreak (men being disappointments per usual) synopsis: you used to describe your experience with love as one of complexity and simplicity all at once, but after you learn what your boyfriend did at a party with another girl while you were at home and sick, your heart is left with irreparable damage and an abundance of resentment. wc: 6.7k divider by @/cafekitsune a/n: this is gonna be my last sv fic for a hot min (or forever) 😭 savor and enjoy. ik the tag has been dead and you all have been malnourished, so yw! <3 icl, idk how i feel about it but y'all can lmk 🫶 (p.s: before ppl start nothing non-pg ever happened in this fic at any point in time. just kissing. ion get down like that 👍 thanks.)

when you arise in the morning and before you lay your head to rest at night, one thing is always definite: you are human.

humans are imperfect, so they make mistakes. genuine ones. honest ones. you’ve mixed up salt and sugar while baking chocolate chip cookies. you’ve hit your best friend square in the face while trying to spike a volleyball. you’ve missed assignment deadlines, forgotten about chores, and left the grocery list at home, all honest mistakes. a boy pressing his lips to another girl’s, though he has another he calls his own, is not a mistake. if it were up to you, it’d be a crime punishable by execution. between miles and yourself, no mercy was shown for the loyal one of you two, so why should he be granted any? infidelity; the act itself is the murder of the most important, sacred muscle, so why not return the favor?

you know your intentions before you give into the temptation of them. you knew miles knew. he knew from the moment that girl pulled him over to a vacant bedroom. did he think they’d simply exchange pleasantries? even so, why partake in such with someone who clearly has a taste for you? a taste for insulting the one you love most just as easily as she breathed?

these are all questions that would never be answered truthfully. you’d have to make peace with the reality or the only peace you’d know was the eternal kind that followed after death. and to think that you once believed in those stupid children’s fairy tales. miles made you believe that that kind of love could be real life. he almost made you believe you could attain the happy ending you always dreamed about. you were so close to it too. to have your bubble burst like that by the person you love most..? cold. way colder than the shivers repeatedly sinking down your spine.

it was a stupid idea to leave your window open.

the medicine you had taken for your cold had you knocked out in the warmth of your bed and you slept soundly. the chilly air would blow through the curtains now and then. the wind was only a light breeze at first. it felt nice, maybe even comforting, but when night finally fell, the current picked up. you were woken up by an icy blast hitting your face.

you groaned and slowly rose up, pulling the covers off of you before you swung your legs off of the bed. you drowsily staggered to your window and forced it shut, drawing the curtains closed only seconds afterward. you would just have to hope the mishap wouldn’t make you any sicker than you already were. you mindlessly carried yourself back to your bed and submerged yourself under the covers. you grabbed your phone, which was lying face down beside you.

you unlocked your phone and went straight to instagram, tapping through everyone's stories. most of the people you knew were at the party. parties weren't your cup of tea, so you couldn't really say you wished you had gone. you were more of a homebody than you'd like to admit.

you eventually got to miles' story. all he had posted was a single picture of him and his group of friends, and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. seeing your boyfriend happy made you happy. you smiled to yourself before switching to your messages app. you had notifications from both miles and your friends who were also at the halloween party. you opened miles’ messages first.

9:37pm

miles: hey ma (9:37 pm) miles: i know you’re probably sleeping right now, but i wanted to lyk that i got here okay (9:37 pm) miles: i’m with my friends (9:38 pm) miles: ima go now but i love you 💗 i’ll text you soon (9:39 pm)

10:23 pm

miles: yooo just checking in 🙌 miss you a lot (9:36 pm) miles: hope you’re enjoying that nap ❤️❤️(9:37 pm)

you: hey i’m up now 😈😈 (10:52 pm) you: i saw your ig story 🙃 looks like you guys are having fun so i’ll leave you to it (10:52 pm) you: text me later, i love you so much more 💓 (10:53 pm)

you swiped out of your text thread with miles and opened your group chat with your three best friends, sasha, lani, and nae. while you met sasha and lani not too long ago, you’ve known nae for damn near your entire life.

dollz 💘 9:13pm

sasha: how’s my bedridden baby? 🫶🫶 (9:13 pm)

lani: she’s been unconscious for mad long 👎(9:14 pm)

nae: we should ditch this party n go to her place instead i’m BOREDDD (9:16 pm) nae: and what if bro’s dead (9:16 pm)

jana: girl (9:20 pm) jana: she ain’t dead 🤦‍♀️ please. (9:21 pm)

sasha: ofc not (9:23 pm) sasha: nae's right.. this party lowk boring asf🧍‍♀️ can we leave soon? (9:25 pm)

jana: yes 💋 (9:25 pm)

nae: thought you’d never ask. (9:26 pm)

10:57pm

you: y’all i’m up damn! 😭 (10:57 pm) you: is it really that boring? miles seems to be having fun (10:57 pm)

nae: he buggin then cuz it's been like two hours and this party is STILL boring as shit (11:01 pm) nae: i tried to give it the benefit of the doubt but nvm. (11:01 pm) nae: my niece's fourth birthday party was x100 more turnt than this (11:02 pm) nae: i’m stuffing all the good snacks in my purse nd then we outta this bitch 🏃‍♀️ i’ll be in the car y’all (11:02 pm)

jana: bruh🧍‍♀️ (11:03 pm)

sasha: nae beloved, you already put hella snacks in the passenger seat (11:03 pm) nae: so? 🥱 (11:04 pm) sasha: you don’t need no more tf 😭😭 big backed hungry ass (11:04 pm)

you: yes she does (11:10 pm) you: she’s thinking of me, duh (11:11 pm)

sasha: damn you right.. maybe 🤷‍♀️ (11:15 pm) sasha: or maybe she'll eat up all the snacks and i'll laugh in your face and say i told you so 🤌 (11:16 pm)

jana: uh huh... anw girl can we come over? (11:18 pm)

you: i’d say yes but miles is coming over soon (11:21 pm) you: y’all can come over first thing tmrw morning tho 💋💋(11:21 pm)

right as you sent that message, your phone began to ring and you were met with your own puzzled reflection on the screen of your phone. it was a facetime call from nae. you couldn’t come up with a reason why she’d ever need to facetime you from a party when she could text or call. nevertheless, you picked up. you forced yourself up and out of you warmth of your bed, throwing your comforter and many, many blankets off of you.

you answered the facetime call as you turned the knob to your bedroom door to leave, making your way downstairs to the kitchen so you could raid the pantry for food. when nae’s face popped up on your screen, you noticed that the interior of sasha’s car surrounded her, but neither sasha or lani were anywhere to be found.

“hey danae, what’s up?” you said into the phone as you shut the microwave. you'd settled on instant ramen since you were feeling lazy. when you caught a glimpse of your best friend's face on your phone screen a second time, you clocked that she looked worried and that made you worried too. it didn't help that she was dead silent. you raised an eyebrow. “you alone? where’s lani and sasha?"

“something happened,” nae spoke slowly, disregarding your question. her eyes were bolting back and forth between her phone camera and sasha’s car window.

“what?” you shook your head, your eyebrows furrowing in concern. you set your phone down on the counter, propping your elbows onto the surface while you tried to decipher nae's expression, but that got you nowhere.

“i’m gonna send you something. just hold on a sec.”

“nae, what’s going on?” you inquired, a puzzled expression painting your face.

she didn’t reply. you pressed your lips into a thin line and closed your eyes in both confusion and frustration, strings of air passing through your nostrils. whatever nae was about to tell you was obviously nothing good. you didn't anticipate anything but the absolute worst. you opened your eyes again when your phone dinged. it was photo attachment from nae. you furrowed your brows blinked a few times before tapping it, pulling up you and your best friend's text thread. your entire body went limp when your brain registered the monstrosity on your screen. all you could do in the moment was stare in shock. it was a clear shot of miles and arielle at the party making out in some random bedroom upstairs. arielle who wouldn’t quit making moves on miles. miles who would shut down her pathetic attempts every time. arielle who’s always hated your guts without reason. miles who swore on everything that you were the only one he loved.

it was all so ironic, truly. arielle was dressed as an angel, a sparkly halo hovering above her head as if she wasn’t concomitantly sinning—shamelessly home-wrecking. and you could see it now: the embodiment of your relationship, or the so-called home you and your boyfriend shared. in your mind, it was ablaze and you were curled up all alone inside of it. you were left to succumb to the searing flames, burning to nothing ash while all that you and miles share burned beside you.

the boy would come home to the walls still burning and in the process of self-purging. he wouldn’t find you, rather the remnants of what used to be you. the ash would slip through his dirty, unfaithful fingers as they trembled in horror. he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. he’d desperately try to grasp you. he’d try to save you and scoop debris into his sweaty palms so he could salvage what was left of you. still, there was nothing. there wasn't a single thing in the universe that could aid the way you felt in that moment.

now, miles would have to mourn you, for he killed you. and he didn’t even know it yet.

your eyes were squeezed shut because they had to be deceiving you. you must not be fully awake yet. the medicine must be making you hallucinate. you were dreaming. you were a hundred percent dreaming. that wasn’t miles.

how could that be miles?

“i was looking for lani and found… them instead,” nae muttered. “i don’t know if he saw me take the picture, or what. i left to tell you right after.”

you swallowed hard. though a million different thoughts were racing through your mind, none of them came to be verbal. you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, because what do you even say when something like this happens? would anything you said be enough? would any quantity of words in any given order be able you place the way you felt? unlikely. highly.

your eyes continue you gape at the photo, even though the sight was making your stomach churn. you couldn’t look away. your eyes were fixed on miles' hands on arielle's hips, then her hands cupping his cheeks. nae was still on facetime explaining whatever it was she was explaining, but you weren’t listening. her words were static to your ears. there was a pit in your stomach and it was growing deeper and deeper, your wounded heart subsiding along with it. you set your phone face down on the kitchen counter and began to clutch your stomach. you swore you were going to convulse and vomit from how ill you felt.

“[name]!” nae snapped her fingers into the mic. “yo, you still with me? i’m coming over. i’m gonna call an uber right now.”

you blinked and shook your head, flipping your phone back over and taking a deep breath. you couldn’t just shut down, not now. you had something you needed to confront. someone.

“no,” you sniffled.

you didn’t even notice the hot tears rolling down your cheeks. you quickly swiped them away with the sleeve of miles’ hoodie. the realization that it was his hoodie you had on made you freeze up again for a few seconds, and then you buried your face in the palms of your hands.

“what do you mean ‘no?’” nae frowned, bringing the speaker up to her ear in case she heard you incorrectly.

your phone dinged three times. in your notification center were text messages from the devil himself.

miles: hey ma, i’m leaving now (11:25 pm) miles: the party was okay at first but it got boring (11:25 pm) miles: i’ll be there in like fifteen ❤️ (11:26 pm)

you just stared at the messages, biting your bottom lip until it began to draw blood as a plea for you to stop. the taste was metallic in your mouth, but your teeth didn’t budge. you didn't want miles over anymore, but it was far too late to tell him to turn around. it's not like he'd check his phone while he was driving, anyway.

“i keep losing you, girl."

you had forgotten all about nae for a second, her voice grounding you back to earth. you exhaled, your breath coming out unsteady. “miles is on his way over. after i talk to him, i’ll call you and you can come over then.”

“okay, babe,” nae nodded with a gentle sigh.

“do… lani and sasha know?” “no, they don’t,” nae denied. “i wouldn’t tell them before you.”

you pressed your lips together and silence engulfed your kitchen. you let your mind wander some more. after all this was over and done with, you'd have to explain to all of your loved ones that miles cheated on you. the very thought of having to tell everyone—your family, your friends, your dad—it embarrassed you. you couldn't stomach the very thought, so you exhaled deeply, opting to take it one step at a time. nae spoke again. “listen, if you don’t call or text me in, like, an hour, ima come over there.”

“okay," you nodded.

“remember that you deserve nothing but the best of the best. i love you so much, okay?”

“i know,” you tried to convene a smile. “i love you more.”

you hung up the phone and rid of any stray tears on your face. after nae's face vanished from your screen, you were left staring at you and your boyfriend's message thread. without putting much thought into it, you began to type.

‘cool, i’m jus—'

your fingers froze. you couldn’t text miles. he didn’t deserve anything so little as acknowledgment. you repeatedly hit backspace until the bar was blank and shut off your cell.

you sat idly on one of the kitchen stools behind the counter, your instant ramen long forgotten about. in the moment, you were feeling indifferent as a result of shock. still, you knew yourself better. when miles finally confessed his sins, you’d want to scream. you’d bombard him with a million questions at once, only to angrily invalidate any explanation that passed through his adulterous lips. you’d want to burn every handwritten love letter, every piece of clothing, and every gift, because they all meant nothing now.

he was a liar, and he knew it. if you could kill a man and face no consequences, miles might’ve been gone before he even walked through your door.

while you waited for him, you sat there and tortured yourself in thought. you couldn’t help it. was this planned? was this the first time? had he always thought of her like this? did he wish you were her when he was with you?

when you’d exhausted all of those questions, you began to think back to your own actions and behavior as you scrolled up on your texts with him.

maybe i said something that upset him? but i think he would've told me... right..? or have i been distant? no, that’s not possible. we talk every day. is he bored of me? is that it? am i boring? none of these texts are showing signs of boredom, so what is it?

you'd soon resorted to flipping through the pages in your diary. you were really good about documenting your day-to-day life. if something happened with miles in the past that your brain wouldn’t let you dig up in the moment, surely you would’ve written it there. the pad of your index finger slid across the rough pages as your anguished eyes skimmed the entries. ten minutes in, you still couldn’t find a thing. you'd give anything for a straightforward answer, but you knew it wasn't going to come from miles himself.

when you heard a key grinding into the keyhole of the front door, you slammed your diary shut and jumped off of the stool, knocking it over in the process. you sprinted upstairs to your bedroom, shoving the journal under your pillow. as you trailed out of your room, you closed the door behind you and braced yourself for the worst.

you shuffled back to the kitchen and picked up the stool from the floor, setting it upright. you caught a glimpse of miles unlacing his jordans at the front door. this was real.

“hey. i thought you’d still be in bed,” miles grinned as he approached you, spreading his arms for a hug. he wasn’t in his costume, but in a red hoodie and black sweats. he must’ve gone home to change. his costume probably smelled like arielle’s designer strawberry-scented perfume, the one everyone compliments her on. she never shuts up about it.

“hi,” you whispered, accepting his hug in an attempt to seem normal. “i was, but i got hungry. how was the party?”

miles smelled like his favorite cologne, except the scent was unusually potent. it wasn't faded in the slightest like it normally was after he'd been out and around other people. the deplorable amount of effort he was making just to mask the truth infuriated you. it angered you even more that he clearly wasn't planning on telling you anything. if you hadn't seen it yourself, you might've never known.

“it was ight,” he shrugged, loosening his grip on you after a couple of seconds. you hated yourself for wanting to hug him for just a little while longer. he sure as hell didn’t deserve it, but for all you knew, that was the last time you’d be in his embrace. he let his hands fall down to your waist instead and it made you shiver on contact knowing he had his hands on arielle's waist not even a full hour ago. “would’ve been better with you there, y’know. you feelin’ okay now?"

“mostly, yeah,” you responded blandly, your throat tight and your voice fairly groggy. “still a bit tired.”

you didn’t know how to bring it up. this wasn't something you could beat around the bush about. you found yourself deep in thought. so deep to the point where you didn't notice that miles had started talking. you were busy staring off into space with half-lidded eyes, way past his gaze. he clocked it and moved his head so that your eyes were boring into his by force, his eyebrows lowering in concern.

“is everything okay?”

you cleared your throat and gently pushed his arms off your waist, stepping back as you began to blink back tears. there was no easing into it. standing there in front of miles pretending like everything was okay was already bad enough. it felt like you were twisting the knife that he plunged into your chest. eyes glossy, you swallowed hard and batted your lashes a few more times, desperately trying to rid of the tears that threatened to spill.

“i know you kissed arielle at the party,” you barely managed to speak the full sentence, your voice cracking when you spoke her name. “and i’m confused.”

miles’ eyebrows knitted to be one as if this news stunned him. you wished you could hear all his thoughts from start to finish after you spoke. you wanted to know whether he was planning to lie or tell the truth. would he gaslight you or admit to his wrongdoings? you wouldn’t find out now because you didn’t give him an option. this already hurt enough and it would end the same either way.

“nae told me. and she sent me pictures.”

silence fell between the two of you. it felt like it was eating you from the inside. the chirping of the crickets outside and the noise from the refrigerator running slightly compensated for it. not much.

“i just wanna know why you did it. and why her? why the girl that hates me with every last atom in her body?” you broke the silence, shrugging your shoulders. you were hugging your arms, rubbing them in an up-and-down motion as if you were cold.

miles was dumbfounded, guilt painting his features. he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore. you wondered what you would say if you were in his shoes, but it didn’t give you any insight because you knew you'd never do this to him, so you gave up. instead, you stared at the neat middle part in between his two signature braids that cascaded down the back of his head, down to his shoulders. you’d braided his hair only a couple days ago, back when nothing seemed impossible—nothing like now.

though he wasn’t, miles’ hair still looked clean, freshly done even. what if arielle had redone his braids for him? she did say she was practicing, and she'd made it a goal to practice on him. you mentally cursed yourself for worrying about something as minuscule as miles' braids at a time like this. you didn't want to give yourself another reason to freak, but your brain wouldn’t let you rest. not even in silence. if miles wasn’t going to give you an answer, you’d send him on his way and come up with one by yourself.

“i don’t know why i did it,” he finally retorted.

“oh, word?” you laughed humorlessly. you were trying not to slap the hell out of his shamefully beautiful face. “it happened not even two hours ago. you know why you did it. your memory is sharp, it always has been, so tell me.”

miles exhaled, rubbing the palm of his hand on his forehead. “look, she came onto me while i was grabbing a soda. it was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing! it didn’t mean any—“

“that’s what they all say, morales,” you cut him off with a scoff. “it didn’t mean anything but somehow you traveled from the kitchen downstairs to a spare bedroom upstairs so you could swap spit without anyone catching you?!” miles tried to speak, but you cut him off again. “were you even gonna tell me? because you came up in here acting like shit was sweet as if you weren’t just making out with the girl you swore i’d never have to worry about, meanwhile, i was home, sick! a fucking cold, miles!”

“i wasn’t gonna keep it to myself. i didn’t wanna hurt you,” miles said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “it wasn’t gonna happen again, i swear.”

none of the words miles spoke were convincing enough for you in the slightest, so you disregarded them.

“did i do something to you? are you holding a grudge about something and trying to get me back?!” you yelled, your voice trembling.

“no, it has nothing to do with you!” he hollered back, squeezing his eyes shut as if he was stressed out. he had no right.

“so then why the fuck would you go and do this shit?!” you were silent for a few seconds, chest heaving up and down while your heart beat out of your chest. your breath was sprinting away from you and you were trying to catch it. "it's bad enough that you kissed another girl, but arielle?"

miles pleaded, “it was a mistake.”

“damn right it was!” you narrowed your eyes to slits. “i can’t believe i trusted you, like, seriously. you’re sick.”

“i let you down, princessa, i know, i’m—“

“sorry?” you finished his sentence, folding your arms. you were far more angry than sad now. “miles, you weren’t sorry when you were kissing her. don’t be sorry now either. you were gonna kiss me with her bright pink lipgloss dried on your lips like it was nothing. you were gonna sit here and play me like i'm stupid. you were never gonna tell me!”

miles couldn’t counter that. he knew you were right, so it was back to uncomfortable silence apart from your hefty breathing and sniffles. miles had never seen you so angry. you'd never seen yourself so angry. there was no one else to blame but miles. you had no idea where to go from there. it was only after you asked the question that you were about to ask on impulse that you realized you should’ve wrapped this up many minutes before.

“is this the only time this has happened?”

miles was hesitant, his eyes growing wider. “yes!” he spat.

miles had a tell—not just his disinclination to answer your question the way he normally would, but also the way his eyebrows would position as if he wasn’t so sure himself. his teeth would clench behind his sealed lips, but you could tell because his jaw was tight and he swallowed hard, and he wouldn’t know what to do with his hands.

you knew all of this about miles, yet you felt like you were gazing into the eyes of a stranger.

this wasn’t the miles you fell in love with.

you muttered under your breath, “you know what? i’m wasting your time... and my own. you won’t have an answer that’s both truthful and something i wanna hear. we’re done, you and i. give me the key and get the hell out.”

“mami, come on—“

“nigga, deuces! i said leave!” you snapped as you backed away from him, holding your hand out.

miles dug deep in the right pocket of his black sweats, handing you the key. you flinched when your skin made contact with his. you didn't hesitate to trap the key in the palm of your hand, dropping your arm back down by your side. miles sighed to himself and trudged to the door to lace his shoes back up. you didn't even watch him leave, opting to turn around and battle the tears threatening to spill from your eyes instead. when you finally heard the front door shut, you rushed to lock it. you turned around and pressed your back to the door, face twisted in pure disbelief.

this was real.

you slid down to the floor and pulled your knees to your chest, your cries echoing through your empty house. you’d never been more grateful that your father was gone for the weekend. miles wouldn’t have heard the end of it. at least now you had time to make up some lie to cover for miles' ass, and it'd be the last damn time.

not even five minutes passed before someone knocked on the front door three times and you sniffled. miles was going to drive you insane. “go the fuck away!”

“it’s me, baby,” a muffled voice said from outside, but it’s one you recognize, and it’s most definitely not miles.

you wiped your tears with the sleeve of miles’ hoodie and stood up, twisting the lock to open the door for your best friend. she was holding a box of pizza in her hand with a tote bag strap over her shoulder.

“you’re early,” you mumbled, one of your hands pressed against the rim of the door.

“i ubered home and got my car. when i got here, i just parked and waited,” nae pushed past you. you closed the door and locked it again, following her to the kitchen, where she set the box of pizza down on the countertop. “you wouldn’t have called me either way. i know you.”

she was right. you weren’t mad at her for being there though. she had always been so good to you.

nae walked over to the dining table and placed her tote bag in one of the chairs. “i brought your favorite type of pizza, and i stopped by the store to grab some snacks and soda. those are still in my car though, so—”

“i don’t think i can stomach anything right now,” you stated as you rubbed your arm. “i broke up with miles.”

saying that out loud felt weird. and final.

“oh, my love,” nae’s brows lowered and she shuffled over to you with open arms. she wrapped them around you and you did the same, sighing into her shoulder. you really didn't want to cry.

it hadn’t been long and you were already over feeling the way you did. you wanted to fast forward to the part where you got over miles for good. as an attempt to console you, nae was rubbing your back in a circular motion.

“you did the right thing,” she spoke lowly.

you withdrew from the hug and slightly opened your mouth, fixing to ask nae a question only god knew how to answer. “why did he do it though?”

she led you to the couch in your living room and sat you down, massaging her thumb over yours in a back-and-forth motion as your hand stayed clasped in hers. you stared down at your lap, sniffling every couple of seconds and swiping away stray tears.

“boys are just greedy, babe,” she shook her head. “so very greedy. they want it all. there are so many different reasons why people cheat. it’s difficult to pinpoint just one. my random guess is that… miles has issues?"

“issues?”

“mm-hmm,” she hummed. “internally. maybe he's insecure about himself, i don't know. whatever it is, it doesn’t justify infidelity. you were more than enough, it was him who was lacking."

“i don't get it. i mean, none of this makes any sense… unless i'm blind or stupid, it came out of nowhere. literal thin air. and when i asked, he said he didn't know why he kissed her,” you muttered.

nae sighed. “even if he isn't lying, he still did it.”

“i know,” you nodded. “and i'm sure it wasn't the first time. that’s why i left him.”

“and i’m so proud of you for that,” nae gave your hand a tight squeeze. “walking away isn’t easy for anyone. it takes forever for some people, but you did it just like that.”

“yeah, well, i kinda had to. it’s bad enough that arielle is gonna rub it in my face until we graduate, and even after that, she’ll probably find a way to .”

“there won’t be any of that,” nae promised. “miles isn’t going to take her seriously—if he even takes her at all. he lost you because of what he did with that bitch. he won’t even be able to look at her without feeling guilty.”

“she can have him, i don’t care either way,” you scoffed. that was a lie. you did care. you cared more than you’d let on if you ever even admit it.

“yeah, you do,” nae raised an eyebrow as if she had effortlessly read your mind. “let yourself feel. it’s how you’ll heal.”

“oh, i’m feeling alright. i’m weighing the pros and cons of murder,” you shakily exhaled, balling up your fists and closing your eyes. “i can’t believe this nigga. seriously.”

“i’d help you, but i’m not going to jail for him and neither are you.”

you let out a soft sigh, your gaze now fixed on your lap. the tears welling up in your eyes were beginning to cloud your vision. how someone could throw away so many years of loving one another so easily was so far beyond you.

“nae, i’ve been with miles for so long. he’s always been there—i don’t know how to be without him. he’s why i gave love a chance after swearing not to... now he’s shattered my perception of it. the worst part is i should hate him, but i don't. somehow, i still love him and—”

“hey,” nae cut you off. “that’s normal. how you feel is normal.”

you sniffled. “is it?"

“pshh, girl, yeah,” nae assured you, flicking out her wrist. “listen, breakups are terrible. you’re gonna cry and scream. you’re gonna wish you never met him. you’re going to go through old texts, swipe through old photos, and mope in his hoodies. all of that is okay. the worst thing you could ever do to yourself is force yourself not to feel,” nae paused. “if this is who he really is, then it's not your loss. i know it doesn't feel like that right now, but trust me... it just takes time. i don't know how long, but i know my best friend, so no matter how long it takes, you’ll be better than good without miles. i promise." "i'm still gonna miss him," you muttered, sniffling and drying your tears as they fell. nae wrapped her arm around you and exhaled. you sobbed into her shoulder, releasing all the pent-up frustration you'd been concealing in the name of keeping your cool. you'd never felt so inconsolable in your life. "i know, babe. i know."

❤︎₊ ⊹

it was late. 3:28am. time had never moved so slowly. you were genuinely considering calling 911 and telling them you were suffering from a heart attack. you were thoroughly convinced that this was damn near the same exact thing.

the moon wasn’t full tonight, but a waning crescent. it reflected you and how soulless and dejected you felt. the moonshine bleeding through your curtains was also the only source of light you would tolerate, the rest of your bedroom completely dark. you lay on your side facing the window, allowing the icy gusts of wind to hit your face. you were practically drowning in a sea of blankets all while still being in miles’ black hoodie.

nae was gone. she’d left about two hours ago, but not before suffocating you in countless hugs and forcing you to eat a slice of pizza and drink two glasses of water, despite your not wanting to ingest anything due to your unwavering nausea. you told her you’d be okay alone. you knew you wouldn’t and so did she, but you wanted to be alone, so she gave you your space and promised to check in on you when the sun rose. you loved nae dearly and you'd never take her for granted. you felt lucky to have such a kindhearted best friend.

you'd been in a 1v1 with your thoughts for a while now. your phone was powered off and shut away in one of your nightstand drawers to help resist urges. you hated that you wanted to call miles, but you did. you wanted to scream at him. belittle him until you just couldn’t anymore. and you wanted him to sit there and watch you do it without protest. you wanted him to be honest and tell you the truth. you wanted him to promise it would never happen again, and then you wanted to curl up under the covers of your bed with him and sob in his arms while he planted kisses on your forehead, apologizing profusely. you wanted him to tell you he loved you until you believed it again.

you couldn’t do any of that—you wouldn’t. it’d mean you have no respect for yourself. it felt like you hardly had any now, so you needed to keep the scarce amount that remained.

your thoughts were blank and sporadic all at once. you’d never been through a breakup, but you had a rough idea of how these things go, so you spent some time mapping it out in your head.

you'd eventually have to meet up to exchange one another's belongings. maybe rio would apologize on miles’ behalf and say she’d always love you. she’d call you a couple times a week. the calls would eventually come slower and grow more infrequent. soon, the calls wouldn’t come at all. even if there was the acknowledgment that rio’s arms were always open for you, they’d still feel closed. you'd treat them as such.

you'd barely eat because you couldn't stomach a single thing. you'd rot in your bed and binge all your favorite movies and shows. you'd go to war with the urge to run back to miles. you'd read old diary entries where you were gushing about how much you loved him and how amazing he was to you. you'd look back at old photos and videos. you'd reread old texts until you were sobbing so hard that you couldn't breathe.

you'd write letters that nobody was ever going to see and all the tears you shed would smudge the black ink and ruin your fancy penmanship. you'd lie to your dad and tell him that your relationship had just run its course and that you and miles needed to work on yourselves. your friends would check in on you, and of course, you'd tell them that you were okay every time, even if that was the furthest from that.

word gets around fast. when this dreadful weekend was over and monday crept up on you, you'd have to return to school and deal with the piercing stares and shameless gossip. you weren't ready for any of it, because now, everyone at school would know you as the girl who got cheated on by her long-term boyfriend for arielle. rumors would spread. words would be twisted and lies would be told, both about you and miles. in retrospect, it was all the more embarrassing for miles, but you still felt utterly humiliated. not to mention that you had no doubt in your mind that arielle was ready to run to his defense, preferably by kicking you when you're down.

sometimes, just for a fleeting moment, you'd forget about it all and your mind would go quiet. your heart wouldn't swell in longing and you wouldn't feel sick to your stomach. it never did last long before the same thoughts you desperately wanted to leave you alone started to pester you again. "but you two seemed so in love!" nosy girls at your school masking their prying motives behind what they thought were "supportive words" would soon tell you. the worst part is that you'd never know how to respond, because you thought you and miles were in love too. he was your sun and you were his moon. how could you so quickly forget that the sun didn't need the moon to shine, it was the other way around? you thought it was and always would be your heart tethered to his, but now you were left with a broken chain and a heartache.

you thought things would be different with miles. you truly did. now you knew that anyone could screw you over even if they crossed their heart. there weren't any exceptions, not anymore. miles proved that you can do everything right and still get done wrong. it wasn't fair. you should've known you weren't exempt from something like this happening, yet you still let yourself believe you were. maybe you jinxed it, or maybe you thought your case was special. maybe you thought this would never happen because you believed you were special. you only did because he made you feel that way.

you were sick and tired of brooding over your misfortune. you rolled onto your back with a frustrated groan and gaped at your ceiling, the cold air from outside still blowing against the side of your face. as exhausted as you were, sleep just wouldn't grant you sanction in its assuaging embrace.

what hurt the most is that you were so sure that you'd bagged a kind of love that was for the books. the kind of love you thought you could only dream about. though you weren't searching for him, the stars sent you miles morales. in your eyes, he was perfect. you loved and adored him, and swore he was your soulmate, made just for you. he was godsent and you never wanted to let him go, until tonight, when you learned that you were never the one who needed to hold on to begin with.

you came to the humbling conclusion that maybe the reason people told tales of faultless love was because real love was far too sickening to bear. it was merely a way to cope. nothing more, nothing less. maybe "happily ever after" had been a hoax all along. all the fairytales you had read growing up always began with “once upon a time”, but your story with miles ended with it, because loving him was easy—once upon a time.

maliland ©

#heavensent 🪽#miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles g morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #earth 42 miles x reader #spiderman #miles morales x black!reader #e 42 miles morales x reader #e 42 miles x black!reader #miles morales #itsv #atsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #black fem reader

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mydarlingclaudia · 1 month ago

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ENTER THE SURVIVAL HORROR…

OCTOBER FIC PLANS 𓉸

some fics I will be posting in October will contain dark content or will be dead dove (given I’ve never really written for either subject so this is new territory for me) but two of the fics I’m going to write are based on or inspired by horror movies and I’ll be writing both Chris and Leon!

also post dates and descriptions may change a tiny bit (though not likely!!) because I have actually only finished one of these fics, but if I do change anything I'll reblog this post!!

coming soon ⟢

taste no evil inspired by… THE VVITCH (10/30/24) -> Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

it's just you and your husband out in the woods. oh, and whatever is living among the trees. you think it's some beastly animal, Leon knows it's witches. but he can't tell you that, you'd freak out, insist on moving closer to town or even further away from where you already lived. Leon can keep you safe, he knows he can, why must you be so paranoid all the time? it doesn't help his case when your animals start being picked off and you start seeing things more clearly. it only ends badly for the both of you.

established relationship, tiny bit of fluff, gore, animal death, I make shit up about witches, cannibalism, major character death, au, fem!reader, re4r!Leon

how much blood would you shed to survive? based on… SAW (10/18/24) -> Chris Redfield x fem!reader

cheating doesn't make you a bad person, it's not like you were even married to the guy, Chris didn't even try to stop you from hitting on him, anyway. maybe getting romantically involved with your coworker wasn't the best decision you've made, but why should anyone else care? you don't let your relationship with him get in the way of your work, all you really do is help each other try to track down the murderer running through Raccoon City, how were you supposed to know said murderer would be your boss? and how were you supposed to know that you'd wake up in one of these traps one morning with Chris getting there surprisingly fast to help you escape?

established relationship, gore, mentions of infidelity, au, fem!reader, re5!Chris

she’s demonic and bloody, but she holds me tight inspired by… IN MY ROOM (10/10/24) -> Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

a college kid with a social life that's almost non-existent figures the dead girl that comes to his room every night is his girlfriend, some say that's a bad thing, he says it's everything he could wish for. who cares, anyway? it's not hurting anyone! well, not yet, at least. there's an endless list of things he'd do for you, you don't even have to ask. but why won't you come back after he takes care of a problem that would have torn you away from him? you love him, right?

not-really established relationship (idk how to explain it), a bit suggestive, Leon is kinda gross, necrophilia, gore, au, fem!reader, re2r!Leon

mouthful of love (10/2/24) -> Chris Redfield x fem!reader

mission gone wrong, the rest of your team had already been killed, so when you end up dying in that same mission it only makes things worse. but Chris can’t just leave you, right? no, that would be cruel, but he can’t really drag around a dead body with him either. who’s gonna know if he took a few bites out of you just to keep you with him? the place had already been crawling with monsters, it wouldn’t be a totally crazy thing to find on a corpse.

established relationship, major character death, gore, cannibalism, fem!reader, anywhere post re1 Chris

I will be using dark content and dead dove for tags so you’ll be able to filter out these fics. I don’t really expect anyone to give a shit about this but for those of you who do wanna read these thank you and happy halloween <3 I might also be posting extras if I find the time and feel like it, those are also probably going to be more cutesy fall fics sooooo

#claudia’s halloween bash ♡#leon kennedy x reader #chris redfield x reader #dead dove #dark content #resident evil x reader

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hier--soir · 2 years ago

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under the night | six

pairing: joel miller x f!reader, set in jackson after the end of tlou part I warnings/tags: [18+ minors DNI] language, being held captive, angst, serious violence, torture, injury, blood, discussions of murder, threat of sexual assault [DOES NOT HAPPEN], very brief discussion of religion/the bible, idk if you think i missed anything please let me know word count: 6k part five | series masterlist | main masterlist

Clink, clink.

Maria was drinking a cup of earl grey tea. The bergamot has a calming effect, she’d said, would you like a cup? Her spoon swirled in the teacup, bumping against the china every so often as she mixed in a sugar cube. The cup was pretty, a cream colour with pale pink gerbera flowers painted along the porcelain. Clink, clink; the spoon knocked the side of it again, the woman still unsatisfied by the granules of sugar visible in the dark liquid. It was the only sound in the room, bar the soft pattering of rain on the roof, as the four of them sat silently around Maria and Tommy’s dinner table.

Joel huffed in frustration as she finally lifted the spoon from the liquid and placed it gingerly on the saucer, before raising the cup to her mouth and taking her first sip. She sighed happily, relaxing in her chair as she savoured the taste.

“Okay,” she murmured, looking around the table.

“Oh, we can talk now?” Joel snapped, his exhaustion getting the better of him. “You’ve got your fuckin’ tea and now you’re ready?”

“Joel,” Tommy warned his brother quietly. “We’re all on the same side here.”

“Well, she could’ve fuckin’ fooled me,” he said spitefully in the woman’s direction. “It’s been days, and you haven’t ordered any searches, haven’t questioned anyone.”

Maria raised her hand to stop him, “It’s a delicate situation.”

“No, Joel’s right,” Cal spoke up. The bags under his eyes were heavy, hair greasy and slicked back off his forehead; the appearance of a man who hadn’t slept in days. “You run things here, and I always thought you did a damn good job of it too. But she’s gone missing, and you’re just sitting back and waiting? For what?”

“Things are returning to normal here,” she said lowly. “People are calming down, and I don’t want to raise any alarm bells if I don’t need to.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Joel all but snarled.

“It means that I wouldn’t be surprised if she chose to leave,” she levelled at him, one eyebrow raised accusatorially. Clink, clink. He flinched as she dipped her spoon back into the cup, tapping it against the rim. “Ellie told me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, his hand forming a fist below the table. “Told you what exactly?”

Maria gave him a conspiratorial look. “She told me about being strangled, Joel. She came here a few days ago, upset after hearing the news, and we talked. Ellie worries that she might have left out of guilt… and I must admit, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.”

“Wait,” Cal’s eyebrows raised in alarm, eyes darting between Maria and Joel. “What the fuck are you talki-“

“No one was fuckin’ strangled,” Joel ground out, doing his best to stay calm. “Ellie wasn’t hurt. And she wouldn’t fuckin’ leave us; there’s no god damn way she’d even think to go outside those gates alone.”

Joel’s mouth twisted into a pained grimace at Maria’s insinuation, shaking his head jerkily. The last conversation he’d had with you played on his head in a constant loop, the image of your face distorted in despair, the feeling of your guilty tears on his neck – it tormented him. Kept him awake all night, and on edge all day. The idea that you might have decided to leave, out of a misplaced sense of guilt, or fear, or… or because of something he’d said. His chest tightened at the thought. He’d told you not to stay at the house if he wasn’t there, hadn’t he? That’s why you’d gone home alone that night, instead of coming back to him. It won’t happen again, is what you said. Joel mulled the words over in his mind endlessly, searching for a hidden meaning in your tone that he might have missed; a plan to leave him.

Tommy watched the three of them silently, the corners of his mouth downturned in dismay. To see Joel be so distraught was hard for him. Ellie had confided in Tommy that Joel had hardly spoken for the past three days. That he wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating. She kept a close eye on him and didn’t pry; simply sat quietly in whatever room he resided in, and just kept a watchful eye on him. Tommy couldn’t thank her enough for it. He’d watched his brother experience so much loss, so much heartache, and he cringed to realise they were witnessing it happen to him all over again.

“She wouldn’t leave me,” Cal broke the silence, his voice cracking on the last word. He reached up hastily to wipe the corner of his eye. “We made an agreement when we first got here. If either one of us decides we aren’t happy, then we leave – together. No questions asked. She wouldn’t break a promise.”

Joel glanced at the younger man, absorbing his words with a blank expression. It still unnerved him sometimes; to gain further insights into the tightknit bond between you and Cal, but he pushed all negative feelings down, knowing the he was right.

“She’s still in Jackson,” Joel said with a tone of finality, straightening his shoulders.

“So what do you suggest we do?” Maria asked. “I’ve already asked so much of our community, I don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here.”

“Some fuckin’ community it is,” he muttered. “Women gettin’ stolen out of their god damn homes.”

Tommy gave him a look that said, not helpful. Joel ignored him.

“We question them – all of them,” he asserted. “Ransack every fuckin’ house in this town if we have to. She’s here somewhere – whoever’s doin’ this can’t keep her hidden for long.”

Maria nodded slowly, sparing a short glance in her husband’s direction. “We’ll question people then. If we go to the right ones, someone is bound to spill something.”

Tommy stared at his brother, taking in the way he stared intensely at the woman. “You can’t be a part of it though,” he said softly. Joel’s head snapped in his direction, eyes narrowing.

“Tommy,” he glared, only to be quickly interrupted.

“You’re too high strung, both of you are,” Tommy said, glancing between Joel and Cal. “If you’re out there knockin’ down doors, you’re just gonna scare people off, and somebody will get hurt. We can’t risk you two causing a scene.”

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Cal grunted, hand smacking down on the table.

“You won’t be,” Maria said firmly. “Someone needs to be waiting if she shows up. So wait. If she shows up at either of your homes, you’ll be there.”

“You’re fuckin’ delusional if you thin-“

“Stop,” Maria interrupted softly. “Have either of you taken a moment to consider it might already be too late? It’s been three days… Do you really want to be the ones to find her if she’s…. I’m trying to keep you both separated from this, for your sakes.”

“I’m not fuckin’ listenin’ to this,” Joel grunted, pushing his chair from the table and stalking towards the front door. With his hand gripping the doorknob, he turned his head to the side, staring back at them from the corner of a tear-filled eye.

“She is out there somewhere, alive, puttin’ up a goddamn fight. And when I find her,” he spoke with his back to them, voice dangerously quiet. “I’m going to kill everyone who had anything to do with this. And you two won’t be able to stop me.”

Joel didn’t need to look at him to know that Cal agreed.

The curtains were always the first thing you saw. When your eyelids managed to crack open, to break through the dried blood that crusted over your eyelashes, you would always notice them first. Large, bundled drapes that reached the floor, covering the walls, concealing the windows and any potential natural light. It was so dark all of the time, and so time had lost meaning. You couldn’t tell how many hours, or days, had passed. All you knew was that the curtains, made from a dark fabric, with pictures of small birds sewn onto them, were the first thing you saw every time you opened your eyes.

Sparrows, the thought whispered through your mind. Little sparrows sewn into the curtains.

A small metal table was positioned in the corner opposite to where you laid on a thin mattress, arms tied to a pipe protruding from the wall. Sometimes your eyes flickered to it, trying to glean what was on it, but it was futile because of the distance. Candles were placed sporadically around the edges of the room, providing a vague yellow light to the space which allowed you see these things. But no natural light meant not knowing when the sun rose and fell., so you learned to rely on a different schedule. Twice a day he would bring a meal into the room, and you did your best to note the time passing, but even that provided little relief. Dehydration and pain had you dropping in and out of consciousness, and you rejoiced in the respite that sleep brought. Sleep brought quiet. Waking, however, brought with it a stark reminder of where you were.

An unpleasant stretching sensation resided in your arms. The muscles burned from hyperextension from constantly stretching behind you to the wall, your hands numb from a lack of blood flow due to how taught the rope around your wrist was pulled. But no matter how uncomfortable, you never turned your back to the door. That way he couldn’t enter the room without you seeing him immediately.

The throbbing in your foot, and the smell of metal was always what you noticed next. Blood stained the lower half of the mattress, and you did your best not to look down. But the smell was overwhelming, and you knew you had to see how much blood you’d lost. Your right foot was caked in dried blood, and the sight of one of your toes missing was enough to make your stomach curl every time, as waves of violent nausea rolled through you.

“That’s fine,” you whispered hoarsely, attempting to convince yourself. “Never used that one anyway, can live without it.”

Talking to yourself helped. Although your thoughts were often delirious and half-baked, hearing your own voice out loud brought a certain sense of calm.

And you’d formed a routine. Where every time you woke, you calmed your breathing, and forced yourself to decide how you were going to behave. How to survive another encounter with him. You’d chosen violence the first time, and you came to sorely regret it.

He’d been watching you that first day; waiting for you to stir. It had been dark, but you still saw him instantly. Cross-legged on the floor beside the mattress you laid on, dark beady eyes bearing down on your skin like weights. The itchy burn of rope against your wrists wasn’t as noticeable at first, for you were distracted by the thick wad of material in your mouth, placed there to keep you silent. When your brain had fully woken up, you’d glared at him in a wide-eyed panic, moaning urgently against the cloth between your teeth, tears brimming in your eyes. No, no, no, no.

“Shh,” Lincoln had murmured, brushing the hair out of your eyes. “It’s okay, shh.”

Tentatively, he reached down and tugged the cloth out of your mouth. You sucked in sharp panicked breaths, staring up at him as the feeling of white-hot terror spread through your veins, all the way from your neck down to your feet. It was him. All along, all the women, it had been him. This embarrassing, weak man, who’d had you fucking fooled. You’d thought him a creep, but not this. Never this.

“Breathe,” he’d whispered, stroking your cheek with his fingers. Heaving sighs tore out of your mouth, and you turned your head in his hold, brushing your nose along the palm of his hand. His eyes shone with appreciation at the gesture, and he smiled. “You’re here with me now. It’s just you and me.”

Holding his gaze for a split second longer, you sank your teeth into the flesh of his hand. He shouted in pain, attempted to pull back, but you bit him harder, deeper. The taste of metal filled hit your tongue, but you didn’t let go until his other hand struck you across the face, knocking you back.

He'd hit your left side, and the all-too-familiar buzzing soared through your ear, exacerbating the pounding in your skull. “You cunt,” he spat, rising to his feet. He glared down at you, cradling his wounded hand against his chest.

And then his foot was slamming into your ribcage. “You stupid,” kick “fucking” kick “cunt” kick. The breath left your body, and you curled in on yourself on the thin mattress, wheezing, until he gave up.

“You won’t do that again,” his reedy voice called out from behind you. “Do you understand?”

Your back was to him, eyes clamped shut as you tried desperately to regulate your breathing. A stabbing pain burned in your right side, flaring every time your chest expanded with a breath. His hand came down on your shoulder, flattening you on the mattress.

“Speak,” he had snarled. “You will answer me when I talk to you, SPEAK.”

Your bloody lips stayed sealed in defiance, glaring up at him. Slowly, the corners of his mouth began to turn upward, lips stretching open to reveal a faded set of crooked teeth until he was grinning down at you. “Okay,” he nodded, reaching into his pocket and walking to the end of the mattress. “You want to see what happens when you disobey me in my house? I’ll show you what happens.”

It had been quick.

Flashes of it were burnt into your memory, but the feeling of the moment evaded you when you thought back on it. Him kneeling on your shins, saying “Do as I say, or I’ll clip your wings, little bird.” Pliers in his hand. The feeling of the cold metal on your foot. The smell of iron. A pinkie toe on the floor, by the mattress, in a crimson puddle.

Your hoarse, tormented wails had filled the room so suddenly that Lincoln was cursing while he stuffed the rag back between your lips, muttering something about people hearing you.

He had loomed over you, torso pressed against yours, gritting his teeth and laughing. Put his hands around your neck and whispered of the stories he’d heard about you, that he’d wondered about you since the day Tommy introduced him to you. “I think that was the moment I decided,” he said. “The moment I knew you were going to be mine – it was the very first time I saw you.”

“I wanted to know what he saw in you,” he’d jeered, breath hot against your neck. His hand gripped your throat, squeezing your windpipe intermittently, only ever letting up when your eyes started to roll back and the pressure inside your skull from a lack of oxygen started to become unbearable, only to increase the pressure again once you’d had a few seconds to breathe. “I’d always thought you must be a good lay, if you’ve got big bad Joel Miller whipped like a dog. Realised pretty damn quick I’d have to find out for myself.” Your arms fought tirelessly against the ropes that bound you to the wall, limbs thrashing beneath him, trying to inflict any sort of pain on him.

You frantically mouthed the word no around the rag, lungs heaving in search of oxygen. The last thing you saw before you passed out was his haunting grin.

And you were smarter after that.

Lincoln was hard to read. When he came to the room next, he acted as though the altercation had never happened. And so you followed suit. You listened when he spoke, and answered accordingly. You ate the food he slid across the floor to you. You held in a disgusted reaction when he gestured to the candles around the room one time, and said, “Romantic isn’t it? Candlelit dinner for two?”

In the quiet moments, your mind would float away, and you’d allow yourself brief moments of respite, imagining that you were somewhere, anywhere, else. In your dreams, you were with Joel. Safe in his home, in his bed, playing scrabble with Ellie on his porch while he kept score. You tried to remember the way his laugh sounded, or the way his hands felt on your skin. But everything was warped, the memories unclear. Your brain lacked clarity, and the pain distracted you. And Lincoln could tell where your thoughts went in those moments; you almost feared he could read your mind. As if your brain was splayed open before him, and he was pecking at it in curiosity.

“No one will find you,” he’d say softly. Never nastily, but in a tone that was matter of fact. “They aren’t coming for you. It’s just you and me now, sweet girl.”

You would blink away the tears in your eyes and try not to let him see how afraid you were that he was right. Your memories with Joel felt so hazy, and the last time you’d seen him he had been devastated. He feared what you’d almost done to Ellie, feared how out of his control it had been. Maybe it’s for the best, the thought raced through your brain. Maybe they’ll be happier without you.

Those thoughts were the hardest to shake. And they cut deeper than any injury Lincoln could ever inflict.

One night, when it felt like almost a week had passed, Lincoln entered the room holding two plates.

“Dinner time,” his thin voiced called, and a chill ran down your spine. Slowly, you pushed yourself into a seated position, cringing as pain shot through your side.

He placed a plate beside the mattress before tenderly undoing the rope around your left wrist.

“Eat up,” he murmured, taking a few steps back before settling onto the ground and picking up his fork.

You gazed down at the raw red marks around your wrist, basking in your favourite moment of the day – just a few sweet minutes of ‘freedom’. With an aching chest, you saw what rested on the plate. A kind of dark meat, and a small serving of parsnips.

Oh, Joel.

Sucking your lips into you mouth, you willed the tears in your eyes to dry up, desperate not to let him see any sign of weakness.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Lincoln reaching out across the space between you, and then he placed his thumb and forefinger over the big toe on your right foot, squeezing it once in a silent threat. Your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to pull away. Speak.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered hoarsely, staring at the food.

“It’s dinner time, when else would I feed you?” he attempted to joke, hand leaving your foot to pick his fork up again. When you didn’t respond the smile slipped off his face. “You’re in a bad mood today,” he decided. “I suppose I understand.”

He watched you like a hawk, eyes raking over your features, your bloodstained clothes, the way you gazed despondently at the plate before you. “Surely you can appreciate though… I mean, it’s just… delightful, don’t you see? To see someone be brought down to their basest human form. No sunlight, minimal human interaction. You rely on me for water, for food, for company. I am all you have anymore, and it is simply… delicious.”

“You’re a fucking sadist,” you shuddered involuntarily, his words making goosebumps break out across your skin.

“I think so,” Lincoln nodded contemplatively. “It’s not inherently sexual though, I’ll have you know.” You stared, and he let out a low chuckle, hands raising defensively. “Not entirely, at least.”

“You’ll get caught,” you sneered, ignoring the way a cut on your upper lip reopened when your mouth pulled open to reveal your teeth. “You’ll slip up and someone will notice. Joel will notice.”

“Only time will tell,” he mused around a mouthful of food. “Never been caught before though, have I? Not with Milena, or any of the others before you. Not even with my wife; although it was certainly easier to get away with it in those days. The world had gone to shit – everyone was going missing; assumed to be dead or infected. It was so easy. Our girls never had a clue. They trusted me, you see? My beautiful little birds. Believed me when I told them she was lost, that she must’ve been infected. I think that’s what I adore the most – the trust. It was hard to come by here, in Jackson. People were so wary, I had to build up their confidence in me. Really ease into things, you know? But some of these women, they just saw what they wanted to see. A few kind smiles, some silly jokes, and they were mine.” Lincoln sighed wistfully, gazing absentmindedly at the curtains. “Do you like them?” he changed the subject suddenly. “They’re sparrows. Sewed them on myself.” Good God, he was still so fucking chatty.

Nausea twisted in your abdomen. Acidic bile burned in the back of your throat, threatening to bring up the pathetic contents of your stomach. “And your daughters?” you hesitated, wary of angering him. “I… I remember you saying they died.”

He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, and you noticed one of his eyebrows twitch at the mention of his late children. “I let them go quickly,” he exhaled with a shrug. “Painlessly. It didn’t make sense to make them endure this world anymore. It was a mercy, if anything.”

“Fresh out of mercy then?” you asked bitterly. “If you’re so kind, and so fucking merciful, then why the are you dragging this out? Why won’t you just fucking end it?”

Fork dropping onto his plate with a loud clang, Lincoln murmured your name kindly. “Please understand,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ll get the chance again. You might be my last for a few months… so I’m trying to savour every minute I have with you.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly as you absorbed his words. How long could you possibly survive down here in these conditions? But the truth was, you knew the answer to that. You knew because you’d survived for years out in the open, with less food and less water than this. Here you had shelter, warmth, food, and water. He could keep you alive for as long as he wanted you.

Realising it had been some time since you responded to him you offered a meek smile and said, “Tell me more about the sparrows.”

Lincoln looked at you curiously. Trying not to appear uncertain, you reached forward and scooped some food from the plate with your free hand and began to eat. The action alone reminded you of Cal. Of dark nights, huddled together in dusty broken-down buildings, eating whatever food you’d been able to find out of the palms of your hands. You sniffled pathetically and tried not to think about him again.

“Good girl,” he murmured almost inaudibly, and you fought off a shiver. Swallowing made your chest ache. Based on the swelling around the middle of your torso, you assumed at least one of your ribs was broken. Even inhaling brought a sharp pain to your right side, but swallowing? That was a whole other world of pain.

Lincoln spoke about the birds, told you how they symbolised joy and simplicity, and your eyes flitted around the room, taking in as much as you could in the dim yellow light. And then suddenly, he was turning his head fully to stare at the curtains. His back was almost entirely to you, and your heart stuttered painfully at the opportunity that had presented itself. From this angle, you were sure he wouldn’t be able to see you in his peripheral vision. Was this on purpose? Was it a test? Heart pounding, you worked silently to push the remaining food off your ceramic plate and onto the floor. Eyes focused on him, you waited for him to turn back, to check in on you, to do anything – but he didn’t.

“You know in the bible,” he said thoughtfully. “Sparrows represented God’s love and care for his creations.”

You hummed in response, gripping the plate in your hand and edging forward. Sweat tickled your forward, made your skin itch. You wanted to wipe away the fresh blood that had oozed from your lip onto your chin, but you refrained. No sudden movements. He was so close now, and this chance would not be wasted on you.

Do not be afraid, you thought.

Blood rushed in your ears as you propelled yourself forward, smashing the plate down upon the crown of his skull.

Lincoln pitched forward, his face knocking against the cold ground with a sickening thwack. He howled a ragged, guttural noise of pain, but his movements were sluggish, his reaction time too slow. A fiery pain roared in your side from the movement and you whimpered, dropping the jagged shard of the plate that remained in your hand. Gripping his ankle, you cried out at the strength required to tug his body toward you. He was writhing on the ground, trying to fight against the fog in his brain no doubt, but you pulled him still, until he was perfectly close.

He mumbled your name, and you brought your fist down over his nose, effectively shutting him up.

“Stop fucking saying my name,” you growled, angrily swiping perspiration off your upper lip. This was it. If this didn’t work out, if he regained the upper hand, you’d be dead, no questions asked. You’d started this, and now would certainly be your only chance to finish it. God, your ribs were on fire. You hastily dragged a fragment of the plate in a sawing movement across the rope keeping your other wrist tied, and when it broke away, you heaved a painful sigh of relief.

Planting your knees on either side of his body, you straddled his chest, trapping his arms to his torso. You patted down his body, searching his pockets until you found what you were looking for. The pliers were cold and heavy in your hand. Lincoln blinked lazily, gazing past your shoulder at the roof.

You reached down and gripped the sides of his head. “Look at me,” you seethed, before slamming his head back into the ground. He groaned loudly, but his eyes focused on your face. Blood poured from his nose, spilling into his open mouth and filling the gaps between tooth and gum.

“You won’t kill me,” he garbled out around the crimson liquid. “My little bird… I know you wouldn’t kill me.”

“Stop talking,” you moved to be beside his body and pressed your knee onto his left arm.

“You won’t,” he was speaking incessantly now, rambling. “I know you, you’re good. You’re so good, you sweet girl. You wouldn’t kill, and that’s why I like you. I could see it in you. You’re too good for this world, I’m trying to help you, don’t you see?”

“Shut up,” you snarled, pushing the pliers down until they were positioned around his pinkie finger. “You think you fucking know me? You have no idea of the things I’ve done.”

His eyes blinked lazily, trying listlessly to focus. His free hand reached sluggishly towards your face, and you batted it down roughly. Gripping the pliers in both hands, you pressed down. The sound of his screams filled the room as his pinkie finger rolled across the floor.

“You want me to come into my home,” you sneered. “Take me, hide me away, and then kill me?” Positioning the tool over his ring finger, you cut him slowly, revelling in the pained sounds leaving his body, the way his blood spilled onto your hands as you worked. “Oh, Lincoln. You’ll have to try harder than this.”

Again and again, you worked with a gruellingly slow pace, removing all five digits. You didn’t notice that his free hand was gripping your arm so tightly that his nails had drawn blood. Bile rose in your throat, but you swallowed it down. Do not be afraid.

“Please,” he was sobbing, his mouth wide open like a sore on his face, jagged teeth exposed through thin bloody lips.

And yet as he begged, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel remorse, because through the tears, and the snot, and the blood, it wasn’t just Lincoln that you saw. It was that boy, from a decade ago. That boy that climbed on top of you and laughed. Who enjoyed your fear. Who held you down that night, and every night after, plaguing you in your sleep for years. The boy you couldn’t fight. The boy you couldn’t kill. You wouldn’t let it happen again. Never again.

A memory flitted through your mind so quickly it almost didn’t register. But his voice was clear in your head. Joel, and the words you’d shared in front of the fireplace at your home so many weeks beforehand.

“I want to be strong, Joel.”

“You are strong.”

You refocused on Lincoln’s face.

“You want to be in control?” you sputtered, vaguely aware of how deranged your shrill voice sounded. “You want women to be quiet little toys for you to play with in this sick game you’ve created? I’m a fucking person! I’m real!” your voice cracked. “You want to kill me, Lincoln? Let’s see you do it without your fucking fingers.” You realised then that you were crying. Soundless tears streaked down your cheeks, leaving clear trails in the dirt and blood that stained your face.

He looked on the verge of passing out, and you tore his hand off your arm, stumbling away from his body. You stepped awkwardly on your right foot and yelped in pain, grimacing at the bloody footprint that followed behind you when you walked. Wrapping an arm around your torso, against your ribs, you struggled to breathe. Running on pure adrenaline, your eyes drifted toward the table in the corner. A pocketknife and a lighter laid serenely on the top of it, and you stumbled toward it slowly.

But a heavy blow landed on the back of your knee, stopping you in your tracks. Your arms flailed as you fell forward, and when you hit the ground, the table came toppling down with you.

“S-stop,” Lincoln was speaking, his speech slurred and disjointed. His bloodied hands clawed at your legs, pulling your body towards him while you thrashed against his hold. Your leg kicked backward desperately and connected with his face, and you screamed at the throbbing pain that shot through your foot.

Neither of you noticed how the table had knocked over multiple candles, or the way fire blazed along the bottom of the curtains. Little sparrows, turning to ash as flames snaked their way up the drapes, slowly engulfing the walls of the room in vibrant red.

You fumbled for the pocketknife on the floor, rolling onto your back just as his weight landed on top of you. His heavy breaths hit your face, blood dripping from his nose and splashing onto your skin.

“Little bird,” he whimpered brokenly. “Why would you ruin this?”

The temperature in the room had risen exponentially, and the pair of you were so close to the wall that it was impossible to ignore now. Wild flames licked at the bare skin of your arm, but you paid the burn no mind, pushing against his face, his neck, trying to get as much distance between you as possible.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he howled, landing a heavy blow across your face. You coughed roughly, blood spitting up from your mouth onto your chin.

You gave up on pushing him back, instead using your hands to fumble with the knife. Lincoln’s good hand gripped your throat, his remaining fingers pressing down on your windpipe. Blood roared in your ears, and you were sweating, and god it was so hot. The air thickened with smoke, making it harder to breathe than it already was. Your hands were so slick with blood that it was difficult to unhook the small blade, but after a few moments you did it. Gasping for air as he bore his entire weight against your neck, you plunged the knife into his side.

A choked sound of surprise fell from his mouth, and then air was rushing into your lungs, and you were coughing harshly, watching as his body collapsed to the side of you.

He was still alive when you crawled on top of him, eyes bulging as he gripped the handle of the blade lodged in his side. You slammed your fist against his broken nose, and both of you cried out in pain. By this point, the fire was roaring through the room, the four walls covered in a beautiful mix of orange and red flames. The heat was sweltering, and so so close that sweat dripped from your nose and chin.

A deafening bang reverberated through the room and you covered your face instinctively. Shattered glass from the windows rained through the air and covered the ground, and moonlight streamed into the room.

Distantly, you thought you could hear voices, or the sound of a door opening, but you ignored it. Impossible. Your fingers wrapped around Lincoln’s spindly neck, and you positioned your thumbs over his windpipe, before pressing downward with all of the strength in your body. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, but you pushed through it, gathering blood and spit in your mouth and releasing it in a spray onto his face. He flinched back at the sensation, and you grinned messily.

You imagined briefly what you must look like; covered in a mix of blood and dirt, hair matted to your head, straddling this man, and grinning down at him.

“Are you afraid?” you whispered.

You could see the light slowly fading from his eyes, and you pressed harder, arms burning with the effort. A burning sensation exploded in your left thigh, but you ignored it, digging your elbows into his chest for leverage and pushing. In the second you realised it was about to be over, there were hands on you. Gripping you, wrapping around your waist, wrenching you away from him.

The foreign hands were pulling you back, tugging you towards the door, but your eyes were trained on Lincoln, as he gasped for air on the floor, alive. You could hear shouting, male voices yelling so closely, but the words were indecipherable. And then suddenly, you were enveloped by cold, winter air. You were outside.

Hyperventilating, you dropped to your knees on the ground, burying your red hands in the wet grass, and wailed. Thick tears blurred your vision and rolled down your face in hot rivulets.

The relief was short lived though, as those hands returned to your body. Gliding over your back, squeezing your shoulders, touching your face. Your stomach rolled violently.

“Don’t touch me,” you begged, your voice an unfamiliar shriek as it ripped from somewhere deep inside your body. “Get your fucking hands off me, don’t fucking touch me, don-“

“Darlin’, it’s me, it’s me,” you could hear, but you just fought harder, beating against the solid wall of brick in front of you, pounding your fists against his chest.

“I’ll fucking,” you gasped for air, eyes clamped tightly shut. “I’ll fucking kill you, get away from me.”

But familiar hands were gripping your face, holding you tightly, forcing you to look, and when you did, it’s like your body went limp. All the fight in you disappeared.

You mumbled his name, and he nodded furiously, those brown eyes you loved gazing into yours, panic and concern evident in the harsh lines across his forehead, in that deep frown you knew so well.

“It’s me, baby, I’ve got you,” his voice was like a song in your ears, and you closed your eyes and let him hold you, listening to the desperate apologies he whispered into your ear. “You’re safe, I’m so sorry, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’ve got you now, it’s over, it’s over.”

part seven

tag list <3

@huffle-punk @n7cje @ghostofjoharvelle @nrmnie @sarahhxx03 @casa-boiardi @leeeesahhh @missgurrl

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou #tlou hbo #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #my writing #under the night

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the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 1 year ago

Note

Popping up in your askbox for the second time today oh boy- I really hope you don't mind me requesting again aaahhhh feel free to pick and choose one if you wish, no pressure at all! 🎔 Alright, this is actually not a romantic request but general hcs for the band! I'd love to see your take on how the band would be around their fifth member that is pretty much the most shameless and open person out there. The reader's not afraid to make snarky remarks on stage and interviews, will make a fool of themselves if needed, will wander around in undies like "one of the boys" (I hate that phrase but idk how else to explain it, I have to pull out my english is my second language card). Basically a chaotic free spirit of a person! Prefferably female reader but you can make it neutral too ^^

Have a great night Lana! ♡

(Jello! I love this idea and this is sorta me in my DR also! Sorry if this took a long time to put out, enjoy and have a wonderful night!)

Chaotic And Carefree Reader

Bill Kaulitz

He is most likely surprised on how open you are

And shameless

He thinks you are just like Tom

So it's no wonder you guys have all been friends since you were kids

He is happy you find it very comfortable with him

You often steal his shorts and wander around in a bra

He's so used to it he doesn't blink twice

Will ask you sometimes if you're okay with him being around you while you're not wearing a lot

Is surprised you don't give a shit but just shrugs it off

You're like his sister that clung onto his back so he doesn't mind

He finds your behavior in interviews so funny

You just pop outta nowhere with the craziest shit

Is collapsing into your side and giggling into your shoulder at your comments

He asks a lot why you say just whatever and you responded like it was nothing

He fears a scandal and doesn't say too much in interviews so he is slightly worried when you just put everything out there

Finds it quite normal on how open you could be about anything

From relationships, too hookups, to compliment's, insults, everything and anything

He's laughing as he tells you to stop insulting people in interviews but is laughing so hard he can't breath

The type you have to double over and take a minute

His laughs go silent

You have saved his ass quite a few times by making a fool outta yourself

You don't mind though but he feels as if he owes you

So get him to pay up or steal his shit because when he owes you he will let you get away with murder

You don't fear a lot of shit and just are you and he admires that

Will let you go about your style, laugh while you snark interviewers and disrespectful fans

When he needs someone to insult someone or just to make a snarky comment he calls you on what to say

Tom Kaulitz

He's still the playful asshole he is

So as you walk around in just a bra and underwear, not giving a shit, he doesn't blink twice

He will throw a flirty comment just for the hell of it and seeing you flip him off

You guys just have a game on who can piss each other off

But he truly doesn't mind when you hang out with him just in shorts and a bra like nothing

Some people have put you two in a dating scandal and you guys laugh at it so many times while just saying you're comfortable being like that around him

He doesn't mind it, neither do you so you guys don't get the issue

But tbh you guys found it funny to trick press with a dating scandal bc they started but whatever

He often times forgets you're not his sibling

It's most of the times when you guys are beating each other up and someone breaks it up saying

"Tom, you can't hit her! She's a girl!"

He doesn't give a shit and will fight them and you just to show them just because you're a girl, does not mean you can't fight

You and Tom probably tag team the person for doubting you

Tom and you don't use the phrase "one of the boys" rarely, if ever because you're truly best friends who are comfortable

He and you are assholes when making snarky comments

You guys are just alike that people need to be careful on what they say because you can make a joke or comment out of everything

You and Tom can't stop, it physically pains you both so much

He eggs you on when you make comments on stage or in interviews

He even joins in and you both can make someone cry, not that you mean to

He legit has to beg you to get him out of a situation by making a fool of yourself

You don't care what people think and would do it for free but you just wanna see him suffer

Georg Listing

Georg does not give a shit what you wear around him

Also doesn't blink twice when you walk in exposed in barely anything

He just says hi and goes about his day

You guys make up snarky comments to add to your collection like the assholes you guys are

Arguments between you two get so back but you somehow end up being best friends again the next hour

You have a confusing, funny and asshole-y relationship

You guys are the duo to be absolutely ruthless to each other

You say what's on his mind every single time you open his mouth

Will elbow you but is secretly laughing behind his hand

Loves seeing the faces people make out of surprise at your comments

He is also egging you on so much

He just enjoys the show you put on entirely

You say everything and anything and he just shrugs and goes along with it

You could say something horrid and he's like

"Damn. Why's that kinda true though?"

You act so open, shameless and comfortable around him he also often forgets you are not his sibling, much less a guy

He finds it weird to see you act like a actual woman

"Who the fuck are you and where's (Name)?"

"It's me, Georg."

"No, it's not. (Name) dresses like a homeless person, you have more than a shirt on. Can't fool me."

Don't try him because he will actually have a whole ass wrestling match with you

You guys are throwing punches, kicking, the whole nine yards over some bullshit

Gustav Schäfer

You say what's on his mind every single day of your life

He whispers you what to say when he can't and just laughs when you do

Gives you at least a shirt to put on when you wander around in underwear

He's comfortable around you but he doesn't want some creep that sneaks around to see or get pictures of you like that

You guys make fun of people so much that Gustav and you can't help but make comments

You guys look like the kind duo but are actually ruthless

He loves that you don't care what people think about you when you say shit

He admires that and is always supporting you when you do

You're very chaktic but he's there for the ride

Doesn't hold you back from your comments and is just standing there and agreeing with you

Gets you the dirt on people to use in your insults 100%

You guys are my favorite duo I gotta say

Laughs when you make a fool outta yourself on purpose

He doesn't have you save him by making a fool out of yourself

He also doesn't care what people think

He also says comments and is shameless about speaking his mind

He has strong emotions and does not conceal them and will say whatever with you

You guys can go on a whole rant for hours about insults and the person your insulting is just staring at you guys

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel imagine #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz imagines #bill kualitz x reader #bill kaulitz x reader #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz imagines #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel georg #gustav tokio hotel #gustav schäfer x reader #gustav schäfer #gustav schafer #georg listing x reader #georg listing

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mourningstarrz · 1 year ago

Text

They Belong to Me

summary: ghostface!ethan convinces his family to not include gn!reader from their attacks

tags: nothing rlly LOL, established relationship, secret relationship, alluded murder

a/n: idk bro i was up at night and thought of this, also reader isn’t present until the end LMAOAOAO anyways not beta’d or proofread. lmk if y’all would like to see this develop more :)

“I’ll take care of Jason and Greg tonight, I want you the two to be in the clear. Okay?” Quinn and Ethan nodded, taking note of their fathers each and every word. “Alright, now then.” Bailey pulled out a photo of the entire friend group, “they’ll think Jason and Greg hits close to home, but I think we should take it a step further and go for the new addition,” he pointed at you, stood between Sam and Ethan.

“No.” Capturing Bailey and Quinn’s attention, the two turned to look at Ethan with a frown. “We leave y/n out of this.”

“We’re not going to let your dumb infatuation with y/n ruin our plan!” Quinn yelled at him. “You don’t even know if y/n likes your ass, why spare them?”

He sighed and looked up at Bailey, determined to protect you. “Leave y/n out of this. I follow all your orders, and all I want is for them to be safe.” looking back at the picture, he fights back the smile from the memory. “For example, I know y/n trusts me. Mindy is constantly on my ass as a joke, which makes it more likely for her to notice something. Anika is cool with me, but not enough to back me up. Chad,” he blows a raspberry, “yeah, he’s my roommate. But the moment Mindy gets any inkling of anyone, he’s quick to back her up.

“Quinn already has Tara and Sam’s trust to back her up because she’s their roommate. Besides having y/n trust to back me up, I’m only asking for this one favor. Never have I asked for more.” He leaned back against the chair, folding his arms above his chest. “Stay away from y/n. Jason and Greg is close enough.”

A beat of silence. Ethan knew he was stepping in dangerous territory. Asking his psychotic family to not rip you to shreds. But he knew he has to try, he would rather die than bare having to know your fall was due to his family, or even worse, himself.

“Richie always took care of me,” he never did “he would’ve been happy to see me happy.” Richie could’ve cared less about Ethan.

At the sound of the sigh from his father, Ethan congratulated himself. “Fine. But if they run the possibility of ruining everything for us, then you have to kill them. Got it?”

This is the best I can do, he thought to himself. “Fine. Y/n is out of this. Okay?”

Quinn grumbled, leaning against her chair. “Whatever.”

As he opened the door, his face lit up at the sight of you mindlessly on his bed, listening to music and scrolling away on your phone. Dropping his backpack on his desk, he walked over to you, smiling when you looked away from your phone.

“Eth!” Flinging your headphones off, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Sighing as the scent of his cologne filled your senses.

He hugged you back, of course. Sitting down next to you. “Miss me that much?” Ethan asked, his hands resting on your hips.

“I thought I came ‘round too early.” You confessed, turning around and fetching your notebook. “Ready to go over econ? This chapter is so confusing to me…”

“Mhm,” Ethan nodded and walked up to his backpack, grabbing his notebook as his phone buzzed. None other than Quinn texting him.

quinn hirsch

your little partner better not screw anything up.

Ethan rolled his eyes and pocketed his phone. Taking out a pencil and turning back to you with a smile, “you’re lucky I’m your boyfriend AND your tutor.”

a/n: ANYWAYS YEAH LMKKK IF YOU WANT MOREEE reblogs r appreciated🫶

-lucifer

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #scream 6 #ghostface #lucifer writes

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mrskreideprinz · 6 months ago

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| If I Killed Someone For You |

Pairing: Shigaraki x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, No pronouns for Reader, He/Him pronouns for Tomura, Murder, Death, Grief, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy on the hurt, Guilt, Angst, Reader scratches as an emotional response just like Tomura, Idk if you can consider this a happy end tbh, 1k words.

A/n: I love Tomura Shigaraki just about as much as I love making him suffer <3 This is also my piece for my Help Me, Hold Me collab!

Summary: Upon watching the news you find yourself having a gross realization.

Tags: @auphelia @suyacho @tighnarly @fleur-de-leap @themovingcastlez sorry i've been such ass about tagging my pieces lately aoijdoaisj

You thought nothing of it at the time, it was simply another day for you and the League of Villains, but in the days that followed after it became truly clear that it was no ordinary day. All of you gathered around the tv, climbing onto the couch and grabbing some snacks and other various foods and drinks before settling in to relax for the night. Tomura curled up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while he kissed your neck. Silently praising you for all the good work you’d done for him and the league over the past few days, and you beamed from his sweet affections, but that joyful moment was quickly shattered as you watched the television closely.

Watching the screen you quickly recognized a young girl that was being interviewed by a news reporter. She was crying, her school uniform dirty, tattered, and covered in blood. The girl wiped her tears away with her fist as she forced out her words in between sobs.

“My parents w-were killed by the League of Villains.”

A picture of her parents embracing the young girl flashed onto the screen.

“They weren’t heroes.”

Your heart pounded hard in your ears. Why couldn’t you breathe or think?

“They weren’t even doing anything.”

Something warm fell down your cheeks. Tears? You weren’t sure and quite frankly didn’t care at that moment.

“I just want my mom and dad.”

The world stopped.

“They didn’t deserve to die.”

Before you could hear another word from the young girl’s mouth the tv was shut off. Most of the league avoided eye contact with you save for Tomura who held your face, pressing his forehead against yourself in hopes it would ground you, and Dabi who watched you with a solemn expression. Tomura tried to get your attention, calling out your name hoping to snap you out of whatever miserable trance you were caught up in. You didn’t respond, not uttering a single word until Dabi and the League had slowly walked back to their respective rooms.

Tomura looked deep into your eyes, using the pad of his thumbs to soothe your soft cries and anxious mumbling. Your eyes scanned the room frantically as Tomura shushed you, talking in a soft voice as to coax you into a calmer state, but it was a fruitless attempt. It came back so fast and you could barely contain the guilt and shame which overwhelmed you. You wanted to scratch so bad. Itch away at your flesh which was tainted with the blood of a corrupt sinner. You wanted nothing more than to rip yourself from your body, a punishment befitting of someone who so willingly chose to end another’s life.

Maybe it was fate or pure coincidence that you saw that young girl on the television that day. Perhaps it was a realization that needed to occur, or maybe it meant nothing at all. Although, if it truly meant nothing, if you really had done the right thing as you had thought you did, then why did you feel burdened with such anguish? You thought back to when it had all happened, remembering the faces of the parents that had been murdered, and felt something swell up in your chest. Guilt? Anger? Sorrow? Whatever the feeling was it suffocated you and left you choking on your own questions. How could you let this happen? How could you be so careless? So destructive? So evil.

“Hey, listen to me.” Tomura’s voice snapped you out of your self-hating trance. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you want out I will give you an out.”

His voice and words reassured you that what he said remained true, but it simply wasn’t enough.

“It’s not that. It’s just.. it’s complicated and fucked up, Tomu.” You replied.

There was a brief moment of silence before either of you spoke again.

“You’re not a bad person.” Tomura reassured you.

He pressed his temple against yourself and looked at you with a soft expression.

“No I am and that’s part of the problem, Tomu.” You insisted.

He pulls away and looks at you with a sad and frustrated expression.

“I killed someone, Tomura. Don’t you get it? I murdered people, people who had a life and family and friends.” You paused. “They were people too, Tomura. They didn’t deserve it.”

Tears started to flow down your cheeks, and everything was hitting you all at once. Tomura understood, he was the one person who would know what you were feeling more than anyone, and yet, he had no idea how to make it better. Sure, he could hold you and rub your back as he usually did, but that would not take away the pure agony you felt. It would not fix what happened or heal what had been broken. There was nothing he could say to save those that had been lost.

You frantically wrapped your arms around his waist, firmly gripping his shirt in your fists as you cried.

“It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me, Tomura!” You yelled, pushing your face into his chest as you sobbed.

He said nothing and instead caressed the back of your head calmly. There were no words he could possibly utter that would carry your pain away. That guilt that you felt, the sensation of your chest feeling as if it was being crushed, would live with you until you were six feet underground. That he was sure of. Without a doubt he would try and try again to fix your problems, but it would ultimately be useless. There would be nights where Tomura would wake up to the sound of your hushed cries and quiet mumbling, and he too would feel a familiar ache in his chest as he realized that it was all his fault that you were wracked with such anguish.

It was all his fault, he thought, it was always all his fault.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n

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moonpetrichors-blog · 2 years ago

Note

hi hii, hope you’re having a great day/night! i have another idea for a request 🕺so you remember after payakan saved lo’ak and lo’ak went to tell the others and nobody really believed him? i was thinking that the reader could’ve been the only one to believe him so he took them to meet payakan and seeing how fascinated the reader was with payakan made lo’ak fall in love or something idk shsjshsb

🦕

Believe in Me

Tags: Lo’ak x Metkayina!Reader, Oneshot, Gn!Reader, Fluff, Power of Trust, They Fell First But He Fell Harder

Warnings: Word Cockblocker is Used (Not Sexually, But I Couldn’t Find a More Innocent Term)

When Lo’ak told the story of how he was saved to the others, none of them believed him. They told him to stay away, that Payakan is a killer, and he should do best to avoid him. You believed in him though, and who is Lo’ak to do what others tell him to?

THIS IDEA IS SO CUTE 😭😭 I love ur Lo’ak requests lol they’re keeping me alive rn 👊👊 I had sm fun writing this!!

When they start swimming underwater, listen to Ice Dance by Danny Elfman for a more immersive experience.

* ˚ ✦ 1193 Words • Read below the cut

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [27/12/22] ❞

“He saved me, he really did!”

As Lo'ak recounted his story, the young Na'vi were huddled in a circle. Rotxo and Aonung exchanged glances; everyone appeared concerned about him. Payakan was a murderer, and Lo'ak was merely extraordinarily fortunate to be alive.

“Kiri, you believe me, right?”

She remained silent and averted her gaze away from his. “They know this place better than we do.”

Tsireya shook her head. “Lo’ak, please don’t go looking for Payakan. You’ll be killed!”

“Fine, don’t believe me! I know what I saw!” Lo'ak abruptly rose up, preparing to storm away from the group.

You seized his forearm to keep him from fleeing. Lo'ak reached behind his shoulder to yank his arm away from you; he didn’t need to hear he was crazy from you, too. Before he could tear his arm away, he stiffened in place as you spoke.

“I believe you.”

Everyone turned to gawk at you, some with their jaws gaping, others silently snickering. You knew full well the story of Payakan, so why were you supporting this? You withdrew your arm and smiled warmly at Lo’ak. His head hung low, concealing the grin upon his lips. Aonung murmured to Rotxo about how you have a crush, and you shot him a death stare. Aonung stopped his teasing, but Lo'ak didn't seem to notice.

“Y/N, why would you believe him? You shouldn’t encourage it!”

You gave Tsireya a frown. “And what if he’s telling the truth?”

Everyone was deafeningly hushed as you argued against her. You scoffed at them all when they had nothing left to say, and walked away accompanied by Lo'ak. He thanked you quietly for trusting him.

To be truthful, you'd heard the tales about how dangerous Payakan was. You grew up with these people, after all. Although you believed in Lo'ak, you had your reservations; deep down, you knew the main reason why you wanted to trust his words was because you'd been admiring him since he first arrived in your village. You were just too timid to approach Lo’ak, so can anyone fault you for using this as an opportunity?

“Y/N, come with me. I’ll introduce you to Payakan.”

You smiled. “I’d love that.”

...

“This way, I know Payakan is around here!”

Lo'ak clasped your hand in his and guided you to the water. You might have been second-guessing your judgment at this point; you claimed you believed in him, but what if Payakan was a tulkun with exceptional manipulation abilities? Is that even feasible?

You dove into the water and began swimming after Lo'ak as he went further out into the ocean, putting your daydreaming to a halt. Once you had reached decently open waters beyond the reef, Lo'ak called for Payakan. You were nervous about what lay ahead of you, but you were also intrigued.

After what seemed like a few minutes of silence, you laid a hand on Lo'ak's shoulder.

“I don’t think he’s--”

With a yelp, you were cut off as something elevated your body above the surface of the water; a gigantic fin. You clutched it for support, and Lo'ak immediately swam besides your knees so you could rest a palm on his shoulder. He chuckled, and you swirled your feet in the water after the tulkun plateaued. Payakan whistled, and his genial nature enthralled you.

You cocked your head towards Lo'ak, a playful smirk on your lips. “Can we swim with him?”

Lo'ak concurred, beaming from ear to ear. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand gripping Payakan as he plunged underwater. You tried not to tumble off as the sheer force of the act caused you to hover above his fin, but Lo'ak was there to hold you in position.

You shifted into a horizontal position once you were settled in the water to enable you to swim comfortably. Lo'ak hooked his fist above yours on the edge of Payakan's fin, keeping your fingers entwined, so that you could swim in tandem with one another. The action made you flush, and you were grateful that the water obscured his vision somewhat.

Lo'ak was captivated by you as you glided across the expansive aquatic panorama. Although he had swum beyond the reef before, he had never witnessed it like this, with you at his side, giggling besides him as if it were nobody's business. It was in this snapshot of time that he saw you as vividly as ever; amongst the pulsing rhythm of the sea, his heartbeat drummed in his ears at the sight of you, realizing that the reason you appeared so delighted was because of him.

He captured a mental image of you and preserved it as a memory that only he would behold. Just for him, no one else.

With his hands, he signed ‘you’re pretty’.

God, he must be insane, he thinks. Your body froze as you registered what he had signed, and before you could react, Payakan sped through the water, nearly knocking you off your feet. In a frenzy, Lo'ak draped an arm across your back, clutching your arm to secure you against him. You could feel the hammering of his heartbeat against you, being so near to his chest.

Taking a peek at his panicked expression, you realized you could see a lot from this viewpoint. You noted the curvature of his lips, the slant of his nose, and the acuteness of his jawline, for instance. You subconsciously leant towards his face, entranced by his features.

Lo'ak inclined his head to peer at you, curious as to what you were doing. He was taken aback by your unexpected closeness and immediately felt bashful. Were you planning on kissing him? He'd never kissed anyone before!

Before you closed the distance between you both, you immediately turned your head away from him, snickering to yourself as he nearly took the bait. When you looked over your shoulder, Lo’ak appeared stunned. Before you could sign that his expression looked like a turtapede, he grabbed you by the cheeks (gently, of course), and captured your lips in a longing kiss. Immediately, Payakan soughed, and threw Lo’ak off his fin.

You slapped your palm over your mouth, startled and amused, as he swam after you and Payakan. The tulkun surged to the surface of the ocean, and Lo'ak bobbed out of the saltwater, shaking the brine from out his braids. You turned to sit upright, and held something akin to mirth in your gaze as you grasped your abdomen in a fit of laughter. Lo'ak shot a mischievous sneer in Payakan's direction, huffing as he rolled his eyes. Cockblocker.

“Well, he’s definitely a killer, alright!”

He groaned in embarrassment. “More like you. If I died, it’d be your fault.”

Although his sentence appeared stern and somber, the crinkle of his eyes and curl of his lips conveyed a different narrative, betraying the meaning of his words. How had he not previously fallen in love with you? Maybe the feeling was always there, lying torpid like a dormant volcano, suddenly stirred awake by you.

“Oh? I’m the death of you?”

‘You don’t even know,’ is all he could think.

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disassociation-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Secret Admirer - Dave York x F!Reader

A/N: Not only is this my first time ever writing fanfiction, but also the first time I've written anything in general, not counting essays in college? But I've had this idea rolling around my head the past few days and felt the need to get it written down. Shoutout to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for being so supportive and an amazing human being overall! I definitely would not have typed this out or posted it if it wasn't for you <3

Sorry if this hurts you the way it hurt me! Idk why my brain did this.

Summary: Dave is meant to be watching a target, but instead he ends up paying more attention to you.

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ (mdni)

Word Count: 3,010

Tags and Warnings: allusion to murder, allusion to violence, possessiveness, stalking, obsession, age gap, pervy Dave, pining Dave, allusion to drug addiction at end, mention of alcohol, slight voyeurism, mention of hospital stay, mention of suicide (only to cover up for Dave being a murderer), angst (I think that's it? My first time ever doing warnings)

He was meant to be watching a new target; noting the time of day he’d get home (Wednesdays and Thursdays a few hours later than the other days of the week), his habits (smoking a joint and passing out on his couch before he even made it to his bed), and anything else the piece of shit did that was noteworthy. And to be fair, he was watching him… but he was also watching her.

Her, whose windows he could see right into as he watched from the dark apartment in the building adjacent to theirs. Her, who just happened to have the apartment in direct view of his vantage point. Her, who was one door down from his target. He was trying to be discreet when he chose an apartment diagonal from his current prey; he hadn’t meant for it to turn into a distraction.

He hadn’t meant to watch her as well; he had never been the type to voyeur, to invade an innocent person’s privacy for his own enjoyment (that was saved only for the guilty). But her curtains were always wide open, both her living room and bedroom lit up from lamps until she turned them out, a tv until she was tired of watching in one room, shutting it off and then the other illuminating the space in the next, or even her phone as she stared down at it in her bed.

He hadn’t meant to watch, but he also couldn’t stop.

From evening to the early hours of the morning, his attention was hers. Her apartment was cozy, filled with soft blankets, books littering multiple surfaces, mugs of coffee (or maybe tea?) all over the place, and a cat tower in each room sometimes occupied with a small, white cat that she fawned over when she arrived home between 6:15 and 6:25 PM every weekday. She had a seemingly normal schedule for a 25 year old (he knew her age from research he had done for strictly professional reasons). He would be gone by the time she woke up each day, but based on her clothing that she stripped out of as soon as she got home each night and the information he could find online, she seemed to have the typical 9-5 schedule that accompanied a boring office job.

Her schedule seemed monotonous on those days: come home, greet her cat, shower and change into a large t-shirt and panties (his second favorite part of her routine), make dinner for her and said cat, then collapse into bed. Sometimes she would scroll through her phone or pick up a book for a few hours with the tv on the opposite wall brightening up the space slightly, until she fell asleep around 10:00 PM (this was his favorite part of her routine). For hours after that, when she (and the target) were both sound asleep, he could watch her without feeling so guilty for doing so. He could watch the way her body tossed and turned a few times for the first couple hours until she settled into her REM sleep. He could watch the slow and steady rise of her breasts, the peaceful look on her face with her full lips slightly parted, the way her arms never seemed to get comfortable while she slept, sometimes clutching a pillow to her chest or sometimes rising above her head as if her wrists were pinned in place (fuck, he wants to do that to her, encase her small wrists in one of his palms and hold her arms still while the rest of her body writhed and squirmed underneath him). He wishes he could watch her when she wakes up, see the way her soft and pliant body stretches, memorize her morning routine so he could imagine himself in more parts of her life. He can’t risk it though; can’t risk the morning light illuminating where he and his camera sit perched, can’t risk falling asleep in this spot as exhaustion from being up all night overcomes his body, can’t risk getting a glimpse into more parts of her life and falling more in love than he already has.

So, he takes what he can get. He sits there and watches her (and him; yes, the target still exists) for a few weeks, her weekday routine monotonous, but her weekends not so much. She came home later on those days, usually a little past midnight, sometimes only a little earlier. She never brought anyone home with her, her makeup was always perfectly in-tact, and she never seemed the slightest bit tipsy, her footsteps steady but also lighter as if she had a song stuck in her head from earlier in the night that she was still dancing to. He had come to the conclusion that she was out with friends after the first two nights of this routine. Or at least he hoped for his sake and the other party’s. He had no right to feel possessive over her, to feel like he had a claim to her body and her heart, and he knew this rationally… but that didn’t stop him from wanting to break the wrist of any possible suitor that laid a hand on her waist, to punch any mouth that could have landed on her soft skin until the face beneath his fist would be unrecognizable. She wasn’t his, but that didn’t stop him.

Her routine was predictable for the most part, even on those weekend nights where the time she was coming home varied. It was predictable until it wasn’t. It was predictable until one Saturday night she didn’t make it home (big deal, she probably crashed at a friends, right?). It was predictable until she still wasn’t home Sunday night and he saw her cat pacing around in anxiety and probably hunger. It was predictable until he watched another girl her age enter the apartment Monday night, feed the cat and pet it, then pack some clothes and other items into a bag before leaving and locking up the apartment again. The routine became predictable again, but not with his girl. Instead, he watched this random girl stroll in at the same time for four days, feed the cat and spend time with it on her couch for an hour, and then leave, just to repeat the next day.

It took less than two days of that routine for him to cave and figure out where she was; Boston Medical Center, been there since the Saturday she stopped coming home, discharge date undetermined and reason for her admittance not given. He could’ve dived deeper, threatened the life of her nurse or doctor for more information, hacked into the hospital’s medical records, and he was about to be at that point, until she returned home on Friday with the same random girl from the past four nights helping her inside.

______________________________________________________________

Dave York was not a good man and never could be considered one. He stalked, tortured, murdered; some for money and others for pleasure. His dreams, not nightmares, were full of vengeance against the people he deemed guilty and felt he should bring justice to. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he had a nightmare, not sure there was anything left in this shithole of a world that could scare him… until this. He had lost count of the amount of people he had drained life from, but at this moment he had never wanted to kill anyone more even though had no idea who his victim was. He was sure that when he made it home in the morning that he would be fighting against sleep because every time he blinked, all he could see was this version of you behind his eyelids. You, his soft, angelic girl with the cute, white cat and the predictable routine. You, who was now limping through your house, a large black boot on your right foot, bruises scattered up your plush thighs, disappearing under your clothes until they reappeared around your neck in the shape of handprints. You, who usually had a soft smile gracing your lips, but whose face now winced in pain from the light your friend just turned on that beamed directly into your black-eye.

Dave was sure he was looking into the camera still, but he couldn’t see you anymore. In fact, he couldn’t see anything at all, anything except the color red.

______________________________________________________________

You don’t remember when you first noticed it, the feeling that you were being watched. You don’t even know if you are, nothing ever confirming your suspicions, you just had this feeling. This feeling that there were almost always eyes burning holes into the side of your face, or the back of your neck depending on which way your body was turned. The feeling wasn’t always there, in fact you only felt it for a few hours a day, from the moment you came home until you fell asleep. By the morning, it was gone and you wouldn’t think anything of it, moving on with your usual routine.

It should have scared you, should have creeped you out. You could’ve closed your curtains, could have told someone and tried to check it out, but you hadn’t. For one, you didn’t want people to think you were paranoid, and secondly, the gaze never seemed predatory. In fact, you often felt protected, endeared, even revered… which may sound crazier than the idea that someone was watching you if you ever told anyone that.

You had an idea of where the feeling was coming from, somewhere in the building next to yours, but you never searched the windows to figure out who, mostly because you weren’t entirely sure you’d want them to stop like they probably would if they were caught. So, you went on with your routine, always feeling their gaze at night and never paying it in any mind. You had almost completely forgotten about it at this point, after being away from home for so many nights in that god-forsaken hospital bed. It had been the furthest thing from your mind, the least of your concerns after what you had endured and the pain that was still wracking your body. But, you felt it again now, as you sat on the edge of your bed, trying not to cry anymore than you had been, not sure if the tears would even come anymore. You felt their gaze peering into the side of your head, watching you.

Had they noticed your absence? Did they wonder where you had gone, why someone else was in your apartment every night, why your body was now littered in bruises? Did they care? You didn’t even know if they existed, but that didn’t stop you. It didn’t stop you from walking over to the desk in your living room, pulling out a piece of paper and a sharpie, and scribbling onto it before limping over to the window to tape your message for whoever was watching to see, on the off chance that they did care, or even existed.

______________________________________________________________

“I’M OKAY”

That’s all that was written, in large, black letters, on a piece of white paper that he watched you tape to your window. He should have felt more worried than he was, about the fact that you knew he was there, even if you didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know how long you had felt him there or why you felt the need to reassure him right now, all he knew is that he felt more angry than before. Angry at shitty societal standards that made you feel like you needed to act okay in a moment like this. Angry at himself for not being there to protect you from whoever thought it was a good idea to lay a hand on what was his. Angry at this person that he was going to find and torture until all the bruises and breaks in their body matched the ones they had left on yours. He was going to let this anger consume him until he saw the light go out of their eyes, until he saw it return to yours.

______________________________________________________________

Your routine became monotonous again, after a few more days of resting at home. The bruises were starting to fade along with the pain, although the boot would remain around your broken ankle for another few weeks. You were back at work the Monday after coming home, not able to justify to your corporate shit-head bosses that you needed more time off. The days seemed to be dragging on for longer, exhaustion overwhelming your healing body to the point that you were collapsing into your bed within an hour of getting home each day. By Wednesday evening, after a longer than usual wait for the metro, you might as well have been dead to the world around you, people and buildings blurring together, the sounds of the city sounding like white noise in your ears, until you arrived outside your apartment door and your eyes focused in on the bouquet of peonies sitting on the ground.

Putting your key in the lock and pushing the door open behind the vase of flowers, you quickly bent down to pick them up while making sure not to spill anything out of your work bag in the process. After setting everything else on the floor by your couch, you placed the vase of your favorite flowers on the coffee table in front of it, the setting sun outside your window casting the room in a soft-orange glow, partially impeded by the “I’M OKAY” sign still taped to the window.

Taking a few more moments to get comfortable, your booted foot lifted up to rest next to the vase and Toast, your furry companion, begging for attention in your lap, you reached over to pluck the small card from in between some of the flowers.

Inside, in slightly messy and what could only be described as a man’s handwriting, a short message was written:

“Glad you’re okay, the other person isn't. They’ve been handled.”

It should have scared you for multiple reasons. One, the fact that someone is watching you was now confirmed, and two, they’ve alluded to doing another person harm.

It should have scared you, but it didn’t. You’ve never felt more safe.

______________________________________________________________

Dave watches you as you walk in with the flowers, as you pull out his card and read the short and possibly terrifying message he left inside. He watches as the first genuine smile he’s seen on your face since you disappeared on him graces your lips and gets his heart beating rapidly in his chest. You were smiling because of him, you weren’t scared of what he had written and what he alluded to doing. He had brought a smile to your face and he would be damned if he ever let it fall again.

Only a few minutes after watching you read his message, his eyes followed you as you took down your previous sign from the living window and replace it with a new one.

“THANK YOU 🖤” ______________________________________________________________

One week after that, the job Dave was originally watching for had been handled. He couldn’t justify it anymore, already taking weeks longer than he usually would just so he could prolong watching you every night, and hemorrhaging money on the weekly rent he was paying to use this apartment for his stake-out. On the last night of the job, he watched you with an alertness like never before, keeping his blinking to a minimum so he could commit each and every single part of your life and your being to memory. He stayed past the sunrise the next morning so he could finally witness your morning routine that he had fantasized about, giving himself one more piece of your life that he could imagine himself fitting into, in another life.

______________________________________________________________

You stopped feeling like someone was watching you. It happened suddenly, one night it was there and the next it wasn’t. It wasn’t there the night after either, or the one after that. Your mind couldn’t decide between being more worried that something had happened to them or that you would never get to feel their gaze upon you again.

Paramedics had been in your building the night after the feeling had disappeared, entering the apartment next to yours and leaving with someone in a body bag. You weren't sure if the two were connected, but wouldn't be surprised if they were, even if your building super informed everyone that your neighbor's death had been ruled a suicide.

After a week without your secret admirer, you closed the curtains. ______________________________________________________________

He did his best to stay away, to not give into the temptation that was the sight of you. It was like trying to break an addiction, one that he didn’t want to get rid of but needed to. He could only imagine the havoc you would wreak on his being if he ever had the balls to approach you in person; you would utterly destroy him, ruin his heart and soul for anybody else. After a week of withdrawals that made him even more snappy and impatient at work, and cravings for your smile and light that were starting to blur in his memory, he gave in.

He gave the building super an excuse that he had left something in the apartment and would be out in a few minutes. After grabbing the key and sprinting up the stairs to the seventh floor, he slowed down his pace, trying to get his bearings and calm his racing heart rate before it exploded out of his chest.

Finally, he turned the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and strolled up to the window adjacent to yours. But, instead of the usual sight that greeted him, his pretty girl going about her life, he saw nothing.

You had closed the curtains.

#Dave York #Pedro Pascal #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york x female reader #equalizer 2

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