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ghost-proofbaby · 10 months ago

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IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #reader essentially became soul bound to him womp womp #don't drink a vampire's blood kids #i really didn't edit that intensely i spent two hours fucking with photoshop #if it's bad it's bad #finally dipping my toes into kas!eddie tho wahoo #vampire!eddie munson #someone requested eddie with this song forever ago but i lost the ask #eddie reading dracula to figure out if he's become a vampire is actually so fucking funny to me

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lionneee · 5 days ago

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Let The World Burn

Masterlist

Taglist

English is not my first language, please be kind

Modern!MafiaBoss!Aemond x fem!Reader

•Warnings: murder, kidnapping, attempted rape, omicide, fire.•

“Your boyfriend is a tough one.” He smirked as he walked behind you. You tried to talk against the gag, but all it came out were strangled sounds and whines. “He’s also hard to find.” The man pushed the blindfold down your head, over your eyes.

You trembled on the floor, fear consuming you.

“Way harder than you are anyway.” He chuckled. “But you’ll be more than useful to do the trick. I’d be surprised if I won’t see your pretty boyfriend kicking down the door to get you.”

“Sir- I’m sorry, but the lead we had turned out wrong-“

“Get out!” Aemond raised from the chair of his office, his loud voice filling the room. The private detective quickly left the office, running outside.

Aemond was a complete mess.

He managed to resist two days with your missing, before it completely started to tore him apart. He was completely out of his head, he needed to find you.

He threw the papers on his desk on the floor with all the force he had, then he paced in the room, his hair a mess, his knuckles bloody from the amount of jaws he broke to get any kind of information about your abduction.

“Fuck!” He shouted as he hit the wall with his fist.

“You need to eat.” He said as he walked in the room, taking off your gag by undoing the tie on the back of your head. “We’re not trying to kill you.” He said before freeing your hands, sitting on the chair right in front of you. You looked down at the floor, finding a tray with food and water. You quickly started to eat, you had been starving for days. You looked up at him for a moment, curious about your kidnapper.

White hair.

You scooped back on the floor, managing to get away maybe a couple of inches before hitting the pole you’ve been handcuffed to with your back.

“Daemon.” You mumbled, Your voice was shaking as much as your hands.

“That would be me, princess.” He smirked as he sat back on his chair.

“W-why are you doing this?” You kept stuttering, you were terrified. “I-I didn’t-”

“I know. You didn’t do anything.” He cut you off. “But your boyfriend… My nephew did. He killed someone he shouldn’t have touched.” He looked loosely at you, studying your reaction.

You looked at him confused, your brows arching, your expression contorting into one of confusion, then pain, then disbelief.

“Luke.” You whispered as soon as the realisation hit you. Daemon’s gaze hardened but then he nodded.

“Smart girl.” He commented. “He killed him. So now I have to kill Aemond.”

“No!” Your voice raised, your eyes filling with tears as soon as you saw the seriousness in his intentions. “Y-you can’t! He’s your family!” You shook your head, your hands flying to the knife on the tray. But Daemon was faster, blocking both of your wrists the moment you moved, and handcuffing them back to the pole behind you.

“Luke was family too.” He growled. You squirmed, trying to get free, but to no avail. Demon put the gag back on and left you to cry as he walked away again in the darkness of the room.

“They’re trying to torture you, brother.” Aegon said as he looked at his brother. He was leaning against his desk table, his nails scraping the expensive wood. His head was hung down, his hair covering his face. “You have to get yourself back together. We have to think of strategies on how to take them down.”

His brother was the last one that had a right to say something like that to Aemond.

They took his girl, damn it.

“Get out.” Aemond growled.

It had been weeks since the last time he got a proper sleep. He was cold, his bed was colde.

You weren’t there to warm it for him.

To warm him.

His fingers ached to feel your skin again, so soft, and smooth.

He missed your scent, even more now, since the pillow lost any trace of it.

The first days he pressed his face in it, and fucked his hand.

Then he would just scream in it, then fall asleep surrounded by your scent.

The day he couldn't smell you anymore, he thought he might actually go crazy, for good.

He missed you.

And he needed you, he knew it now better than ever.

“I’m impressed by your lack of preparation for this kind of situation.” She immediately sat up, her eyes snapping open at the sound of his voice. Daemon pushed the tray towards her and she quickly lunged forward to at least drink some water.

“W-why? Why now?” She looked up at him and he took off her handcuffs. She quickly grabbed some bread from the tray and started eating it.

There was no scheme on the timing of her meals. They seemed random, and curiosity was keeping her mind full.

She didn’t know why she cared so much to find that out, if it was boredness or just a way to escape the fear.

Daemon chuckled as he sat on the chair as usual.

“You think you’re having a hard time, uh? Being kidnapped, staying here, in the darkness and coldness.” He let out a scoff. “You eat whenever Rhaenyra eats.” He explained.

Rhaenyra.

“S-so that’s your first thought when you see her eat? Feed me?”

“You’re not the victim here. Whatever you’re going through, is nothing compared to Rhaenyra’s pain. You’re hungry? You’re scared? She’s grieving a son..” He hissed as he stood up, walking closer, squeezing your cheeks in his hand.

Your eyes filled with tears as she only tried to imagine what it would be like to lose a son.

To lose something that you made, that you gave birth to. That you raised and loved.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered as strong conflicting emotions grew inside you.

How could you love Aemond, knowing he was the cause of such pain?

Knowing he was capable of killing one of his own family, knowing that the pain Rhaenyra is suffering now, is bigger than anything Aemond could have gone through when he lost his eye.

“You…” He clenched his jaw. “You are going to suffer. You are going to stay here, with fear eating you alive. The fear that I might come in, and beat you, not feed you ever again, touch you, rape you.” He growled, his face a mask of fury. You whined as he clenched his hands on your cheeks, hurting you, and tried to break free, but he was determined to keep you there.

“And whenever one of those things will happen.” He moved closer, his face inches from yours. “You better remember, this is all Aemond’s fault.” He then pressed his lips against yours, but it wasn't out of affection or desire.

Or better, it wasn’t about sexual desire.

It was a promise that he will act on his threats.

“Listen, Aemond, you have to face it. She’s gone. They’re letting you think she’s still alive only to mess with you, okay? We have a war to win, we can’t let an insignificant girl reduce you like-”

Aemond just snapped.

An insignificant girl? She was the love of his life.

Aemond quickly wrapped a hand around Aegon's neck, squeezing tight as he pushed him back against the wall.

“What did you say?” He hissed, his voice low and dangerous. Aegon widened his eyes, struggling against his brother's hold.

“L-Listen man-” Aegon’s voice was strained due to the lack of air. “J-just saying, okay? She was pretty and all but-”

“But nothing.” He shoved Aegon away, letting him fall on the floor. “I’m giving you two more days.” He said as he sat back on his chair behind his desk. “Then I’ll burn the world to the fucking ground, with you in it.”

“Wake up!” You heard a loud yell, a male voice that snapped you out of your moment of sleep.

“I said, wake up!” He yelled again, grabbing your hair and yanking your face up from the floor.

You let out a sharp scream at the pain then went through your head.

“Tell me where he is.” Daemon crunched down in front of you, his hand closing into a fist and pulling your hair harder. You whined loudly as you tried to raise your head to reduce the pain, but it was useless, you were too tired, too weak.

“I don’t know..:” You sobbed, opening your eyes slowly, trying to adjust to the strong light that was pointed at your face.

You’ve spent days, maybe even weeks in darkness, your eyes weren’t used to the light anymore, let alone such a strong one.

“Bullshit. Start talking.” He growled as he tugged at your hair.

“I swear I don’t!” You sobbed. “We never met in any place of his business, I don’t know!” You cried desperately.

Daemon let out a loud grunt, shoving your head back and sending it against the pole behind you.

Your vision blurred as your body slowly grew weaker to even stay awake.

The last thing you heard was:

“Arrange her funeral. Rhaenys deserves it.”

“It’s been months.” Helaena said as she sat beside him on his couch.

“She’s not dead.” Aemond grunted. His elbows rested on his knees, the palms of his hands holding his head.

He was tired of people remembering him how long it had passed.

He had already been too patient, but Aegon had only one day left.

Then he was going to take the world, and destroy it piece by piece until he’d found her.

“If she would have been dead we would have found the body already.” Helaena patted his shoulder awkwardly. “I don’t think she’s dead. I… I can feel it.” She whispered.

Aemond clenched his hands into fists.

He had always been the first to push Helaena back, telling her that the way she just felt things was absurd and surreal.

Useless.

“Me too.” He breathed out, passing his hand through his hair in frustration. “She is alive.” He stood up and walked to his desk again.

That was when Aegon stormed inside.

“Found her.”

“Stay away!” You yelled as Daemon grabbed your ankle, dragging you towards him.

“Shut up, bitch.” He growled as he hovered over you, pinning your wrists over your head with one hand, and slapping your face with the other. “You’re just a cheap whore he bought. He doesn’t care about you, he’s not going to save you.” He hissed as he settled between your legs, thrusting his hips between your thighs, making clear his intention. “You’re only good for one thing.” He put his hand over one of your breasts, groping it tightly, making you whine and cry in pain. “He has left you behind. He left you to me.”

You screamed and kicked your feet, trying to get him off of you, but it seemed impossible.

“No! No, please no!” You sobbed as you kept squirming. “Don’t touch me! Please, I’m so sorry for Rhaenyra, please!” You cried desperately, but he simply smiled.

“Shut up.” He chuckled, in a sickening, mad way. “Shut the fuck up.” He laughed even more. “You’re mine now. You’re my prize. My trophy.”

“No -” You screamed as soon as he grabbed your knee to spread your legs, so he could grind against you. Daemon tried to kiss you, but you quickly turned your head, and screamed again as you saw a wooden wall catching fire quickly.

Daemon’s head quickly turned as he smelled the smoke and saw the fire lighting the room.

He quickly stood up as he looked at the fire, which kept eating everything it found.

“Kill anyone you see. I’ll go get her.” He told Aegon before entering the house. He put on his mask and walked in the big fog of smoke, his gun in hand.

Everyone was quickly running out, no one seemed to see or care about him as he walked inside.

Pieces of the house were starting to fall, the fire was burning everything it found.

Then he heard a scream, and his ears suddenly perked out.

He quickly ran toward the scream, stepping to a side of the house that hadn’t really picked up fire yet. He stopped in front of a door and quickly kicked it open the moment he heard another scream.

The fire in the room lightened the room enough for Aemond to see the scene clearly.

Daemon was on top of you.

And he was touching you.

Aemond's vision went red.

With a feral growl, he raised his gun, the barrel pointed directly at Daemon’s head. Before Daemon could react, a single deafening gunshot rang through the room. The bullet struck Daemon squarely in the shoulder, knocking him off of you with a roar of pain.

“Get your fucking hands off her.” Aemond snarled, stepping closer as Daemon writhed on the floor. His icy blue eye burned with rage, his jaw clenched so tight it could crack. He aimed the gun again, this time pointing at Daemon’s crotch, shaking with the force of his fury.

Daemon’s scream of pain almost shook the walls of the room, but Aemond couldn’t care less.

You were trembling, tears streaming down your face as you scrambled back against the pole where your wrists were still handcuffed to. Aemond’s gaze flicked to you, softening for just a moment. His chest heaved as he took in your disheveled appearance, the bruises on your wrists, the fear in your eyes. His heart broke and hardened all at once.

“You’ll die here, Daemon.” Aemond spat, his voice cold and merciless. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger again, this time hitting Daemon’s leg. A scream tore from Daemon’s throat, but his laughter didn’t stop, maddeningly unhinged.

“You think this will bring her back to you? She knows what you’ve done.” Daemon wheezed. “She’ll never look at you the same.”

Aemond's eye narrowed. He took a step closer and delivered a swift, brutal kick to Daemon’s side, silencing him momentarily. He quickly searched him to find the keys to your handcuffs and as soon as he found them he turned back to you, crouching low and reaching out carefully.

“It’s me, baby." He murmured, his voice gentler now. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You flinched at first, but as recognition dawned, you started sobbing uncontrollably. Aemond quickly freed your wrists and wrapped his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping you like he’d never let go. “You’re safe now." He whispered, rocking you gently despite the chaos around you. “No one will ever touch you again. I swear it.”

The sound of creaking wood snapped him back to the present. The fire was spreading rapidly, consuming the walls and ceiling. Aemond stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. You clung to him, your hands fisting in his shirt as he carried you out of the room.

You could see Daemon still looking at you, a sad smile on his face.

You almost pitied him, despite knowing who he was, and what he just tried to do to you, you still felt sorry for him.

Because the man that was now carrying you out of the house in fire, had won a third time, and with that, the whole war.

That man, Aemond, destroyed their life, and killed them inside the moment he shot Luke’s head.

Aemond paused at the doorway, glancing back at Daemon, who was slumped on the floor, bleeding and coughing. “Burn in hell." Aemond said coldly before turning and carrying you out of the burning house.

Even if you did want to leave, where could you go?

Aemond looked down at you as he carried you outside, and you coughed because of the smoke. His eyes studied carefully your face as his hands tightened around you.

He was not going to let you go, so where could you go?

Aemond gently placed you in his car and before walking to the driver seat, he gently caressed your face.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again, baby.”

A shiver went down your spine, and suddenly, a feeling you never thought you would feel with Aemond spreaded in your chest.

Fear.

Because even if you wanted to leave, there was nowhere to go.

You were stuck with a serial killer that loved you.

Taglist: @ka1afbr@cynic-spirit@ladythornofrivia@zenka69@queenofthekeep@adorewhatever@diannnnsss@kotadislikesthissite@iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy @agoldenwoe @sapphirevaghar

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theamberfist · 8 months ago

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One Blind Mouse | Uncle Alastor + Reader

Familial! Alastor is Reader's Uncle

Description: One day after an overlord meeting, Alastor stumbles upon a giant demonic mouse that he soon realizes is his relative from life.

(Notes: CW Alastor, death, violence) (gender neutral reader) (Reader is Alastor's niece/nephew/whatever term you prefer) (Reader is blind) (Reader is a mouse sinner) (Pretend Alastor had a sister for the sake of this oneshot)

Words: 2,940

Alastor's ears perked at the familiar sound of screams that always seemed to accompany the streets of hell. He'd just stepped out of a surprisingly entertaining overlord meeting and now his high spirits lead him to take a walk down the road.

This part of the city, being Carmilla Carmine's territory, was significantly less of a disaster compared to most of hell, and although he didn't enjoy the area nearly as much as some others- such as Rosie's Cannibal Town- it was still a pleasurable enough experience. As he walked, he calmly held his microphone-cane behind his back and took in all the sights.

Most of it was nothing out of the ordinary; sinners running in fear at the mere sight of him, remnants of bloody fights and brawls, as well as a few trashed buildings and alleyways the overlord expected Carmilla to be very unhappy about.

Alastor sighed. If there was one thing he both loved and hated about hell it was that every day tended to be just the same. Territory disputes, murders that were ultimately never permanent, and newly-killed human souls ending up fearful and disoriented as they randomly appeared throughout hell were all nothing he hadn't seen before. In his time living down here, he'd come to place great value on entertainment and breaks from normality. At the very least, they made afterlife in hell a little more fun.

It was because of this he considered summoning Husk or even Nifty to liven things up. That was what he normally did when he lacked any other form of entertainment, but before he could even decide which to rip from their normal lives, a new sound reached his ears that suddenly caught his attention.

It was almost akin to a roar; something he would have expected to hear from a lion or even a dinosaur if they were more common forms for sinners to take on. Glancing up, he now realized the sound had come from just a few blocks away, where a giant figure towered over some of the nearby buildings.

It looked like a huge...rat? That was the best way Alastor could describe the entity; with glowing grey eyes, demonic markings, and surprisingly sharp claws and teeth. The rat was ripping apart the nearby buildings as sinners screamed and tried to run away, which made the Radio Demon's ever-present smile widen. It seemed he'd found some entertainment at last.

So of course, he made his way towards where the rat was towering over buildings; realizing it was right on the edge of Carmilla's territory; approaching that of the V's. He hadn't even realized he'd been so close to their space but it hardly mattered now. While he'd at first assumed the rat's goal to be complete destruction simply for the sake of discussion, that didn't seem to be the case now that he observed them.

They were ignoring most of the frightened sinners around them; aside from a few that happened to scream extra loud as they ran. Instead, their focus was more towards the nearest building; a TV store in which every single piece of merchandise had a different channel playing at once that made for quite an obnoxious display of sound. Even Alastor wanted to cover his ears, not stopping the giant rat sinner as they tore the place apart sloppily.

He continued watching the scene for a few more moments until a car finally showed up nearby and a tech-related sinner stepped out with a frightened look on her face. Alastor recognized her as one of Vox's employees from back when they'd still been friends, though he was surprised the TV producer hadn't fired her yet with his poor track record of employees.

Once out of the car, she approached the giant rat cautiously; as if unsure of how to handle the situation.

"E-excuse me?" The sinner called, though the rat ignored her, "I demand you stop! This store is property of Vox Tech and you're going to have to pay for any damages you cause!" Alastor's smile only widened now, curious to see whether this seemingly out-of-control sinner would even acknowledge the tech demon or if they'd just continue to go about their destruction. If his employee couldn't handle things, perhaps Vox would even come all the way down here himself, and wouldn't that be a treat to watch?

As expected, the rat ignored her as they crushed another giant flat-screen TV between their claws. The Vox Tech employee seemed almost offended as she came closer to them.

"How dare you?!" She exclaimed louder now; taking on a more demonic form that was indicative of her anger, "Have you no respect for the art of television?!" This seemed to finally get the rat's attention because they paused, dropping the shattered TV and turning to face her as they gazed down.

"Art?" They repeated, their voice coated with that demonic tone one became accustomed to hearing while in hell. Alastor raised an eyebrow at the realization that this was not their regular form, wondering what they could have originally looked like but not saying anything just yet. "You call this art?!"

The rat grabbed another TV and threw it at the tech demon, nearly crushing her under its weight if she hadn't gotten out of the way in time. "This is pathetic!"

Alastor had to agree there. Television had always been a lesser form of media to him, and it seemed this other sinner understood that too. Perhaps when they calmed down the two of them would get along.

Though, there was another part of him that took note of how familiar this particular was...

The rat grabbed two more TV screens and crushed them in either hand now; snarling. "Don't pretend to know anything about art if you support him!" Alastor knew without needing to ask that they were referring to Vox, which made his smile widen even more. It seemed he really would get along with this rat. Though, the more he listened to them speak, the more it felt like he should recognize that voice.

"Don't make me tell you again! Unhand our property!" The tech demon tried, though she was shaking as the giant rat stared her down.

"No." The rat replied before tossing another TV at her. This time, it managed to hit her and she was knocked back into the nearby wall. It seemed the impact was enough to kill her, too, because her body finally went limp. Alastor knew she wouldn't be dead for long before regenerating but it had done the job for now, anyway.

It seemed the only one that didn't realize that was the rat because they reached for another blaring TV and tossed it in the direction of the now-dead sinner again. Then they grabbed another and did the same before repeating the act again and again until every last screen had been destroyed.

It was only then that the Radio Demon realized what was going on as he watched the giant rat feel around the destroyed store for any more Vox Tech Products; they were blind.

They couldn't actually see the tech demon when she'd shown up; they'd only known where to throw the TV based on where they'd heard her voice. They'd been sloppily feeling around and grabbing TV's earlier because they could hear the obnoxious sounds coming from them, and they'd only killed the extra loud sinners because they could hear where they were.

How interesting, Alastor thought as he watched the rat's shoulders rise and fall as they caught their breath. They were far from the first blind person he'd met but they were the first one he'd run into in hell thus far. Based on the display he'd just witnessed though, they were doing just fine down here despite not having sight. He was about to step forward and introduce himself when a peculiar sight stopped him.

The rat, which had been giant just a moment ago, was now shrinking in size before his very eyes. They went from being taller than the nearby building to becoming so small he couldn't even see them from where he stood anymore.

Curious, he stepped forward, realizing they'd shrunk to the size of a mouse. And, in fact, it seemed that that was exactly what they were; not a rat, like he'd presumed earlier. Like most sinners in hell, they still possessed human qualities, but the big mouse ears on their head and the tail made it apparent which animal they were meant to resemble.

Amusement shined in the Radio Demon's eyes now as he continued observing the little creature. This tiny mouse had done all that damage just moments ago; leaving one of Vox's stores in complete ruin. He never would have expected them to possess that kind of strength based on how they looked, but it made him all the more curious of their motive as he now approached them.

"Well, hell there!" He called. Immediately, the mouse jumped in surprise and reached for their ears as if they were in pain. "My, that was quite a display!" He went on, ignoring their clear shock, "May I ask what might have prompted it?"

There was a long pause as the tiny sinner regarded him, now bent at the waist so that his face was a little closer to their eye level. For a second he wondered if they really were capable of speaking or if he'd simply imagined it earlier, but then they shouted.

"Uncle Al?!" Their voice, which had lost its demonic edge and returned to normal now, suddenly sounded so familiar that it felt as if the Radio Demon had been hit by a truck. How had he not recognized you before? What other little demon could have casually caused so much destruction to a TV store than his own niece/nephew/etc?

"Why, is that you, my little mouse?" He asked with a grin so wide it nearly hurt. You nodded eagerly, immediately running up to hug him. You were so small, though, that you could really only latch onto his ankle.

"It is, Uncle!" You replied, only now realizing how ironic his old nickname for you had turned out to be. You'd known the second you'd heard his voice that it was your favorite family member and finding him again like this couldn't have made you happier. Alastor chuckled, kneeling and placing a hand beside your little body on the ground. Once you felt it beside you, you immediately climbed on and then he carefully held you up so that you were closer to his eye-level.

"And here I'd thought you ended up in heaven!" He told you, though his tone only held amusement. Your presence had always been enjoyable to him; ever since you were a baby. When he'd died, he'd been surprised to find he actually missed the nights when he used to have to come over and babysit you for his dear little sister's sake.

"Nope," you told him, "But I'm pretty sure mama is there! I've been alone down here for years." The Radio Demon nodded at that. Like their mother, he'd had no doubt his sister had gone to heaven. Your presence in hell was a surprise, but with how mischievous you'd been as a child, it made some sense, even if he hadn't gotten to see how you turned out when you grew up.

"It must have been quite lonely being by yourself." He replied as he brought you to his coat pocket now. You felt around the area before seemingly deciding it was acceptable and getting comfortable within the fabric.

"And loud." You nodded. Alastor didn't doubt that; you'd had great hearing even when you were alive, so he imagined those big mouse ears made it even more amplified now. "I hate television."

"I agree with you there!" Alastor replied as he began walking back down the street with you safely tucked into his pocket now. "Especially since the whole point of it is to see the pictures, isn't it?" You nodded, crossing your arms in disdain. "At least radio is tasteful." In life, you'd always loved tuning into your uncle's nightly broadcasts. No matter what you and your mother had been doing at the time, you'd always made her take you home to hear them. Alastor nodded in amusement now.

"Uncle Al, where are we going anyway?" You asked suddenly.

"Well, I do still have a broadcast to run!" The Radio Demon replied, "I'm sure the citizens of hell will want to hear about that giant mouse causing so much destruction earlier." You giggled and got a little more comfortable in the demon's pocket. "Now, while we talk, do tell me more about those demonic powers of yours?" The fact that you possessed the ability to grow and shrink between more and less terrifying forms just like he did was certainly not lost on him, and nor was the possibility of capitalizing on those powers with the potential of you two taking over hell as family.

♡ After that you're almost always found in Alastor's pocket whenever he goes anywhere

♡ Sometimes you like to hide in his pocket and then pop up at random times, which he used to scare some of the hotel guests after the first found you

♡ You go into your demon form whenever you get angry, which usually happens when you're surrounded by way too many loud noises at once and get overwhelmed

♡ Alastor thought it was entertaining at first but after the third time you broke his coat pocket by transforming while he was literally carrying you around, he invested in some cute little earmuffs to prevent it

♡ Everybody at the hotel thought you were adorable once they got past the initial shock of A) Alastor having a niece/nephew/etc and B) the fact that you'd popped out of his pocket and startled them

♡ Vaggie lets you ride on her hair bow sometimes and Charlie absolutely loves to pet your mouse ears (she's very gentle but sometimes gets too excited and Alastor has to pull you away from her)

♡ You were terrified of Husk at first because he's a cat and Alastor, always looking for entertainment, did nothing to help with that fear

♡ So for a while every time you would be near Husk he would have to be super careful not to scare you and make you go into demon form

♡ That was until you realized who you really had to be afraid of; Nifty

♡ She associates mice with uncleanliness so she tried to stab you many times at first. Alastor never let her actually succeed but he did enjoy watching her chase you around the hotel for the first week

♡ That was how you got over your fear of Husk because he would sometimes let you hide behind the bar in between the bottles of wine. He even fed you a piece of cheese once and you were sold on him after that

♡ Eventually though, a solution was reached with Nifty when Charlie suggested they dress you in nice clothes (A red striped suit like Alastor's or a dress version of his outfit, fitted for your tiny self) in order to give the cyclops a visibly difference between you and the actual vermin she was supposed to kill

♡ That worked well but you're still too scared to go near Nifty most of the time

♡ Sir Pentious dubbed you an honorary egg because you were close to them in size and he thought you were just so cute. He got you a little hat like the ones they wear and would even let you ride atop his hat (kind of like Alice with the Mad Hatter in the live action Alice in Wonderland)

♡ Angel Dust also loves you and one of the first things he did was introduce you to Fat Nuggets, whom you adored

♡ Sometimes you ride Nuggets around the hotel like a horse since you're the perfect size for it and Angel has many photos on his phone of the two of you being absolutely adorable

♡ Despite how he may seem, Alastor can be a very protective uncle. Since you've come to the hotel, he makes sure everyone keeps their volume down most of the time so as not to bother your sensitive ears. If anyone so much as raises their voice in your presence they're met with his sadistic expression and radio dial eyes as a warning

♡ No one is allowed to watch TV when you're around either; he doesn't care that English Descriptive Audio exists he just doesn't want you to feel sad that you can't have a normal experience like everyone else because that used to get to really you when you were a kid

♡ Since you're always in his pocket, you've met most of the other overlords at meetings and things

♡ Rosie adores you and every time she meets with Alastor she brings along a new mouse-sized outfit she sewed for you as a gift. You have a whole wardrobe of tasteful clothes made by her now

♡ Zestial and Carmilla think you're cute but won't ever admit it. They just smile whenever you pop out of Alastor's pocket during a meeting; wanting to see what they're all talking about

♡ You did meet Vox once because Alastor ran into him on the street

♡ That went about as well as expected and you turned into your demon form due to his loudness and the fact that he insulted your uncle

♡ You and Alastor took turns beating Vox up that day

..........

Headcannons related to this concept: Cursed-Cat and Mouse

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abyssruler · 2 years ago

Text

plausible deniability

scaramouche x gn!reader

your boyfriend is nice, your boyfriend is sweet, but your boyfriend is also a serial killer. “relax, it’s just a dead body,” he tells you like he hadn’t just hit a man on the head with a brick hard enough to crack his skull. well, at least he did it to defend you? or — scaramouche kills people and you have the world’s biggest ‘i can fix him’ complex. (modern au)

crack, comedy, a few people die but who cares, scara is soft for one person and one person only and that’s you, “i would kill for you, in fact, i have killed for you.” “honey, did you take your meds today?” - scara and reader

You were never a fan of true crime documentaries, or horror movies, or gory shows, or anything that involved excessive blood spraying and lightless eyes staring into the camera.

So, it would stand to reason that at the first sign of your boyfriend being more than into those kinds of things, you would’ve turned tail and ran as far away as you can, right?

Unfortunately, you’ve always been blind to the color red.

…Figurative red, that is, because the red seeping through your couch and the ones coated on your boyfriend’s hands are definitely visible to you, bright and dripping and most definitely staining your pristine white rugs that you just bought last week. Ah, how are you going to explain that to the laundry lady?

“Scara, honey, what did I say about killing other people?” you ask, voice visibly strained.

He sneers at the face of the dead guy sitting haphazardly on your couch. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You sigh.

✧

It wasn’t always like this, with the whole blood viscera happy-murder thing.

Your boyfriend, Scaramouche, had this odd habit of being so immersed in the news, a little smile lighting up his face (which you’d thought was cute at the time and, well, you still do) whenever the reporter gets to the local murders that used to have you shaking in fear on your bed.

He was charming though. A little possessive, but that was a trait you also thought was quite endearing—and, if you’re being honest, you still do. Scaramouche had a vast collection of sharp knives, some small and practically harmless (or as harmless as a knife can be) and others… not so harmless. You didn’t question it because he often cooked for you, your brain chalking it up to him using those knives for it.

It wasn’t until you were walking home alone from university that you discovered his little hobby of, well, killing people who inconvenienced you and him. Mostly people who inconvenienced you though, which was disturbing but also flattering in a crazy sort of way.

“Relax, it’s just a dead body,” he told you like he hadn’t just hit a man on the head with a brick hard enough to crack his skull.

You were cowering on the alley’s wall, eyes wide and knees shaking as you watched your supposedly nice and caring boyfriend wipe away the blood on his hand like it’s a normal occurrence. And when he grinned down at the body, something almost satisfied in his eyes, you realized that he was the cause for all the recent murders popping up in the city.

Now, the thing about this is that you should have run away screaming bloody murder, maybe call the cops or even do the sensible thing like break up with your boyfriend who’s apparently a psycho.

And you would have done it, if he just hadn’t been so… so…

He turned to you with concern shining in his eyes, stepping over the corpse of the man who’d pointed a pocket knife at you and tried to rob you. With hands still slicked with blood, he cradled your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “It’s a good thing you weren’t hurt.”

…sweet.

And as he pulled you away from the crime scene, dragging you home and running a hot bath for you both, asking you what you wanted for dinner like he hadn’t just murdered someone in front of you, you finally calmed down and saw the truth of the matter.

Yes, your boyfriend is quite possibly a serial killer, yes, you might just be making the worst decision of your life, and yes, you’re well aware this is because of all the wattpad bad boy stories you consumed when you were young, but you’ll be damned if you let Scaramouche go. He was kind (at least, to you he is), he was charming (when he wanted to be), he was a great cook, he was good with kids and the elderly, he was smart, and finally, he would never cheat on you.

So, while there might be the unfortunate addition of him being a little too happy with the idea of killing someone (have, in fact, killed someone, multiple someones at that), he was also the perfect boyfriend you could ask for. He just needs a little guidance, is all.

The next day, he proudly showed you the severed hand of a man who once made you cry because he groped you.

…Okay, a lot of guidance, but you can manage, you’ve read tons of bad boy turns good after falling in love type of stories. How difficult can it be to have your murderous boyfriend change his ways?

✧

Quite difficult, as it turns out.

A quick google on why people become murderers brought up a lot of questions and concerns for you, and while you’re well aware that google isn’t exactly the most reliable place when it comes to looking for advice, it’s also the only place you can go to without getting arrested for assisted murder—even though you’ve never actually helped Scaramouche when he goes all ham crazy on the general populace.

You sit him down on your couch, which was now free of blood thanks to google’s advice and good ol’ handy-dandy hydrogen peroxide.

Like this, facing each other and holding his hands, it almost seems like an actual, legitimate therapy session, minus the whole licensed psychiatrist thing. But hey, you’ve read tons of articles on the internet, so while you may be lacking in some aspects (namely, the fact that you don’t have any idea what you’re doing and aren’t qualified at all to be your crazy boyfriend’s therapist), you’re confident you can just wing it.

“Baby,” you start. Calling him endearments was an advice you picked up from reddit. A kind user named ballz3000 said that referring to them sweetly using innocent pet names can make them softer and calm their homicidal tendencies. “You know I don’t like it when you bring home dead bodies.”

According to another user named yn-yournuts, being open and communicating your feelings is the first step to establishing a healthy relationship and, consequently, a better mental state.

“It would’ve been difficult hiding the body at daytime,” he grouches, but he still keeps a gentle hold on your hands, which is a good thing. Baby steps, you tell yourself, baby steps—even though those baby steps might as well be called snail steps, wait, snail slithers.

“Then you should’ve waited until it was dark or midnight to kill him,” comes your immediate response—wait, damn it! You’re supposed to encourage him to steer away from murder, not give him advice on how to do it better. Smiling, you attempt to salvage the situation, “But, of course, it would be better to not kill anyone at all.”

It’s too late. He’s already donning a contemplative look on his face that soon turns into a grin, leaning in and briefly slotting his lips against yours.

“Thanks for the suggestion. I’ll be more careful next time, love,” is all he says before getting up and abruptly ending your impromptu therapy session.

And admittedly, there must be something wrong with you too, because instead of being horrified at his words, you giggle to yourself.

This is the first time he called you love!

✧

Alright, so operation therapy failed, it’s now time to charge in like a boar. Straightforwardness is always good according to that one article you found in google made by Hugh G. Bawles.

The two of you were in bed, the lights already turned off, when you took a deep breath and began preparing what you were going to say to him to prevent any more innocent people being killed.

Scara, I don’t like it when you kill people.

Baby, don’t show me anymore dead body parts.

Why did you become a murderer?

Sometimes, I feel like we’re a normal couple, but then you’ll suddenly go and casually bring me a bloody finger as a gift.

But instead of saying any of those, what comes out of your mouth is,

“Darling, I think you’re just confusing your constipation for homicidal urges.”

In hindsight, maybe attempting to start a heart to heart talk in the middle of the night just before a morning class was a bad idea.

You wait a few seconds, then minutes, and when he showed no signs of responding, you turn your head only to find him with his eyes closed and sound asleep.

Fine, you’ll just have to try again tomorrow.

✧

You share exactly one class with Scaramouche and it’s philosophy. Unfortunately, it’s also the class with the worst professor known to mankind.

“Ah, I got a low grade…” you mutter to yourself, looking down at your essay forlornly.

Your boyfriend takes one peak at your paper and immediately scowls. “You spent an entire night writing that.” He turns a glare to the professor currently ignorant of the murderer sitting in his class. “That asshole should’ve given you a perfect score. Maybe I should give him a little visit.”

You calmly take his hand under the table and squeeze it, all too used to him casually alluding to killing other people. “Dear, we talked about this. What do we do when we’re having homicidal thoughts?”

He looks down the table, brows furrowed in a sulking manner. “Don’t do it.”

You beam, proud at him for remembering the one thing you keep reminding him whenever he brings a dead body back to your house.

The blonde twins seated in front of you turn their head in horror after overhearing your conversation.

“What are you looking at?” Scaramouche sneers at the same time you say, “We’re roleplaying.”

“Right…” the long haired twin you distinctly remember was named Aether mumbles before he ushers his sister to ignore the two of you.

Oh well, at least you managed to stop one person from dying today. User tojiscrustysock on twitter always says you should take whatever victories you can, so you’ll consider this a resounding success.

✧

When you open the news next morning, the face of your professor is the first thing you see along with the words, found dead near his home.

You turn to your boyfriend sitting beside you, an innocent look on his face as you look at him with disappointment.

“My hand slipped,” is the flimsy excuse he settles for.

Sighing and utterly out of options, you’re forced to resort to the one thing you didn’t want to do. The worst possible option there is. If there’s going to a therapist and potentially getting arrested kind of worst, there’s this kind of worst—the absolute worst of the worst.

“Scara, I think we need to start doing yoga.”

word count: 1.8k

#scaramouche birthday fic!#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #gn reader

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yanderes-galore · 8 months ago

Note

Oooh since you want dark stuff how would yandere Alastor who falls for the reader , deal with love rivals 👀

You know he's planning something horrible.

Yandere! Alastor dealing with rivals

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic (Dubious on true intentions)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Sadism, Violence, Blood, Murder, Threats, Mentioned torture, Forced companionship/relationship.

You can bet that Alastor doesn't want anyone touching what's his.

He is a demon who knows what he wants... and will get it no matter what it takes.

Honestly, he'd be bad if he didn't own your soul... and even worse if he did.

I mean... we've seen how scary he can get in the show, right?

For example, remember when he was protecting the Hotel?

Yeah....

Except... if he feels someone has wronged him by touching you... then he'll draw things out.

Trust me, Alastor will know if someone had gotten too close to you.

He can almost smell another demon's stink on you.

This concept will focus on general behavior with demons, although with bigger names his approach would be different.

For example, Vox.

The Overlord most likely wouldn't get close to you without Alastor knowing.

For this concept... maybe you have some friends who are lesser demons.

Another thing we've seen is how others act around Alastor.

Y'know... other demons run and hide or just straight up... well... die.

So imagine if you had friends who felt they could be close to you.

Honestly, Alastor tolerated it since they seemed brave enough to stand before him.

Or stupid... it depends.

If you were talking to your friend or a potential partner... Alastor would interrupt.

I think the exchange would be even scarier if he did own your soul.

He acts charismatic as usual.

He pulls you aside and against him, a permanent grin as he greets those around you.

He's oddly charming... even though he's irritated that he has to share what's his with them.

Perhaps to even prove a point he'll summon the chain around your neck.

If that doesn't show ownership... then they're dense.

He's possessive... ears flicking as he introduces himself.

They better know he's an Overlord.

Alastor can do basic intimidation like any other demon, but the fun part to him is more... violent.

Perhaps your "friends" aren't swayed by his presence.

Maybe they actually try to stand up for you.

Maybe they try to court you anyways?

Or maybe someone hurts you...?

Point is, if they haven't died yet, they will.

Alastor sees no issue in a bit of torture.

He's probably done far worse.

A quick death is merciful for those Alastor considers rivals.

However, if you had a lover or someone similarly close... Alastor likes to drag out their fate.

His own intentions with you are dubious at best.

Can't really call him a lover, can't really call him a friend...

Perhaps he's a master? Even then... you can never read him.

Alastor would love to tie a rival down and play with them a bit.

He'd get as bloody as he wants, he'd listen to their screams like it's the radio.

He can only laugh as they beg.

No one messes with the radio demon's things.

They should've cowered away like the rest.

Now they're dead at Alastor's claws, all while he whistles away and prepares to see you again.

When you don't see them again, you aren't dumb.

You have a feeling they've angered Alastor.

If you were close with this person or tried to use them to get away from Alastor... He'd make you listen to their screams.

Alastor enjoys dealing with rivals.

He thrives off their pain, this is the same demon who's kill Overlords after all.

Safe to say... you aren't getting away from Alastor.

No one's going to be able to help you...

Their screams are a warning to behave for Alastor... even if you hate it.

"Oh, Darling! You have new friends~ This'll be fun, won't it~?"

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel x reader

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mcondance · 2 months ago

Text

till death starring stu macher

dead dove, do not eat. like the dove is actually fucking dead.

written from stu’s pov-ish.

remember when i said i needed stu to kill me and then fuck my corpse as a final act of desecration and perversion? happy halloween. and happy kinktober.

he’s proud.

lifeless, but still warm. the blood pouring from your abdomen is still bright, rushing red. his skin prickles with what he’s feeling.

jesus.

you’re still so pretty. prettier, really, now that he’s conquered you. now that you’re his victim.

so his hand draws to your hot face, and he wipes away the tears you’d shed. he’s in control of himself. the only one in the driver’s seat when he raises up over you and gazes at you with blown pupils, like he did when you were still here.

his mind is moving a million miles per hour, bouncing off of logic and murder and perversion, as his eyes dart down to the waistband of your sleep shorts, tiny ones you only wore when you were alone, or with him. you trusted him.

you trusted him. he’s hard. ridiculously hard, harder than he ever got when you were alive, even when you were letting him turn you into something unrecognizable for his pleasure.

he killed you in your home, in the space you let him into because you really, really trusted him, even when it was obvious you shouldn’t have.

it’s your fault, really. stupid girl, not smart enough to know the man she was fucking was a killer.

how did you not know, he thinks.

what a pretty body.

maybe those guys are right, maybe his knife does represent his dick. they have to be, with the way it felt nothing but sexual when he sunk it into you, when you called his name and looked right into his eyes like you used to when he fucked you, when he kept going even when you pleaded with him to stop.

his bloodied hands drag your shorts and panties down your heavy legs and waste no time in pulling his pants down. black blown-out eyes focus on the fountain of blood pouring from your stomach. this is sexual, the blood, the wound, the kill excited him more than your cunt ever did.

he loved your cunt. still does. he loves your blood, too. he swears to god it’s a different red than everyone else’s, a gleaming vermillion he’s never seen before. pleasure is pleasure, your warmth wrapped around him felt good. but he liked to hear you beg more, to see you wrap your hand around his wrist and plead with him to let go as your eyes began to flutter.

your eyes. shut closed forever.

you feel just like you did when you were alive. still tight and wet and your tits bounce just like they used to. jesus, they’re so pretty, feel so good under his hands.

he’s sweating. it drips down onto your neck as your body rocks with his movements. he’s fucking you, hard, rutting into you and grunting and groaning with so much feeling he thinks he’s going to fucking explode.

one last time, he gets to defile you, to steal your innocence and light and make you his.

you screamed when you first saw him. mask on but shroud forsaken. terror, then confusion, then realization, then fear.

you couldn’t be faster than him even if you tried your hardest.

the sound was beautiful. your shoulder firm under his hand as he held you still.

his mind is on fire.

you felt betrayed, really. brown eyes big and hurt like you couldn’t believe what he’d done. he sunk down with you, guiding you to your living room floor as he watched your life leave you. he watched your blood pour from your wound. he nodded as you reached up for him, rubbing his face and pleading as if your show of connection in your final moments would mean a thing to him. still, unmoving as he listened to you beg him to “get some help, stu, please, please help me, why would you do this, stu, oh my god, oh my god, god, stu, please. please, please, pl—.” he watched you take your last breath, and he savored it all.

his hips stutter as he cums, and he pulls out to jerk himself onto the hole he carved earlier. lights flicker behind his eyes as his rubs the tip of himself through the bright red blood, smearing it all over your stomach.

he owns you. from the moment he saw you, he owned you. in life, and in death.

#written from stu’s pov with his choppy thoughts #also written quite quickly cause i got stuff to do #stu macher smut #stu macher x reader #stu macher x black reader #tw dead dove #dddne #tw necrophillia #tw blood #tw murder #tw mutilation #mcondance 2024 #— 🪽

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thatgoblin · 11 months ago

Text

141 Men Losing Their Partner

Summary: Dead Dove Don't Eat.

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT PERTAINING TO PREGNANCY, DROWNING, CAR ACCIDENT, MURDER, NO HAPPY ENDINGS.

Price

It had been a normal day for John, texting you at lunch to see what you wanted for dinner. It was Friday, which meant that it would be a lazy weekend after a grueling month of missions followed by an equally grueling week of training with cadets. Nothing seemed out of place as he pulled up to the house he shared with you, a small townhouse that was perfect for the time being, but with talk of a baby, you would need more room soon.

“Love, I’m home,” John called, holding plastic bags full of Chinese cartons holding low mein and sweet and sour pork. “Love?” There was no answer. The inside was eerily quiet and John knew that quiet meant bad things. In the field, it meant that people were on the move and hiding it, but at home it meant you were either gone or hurt. After being told you would be home and waiting, he was on high alert.

Guns weren’t a common item, but with his position he had one stashed. Stalking through the house, handgun held out as he cleared rooms, he was moving on instinct. Years of training from doing this through blown up buildings and searching for the bad guys was the only thing keeping him from running through the place and screaming your name.

When he got to the kitchen, he spun around the corner with the gun raised, slipping on something slick and wet. Catching himself on the counter, his breath left him.

There was so much blood. More than he had ever seen before, not even when he interrogated or was locked up in a Russian prison or even the fucking battlefield. Nothing compared the scene before him.

John shook as he set his gun down, starting to hyperventilate as he locked eyes with your lifeless body. You were on the floor, your throat slit and body stabbed to the point that it looked like someone put ground beef on you. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. You were the safe place he had from the world. Everything about you had been his soft landing place. He had worked so hard to keep you separated from his job and it was all for nothing.

Going to his knees, he crawled to you. John’s hands trembled as they touched your face in disbelief. He was unable to take a proper breath, the smell of your blood stinging his senses as he pulled you to him, pressing his face to yours. There was no conscious movement as he began to rock and weep softly. Holding you tight, he stayed there till Laswell showed up. She had been invited over with her wife for a double date. Kate tried to pull him away as her wife called the police, but it triggered him to start screaming. Even when the police showed up, it took an ambo arriving to sedate him for him to let go of you.

“Be careful with her,” he sobbed as the medics put you on a gurney. “She’s allergic to penicillin. She gets hives. Please, she needs-she needs-”

Kate held him as he broke, going silent. “We were going to have a baby,” he whispered, tears soaking his beard. “We wanted to get a new house and have a baby. We wanted. . . What am I going to do?”

Gaz

You had been on a date with Kyle, a fun outing that was desperately needed after being separated for months. You went to dinner at this greasy burger place then went to an arcade that had a giant purple dragon he swore he would get you. After five tries and lots of swearing, he finally did it. “My hero,” you cooed, holding your prize as you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Ready to head home? I don’t think this guy is meant to be carried around for long.”

“I am if you are,” Kyle said with a grin, giving you a wink. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you along to get to the street. He held his hand up to hail a cab, holding you close as you pressed against his body. It had been too long since you had last held him and with having him home for a few weeks, you were refusing to let him go any time soon.

“Can’t get a bloody cab for shit,” he huffed. You were about to tell him you could call for one when you heard tire screeching. There was no time to react to the car hitting the curb then the pair of you. It was milliseconds and even if either of you had been looking at it, there was no escaping it.

The car had been speeding when it barrelled over you two. Kyle flew over the hood and slammed into the windshield as you were dragged under the tires. Screams from everyone filled the air as the car stopped for just a moment before swerving off to leave you.

“Ky-Kyle,” you wheezed, laying on the ground. Your middle had been crushed and you couldn’t feel anything below your chest. It hurt to breathe, making you choke and gasp as Kyle forced himself to drag himself to you.

“Doll,” he groaned, his leg at a bad angle and his head bleeding profusely. “Don’t move. Stay with me.”

“Kyle,” you choked out. “Cold.”

“No, please,” he whimpered, collapsing next to you as people gathered to try and help keep you still as others called the ambulance. “Darling, don’t. Please.”

“Love,” you whispered as he took your limp hand. “You.”

“Help is coming, please, just hold on,” he begged as you stayed still and quiet. “Darlin’? Baby? No, no, no, no.” The ambulance didn’t arrive for nearly an hour. Price showed up well before them. He made Kyle stay still as he kept calling for you, holding your hand. Someone had draped their jacket over your top and another person laid their’s over your middle, hoping to give you some decency as Kyle demanded that Price help you. Even when he was in danger of snapping his spine, paralyzing himself for life, he still made you the priority.

“Gaz,” Price said softly. “She’s gone. I’m sorry, lad.”

“No, please. She’s just-just quiet,” Kyle sobbed, his physical pain not even compared to what he was feeling when he was made to let go of you for good.

Soap

It had started out as a weekend trip to blow off some steam. You and Johnny had gone to a resort in a warm climate with crystal clear water and amazing food. There was plenty of mixed, frozen drink and tanning lotion for the pair of you to get some nice warm color back into their almost sickly complexions.

Johnny made sure to get plenty of pictures of you in your bathing suit, specifically your ass. You gave him shit, but he just laughed and took more. Included in your stay was a boat tour of a cave. It wasn’t the rainy season so it was safe. No sudden surges or unexpected storms. Johnny said he’d been in more dangerous pools in the UK, making you relax and trust that things would be fine.

You weren’t the strongest swimmer, but you were good enough to get by. Add in a life jacket and Johnny next to you, you felt safe. Untouchable really. What took you by surprise was the rumble of thunder as you got halfway into the tour.

“Don’t worry, it will miss us,” the guide said, easing any worries that would pop up. Holding Johnny’s hand, you were about to make a comment about the glowing algae when you heard a clicking pop. Turning to him, you were left speechless.

“You know I’m not good with words, but I think this speaks for itself,” he said, holding up a rose gold ring with a set of yellow diamond leaves. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you said softly. “Yes! I would hug you aggressively, but I don’t want to lose the ring and tip the boat!” You cried with a shrieking laugh. Sliding the ring onto your finger, he pulled you close for a kiss as flashes from the phone the tour guide held reminded you that you weren’t alone.

“I got everything recorded, Mr. Johnny,” he said with a grin, handing Johnny’s phone back to him.

“Thanks, Mate,” Johnny said with a grin, keeping you close. As the guide turned the boat around, thunder rumbled again, much louder that time. “We’re still good, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, we’re heading back now, no worries,” the guide said as he navigated the slowly raising waters. You held onto Johnny as the thunder got louder and you could see the lightening was able to be seen from the front of the cave.

Another rumble lasted longer, making you look around at the water. The rumbled quickly turned into a rushing sound, getting louder in seconds as a monstrous wave slammed into the cave, sending all the water rushing back. The rush slammed into the boat, making the bow lift high. With the guid on the back of the boat and you and Johnny in the middle, the weight distribution didn’t save you from being tossed into the water as the boat capsized.

You screamed, grabbing for Johnny as you were pulled under. There was no preparation to stay under too long, your lungs burning as you blindly clawed at the bottom of the cave to find the side or top. Bursting through the surface with a choking gasp, you didn’t have time to get another breath before you were pulled back under by the rip that had been made by the current. Not even with the life jacket were you able to break through the water.

Johnny was able to grab the guide and get him to higher ground in the cave. Dragging him onto rocks, he began to scream your name. Where had you gone!? You were right there! “Where are you!” He screamed, ready to jump back in.

“No, you will drown! It’s not safe until after the storm!” The guide cried as he grabbed Johnny’s arm.

“My partner is in there!” Johnny snarled, but the guide fought with him, keeping him where it was safe while you were left on your own. As the flash storm rolled on, just a few minutes after it showed up, your life jacket floated out from the back of the cave. It didn’t mean anything, you could still be alive. Despite the water calming, the guide made them stay on the rocks till a rescue boat came in, shining a light on them. “There’s someone still in here!” He yelled as the men climbed into the boat.

“We know, we have her outside,” the rescue worker said, helping them sit before turning the boat around.

“She’s okay?” Johnny asked, surprised as he never saw you since you fell from the boat. The man was quiet, not looking at him. “Is she okay?” He pushed. “Can you fuckin’ tell me if she’s alive or not!?” He snarled. All he received was silence. When the boat came out and he saw a white sheet laid over a body on the beach, he jumped from the rescue boat before it could stop. Running over, he was screaming your name as the police were taping off the beach. One of the officers tried to stop him, but he easily shoved them aside as he kept screaming.

You were still and silent as he picked you up, refusing to let anyone near you as he wailed in grief. Holding you, he rocked the two of you as the police tried to control the growing crowd. There was nothing they could do to help him, as news crews began to swarm the beach to get pictures of the grief stricken man holding his fiancee’s body as her hand with the engagement ring dangled free for them to take pictures of and plaster on the front pages.

Ghost

You were just a month and a half shy of being full term. When Simon had been called to do a mission, you were pissed and ready to fight Price, but Simon calmed you down before you could come at the bearded man with a cricket bat. It wouldn’t be that long and he’d be back with plenty of time for the baby to be born.

It had only been two days when you felt contractions start. At first you thought it was Braxton Hicks contractions, but then you felt your water break. When you went to the bathroom to check, you found that it wasn’t your water. It was blood and it was soaking your underwear and pants. Calling an ambulance, you unlocked the front door so they could get in. Once you were sure they were on their way, you called Simon’s emergency line. It wouldn’t go to him directly, but he would know what was happening right away at least. Leaving your message, the ambulance arrived soon after.

Crying, you held your stomach as you were strapped to a gurney and rushed to the hospital. You weren’t being told anything, just to keep breathing as the pain grew. With your phone in your hand, you kept checking it to see if Simon was able to call, but there was nothing. At the hospital, you were rushed into surgery as you begged one of the nurses to call the emergency line again to see when Simon could call. She promised she would keep trying as you handed off your phone. Once in surgery, you were put under and the last thing you thought was a plea to any deity listening to save your baby.

Simon got the message and was gone. He didn’t ask permission or explain. His whole team was with him, though, getting him back home as quickly as possible. It was nearly five hours later in a plane to a helicopter that took him to the hospital with some of his gear and mask still on. Jumping out of the helo before it could land fully, he ripped his mask and vest off to throw to the side as he sprinted to where you were.

His head was empty aside from the drive to get to you. You had to be okay. You had to be. There was a nurse waiting for him at the stairs, stopping him from running blindly through the hospital.

“Mr. Riley,” she said, not flinching under his gaze that was fire and rage.

“Where is my wife?” He growled, towering over her.

“You’re wife. . . I am so sorry, but she didn’t make it,” the nurse said. Simon could only hear the ringing in his ears that he would hear when he was near a concussion grenade going off. “Her uterine lining ripped and she had lost too much blood by the time she arrived at the hospital.” None of her words seemed to register to her as his team came up behind him.

Every word was lost on him as he stood there, not responding to anything she said. Not even Price shaking him could bring him to.

“What about the baby?” He finally asked, coming out of it enough to think of that. “Is she okay?”

“She’s stable and in the NICU. Despite being born rather early, she is healthy and will stay there till she’s considered to term to make sure she has the best chance of surviving,” the nurse said. Simon nodded, going quiet again.

“I want to see her. I want to see my wife,” he said. The nurse nodded, knowing he would do it anyway he could. His face said it all. Taking him to the OR, she waved others on when they stopped to question why four men were being let into the room. The team held back while Simon moved forward to the white sheet covered table. With steady hands, he pulled the cover back to see your face. You looked like you were sleeping. He would watch you before you awoke for the day and this was the same face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stroking your hair. His gloves were long gone, leaving him bare to the world he struggled to hide from. “I’m so sorry. I should have never left.” Leaning forward, he pressed your faces together as he quietly cried. He had lost his family, then found you and it was a breath of life to him. Now you were gone and left him with a small piece of you. He didn’t know if he could do it without you, if he could be someone his daughter needed or wanted. Simon didn’t know how to be a good partner till you came along, so how could he know how to be a good dad without you?

Masterlist

Taglist: @birdstoprey @sebbytheraccoon @pricescigar @alwaysshallow @sae1kie @sleepydang @lexi-zsy09 @ghostlywhiskey @ghosts-cyphera @poohkie90 @neothewitch @shadofireshinobi @sadslasher13 @0alk0msan @xaestheticalien

#captain john price #captain price #cod mwii #cod mw2 #captain price/reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz/reader #kyle gaz x reader #soap/reader #ghost/reader #johnny MacTavish/reader #simon riley x reader

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hikarry · 1 year ago

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I imagine Crowley, in his long existence, has never ever even attempted to cook or bake something. After all, eating has always been an excuse to take Aziraphale out and hang out. And it's not even like he eats a lot. He clearly prefers drinking.

And yet, when they move to the South Downs, it's a bit different, innit? The South Downs is no London where in every corner there's a restaurant or a bakery and there's always a new spot to discover. If they want to eat out they have to drive for a while and it's not like they have a lot of options. All in all, it's just not very efficient. But Aziraphale likes food. And Crowley loves to watch him eat.

I have no doubt Crowley becomes the cook of the household, all for the love of the angel. And he also ends up liking it cause he likes to follow recipes and keeps his mind busy. Aziraphale's smile is just a bonus, really.

Alas, it takes a while for him to get good at it and the first time he tries can be described as one of the most frustrating ventures of his life.

At first he decides to wing it. Something simple, out of the stuff they have in the refrigerator and the pantry. How hard can it be? Humans have been doing it since de beginning of time! It turns out it can, indeed, be quite difficult. He burns everything, makes a mess of the kitchen. Somehow there's flour in the counter tops and he hasn't even touched the flour! Or was it sugar? Regardless, he didn't use sugar either!

He ends up caving in and pulling his phone, searching for EASY and BEGINNER FRIENDLY recipes. The angel doesn't need to know about it.

Welp, even following the recipe he ends up with his sleeves soaked with water, an egg on the floor, somehow the flour is back even tho he miracled it away 10 minutes ago and a burned hand, that he heals not before screaming bloody murder. Luckily Aziraphale wasn't at home.

Eventually, in between all his failed attempts, he starts running out of supplies and starts miracling them as he needs them.

After 3 hours, and 10 minutes before Aziraphale is due to arrive home, he is finally successful and extremely exhausted because of all the miracles.

When Aziraphale arrives, Crowley presents him with a somewhat fancy grilled cheese sandwich (yes. He started with proper meals and ended up in sandwiches).

"Oh dear, you made this?"

"Yup."

"I didn't know you could cook!"

"It's a sandwich, angel. Can't really be considered cooking."

They walk to the living room, when Crowley remembers you can see the kitchen from said living room, and it still looks like a war zone.

"It looks scrumptious, nonetheless!"

"Yeah, thanks." He snaps his fingers behind his back to tidy up the kitchen and close the window he had opened because of the smoke and the smell of burned food before they actually arrive in the living room. "Do you want some tea with that?"

"That would be lovely."

Okay, tea he could do in front of Aziraphale. Tea is easy. Just some warm water and leaves. He has done it a million times before for the angel. He can't fuck it up, right? After the most humiliating 3 hours of his life, he isn't so sure.

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #anthony j crowley

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gilbirda · 7 months ago

Text

Personal coach Red Hood

This one goes for @impyssadobsessions, for giving ideas and encouraging me to write this!

Part 1 || Part 2 - Part 4

-----

It was supposed to be your pretty standard run-of-the-mill bank robbery with hostage situation. He had it under control, and told the others that if they dared swing in and “help him out” he would shoot on sight. Given that there were civilians involved, and they weren’t quite sure if he was serious or not — and Oracle confirmed that everything seemed okay via the security cameras — he was left alone tying up the robbers in peace.

That was until a hostage made the stupid mistake to be brave, or a fucking idiot if you ask Jason, and tried to rush one of the guys before Jason had a chance to subdue him.

Who exactly shot first, he couldn’t be sure; but in the following chaos and screams Jason had to prioritize making sure that no one innocent was caught in the crossfire, which gave the perps the chance to escape.

With a sigh, he connected back to comms. “So… “

“They escaped, right?” Barbara’s tone was flat. Which was code that she was laughing at him.

“Yeah…”

“And you want me to alert the others.”

He sighed again, doing a final sweep just in case another hostage got funny ideas. “Yeah…”

Barbara hummed in his ears. It wasn’t a good sign. “Maybe that’s not needed.” And before he could ask what she meant, she added: “Your stalker is already on the move.”

Jason felt cold just before he was flooded with anger. Of all the stupid things! She had put herself in harm's way so many times and now she pulled something like this? Did she have a deathwish?

He rushed outside to prevent a very probable murder to find —

“Hi!” She said again, a giant smile on her face, waving one hand. “I saw them escape so I jumped in, I hope you don’t mind.” She started talking at a high speed. “So I was following you but couldn’t get inside in time and when the lockdown happened I just thought maybe you’d need backup or something? There were some guys on the rooftop but—”

“What the hell were you thinking?” He growled, maybe louder than he intended.

She blinked and got quiet. Finally.

Even the usual crowd of curious civilians watching from a safe distance stopped murmuring.

“Are you that stupid!?”

Jazz blinked again. “What?

He tried to pinch his nose, but forgot he had the helmet on. He chose to rub the helmet instead.

“Do you want to die?” For some reason this amused her, which really didn’t help her case. “Stop following me around and strong-arm yourself in dangerous situations like this!”

She frowned. “But I’m fine? I can take care of myself.”

She lifted her hands to show she was still in one piece, but Jason grabbed her right arm and pulled her towards him. Her hand was bloody and her knuckles were red, probably going to bruise.

“What’s this, then?”

“That’s not even mine,” Jazz rolled her eyes, but tried to pry her hand out from his grasp. Jason didn’t let go and grabbed her left shoulder next, growling when Jazz whimpered. “Okay that was me being distracted.”

He let her go and pushed her away. “If you show your face in my territory again, woman, you’ll pray you left when you had a chance.”

He turned around and walked to the knocked out guys on the ground, not caring if Jazz — if she was still there watching him. It was better for everyone if she abandoned the idea of vigilantism, or training with him or whatever was supposed to make sense in her head.

When the police arrived, she was already gone.

---

Back to Main Archive

Back to Danny Phantom Archive

Do you like my stuff? You can support me here!

#dpxdc #jazz/jason #jazz x jason #anger management ship #hardcover ship #dp x dc #personal coach au

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in1-nutshell · 10 months ago

Note

Why hello 👋 sorry to trouble with this extremely long request but I would like to make a request where MTMTE lost light crew gets teleported to the prime verse where buddy is megs daughter and guess they we're having some trouble with tfp megs cause he is hogging all the energon and lost light decides to help them with their and during that time MTMTE megs got pretty close with buddy and she was happy to have her dad back even if he was from a different universe

And tfp megs ends up deciding to kidnap his own kid and abused her pretty badly to the point where she was missing some limbs, bleeding a lot too and he like refused to let knockout treat her wounds so when they tried to go rescue her and megatron holds her by her neck showing them the damage he has done and shocking everyone

Something like immediately snapped in MTMTE megs and his old self resurfaced and he nearly beats tfp megs but tfp Optimus and his MTMTE Optimus manages to hold him back from killing tfp megs and they rush buddy to the med bay in attempts to save her and she lives and the tfp decepticons decides to join tfp Optimus they kept there decepticon badges ofc but their working with him only

As for MTMTE crew they had to go home megs decides to ask buddy if she wanted to come with him to his universe (the answer is up to you) I do not know what else to write

P.S: please let breakdown be alive in it and sorry for it being so long

OH MY!

Who needs a roller-coaster when you cane have emotional rollercoasters?

Hope you enjoy!

Megatron's daughter with the opposite personality gets kidnapped and MTMTE Megatron finds out

SFW, Platonic, ANGST, Mentions of injuries, near death but everything turns out ok, Familial, Cybertronain reader

TFP/MTMTE

Megatron’s forces were taking more and more energon mines by the day.

The resources were dwindling to dangerous levels.

The team needs them soon and fast.

Thankfully they found an untapped energon mine ripe for the taking.

Buddy helped get all the carts ready and the drills prepped.

“Everyone ready?”--Arcee

“Wait! I’m coming too!”--Buddy

“Are you sure about that Buddy?”--Bulkhead

Buddy firmly grasped her drill piece.

“We need as many servos in that mine getting the energon as we can. I’m going.”--Buddy

Optimus looks at Buddy for a second.

“Keep close.”--Optimus

Buddy smiles and salutes.

“Absolutely!”—Buddy

The team landed in one of the darker areas of the mine.

But the light from the energon crystals made up for most of the visibility.

It was time to get to work.

The team spread out through the cave while maintaining some proximity with each other.

Buddy managed to get the deeper crystals that had managed to wedge themselves in between the rocks.

She ventured to more of the outskirts of the cave trying to reach a particular energon vein.

She felt off.

Sudden shivers would run down her spinal struts.

It felt as if someone was watching her.

She started walking towards the others.

The feeling just grew, and she picked up her pace a bit.

She was still a few yards away from the others.

Out of the corner of Optimus’s optic he saw Buddy walking faster than usual back to the group.

Buddy then heard it.

A familiar sound of a blade being pulled out.

She froze in place.

Her spark beating out of control.

No…

There was no way he was here…

Optimus looked at Buddy’s fear-stricken face and went to walk over to Buddy.

Buddy slowly turned around to see who was behind her.

Optimus saw something drag Buddy into the darkness of the cave with her screaming bloody murder.

He started running towards the darkness.

The team followed behind him.

The screaming continued until they reached an opening in the cave.

The glow of the moon and groundbrigde shown upon the two figures.

Buddy beginning held up by her throat thrashing in pure fear.

The one holding her was none other than her father.

Megatron.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Optimus Prime and his lackey’s.”--Megatron

Optimus drawing out his canon with a steely gaze.

“Let her go Megatron.”--Optimus

The rest of the team has their weapons out and ready to fire on command.

“And why would I do that Prime? She is my daughter, not yours.”--Megatron

Megatron squeezes a bit more making Buddy squirm even more.

Buddy looks at her family with tears in her optics.

“G-go!”--Buddy

“What?”--Arcee

“I-I’m not worth it—urgh--I’m not worth it!”--Buddy

“Let her go NOW!”--Optimus

Megatron just smirks at the Prime and throws Buddy through the portal and dashes right after her.

Prime sprints to the portal but it closes at the last second.

He looks in horror at the place where Buddy was just there.

She was just there…

Optimus can hear the frustration and calls to Buddy from behind him.

He shakingly reaches his commlink.

“Ratchet…”--Optimus

“What is going on in there!? I can’t get a good reading on Buddy and half of the team in blowing up—”--Ratchet

“Buddy has been taken.”--Optimus

“…What? What do you mean taken?!”--Ratchet

“Megatron…”--Optimus

Ratchet on the other end slightly covering his mouth.

“No…”--Ratchet

The team returned to base, and they set out to immediately find Buddy.

There was no telling what Megatron would do to her.

They needed to find Buddy.

A few painful hours passed and there was still no trace of Buddy, Megatron, or the Nemesis. Everyone was on edge waiting for some sort of clue to come.

The Bots were getting desperate.

That’s when the portal opened.

Portal opens.

Miko looked at it wide eyed, grabbing Jack and Raf.

“GRAB ONTO SOMETHING!”--Miko

Bulkhead quickly scoops up the kids.

The team holds onto sturdy objects digging their pedes into the ground.

“YOU KNOW WHAT THIS THING IS MIKO?”--Wheeljack

“IN A WAY! THAT WAS THE PORTAL THAT GOT ME AND BUDDY INTO THAT ALTERNATE DIMENSION!”--Miko

Several figures shoot out of the portal and land sprawled out on top of each other on the ground.

The portal closes.

The team has their weapons out and pointed at the pile.

“GET OFF OF ME!”--Rodimus

“I WOULD IF YOU’D GET YOU TAILPIPE OUT OF MY—”--Drift

Tailgate bounces from the top of the pile and lands roughly on the ground.

“Ow!”--Tailgate

Miko squints a bit before smiling widely.

“Bulkhead put me down.”--Miko

“What? Absolutely—”--Bulkhead

“Hey Whirl! Whirl you in there?”--Miko

From somewhere in the middle of the pile Whirl hears Miko and furiously digs himself out of the pile.

Whirl gets out and spots Miko waving widely at him.

“Miko!”--Whirl

Whirl walks up to Bulkhead.

Bulkhead holds the kids closer.

“Don’t worry Bulkhead he’s a friend!”--Miko

“Yes my future Amica!”--Whirl

“AMICA?!”—Bulkhead and Wheeljack

Whirl snatches up Miko from Bulkhead and plops her into his cockpit.

“Hey, we’re in Miko and Buddy’s dimension.”-Tailgate

The rest of the Rod Squad gets up stretching and saying hello to Miko.

“Umm…”--Smokescreen

The rest of the crew looking at Team Prime, who just looked confused.

“Oh right! Lost Light crew meet Team Prime!”--Miko

MTMTE Optimus makes his way to the front with Rodimus and…

“What is HE doing here?”--Arcee

All guns trained on MTMTE Megatron who was looking around.

“Who Megs? He’s on our side now.”--Rodimus

“Our side?”--Ratchet

“The war is over in our dimension.”—MTMTE Optimus

Both teams look at the differences between TFP Prime and MTMTE Prime.

“Wow, didn’t see you the last time we went to the Lost Light.”--Miko

“I was visiting when the portal sucked most of us in.”—MTMTE Optimus

“Where’s Buddy?”—MTMTE Megatron

“Yeah, where’s Buddy!”--Tailgate

“Calmly Tailgate.”--Cyclonus

“Tailgate?”--Arcee

“Yep, that’s my name. But where is she? She’s going to be so happy when she see us!”--Tailgate

Team Prime looks down slightly.

“What’s wrong?”--Rung

“Not too long-ago Buddy was kidnapped by this dimension’s Megatron.”—TFP Optimus

All the Lost Light crew freezes.

The Lost Light crew is now out for blood.

Brainstorm and Perceptor helped Wheeljack and TFP Ratchet create a stronger signal booster.

That way they would cover more ground to try and find Buddy’s signal.

Instead they found a strange SOS Signal.

Knockout, Breakdown, and Steve had created the link.

“What do you Con’s want?”--Bulkhead

“Easy Bulkhead, we aren’t looking for a fight.”--Breakdown

Yeah like I believe that.”--Bulkhead

“Listen, we don’t have much time before this signal gets discovered so shut it!”--Knockout

“Go on.”--Optimus

“Steve is inputting the coordinates of the Nemesis.”--Knockout

“Your… giving away your position?”—MTMTE Megatron

“Who’s that? Never mind, if you want to get Buddy follow these coordinates.”--Knockout

“And if it’s a trap?”--Arcee

“It’s not! Buddy is not going to make it if you don’t come NOW!”--Steve

“Breakdown what does he mean by that?”--Wheeljack

“We can’t say anymore Bulk, just get here fast.”--Breakdown

“And don’t hurt any Con that doesn’t try and attack you!”--Steve

End transmission.

MTMTE Megatron, MTMTE Rodimus, MTMTE Optimus, and TFP Optimus are the ones to come up with the formal plan to rescue Buddy.

Everyone else works together with the sole thought of getting Buddy back.

They manage to infiltrate the Nemesis once the coordinates are inputted.

Most of the Lost light crew insist that they come to help, but later agreed fo a small party to join Team Prime.

Some stay behind on base with the medical supplies ready and in case they need back up.

When the rescue team enters the Nemesis, they encounter the first vechicons.

They are parting ways to let them pass through the halls.

They pass by Breakdown and Knockout who point in the right direction, no questions ask about the other bots with them.

They noticed that Soundwave was on the med slab unconscious with his visor cracked like a spiderweb.

As if someone hit him…

That’s when they meet Starscream.

He isn’t a problem after some punches.

That’s when they hear muffled poundings.

They don’t hesitate to knock on the door.

All weapons are up.

This is when the Lost Light crew finally meets this dimensions Megatron.

He has energon coated on his servos and some clear dents and slight cuts to his sides.

But what really gathers their attention is the pool of energon gathering around his pedes.

There is a couple feet away from him was a small frame

Still…

Unmoving…

MTMTE Megatron clenching his servos into giant fists.

“What. Have. You. DONE!”—MTMTE MEGATRON

TFP Megatron looking at this slightly familiar mech next to TFP Optimus.

“And who are you to demand such a thing from the Almighty Megatron.”

“We’re the ones who are going to send you to the pits if you don’t answer the question.”--Rodimus

TFP Megatron laughs as he grabs the limp frame in his servos.

The small frame has too many large slashes and dents.

Most noticeably, their entire right leg is gone.

Whirl almost tackles him to the ground but gets held back by the Wreckers who are equally fuming with anger.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER!?”--Whirl

TFP Megatron laughs.

“Nothing I can’t do to a traitor of the Decepticon army.”--TFP Megatron

He throws Buddy to the wall.

She falls to the ground unmoving with a slight trail of energon trailing behind.

SNAP!

MTMTE Megatron screams and tackles TFP Megatron to the ground.

The fight wasn’t even close to being fair.

TFP Megatron is out in seconds by the sheer anger this Megatron packs into his punches.

“YOU!”—MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

“DON’T!”—MTMTE Megatron

SLAM!

“DESERVE!”--MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

“HER!”--MTMTE Megatron

BANG!

It takes both Optimus’s, Rodimus and Magnus to tear him off of his counterpart.

Most of the other party had already left to the base with Buddy.

MTMTE Megatron just heaves heavily.

He doesn’t regret anything.

He grabs some chains and bounds TFP Megatron from escaping.

The sound of static alerts the remaining bots.

Soundwave was leaning on the wall with the rest of the Decepticon’s behind him.

He asks if Megatron lived.

TFP Optimus nods.

Soundwave nods back.

Steve walks forward.

“I want to join your side.”--Steve

“Wow… wasn’t expecting that.”--Whirl

“We are done working for Megatron. We follow Buddy now.”--Steve

“So, you’ll become bots?”--Arcee

“Not exactly, we’re still Cons through and through. But we’re taking it back to its original ideal.”--Breakdown

“Peace.”--Soundwave

“Breakdown and I can come and give any medical assistance that’s needed.”--Knockout

TFP Optimus nods.

The remaining rescue team plus Knockout and Breakdown enter the groundbrigde leaving the vechicons to the ship and put Megatron in stasis lock.

It was all servos on deck to keep Buddy from flatlining.

After several hours of intense surgery and fixing, the medics came with the news…

Buddy was finally stable.

She was going to pull through.

The Lost Light crew insisted in helping around the base and with New Cybertron as much as they could while Buddy recovered.

MTMTE Megatron rarely left her side alongside several other bots and cons who visited often.

When Buddy did wake up the first thing, she saw was MTMTE Megatron gently holding her servo.

She was internally freaking out still trying to process what was happening, but all the fear left her when she saw the tears coming from his red optics.

She knew exactly who this mech was.

Buddy started bawling clutching MTMTE Megatron with as much mobility she had.

MTMTE Megatron gently soothed her as the others came in.

Everyone told her story of what happened during her rescue.

Soon enough the portal comes back for the rest of the Lost Light.

Buddy being held in TFP Optimus’s arms waving and hugging the crew as they make their way to the portal.

“Buddy… you know you could always come with us.”—MTMTE Megatron

Buddy freezes.

TFP Optimus freezes.

“Really?”--Buddy

“Yes, the decision is up to you.”—MTMTE Megatron

Buddy looks at MTMTE Megatron’s servo and TFP Optimus.