Author's Note:
Jfc I really do appreciate the previous reviews on my other baby, so thanks, guys (totally no sarcasm, ok, I am actually being very serious because wow thank you guys so much for the reviews and the confidence boost, too kind).
But I come here with more eremin and more angst because I freaking love eremin and kikuo and I have a great way of showing it.
Beware of what's to come and OOCness, ok. It's a bit similar to my last one-shot, but there are differences (big and small)
(Btw, 'deer' is a substitute for 'dear', ok. It was intentional.)
churuppappa
Today's dinner is a big, big, big success.
Today's feast is you, deer.
Walking forwards and backwards isn't fun; it's terribly boring. It's as if I'm stuck in an endless loop, humming that creepy, cannibalistic churuppappa with a smile on my face — all the while just thinking of devouring deer, deer, and MORE deer.
Why won't you get out of my mind, deer?
I want to sink my fangs in the nape of your neck, feel your small, sweet body shiver and tremble, feel you breathless as I consume you whole and fuck — I really like it when your really blue eyes tear up because fucking hell, you're definitely the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen, so pure, so innocent…
I want to kill you, deer.
ta la la la tat tat taa
It's almost dark. The trees — so many that it makes me sick — look as if they're hiding something. What's there to hide in an ominous forest?
Beasts.
I see the sun — so faint, so distant — slowly set across the sky. A bit of a chilly breeze, see, and I'm alone. Being alone gives me time to think, to breathe, to finally be the animal that I try so hard to hide.
It then comes to me that I like to eat.
Naturally, I imagine you. So sweet, so delicate, so fragile; you'll be such an easy prey for a hunter like me.
Won't you accept me, deer?
Won't you accept the bleeding me that yearns for you?
Another breeze chills me to the bone, purifying me ever so slightly.
There was a sunset I saw that evening which made me shudder.
laa li li laa li li laa li li
The shadows seem to slowly fade away as I creep. Creep very slowly, mind you, so that I'm quiet. Because being quiet is good, and being good is good, right?
I see you over there, talking to a horse and other bunch of animals in military uniform, and I just know that you're charming the pants off them.
What a shame that you're my dinner and mine alone.
You notice me, a smile — so pure, so you — given to me as a snack, a treat, for walking in a forest alone and seeing a sunset.
And yet, I sense distance. I can smell you from where I am, your aroma so you and enticing and tasty, and yet I know that we're far apart.
It's probably because I like the forest.
It's probably because you like the woodland.
But your smile still stays there. I almost forget that I can taste my saliva on my lips.
(churuppappa.)
One, two, three, four, and I'm there.
There to claw your delicate wrist.
There to put you on a leash and drag you away.
There to ignore the startled cries.
There to devour you.
You are my feast, deer.
la lu la li luu li la
Dinner's best served hot.
A painted canvas, you are, and I feel your breath against me. I think you're asking me what's going on — why I'm doing this — but my mind's fogged over.
You seem so surprised that you're my main feast.
My fangs dig deep into your neck, making you cry, and then I'm quick to do it again. I like it, the sound of you startled and pained, and the feel of your skin stuck between my teeth. It's a weirdly amazing sensation, and so I keep on doing it.
"E—Eren!"
I feel myself shiver at your cry, breathless, and then I don't know what I'm doing because I'm just so fogged over, mind blank, and yet I remember everything that's going on.
I'm devouring you.
It's then when you too are blank and cold; you are no longer painted.
It's the two of us, very much together, the distance no longer a problem. You're on this plate, and it's warm, and I don't know what's going on, but it just feels so good as you squirm and groan and your small — very small — chest pounds and pounds and trembles and shakes as you then cry because you can't believe that I would ever do this to you — ever feast upon such a delicate, pure person — and engulf you whole without considering your feelings, and —
Your eyes look really pretty when you cry.
shaa la la shaa la la shaa la la
Our bodies begin to dance together on this plate — a tangled pile of limbs, skin against skin, vulture against deer — and I can no longer see your eyes, but that's okay because I remember everything about you — about how you're so weak, so delicate, how your cheeks remind me of strawberries, how your blonde hair looks amazing drenched in sweat and tears, and how you look amazing when you're devoured.
Your screams become ambient.
And so when I start to eat even more of you — blood spilling so quickly like tomato ketchup — I feel myself go insane. I begin rocking faster, devouring quicker, and I just don't think that my feast will last much longer.
I make a secret promise to myself that I'll enjoy this as much as I can in this decaying time (even though it feels as if we're stuck in forever).
I kiss your scorching hot body, trailing up up UP — and then I feel it, this sudden urge to just eat you more and more until I can't move anymore.
Ripping your skin with my teeth has never felt any better.
I feel you tense so many times, I feel your cries vibrate against my throat, and yet I still go on. I still eat you — still eat the depths of your inside — and I've never tasted anything sweeter. You're really sweet, you know? Very addictive, too.
I crave you.
Fangs keep chewing and biting on that one spot on your pale, pale skin, and then it turns purple. I think it looks cool, especially since purple is a pretty cool colour, but I also like how it shows you're mine forever, and no one — not even that horse — can take you away from me. I like knowing that you screamed when I did that, as if you weren't expecting me to actually eat a part of you.
You truly are so innocent, deer.
tat tat taa
Tighter, you are. You're also warmer, too. I think that you're truly the best feast that I've ever had.
I'm about to crack and burst.
I relish in your screams — the ones where it seems as if blood, sweat, come and tears are dripping off them. I want to drink you all up, drown in you, and then devour you whole. Cook you in soup maybe, but I prefer dipping you personally in my mouth; you make the cutest faces when I do that.
The feast of the night gets better and better as it goes on.
You keep shaking, as if you're cold, and I can't stop because oh my fuck — since when have you been so cute and delicious and I just want to slurp your face and your body until you're no longer here and oh oh OH—
My head keeps spinning round and round; I can't think straight. I feel dizzy — sick — and yet I keep going faster because I want as much of you as I can have, as much as you before you fade.
The temperature's beginning to melt.
You're still squirming, struggling, but I don't stop. My feast is before my eyes, and no way in hell am I going to let you escape.
I am the vulture and you are my deer.
We bleed together.
shaa la la la lu la li luu li la
Slurp slurp slurp, and I think I'm almost at my limit.
It's very hot — so so hot — and I know now that I really enjoy warm dinner. It feels great beneath your teeth, tastes delicious when you crunch it, and feels amazingly fatal when you consume it.
I'm going insane.
Faster and faster — the two of us against time — as we dance to this withering churuppappa. It's looping still, and you're shrieking because you too are fading away.
\The vultures all chorus together.
Do you hear them, deer?/
Touching, biting, thrusting, eating, I feel you arching against my chest. We're so close, finally, and I like it this way. I feel this sort of fire burn in me when I'm around you, and right now that fire has burnt down a house and a family's mother; it's very dangerous and uncontrollable, and yet I don't — won't — stop.
Even when you scream — crying bloody tears that spell out my name — I still don't stop. I go even faster, actually, and I just can't get enough of your sweet taste. The way you're so warm, innocent — so small — makes me have this urge to consume you whole before anything bad happens to you.
Because bad things are bad, and we don't want bad things, right?
We're even closer, and I press myself so crushingly close. There's this sort of pleasurable friction when we collide, and I can't help but lose myself in you all over again. It makes me go so fast — faster and faster UNTIL —
churuppappa
— you sink.
And so, as I plunge myself so deep in you for the final time — tearing your ribs very open and devouring your insides — I feel you shake, almost as if you're about to crack, and then I go faster and faster, even more insane, as I feel your screams slowly fade away with every lick, twist, and kiss...
...and now it's all white and silent.
Why won't you play a little longer, deer?
sha la tta tta
And then playtime ends when your breath is cut short.
…
Well then, farewell.