#his paranoia and caution and manipulation

[animeyanderelover]

How Akashi, kuroko, aomine(knb), Atsushi, dazai(bsd), Kakashi(naruto) and gojo(jujutsu kaisen) would do if their darling reject their confession because they are philophobia(have fear towards love)? The reason behind it is because they got betrayed by their friends, family or lover in the past that they dont want to get their shattered heart broken again, feel free to reject it if you dont want to do it. Thank you~

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, delusional behavior, clinginess, paranoia, overprotective behavior, manipulation, guilt-tripping, blackmailing, threats, isolation, abduction

Tags: @shumidehiro @swagenemyartisan @o-ree-ve @jamayah @leveyani @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

Darling has philophobia

Hatake Kakashi

📖​Whilst not quite to the same extent as you, Kakashi is still able to understand partially where you come from. Your fear stems from betrayal, his from death. It has taken him years to recover yet even know he is still in the process of grieving and learning how to deal with the trauma of a past soaked in blood. The confession has taken a lot out of him as bearing his scarred heart isn't easy for him. The rejection obviously reinforces the thoughts in his head that warned him against doing such a stupid thing to begin with yet Kakashi doesn't let emotions get easily to him. In your case he is somewhat aware of your past and the pain you carry in your heart but up to this point he most likely wasn't aware just how deeply this betrayal had shaken you up. However, as a shinobi who has been doing this for years he picks up the way your voice shakes and the way your body starts trembling, the signs of fear and discomfort now. Whether it is an act of mercy or tactical retreat as he realises that by confessing he has now most likely made you terrified of being near him again, Kakashi disappears. And maybe he recognises something familiar in your brokennness that he too carries in his heart.

📖​The following weeks after Kakashi becomes a ghost. Not like you notice that as you fiercely avoid all the shops and streets you used to bump into him frequently before. You are terrified of seeing him again and from the rooftops and shadows Kakashi watches all of that. The smartest move right now seems indeed to let you believe he isn't there anymore though as someone deeply protective and paranoid that never means that you are left unwatched. At the same time now he starts digging deeper into your past and the one event that shaped your trauma so much. He has known some details before but now that he has seen just how deeply you are still shaken he deems that he needs more information after all. The ones responsible are very much a trigger of yours so to protect your own sanity he decides to take certain cautions to ensure that you won't have to meet those people again under any circumstances. He has never taken therapy or properly opened up about his trauma to anyone so he doesn't know how to help further. Kakashi just knows that he doesn't want you to suffer quietly like he did. Until he has made a concrete plan though, he will go back to being the shadow on the rooftops.

Kuroko Tetsuya

👤​Kuroko quietly retreats when you reject his confession. That doesn't mean that he doesn't notice the rather visceral reaction you exhibit when he tells you that he loves you. He doesn't fully disappear though. He stays close enough to continue observing you and so he witnesses how you storm away from the place as soon as he is gone. That one event leads to him slowly starting to question more than he already did before. Kuroko is already a boy prone to stalking you as he blends in so beautifully with his surroundings and his presence just goes unnoticed so often. Yet clearly there must be something huge that he hasn't found out before even with all the stalking he has done already. Something deeply personal though which has Kuroko hesitating briefly whether or not this is a line he should cross or not. As ironic as it is with him already intruding on your privacy, he would still like to respect your boundaries somewhat. Obsession is a dangerous thing though which eventually leads him to prod softly around within the loose circle of acquaintances you have and lurk closer to you all in hopes to figure out what the reason for your fear of love is.

👤​When the secret is eventually unveiled, Kuroko doesn't confront whoever is responsible for it. That is not his style. Instead he becomes some sort of ghost who quietly haunts them and appears and vanishes seemingly out of thin air. Now it is obvious though what has you so terrified of love and Kuroko also realises that this must have affected you more than he might have initially anticipated. You require help and whether you take therapy already or not is something he would at this stage already know. Now, he has no problem being patient with you now that he knows what is going on with you. He doesn't wish to only worsen your already shattered perception of love, especially with the deep fear you have. Despite the obsession and quiet stalking what he ultimately hopes for is a real relationship based on mutual love and it would be unwise to force you into one without having you potentially spiral only further away. So Kuroko takes a few steps back but secretly he still orbits around you. You just never notice him and perhaps for now that is better. He'll just leave encouraging notes from time to time to try to let you know that someone out there would never betray you.

Aomine Daiki

💙​This is bound to not go well. Aomine's obsession is passionate and unrelenting which could be quite charming coupled with the right darling. In this scenario though this is a disaster in the making as he doesn't respond well to the rejection from your side. In fact it bothers him so greatly that at first he is completely oblivious to the signs your body gives that should tell him that you are clearly in distress. His heartbreak, confusion and anger simply take priority in his mind as he grabs you and yanks you back, physically preventing you from turning your back on him and avoiding him with a grip not tight enough to hurt but tight enough to scare. He wants an explanation. Now. And it better be a good one. There's no way for you to physically free yourself from his grip and so you are left to his mercy, shaking and crying and stuttering broken words that make no sense. It is only the sight of tears that has Aomine snapping out of his own feelings. He lets go with a twisted expression of guilt which you use to bolt away. His frustration is far from gone though and he definitely ends up punching something to vent out the pain that he is feeling right now. Deep down he fears that he has fucked this up.

💙​The mere sight of him has you running away with a speed that you definitely didn't possess before. Not that he isn't able to catch up with you but the moment he corners you, you start crying and trembling which always pushes him away as you are reduced to a state where you wouldn't be able to answer him any question anyways. Instead he has to figure things out through Momoi who approaches you more gently. Yet even she has a hard time getting through you and as a man with short patience eventually Aomine decides to take care of things in a more efficient way suited for him. He seeks out those he knows who are closer to you and threatens them to spill out what is going on. It's violent but that's how he finds out. The anger that has him lashing out on those responsible physically is born from two emotions though. The first one a fierce instinct to protect as they are the ones who wounded you emotionally so badly. The other one is possessive frustration though because they are the ones who ruined his chances to have you. The state he is in ever after is dangerous for he is volatile and gets jealous of everyone who actually manages to make you smile.

Akashi Seijuro

🏆​Akashi's expression doesn't change when you reject him but the air seems to visibly drop. You can quite literally feel though how his gaze sharpens and starts to seize you up like a hawk inspecting prey and that is more terrifying than any word that could be spoken right now. So you do what you always do when confronted with potential love. You run away but his gaze lingers long after you have even left his sight as if he is watching you even when he isn't physically there anymore. Things with Akashi can take a terrifying turn if he is pushed and his other side gets out but initially he chooses to be civil and polite as if to silently give you a chance to at least offer an explanation. He picks up on everything and the quivering of your body and the crack in your voice all hinted at a great fear that was triggered the moment he confessed. You were never that terrified of him before so it has to be connected to the confession. However, such an extent of fear always has a reason. He just needs to find out what that reason is. And if you don't tell him yourself and instead choose to avoid him? Well, for him it won't be very difficult to find out what he wants to know himself.

🏆​The very moment his one eye turns golden, things take a drastic turn for the worse. All respect for personal boundaries is gone as Akashi now actively starts searching for all personal information he needs. He wants information about the one responsible for your trauma to extract cold and cruel revenge on them for they have left you scarred whilst they still walk around without any guilt on their mind. Their apologies are meaningless for him though as he doesn't even want them to apologise. Neither to him nor to you. They will never even grace your life again after all. He finds out whether you attend therapy or not and if you aren't, he arranges for it to happen with a therapist he personally pays. For now he may not be able to have your heart as you are too terrified of love but Akashi arranges all the pieces necessary so that it can only belong to him by the end of it all. He forges dependency which is more binding than love in some ways will ever be. Because he strives to be so much more than just a lover. Akashi wants to be your everything, even if it'll take years. He has patience after all and until then he will just make sure that he will build a cage you will never get out of.

Nakajima Atsushi

🐅Atsushi already struggles immensely with his own self-worth so a rejection is about one of the worst things that could happen as he has been stressing himself out over this for weeks. He is a boy who wears his heart on his sleeves which leaves him vulnerable for emotional pain but he just can't help himself. So the agony he goes through is very obvious to anyone, including you. But you yourself are emotionally experiencing a storm too as you fear all that is connected to love. So even though there may be a glimmer of guilt when you see the tears in his eyes, you are too caught up in your own anxiety to comfort Atsushi. Your natural instincts to run away from this situation where you are presented with romance simply take over and in the next moment you're running away. Atsushi reacts to that because he believes that if he lets you go right now, he will never get you back. He has made that experience before. So he jumps forward to prevent you physically from leaving, tears already spilling pout of his eyes and begging for a chance to prove himself. Someone else has to physically intervene or otherwise he probably would have never let you go. In fact his grip would have only grown tighter.

🐅Atsushi is destroyed the following days after the rejection. He wallows in self-pity and probably spends his time locked away in his apartment, crying and failing to regulate his pain. It is most likely Dazai who slaps him out of that spiraling mess he sobs himself into and reminds him that he should take action instead of withering away. After all he still hasn't found out the reason behind your rejection. Who knows, maybe it isn't even Atsushi's fault but someone else's? That's the only thing that brings him back on his feet and so Atsushi starts inspecting. Dazai has been kind enough to already provide him with some information so that he can start from there and that is how Atsushi eventually arrives at his explanation to why you couldn't accept his confession. Because your own heart has been broken into pieces that still haven't healed to this day. It's not comforting. It in fact only worsens his clinginess and his need to fix you and to protect you from the harm of this world. But it does help Atsushi to redirect his pain to whoever is responsible for your fear and it helps to provide him with a purpose. To help you heal. Until then will do without your love. Even if it kills him.

Dazai Osamu

🤎​Heartbreak and pain are things Dazai is very familiar with and perhaps because he has somehow always felt like the both of you were similar has he gotten so obsessed in the first place. Still, he would lie if he were to say that he didn't hope to be an exception to that fear of yours. Yet clearly you make no exceptions and so Dazai is left covering it all up behind the silly mask he so often puts on whilst his heart is splintering and bleeding. A part of you wants to be mad at you for he doesn't love easily yet it is in the sight after that he recognises something achingly familiar. It's in the way you tremble and avoid him so desperately after that he sees parts of himself. Only that Dazai has learned to hide it all away and look unaffected whilst you wear that bruised and broken heart of yours on your sleeves. It's beautiful but it also makes you so incredibly vulnerable. It is that belief of his though that only has him pinning harder after you as a broken soul like yours could never be understood by one that doesn't understand just how deeply love can hurt. Still, crucial information is still missing and so Dazai gladly ends up searching for more answers by diving deeply into your privacy. All is fair in love after all.

🤎​There is something deeply personal about the way he reacts when he figures out what has been done to you. That betrayal you were put through by the one you loved most and who ended up using you in such a horrible way triggers him for reasons he cannot explain to the point where his facade completely drops and the demon beneath appears. Dazai starts hunting them down soon after. Not because he wants their apologies but because he wants to inflict even just a fracture of the pain you went through and still carry deeply within your heart. It's justice in his own cruel worldview as there is nothing that breaks more than a heart so they have no right to weep over broken bones. Then he turns all of his attention towards you. He starts bumping into your therapist to try to tickle some information out and does his best in an attempt to help. He understands best that you may never go back to the way you used to be before you were stabbed right into the heart by the one you loved most. But he doesn't care. Both of you are broken things after all and perhaps only someone whose heart has also been shattered could ever love someone with a heart torn to pieces.

Gojo Satoru

🩵​Gojo isn't exactly used to rejection as most girls-and some men probably too- always give him their attention without him even having to try for it. From the very beginning you have been different but Gojo has never been arrogant enough to not notice that there has always been something that has held you back. When you reject him, he's hurt. Understandable in his mind as you are the first person he has ever truly loved and the only person he feels like he can be someone who isn't just Gojo Satoru. It is your own way of behaving though that forces his focus on your heartbreak and not his own which is in hindsight a good thing as otherwise he might have done something that would have only frightened you further. You're visibly fraying in front of his eyes in a way he has never seen before and immediately pride is pushed aside in favor of protection and worry. Yet the moment he leans closer, you run. You don't get very far as he quickly catches you up. Gojo wants to help you, he really does. But he is being too smothering and pushy with it all which only leads to increased fear from your side. You only manage to run away because he lets go when he realises that.

🩵​After that day though Gojo truly starts intruding in on your personal life. He is unable to leave you alone, insists that he wants to help and that you need to tell him in order to do so yet you always try to disappear and hide. That isn't really working as his eyes allow him to always find you but as he fails to get anything out of you, he turns his attention to other people who are much more willing to give him the information he wants. He pays a short visit to the culprit shortly after though he doesn't harm them. One look at them is enough to tell him that he doesn't need to. Pathetic. He can be much better. He will be. For you. Soon after he starts meddling with every aspect of your life. You need help and support even if you don't think that you do. So he hires a therapist, he pays the bills you struggle to pay as your fear of all sorts of relationships terrify you and isolate you and he tries to force his way back into your life as he is the only one who can actually do so. You can't really stop him and most other people are slowly giving up on being as persistent as he is. That doesn't make them mindful as much as it makes their love weak in his eyes though. After all he is never going to leave you alone from now on.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 12

Source for pic

Trouble 12

Word Count: 4430

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: As I said before, I really didn't want to finish this chapter with a cliffhanger... but I had to! Not only because it feels right, but also because I wouldn't have a good place to break the chapter after this and it would be REALLY long! Confession time: action scenes are my nemesis... I always feel like they're not real enough, or not strong enough, or they just... lack something... But I tried! Hope you like it... Also, fair warning: non-consensual touching occurs in this chapter. Thread with caution, please and thank you.

Masterlist

The moment you step through that old wooden door is glorious. He can feel the tips of his fingers tingling in anticipation. You are coming to meet him. 

Willingly. 

Well… the willingness is debatable, but you are still here. And he's waited for this for so long. 

Years. 

And now, you'll finally be his. He can barely contain his excitement. 

“Finally, Kitten. Come to me.” His voice sounds uncharacteristically high-pitched, but he doesn't dwell on that thought for too long. The moment recognition dawns in your beautiful eyes, he snickers. 

You haven't forgotten him. 

“You? Why?” He's a tad disappointed that you don't seem happy to meet him, but he'll let it slide. You are being manipulated by that meddlesome cop, you have no idea how you should feel. 

But he'll fix that. 

He'll fix you. 

“Because I love you, Kitten. And you will too. Soon. Soon.”

He watches in glee as you take a small step back, stumbling on your own feet - such an adorable klutz you are - and the door closes behind you when you bump into it. 

He can see fear in your eyes. He's revelling in it. The way he's been doing it for weeks. He once thought it was enough to simply watch you smile. Until the day he watched you tremble and whimper. Then, he became addicted. 

Your fear, no, your terror grips him in a way nothing else ever could. It excites him. And he can't get enough. 

“You're sick.” You spit out, eyes glinting with fire that is trapped there. Your fierceness gets lost in limp limbs and shaking members. 

And he grunts in amusement. 

He takes a step forward, and you stumble back. A wicked grin contorts his features and he can barely contain the itch in his hands. He needs to touch you again. 

He's been waiting for so long. 

Another step forward and another step back from you, a dance you play out for two more steps before your back hits the wall. 

You're trapped. 

And he seizes the opportunity. 

Your pulse is aflutter beneath his grasp, irregular and fast, like a little fly caught in a spider's web, flapping its wings without a chance of escaping. A sob rises in your throat and he sees panic in your eyes when he presses his body into yours, pinning you helplessly to the solid wall. 

The way you wiggle against him fuels his fire, and he snarls, his chest rumbling with the primal sound that escapes his lips. Your mouth opens and he's expecting a cry, a whimper, a plea, or a prayer. But your lips utter that damned cop’s name, just the first syllable, an intimacy that makes him snarl again, this time dangerously. 

“Wrong name, Kitten!” He barks, his forehead almost touching your face. “What's my name?” You shudder and shake your head, fat droplets of tears slipping through your lashes and spilling against his hand. Your fingers rise and claw incessantly at his hand and he realises he's stealing your breath - squeezing too tight. 

So he loosens his grip and you take a deep inhale, your chest expanding as you gasp for air. He lets the tattooed side of his face caress yours with affection as he coos at you. “Shhh, Kitten, shhh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you.” You whimper as he lays a wet kiss against your temple and presses his body closer, one knee parting your legs so he can slot himself even nearer. “You'll learn to behave, it's alright.”

A shiver makes your body jerk and tremble as your hands feebly fight against his hold. His smirk takes up half his face as he effortlessly stops your struggling. You stand no chance against his massive size. 

“My name, Kitten? Do try to remember… I spent two years near you, have I been so insignificant to you?” The way his voice hardens is involuntary.

Then, he watches as your eyes dart around, looking for an exit, a way to escape his clutches, so he presses harder, his hand squeezing your neck tighter again. 

Then, you freeze. 

You stop gasping and your hands cease their futile struggle, falling limply near your pockets. Your eyes find his, and your determination makes his smirk falter. Your lower lip trembles as you open your mouth to speak, and then he feels it. 

The cold press of a gun barrel against his gut. 

“King.”

You whisper. 

And then, you shoot. 

-*-

King barely remembers his interview with the Vinsmoke prick. He knew he'd get the job. He was overqualified, over-diligent and overall, the best in the business. He knew he'd get to pick and choose where he wanted to work - Vinsmoke Enterprises sounded alluring. 

The Vinsmokes’ elder child was sure to have all sorts of criminals chasing him and his fortune, plus Queen, one of his team members, was behaving like a kid in a candy shop just thinking about gettting access to Germa technology, so the bodyguard gig seemed interesting. 

Far more interesting than protecting rich, spoiled brats or celebrities. Those jobs were boring as fuck when all his team had to do was swat paparazzi like flies or guard a hotel door while somebody fucked someone. 

He was wrong. 

The Vinsmoke wasn't being harassed by criminals but by fans. King found that out on the first day of his job, and he was about to call it quits when he saw you: showing up in your gala dress, looking so out of place that it was clear in your expression, then tripping helplessly over the train of the gown and almost diving face-first to the floor. 

King caught you effortlessly by the elbow, and when your gaze locked with his to thank him, he knew what it felt like to truly want someone. He wanted you. He needed you. 

You were perfect. 

You were everything. 

But you didn’t give him the time of day, looking at your fiancé’s bodyguards as if they were mere background noise and not people - not that you were unkind, never unkind, but he knew he would never be more than staff in your eyes. 

And he had to endure the Vinsmoke’s hands all over your body, the way he kissed you possessively when someone’s eyes caught your figure and lingered too long, the way that prick controlled you: where to go, what to wear, what to say, who to speak to…

Sometimes, he heard you rebel. He heard the screaming and the accusations behind closed doors, and those were the times he wished you would just dump the fucker’s ass and be free. 

But you never did.

So he endured his boring job with the spoiled Vinsmoke brat. All because it meant he could be in the same space as you, hear you, smell you, and watch you. What was an infatuation turned to admiration, to fascination, and then… something much more profound and meaningful…

Obsession. 

He knew every step you took, every person you spoke to, everyone who looked at you. He knew the way you liked your eggs in the morning or the junk food you craved when it was that time of the month. He knew the kind of perfume you liked, the books you read, the music you listened to, and all of your habits. 

He knew everything. 

He also saw the way that bastard treated you as if you were a mere accessory - something pretty to flash at a party. He cheated, he flirted with other girls in front of you and, worst of all, he blamed you for all the attention you got when you showed up as the prettiest of girls at his dull parties. 

He observed the way you twisted your jewellery to hide your nervousness or the way you avoided making eye contact with anyone remotely interesting just to keep the asshole appeased - it made King’s stomach churn. 

No one would ever deserve you, that was a fact, but Vinsmoke Ichiji was the least deserving person of them all.

So, it was quite easy to plant evidence right under your nose for you to find his cheating habits: a hotel key, a credit card bill, incriminating notes… the works. And that did it easily.

You were finally free.

And so was King. 

He immediately left the Vinsmokes, not caring a bit about breaching his contract. Queen followed suit - he’d gotten all the secrets he could wish for in those blissful two years - as did most of his team, though they went separate ways after that.  

Two years of enduring an asshole’s employment just to get a glimpse of what perfection felt like. If not for you, King would’ve left long ago. But it was the small moments, the way he could smell your shampoo lingering in the air after a bath, or the way your smile lit up the whole room, that made him stay.

You.

All for you.

His Kitten.

You were sad when you left, he could tell. That’s why he watched you closely, kept you safe, kept you unharmed. You reconnected with your friends, and the way you smiled made him become obsessed all over again - this was a genuine smile. Not the fabricated bullshit you used to throw at that bastard - a smile that never even reached your eyes. 

King thought he should give you some time to adjust, to settle into country life, to change your high heels for boots and your dresses for jeans. It suited you perfectly. He could almost see you both taking care of horses, riding together into the sunset in bliss… you just had to see it too.

Soon.

You’d still need some time.

But then he came along. That cop bastard, always watchful of you, always keeping you safe from little things. That was King’s job! Not his! He kept flirting with you and - worse! - you flirted back.

And every time King managed to stop things from escalating to intimacy, it just seemed to deepen your connection to the cop. He had to act faster. 

So, watching you from afar was not enough. Besides, he was used to having you right in front of his nose, even if he could never touch you when he was guarding Vinsmoke, you were always just right there. And now, you seemed so far away.

Luckily, Queen managed to create an app that could access your phone. Texts, calls, camera, audio, you name it. It was very simple to snatch your phone when you were adorably drunk at that yacht party and install it. He also took advantage of the fact that you were away to have Queen to install cameras all around your house. 

Now he could watch you everywhere. 

Still, the fucking cop never relented. And you just seemed to be more and more drawn to him. The number of times King had to intervene just so the cop wouldn’t kiss you was more than he was willing to count. He even had Queen hack into the police systems just so he could be drafted for a training retreat.

Truth be told, King was planning to deal with the cop then. Maybe ask Jack, another one of his trusted team members, and a known brute, to end his miserable existence and make it look like a training accident. 

But King knew you needed your friends to be happy. He was addicted to that genuine smile that lit up your eyes when you were with them. And that was the only reason he held back. For you.

Always for you.

He’d admit he went a bit too far when he took out a man’s eyeballs and another’s hands, but they needed to learn that you were untouchable. Unattainable. His.

Just his. 

He’d also admit that he took out all of the anger he harboured for the cop on those two assholes. Because he kept having to hold himself back, repeating in his head the reason why he was keeping the cop alive: you; you; you; only you.

But he warned you. You just had to stay away from the cop. Nothing else. 

It almost worked. And you were even more beautiful when you were cowering in fear, trembling at every sound, shivering at any moving shadow. King wanted you to feel terror, so he could come and protect you.

You just needed to learn. 

To behave.

To be his.

When he finally held you in his arms at that club, showed you how much he loved you, marked you, and told you that you were his, he thought that had done it. That you had finally learned that you belonged to him.

You were almost ready.

And then you went and fucked the cop. 

Oh, he was so mad. Utterly enraged. There was no more reason to keep that bastard alive, not when he could hear you moan his name like a slut; not when you kept asking for more and harder. 

That was supposed to be King.

You were supposed to moan his name, ask him to go deeper and thrust faster. Not the fucking cop!

But it’s all right. Because you came to him.

You were here now. Right in front of him.

And this time, King would make sure you learned your lesson thoroughly.

-*-

You’re shaking. 

Your hands tremble as you hold the gun and press it against King’s stomach.

He flinches, his grin faltering for a second as you hold your breath, waiting for him to scream, to grunt, or to fall to his knees.

Instead, he remains still. 

Time seems to slow down, each second taking an eternity to roll into the next. And then something happens.

He laughs.

The breath you were holding turns into a whine as your eyes fall on his stomach: there’s no blood. 

“Oh, sweet, sweet Kitten…” He coos, one hand caressing your face, taunting you, and this time, it’s you who flinches. “You didn’t even check to see if the gun was loaded, did you?” He tuts in disappointment and mild amusement before he snatches the gun from your hands with no effort whatsoever. 

You barely have time to let out a relieved gasp when he takes a step back, yet instead of the distance giving you a breather, it just makes you feel even more trapped, because now he’s holding your gun. 

King tuts again and flips the gun with practised ease, tilting it to the side and pulling the slide back to check the chamber: empty. He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head, his eyes falling on you, berating you silently.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he grabs the slide and yanks it back in one smooth motion. You hear the sharp crack of the bullet sliding into the chamber, and when he releases it, you know the gun is now ready to fire. 

His lips curl into a grin as he turns the handle of the gun back to you, a throaty laugh escaping him as his brows arch. “There, love. Now it’s ready.” He moves the gun closer to you, urging you to grab it. “Want to try again?”

He’s toying with you, messing with your head. Making you think there’s a way to escape when you’re actually trapped.

A silent sob shakes your lips, and you press harder against the wall, trying to create more distance between you. 

“No?” He teases. Then his grin disappears and he throws the gun carelessly to the ground, not bothering to look where it landed. “You disappoint me, Kitten. I thought you were ready to meet me, to realise who I was. I thought that seeing me would make you happy. Instead, you try to shoot me!”

King’s voice raises as he snarls and growls, regaining the distance he created when he took the gun from you, his hands slamming with such force against the wall that it trembles beneath his rage. 

“If you don’t come to me willingly, then I’ll have to make you.” King’s hand grabs your chin as he lifts your head, and your body freezes again, much like it did back at the club. All the earlier bravado is gone, thrown carelessly away like the gun you thought would bring you safety. 

Your mind screams for Zoro. Why did you think you could do this without him?

Your lips start to form the word again, his name whispered to insanity against the back of your teeth. You can’t say it. It will only make him angrier. 

King lets go of your face just so he can grab your wrists. Then, he pins them above your head with one hand, easily holding you in place without any meaningful effort. You’re pathetic. 

When he growls again, you feel it. The rumble of his chest against yours as he presses further. You can feel how hard he is against your stomach, and you close your eyes, a lonely whimper breaking through the barrier of your shut lips. 

“Yes, Kitten, whimper.” He sticks out his long tongue and licks from your neck up to your ear with a lewd groan. “You’ll moan my name now.”

King’s hand roams everywhere, and you are powerless to stop it. He’s too strong. No matter how hard you try to squirm, the action only makes him press harder - only excites him further. His teeth graze your jaw, then his lips trail kisses down your collarbone. You go rigid and he chuckles against you, feeling your powerlessness, your terror gripping you and stopping your movements.

His hand slithers beneath your clothes, roaming your bare back, and you shudder violently. “You’re trembling for me, sweetheart?” He hums softly against the hollow of your throat and you feel desperation sinking its claws into your chest. “I’m eager too, you know?” Then he locks his lips around the pulse of your neck and sucks harshly. You sob and he chuckles as he releases your neck with a loud plop. “I can feel your heart racing for me, love.”

King pulls back to look into your eyes, to savour the way your body trembles and then, suddenly, he stops. His hands stop roaming and his eyes linger on your chest. You’re heaving, fighting back sobs and trying to remove your hands from his hold, not willing to give up so easily, but barely mustering any strength to keep fighting.

It takes you an extra second to realise what has gotten such a hold on his attention. 

Zoro’s sweater. 

King lets go of your wrists only to grip the neck of the sweater with both hands, and with a primal growl that has you gasping and shaking, he tears the fabric in two, removing it from your body as if it personally offended him. 

“I’ll erase his fucking existence from your mind. You’re mine. Mine. MINE!”

His hand flies to your neck, and he squeezes, another hand groping your breast, and you sob, your legs thrashing, hitting him but making no dent on his rock of a body. 

This is it.

There’s no escaping him.

BANG!

The front door trembles on its hinges as it’s kicked open, splinters from the lock flying around as thunder crashes outside, the storm raging relentlessly, but nothing like the tempest you can see reflected in Zoro’s eyes.

“Get the fuck away from her, you fucking bastard.”

Zoro’s name, the one you’ve been keeping trapped, floods out of your mouth like a prayer. King barely has time to register what happened before Zoro grabs him by the scruff of his sweatshirt and yanks him off you. 

Your legs shake, and you lose balance, falling to your knees as your hands brace your weight against the wooden floor. Heavy gasps leave your lips as you take in the scene before you.

The two men are sizing each other up.

Zoro is smaller than King. Both in height and in build, and that’s saying something, because Zoro is already a massive man. King has a snarl of disdain pressed upon his lips as he glares daggers at Zoro, whose body is visibly vibrating with fury, a dark, murderous aura rolling out of him in waves as he clenches his fists. 

“You.” King roars, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you, hero.” He spits disdainfully, clearly upset that he was interrupted. 

Zoro grins maniacally, his eyes darkening as he too cracks his knuckles. “I can say the same, you fucking bastard. I won’t let you lay a single finger on her again.” They stare at each other so intensely that you find yourself holding your breath. “You alright, Trouble? Did the fucker hurt you?” Zoro asks without breaking eye contact with his opponent.

“I-I’m fine. I’m fine!” You croak miserably. You can’t help the powerlessness coursing through you. You brought this upon Zoro. It’s your fault if he gets hurt.

“Good.” Zoro’s voice is low. He’s focused - lethal. “Stay back. And if things go south… run.”

Never. You’d never leave him. But you still nod with a noncommittal noise so that he’s appeased. 

Then the fight starts. It’s not like it happens in movies, nobody rings a gong, there’s no soundtrack to the battle, no atmosphere change or dramatic camera movements. They just clash. 

The sound of fists hitting flesh and bones cracking is sickening. You flinch every time King hits Zoro, you whimper everytime he falters, but you can’t seem to rejoice whenever Zoro’s hits land, because King barely stumbles. 

He’s so strong. 

Zoro’s fist hits King’s jaw and you hear the bone crack as his head whips to the side, blood splattering the dark wood of the floor as the man stumbles against the bookshelf. He chuckles darkly, wiping the blood with the back of his hand and spitting the rest on the floor. Then he lunges and tackles Zoro, both falling against the end table, glass shattering on impact as you swallow a cry.

The scent of blood and sweat lingers in the air like a thick, sickening fog and you fight back a wave of nausea. 

“Zo…”

“She’s mine!” King snarls as he lands a punch against Zoro’s jaw. When he raises his hand for the second hit, Zoro deflects and King hits the floor, glass crunching beneath his fist as he growls through the pain.

Zoro shoves him with a kick to the stomach and, as he gets up, drags King up by his sweatshirt just to knock him back down again with another lethal punch. 

“Say that one more time, fucker!” Zoro’s arm coils back for another punch, but King’s larger hand wraps around his fist and holds Zoro in his grip, a sickening, bloodied smile spreading on his face.

“Mine!” He claims, holding Zoro’s left hand the same way when Zoro tries to go for another punch. Then King headbutts Zoro with such a force that you gasp, springing to your feet, not knowing what to do as King releases him and Zoro stumbles back three paces, trying to steady himself on his feet again with heavy gasps.

He leans against the back of the couch, breathing heavily, blood trickling down his temple and his split lip, his chest heaving up and down. Then he wipes the blood away from his good eye and grins maniacally again. 

“That all you got?” Zoro wheezes, clearly out of breath, but so is King. “You hit like a little bitch.”

King’s grin matches Zoro’s: unhinged, deranged, and disturbed. 

And then they collide again. Flesh against flesh, bones against bone. The dry thuds and the wet splotches of blood make your chest ache as you sob and shudder. 

“Just die already, cop! I’m going to claim her and truly make her mine. She’ll moan my name like the little slut she is and–”

King doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

Zoro sees red.

He lunges forward, his fist flying with such force that it has King stumbling against the wall, a muffled grunt trapped between his teeth. But Zoro doesn’t even let him breathe. A right hook; a gut punch; a knee to the ribs; a left uppercut.

He doesn’t relent. Punch after punch, hit after hit. He only stops when King is lying unconscious, his body slumping down against the wall in a heap of blood and cuts. 

Zoro breathes heavily, his body still taut, still ready to act and finish the job if he needs to, his eye locked on his enemy. 

Until he hears you cry out his name. 

Then he turns, stumbles, and falls to his knees.

You gasp and rush to kneel beside him, your shaking hands cupping his cheeks gently, trying to smear the blood away so you can see how badly hurt he is. “Zo, Zo, oh my God, Zo.”

He smirks, his hand rising weakly so he can push a strand of hair away from your eyes. “Hey, Troublemaker.” He says softly. “I know you're tough, maybe you could’ve handled this on your own, but I wanted to give you a hand.”

You laugh through the tears and sobs as you lurch forward and hug him tightly against you, ignoring his pained grunt. “Thank you, Zoro.”

He pulls back to stare into your eyes, his hand gently wiping a tear from your cheek, another one clasping the back of your neck to bring you closer. “Anytime.” He leans his forehead against yours and you raise your lips to bring them to his, to make sure he’s real.

But before they collide, you feel Zoro stiffen, a muffled groan escaping his lips as his hand grips your nape tightly.

You pull back, trying to see what’s going on, and you freeze. A cry slowly climbs up your throat, though it gets trapped before you get the chance to release it.

Blood.

So much blood.

“Fucking die. Nobody wants a hero.” King snarls and you see it: a knife protruding from Zoro’s back, where King has stabbed it. Then, with  a low growl, King removes the knife with a twist and kicks him forward, against your arms again. 

“T-Trouble… run.” Zoro whispers weakly against your neck, the bloodstain spreading as you pull back to slowly see colour drain from Zoro’s face.

“No! No! Zoro, Zo!” You cry desperately, fingers clutching at Zoro’s back, trying to stop the bleeding with sheer will. “Zoro! You can’t leave me! No!”

King comes up from behind you, weaving his fingers through your hair and gripping tightly. Then, he leans down to whisper in your ear. “Too bad, sweetheart. But now you get to see him die.”

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall

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|Chapter 13🔞|

[werezmastarbucks]

snowball pt2

incarnations masterlist

part one

obsessive, deranged, stalker!yoongi x f!complicit!reader

in which, no matter what you do, you can't seem to escape him

word count: 9015

music: can't get over you by joji, haunting by halsey, basic needs by jonathan davis

author's note: supplied all childhood memories by myself, lol. not funny. a little funny. sorry for yapping but i need you to know that i wrote both parts in one day and speedran into a burnout like i, personally, went through all the abuse.

warnings: violence, casual threats of violence towards the reader (although it never gets to it), toxic relationship, obsessive behaviour, yoongi has rage episodes; smut, voyeurism, intense jealousy, hardcore stalking, codependent, dysfunctional relationship, gaslighting, manipulation, abuse? unhappy-happy ending

The mental health has been degrading since the breakup. The built-up trauma of being watched, being observed and controlled, gave you monstorus paranoia which now makes you check your stuff three times a day.

Has the shampoo bottle moved a millimeter? You check the soil of the plants for dryness, putting your finger inside, in case someone watered it without you. You keep a to-buy list of things stuck on the fridge and carry the pen with you at all times, making sure there are no other pens left at home.

Sometimes it feels like things go missing. Pieces of clothing; you find them later on the couch where you left them. The light coming through the cluttered old balcony (wooden, full of the previous tennants' stuff you have no idea about) plays shadows on the walls, so you keep the curtains closed.

The narrow memory of Yoongi's obsessive presence is like a crack on the wall, a thin scar on your forearm; he is a demon, not hated enough and thus, scary. You watch the streets around and gradually, way slower than you hoped for, start losing caution.

People like him, you think with jealousy, tend to lose focus. They are bright and agonizing like a short flame, and they often move on. You wonder who his next victim might be. Wonder if changing laptops helped, or he still could hack your web camera again, because you use the same accounts.

The last year of university begins; thankfully you miss him there, too. He graduated the previous spring. You hope the waters of life carry Yoongi far away from you, because you still get nightmares in which the white figure is standing above your bed like an alien, like a poltergeist. In the first six months without him, you develop the fear of quiet, unexpected noises; and then you also discover he was right. You are forgetful. You skip meals. You bump into things. Toilet paper stops respawning by itself in your bathroom; sheets need changing; and kitchen needs cleaning.

You catch a stare similar to his, from above the mask, in a public place, and the whiplash of the mix of emotions takes away your good mood. Danger and desire. Missing him and hating him. For a whole year you grapple with the existence in which nobody worships the ground you walk on. Nobody goes through your phone. Nobody makes your muscles twitch.

You almost move on.

─────────────── ✧

Namjoon has finally moved out of his mother's house and bought himself a tiny cosy apartment in Jangang-dong with some generous family help. Which reminded you that you have zero contact with yours. Whatever is happening to your sweet little sister, you don't know. She has entered the university and barely texts you anymore.

Without Yoongi, really, you don't have truly loyal people in your life. That is not to say you need him back.

You don't. You know you don't. You agree with your brain when it says so. All the logic and self-preservation instincts make it clear as day.

Then why are you staring. Through the cigarette smoke whirling in hairy vortices, pale, soft, you see Yoongi, also pale and soft - and - bigger. That's the first thing you notice. Not even the girl on his lap. Still student business, although all of you are far beyond graduation. Still the same company of people. Still the same drinks. Yoongi is new. First of all, he shouldn't be here at all; you dart to Namjoon, clinging to his shoulder, and Namjoon is clearly trying to hide his face from you.

"Sorry... I'm sorry. I haven't seen him in months either. Y/N, I didn't know if he would come or not..."

You don't even say anything, just look into his frightened eyes. The buzzcut of Namjoon is glistening with sweat, prettily; it's dense in the room; about twenty people are crammed inside the tiny space. The words pour out of him under your gaze even though you look up.

"It wasn't a secret. Party wasn't a secret. I simply told my pals the address, and... I guess someone still speaks to him".

You never asked anybody to throw Yoongi out of their lives. The looks on Namjoon and Hoseok's faces were quite enough for you to understand that they will have the dignity.

It shouldn't be surprising though, if it's about Yoongi. Yoongi is a shimmering snake. He will always find a way.

Your skin crawls like suddenly dozens of tiny fruit flies cling to it. You hide behind Namjoon for a while, your palms around his round bicep. Yoongi doesn't pay attention to you; he simply exists inside an armchair. His shoulders are bigger. His chest has grown. He is buffer, bigger, softer somehow. His snow-white hair like the center of gravitation. You have no idea who the girl is. Should you tell her? Make a scene? Grab her by the shoulder and tell her Yoongi will put hidden cameras inside her apartment and will visit her place when she's not at home to lie in her bed and do her laundry? Should you make that of yourself?

"Stop staring", Namjoon mumbles.

It's a relief. He doesn't look your way and doesn't look for you. The root of your tongue goes dry. You stroll into the kitchen, tracing the wall, trying to keep your facial expression in check. It's a relief, you tell yourself. Yes, it's a relief: he has leached onto someone else. Later, when everybody gets much more drunk than now, you should catch the girl and lead her away and doesn't matter what she thinks about you. You need to warn her. Yes you need to warn her, and take her eyeballs out with a hot teaspoon. The roots of his white hair are going slightly dark again. Yoongi can be very charming when he works you; his nods are art. He maintains the eye contact, keeps his mouth slightly open, moves his chin like he means it. His intelligent mouth curls into a sexy shape. You walk into the kitchen and look for water bottles, and check the stove out of habit. Namjoon is made of the same material as you. Breaks things. Forgets about open fire. Leaves the fridge door open. A walking catastrophe. You are too similar to ever fall in love.

You reach for the pitcher and then get a glass out of the cupboard. Hand nervously scratches the neck, too hard, grooming you into peace.

No, it's just funny that he used to spend every waking moment trying to consume you, and now he has a new girlfriend. It's funny, that's all.

You gulp water, trying to drown those stupidly obvious thoughts that betray the pathetic weakness of you. Stare into the black mirror of the microwave with smudges of fat on it. Then the white floats into reflection behind you, and leans against the wall. Like the fire entering.

"Oof, very awkward", he stretches his vowels. You bite the glass edge and then unclench your jaws to turn around.

"Seeing your ex at the party".

Yoongi is glowing. His cheekbones are becoming more protruded like he lost weight even though he did literally the opposite. He keeps his hands behind his back, the inner sides of his elbows shot with the same blue veins that cover his dick. You sigh with a shudder. Stupid bitch.

"I'd say sus", you manage. He slightly raises his eyebrows, feigning innocence. Then says,

"Oh, yeah. I need to apologize, probably. Sorry. I must have left a crazy impression, ha ha".

His chuckle is low and unreadable. Yoongi pushes himself off the wall and walks to the counter, and you move away, looking at him from under the brow.

"I hope you're doing okay though. I know I was acting totally crazy. Sorry. It's trauma".

He is carrying his new body with the nonchalance of a tiger. Goes through Namjoon's fridge the same way he used to go through yours. Like it's his place. Every place he goes, he acts that way. If you can find a way to slither into a space, you don't even need to claim it.

You tug at the painful spot on your upper lip, tearing the skin off.

"You seem adequate".

"I had therapy for a year. Getting over you, and stuff".

He doesn't look at you directly. The corners of his lips are slightly upturned with half-moons while he is reading the back side of a plastic pack of pineapple slices. He shakes it at you:

"Expired last week. Namjoon is so silly, I can't".

"Still have the caretaker complex. Therapy didn't help", you hammer, still walking backwards, until you press yourself into the window sill.

"Hey, it's not an easy thing to fix. At least I am trying".

It sounds weirdly like a jab at you. Yoongi looks at your face. He doesn't seem desperate. Doesn't seem needy. There's no heated glint in his eyes like before. He looks... calm. Collected. Polite.

"Are you really... okay?" you ask. Your eyes dart to the hand that's holding the expired pineapple slices. Fingers look normal. Yoongi catches your gaze and shows you:

"Yeah, everything's healed. Lucky. You know, I kind of need them".

He wiggles his fingers in the air, and you look away. You know your face is heating every passing second.

"Well, I am glad. Honestly, I didn't expect to see you".

"I missed these parties", he says simply. Then his girl enters the kitchen and immediately goes for his broad shoulders. Yoongi has always had a well-balanced, wide frame. Now it's magnified. Now. He looks irresistible.

She coos something to him, paying you no attention, and he bows his head, letting the hair fall on his eyes. The glimpse of the old, feral Yoongi.

Your heart is eerily empty. You leave the kitchen lighter. Now, you are a ghost. Why does it feel like you lost something?

The night becomes tighter like a python's gut. The room squeezes. You watch everybody dance. Yoongi is inescapable, gleaming. His hands on her body. She is in danger.

The party doesn't seem fun anymore. You take three more shots with Hoseok, who observes you with quiet caution and says nothing. Doesn't like your snappy character. His bony wrists only push tiny glasses towards you, then he nods, and you drink up. Once he is distracted by another song that he agrees with, he gives you a window to escape. It's perfect: Yoongi is gone from the room, probably making out with the girl. You slither among people, ignore Namjoon's weak call. Everybody is too drunk. You try to spot her wine-red dress on your way out, half-heartedly, then leave.

Climbing down two stairs is a challenge on wobbling knees. You do it slowly, without a hurry. You have no idea why you are so rattled, so furious about everything. Alcohol multiplying the awful things boiling in your mind. You push the entrance door open and step into the cool autumn air, and take a deep breath, only to swallow a handful of cigarette smoke.

You cough softly, and the white catches your eye.

Yoongi is leaning against the wall again, light bomber on his shoulders.

"Leaving?" he asks. The chthonic flesh-eating monster trying to act normal. You sway on your two feet. And you're not even wearing heels. There's a hickey on the side of his neck and a tired frown in between his lips, sharing space with the cigarette.

"Yeah", you say. Your eyes can't unclutch him. You try your upper lip with the tip of your tongue, and it's salty.

"You need a lift?"

You scoff. Yoongi smiles in unison, agreeing with whatever is on your mind. Yes, yes, stupid, he used to say. Of course, of course.

"Your girlfriend?"

"We met tonight. Here. She's not my girlfriend", he replies simply, without any disdain, not trying to prove anything.

"You gotta be honest", you press, shifting all weight to the left to steady yourself. Yoongi nods lightly, smoke leaving his mouth like a soul.

"Are you really normal now?"

"That's philosophical. Me being abnormal was always your opinion".

"Don't bullshit".

"Why? It's not like you're going to give me another chance?"

The music booms from up above through the open window of Namjoon's living room. You wonder why the neighbours haven't called the police yet. You notice Yoongi's free hand in the pocket of his bomber, fidgeting with something. Imagine it to be a knife.

"I have to go".

"I can drive you".

It's not urging, or pressing. It's a polite offer. Repeated twice.

"I saw you drink".

"I had one beer".

Yoongi stabs the cigarette against the new yellow paint of the wall. The building has been completed three years ago, it's a freshly born dwelling. The cigarette leaves a stark black spot and glows pale orange on the ground. He walks over to you but moves past, slightly changing the constitution of air around you. He smells like smoke, and sweet cologne vaguely resembling your own perfume.

"Come, I got a new car".

You shouldn't follow him, stupid bitch. His broad back in dark-blue bomber floats against the parking lot.

"You got a job?"

"Of course", he booms gently. Your feet start moving. Head is smoky with alcohol. With the night. Jeans tight around you. You are making a mistake, but he is your mistake. Nobody else's.

"How's the lotus spa going?"

Yoongi walks towards a silver car which you can't identify in the dark, and unlocks it. The lights blink like a warning. He opens the door for you and waits.

"It's in the future".

The cover of the night hides everything. Dissipating orange light from Namjoon's windows has no power here, in the twilight zone of an almost made decision. You touch the cold metal of the door, swiping your fingers up and down, and he clocks your hesitation.

"You don't have to go. Just thought to save you some money, night fares are insane", he says. Yoongi looks away, his throat shining in the blue darkness. You realize the street lamps don't work. You get into the car.

He drives with one hand resting on his lap; if it even knows how to do it. The hand that once shattered a glass bus stop and dripped blood. The hand that got stuck in between the door and the door frame. Hand that wrapped so lovingly around your throat, that balanced you every time you'd stumble. The hand that installed a surveillance device in your kitchen and stole items from your house, and never returned them.

"You feel alright?"

"Yeah".

"Your eyes are rolling".

The old Yoongi would scold you for drinking so much that you sway in the passenger seat. He would call you a lightweight. The new buff Yoongi with his fashionable bomber giving a special silky glint to his skin is driving quietly, shaking the hair away from his eyes. And in a twisted, serene old habit, you reach out and - what are you doing, stupid bitch - push the bangs away, scared that he doesn't, in fact, see around when it's like this. You think of the notion of Yoongi going through the life with the white curtain on his eyes. By the end of your, hmm, relationship, he did reveal them. Now he is fluffy and closed up again. Yoongi doesn't flinch, doesn't even acknowledge it.

"What job did you get?"

"Architectural designer in GBM".

The name of an insanely wealthy company leaves his lips like it's seven eleven. But Yoongi was made for these things. His satanic determination in studies was always clear. What's scarier was, it all came to him so easily. He never struggled with academic stuff. The human... was what he lacked in.

"That's pretty cool".

He nods like it's obvious. Still doesn't call you dummy. It even feels off.

He doesn't ask anything about you. He doesn't stare. Now you almost feel pathetic for touching his hair.

Another thing you totally miss is that he doesn't even ask where you live. You stupid, stupid cunt.

He simply drives you home to the other side of the city, into your new rented apartment with the wooden corridor, and parks in the lot in front of the building, and you drop your head back for a moment. You get out of the car quickly not to share this space with him, so egocentric that you fail to notice the obvious. Only when Yoongi leaves the car as well, does your head snap to him:

"Where are you going?"

"Calm down. You're drunk. To the entrance".

You stroll across the parking lot full of someone's cars. People are sleeping. This new building is smaller, quieter. The neighbours haven't known a Yoongi who bangs on your door regularly, who yells and shouts, and makes you yell and shout, too, in the bedroom. He follows you silently, and you punch in the code to the entrance door, and finally your alarms wake up half-willingly, the baseline self-preservation signals.

Yoongi pulls the door open above your head. His smell envelops you: hard, bitter, sweet, dense, all at the same time.

"Yoongi", you want to say his name firmly, like it's a derogatory term, but it comes out whiney and submissive. He is towering above you, eyes hooded in the lack of expression. White hair shining.

"What?"

"That girl who isn't your girlfriend", you slur, "doesn't even know you left?"

"I don't know her name", he pauses, "did it work though?"

His hand slides painfully slowly, on the edge of the door, until it touches your fingers, and you flinch them away.

"Don't tell me you did it on purpose", you wince. Your foot trips against the step, and Yoongi catches you by the waist. Cinematic. Nauseating. You remember his grab vividly, and yes, it's different now. He is bigger now, and it's the worst thing. You notice all the worst things.

"I did. Shit, it was great seeing you simmer", he whispers. He pushes you both into the building, and the door starts closing slowly, slowly, painfully slowly, like a mouth. You don't look at it. All your own animal wants to do it sink its teeth into Yoongi. For a good while you've been hiding your nature.

"You're still stuck on me", you mutter, accusingly.

"And you're still pretending to hate it", Yoongi grabs the railing and pulls you up the stairs, but you stop him on the fourth step. The new skin slides off him like sheep's fur. The bend of his elbow urges you to move on, your fingers sliding off the silky shoulder.

"The only thing I dislike about you?" he mutters, his mouth barely moving. The light that finally goes up in the stairwell almost blinds you, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. In this, it becomes clear that Yoongi is trying to drag you up without making it completely forced. You spin in his grab like it's a dance, balancing on the narrow steps, and his hand only grips your elbow now. Yoongi returns and pushes you against the hard greenish wall; inadequate, unpretty pale colour; but it goes well with white. He must be a little drunk after all, because he doesn't finish the phrase. His mouth forces itself on you, and you struggle for a good two seconds before recognizing his tongue.

Yoongi doesn't kiss; he devours you. He presses his head forwards, demanding the entrance, and then chokes you with tenderness, tilting your head back. He is trying to reach your throat from the inside, tracing your own trembling tongue. He is the ocean you don't have to leave. He only wants you. He whispers that: i only want you, like he's complaining: am I asking for too much? Your skeleton rattles inside, deprived of him for a whole year, every single system of your body working against your better judgement. So maybe you should screw it. You were meant to be. His small quick teeth never bite you to draw blood, but rather, to gently rehearse the day he finally gets to eat you. It takes a couple of minutes to get to the second floor, it's like in a movie; two mouths unable to get unstuck. You can't even hear the code beeping: the door simply opens, and he pushes you inside. The quiet, untouched darkness of the corridor welcomes him as he reaches for your thighs and squeezes them. It's a cataclysm. As soon as the door closes, he unzips his jeans and guides your hand inside, and you grab his dick, pulling out a soft moan out of him. It's still his trademark pleading. Stroke me, touch me, love me.

Yoongi kisses your wrist before pulling your top over your head, and immediately gets to your breast. Warm, safe, bee nest mouth bites too hard, and you shriek with pain, and he licks it softly to soothe it. What were the odds you'd meet him at Namjoon's house warming party? Yoongi doesn't fuck, he ambushes. You don't see any value in stifling your moans, harmonizing neatly, because it's one thing you never lied to yourself about. You feel so much smaller against him now, and it doesn't help. He could destroy you. Your tongue punches against the lower lip and gets outside, you feel like you're crumbling to pieces. The wetness of a whole year drips down in between your hips clashing together. It's sobering up. Sensitivity returns, and limbs go numb.

"This is fucking heaven", his tongue sanitizes your throat before allowing the teeth to bite. As you scream, you tighten around him, trying to bring legs together, but Yoongi is in between them, and he groans. Slow? Fast? You get what you want. He punches his thighs against yours until it hurts, then twirls you to your stomach and gets you on all fours. His body is fluid around you, like he's orbiting something. He nuzzles his face into your hair, moving his head, and it feels so good like he's never touched you before. All matter is knocked out of your head. Brain shut down. It's just juices, friction, pressure, love. Yoongi keeps repeating: my girl, my girl, my girl, like he is convincing himself. You have no idea what he's been doing for a year, but you sure haven't been fucked like that. Haven't been fucked at all. You think you and Yoongi invented sex, actually. It didn't exist before this. Your two animals kissing on the mouths, celebrating together. It's not you, it's them who kept magnetizing towards each other. Yes, that is easier to accept. His hand traces your arched spine and ends up on the side of the ass. A sonorous slap. Another one. The biting pain makes you feel everything more clearly. Then he cums inside, and the construction of you collapses, knees week, dysfunctional. He kisses it. Everything. As soon as your brain restarts, it advises: it was probably a mistake. Yoongi is licking the pink spot on your ass that he hit, like a kitten, with the tip of his tongue. You've never been loved before.

In the morning, you find him on your chest, his heavy head pressing on the rib cage, so much that it wakes you up. You push him off yourself and slide down instead, and he folds his arms around you through the sleep. Several hours later the day is breaking pale cold air in the bedroom with sunrays, and it burns your face.

The first thing you decide is that you can't go back to him. Wow, morning clarity is debilitating. You see his spider body, even more unbeatable than before. Yoongi has that cunning sweetness in his face, because it's kinda pinchable, and the cheeks are so soft. And it's a perfect disguise: he looks too cute. But when you think of the things he's doing, that mask turns insidious.

You try to slip out of the bed, but his clutch is iron even when he's unconscious. You look down at his hands. Half-fist as usual, short, trimmed, clean nails. The arms are like stubborn bush branches, trapping you in place.

"I want to pee", you whisper.

"Pee on my face", he mumbles, barely moving his lips. He crunches his nose when your movements become too disruptive to his snoozing. Before finally releasing you, he tightens the grip.

Everything in between legs burns. Muscles are sore, and the only thing they need is return into bed, but you force yourself to go to the kitchen for a glass of water.

This action brings up a huge question from under the sand of your mind. It's like the cameras all over again. It's like morning nausea. You put the glass back on the table and stare around the kitchen, the paranoia a forever chip on your shoulder. Calm down, you whisper to yourself. Knowing that it's the swamp you danced into happily yesterday. Are there cameras in your kitchen? Are there cameras in your bathroom?

Who unlocked the door to your apartment last night?

You can't remember. All you remember is animalistic desire. The need. The feeling of, if I don't let him in now, I'll die. Two things can be true at once: you are meant to be, you and Yoongi. He is your person. And he is clinically insane.

You walk back into the bedroom, where he is strategically putting on his jeans. The left side of his hair is flat because of the pillow, and he ruffles it with force.

"Yoongi".

You must have met before, in another lifetime: the way his name sounds in your mouth is too practiced. It lands neatly on your tongue like it belongs there. The same with yours. He lifts his eyes and walks around the bed.

"Now what? God, I just woke up".

His eyes are fixated on your right breast where a small bruise begins to form. He looks around and pulls your house robe from the floor. Untidy, the old Yoongi would say.

"Get dressed, or I'll drag you back to bed".

He puts the robe over your shoulders looking at you with such loving eyes that for a second you are ready to believe it's you that's slightly schizophrenic. He can't just leave it be once you put your arms through the sleeves; he drags his palm down your arm, fingers playing with your wrist.

"Who unlocked the door?"

He tilts his head forward and kisses you on the forehead.

But doesn't reply.

You try to remember. At the kiss, your memory fails. You remember the feeling. The light. Being pushed against the surface. Then, corridor.

Yoongi leaves the bedroom and strolls towards the kitchen, hanging his head low. You see he is rubbing something on his stomach.

"Snowball head".

He halts to a stop. Yoongi looks like a leopard now. The muscles in his shoulders lean and round. The neck looks stronger. His eyes peek at you through the hair.

"You're asking idiotic questions like before?" he hisses, "Instead of using your head, as usual?"

You grab the hems of your robe, closing yourself off.

"What does it matter who punched in the code?" he turns back to you. That white demon from your dreams.

"You never bothered to change it, and you've lived here for a whole year. Not a single time has it occurred to you to switch between them since you've moved away specifically to hide from me".

Boom. Just like that, the illusion of home dries down and evaporates like mist in the evening.

You don't want to stutter even though your hands give away the tremor.

"You've been here?"

"When?"

Your chin tilts forward.

"At all?"

"You expected me to just leave you alone or something?"

Yoongi throws it like it's a slight accusation, and goes into the kitchen.

But the plants stayed dry.

Floor moves under your feet slowly, carrying you after him. The jeans without the belt slide down under his stomach, and he pulls them up a little, then bows, looking inside the fridge. You fall onto a chair and feel scared of touching the table.

"Don't fuck with me".

"Don't fuck with me".

"Yoongi..."

He snaps.

Yoongi swings the fridge door closed, and it bashes, opens again and rests half-open, while he stands up and turns to you.

"You are looking for things to complain about", he doesn't yell, he sizzles. "All the times I came round, I haven't even touched you a single time".

Your jaw unhinges and falls down, horror clouding your eyes.

They weren't dreams.

You didn't dream him up. He was there, in the room. White ghost against the bed. Your Yoongi. This is not dating, it's haunting. There was no break up, no year gap. Not to him. Yoongi rakes his hair with his hand, and you look at the knife resting on the counter to his left. The tender spot under his arm, in between top ribs, is asking to be stabbed.

"Get the fuck out", you get up.

"Don't even dream about it", his voice is bitter. You tug on his arm, trying to pull him away from the fridge. He closes it with his foot. Shakes off your hand. You grab again.

"What are you trying to do, baby?" he laughs. "You will throw me out? Again?"

He hasn't asked how you've been because he was there. He saw everything with his own eyes.

"Are there cameras?"

"No, I don't need them", he continues to laugh. Yoongi lets you drag him into the corridor, then loses his patience. Your fingers catch the air. His hand wraps around your throat. And finally, it's that one ring of the bell that should've sounded years ago. It's not the usual neck hold that fixates you in place. He starts squeezing.

"Stop pushing. Me away".

He skips the pleasantries of rhetoric questions and threats. He treats it like you're being problematic about a reasonable demand.

"We have been blessed with the love that doesn't even come to normal people sometimes", he grunts, "do you realize how rare it is? I found you within a week because I fucking read your mind".

"You are deeply unwell", you choke out, your hands scratching against his chest in an almost begging manner.

His eyes search your face, and he loosens the grab a little when the colour of it turns a little red. But doesn't let go.

"There's no shame in belonging to someone like you".

You mouth,

"Go".

Yoongi shakes you like you're a toy that refuses to work. The back of your head meets the wall, and he instantly puts his other palm against it. You kick. Then your fist collides with his unexpecting stomach, and he lets go.

You hold yourself against the wall and move towards the living room. He has to go. You run across the room and crash into the balcony door. Yank it open, and Yoongi grabs you by the shoulders. His weight makes you both step up, and you plunge into the wooden balcony, into the sun.

"He-" his hand slaps your face closed, covering the mouth. You hang from his arm, trying to scratch it, but you forget that Yoongi hasn't cared about pain since he was a child. Nothing can hurt him. Not your rejection, not your nails, not your fist. You mean nothing and everything to him. In a fit of delirious amusement, he bites your neck through your hair, giggling into your ear. You try to kick his shin but with your bare foot, it's ineffective.

"Stop fooling around and talk to me", he chuckles. Yoongi turns his head and spots a pile of someone else's old shit. Some garments, clothes, so old that they even smell. When you employ an elbow, to avoid being hit, he pushes you lightly to the side, and you fall there. Yoongi gets distracted by your leg ending with something he likes very much, as the skirt of the robe gets pulled up. He gets to his knees.

The barrier is so old that there are creases inside the wood. It's more of a hand-made cover, several square planks smashed together under the banister. When Yoongi's hand grabs your knee, you kick him in the chest with the other foot. He stumbles back. All his weight shifts, making him tip. He weighs a little more now - maybe around seventy kilograms? Not a small boy anymore. His back crashes through the barrier, taking it with him. He falls like a real man, without crying. And thumps on the ground, on top of the wooden pieces, three and a half meters down.

You don't even look; first thing you do is push yourself up and crawl out into the living room and run for the phone. Someone in the building opens a window.

You call the police, going through his clothes in your bedroom, looking for the car keys to make sure he won't get away.

Although maybe it's better if he does.

When you return to the balcony, you step carefully and crane your neck to look out. Of course, he's not there. You can't see any blood. His car is still parked in front of the building, although there are several silver ones. And you never bothered to check which one is his.

You sit by the wall, shaking, until the police arrive, and you tell them: my ex has followed me from the previous apartment where he had installed a camera in the kitchen to watch me.

Now, he has been visiting me, most likely at night, because he found out the code to the door.

The flat still smells like him everywhere. He'd been stealing things, too. I threw him off the balcony when he tried to forcefully eat me out after admitting the stalking.

The police say that it's the usual stuff. Shit happens. Lock your door for the night, they advise. If he reports the violence, you might be brought in for questioning, because you shouldn't throw people off balconies, no matter how they employ their mouths.

You collapse the next day on your way to work and spend a week at the hospital. Mental breakdown.

You spend a shit ton of money on therapy Yoongi never bothered with.

─────────────── ✧

Depression comes to you in the shape of irritation at everybody around you.

Two years later, the longer his absence, the stronger your fear grows. Yoongi can't just have disappeared, right, but it's a trick he does the best. You move from one flat to another every two months. You get a mechanic lock with the single key you always carry with you, even when you sleep. You don't meet new people but instead try to ground yourself in your family, or rather, the only member of it, who is still interested: your little sister. Too shy to text first. Too little to understand what's happening to you. You never talk about him. You don't need anybody to tell you that you've gone nuts; therapist does it well. You need someone to just be there.

You cut off everybody you knew from the university, even Namjoon and Hoseok, and feel awful about it, exhausted. After two years of running through Seoul and mapping it, leaving crumbs for everyone to see, you move away to Ilsan where your sister studies. But even then, you don't see each other very often. You install cameras yourself now: a black motionless eye in the bedroom; then watch yourself sleep in the morning, searching for snowy glow in the shot.

Yoongi is gone. This gaping hole smothers you with an unspoken promise of revenge. You don't even know how badly he fell back then - whether he can still walk. What happened to him. You don't get spooked anymore, don't get startled by blonde hair; you're quietly waiting for the day he shows up, to kill him. Live again? You can only do it when you know he is not there, anywhere.

You have no idea if what he's told you about his family, was true. That he had an alcoholic father and the mother that would make him beg for forgiveness on his knees, for every small mistake. That he was a lonely child at school, too small to even be bullied, just invisible. You always doubted half of it, because Yoongi always knew to push your buttons, almost like a real animal, a cat, that adjusts the sound of its meowing to soothe a human ear.

You are like that old dude from Jeepers Creepers 3, who sits with the shotgun, waiting to blow the demon down once it twitches again.

You miss the way he touched you like you were the most delicate, the most beautiful thing in the world. You could tear yourself apart.

Psychologist says it's an extreme case of codependent abusive relationship and that Yoongi most likely has borderline personality disorder and OCD. You scoff at that. You know he is an incubus.

You work from home; don't show up on the street a lot. All deliveries brought to you are under your name. Your apartment is untidy and messy, and owned only by you. No one steps inside, and there's no alien smells. Not bitter, not sweet, not the love. No hatred in your heart. Just readiness.

Mending relationships you'd neglected for years is an ungrateful business. Especially if it's your family. When your mother texts you that there's a gathering, it's not a happy message, a call to get together to catch up. To her, it's a chore, and you wouldn't even go if your sister weren't there. The last time you saw her, she was a worn out graduate, given up fencing and all her old hobbies, just trying to cope with her demanding major and friendship problems. It was a year ago. Once you moved to Ilsan, she had welcomed you and vanished again, leaving you on read for months. Guess you can't ask for more after being such a rotten creature that only gravitates towards the worst people.

You would've worn an armour if you had some, to family gatherings.

It's the most unpleasant faces you've ever seen in your life, all looking at you like you are shit. Mother eyes you up and down, and you recall how you had to kneel before her when you were little, begging for forgiveness. You'd never told Yoongi that; always wondered if it was a coincidence. Not really anybody knows that, except you and her.

She has a softer stare for the younger version of you, that didn't disappoint; from the other side of the big living room, you see the back of the head of your sister, and how the corners of mother's eyes relax, and lids go a little down.

"Did dad text you?" is all she asks. You say no.

"Uncle Namgil is here", she warns. Guess it's her version of taking care. Uncle Namgil liked to carry you around by your ankle when you were small enough to be carried. Almost dislocated your hip every single time, shaking you like a cat. You know well to stay away from him, even now.

"Minjae?"

The cousin who kissed you french style when you were ten.

"No".

She nods at your sister and smiles at her warmly. You get an uneven glass tilt. Once the girl turns and waves at you, lifts her arm, the cardigan on her body stretches, and you notice a belly.

"Oh shit", you utter before you can stop yourself.

"She is six months pregnant", mom explains.

You walk towards each other, and you hug her. She is still the same strong girl with shy eyes telling you things she isn't capable of pronouncing. Now she avoids looking at you, rather usual stuff. You need to nudge her a little, though. Having a baby is no small deed.

"Nani", you coo. The little nickname you gave her when she was little. You never call her the full name. "Congratulations".

She smiles, wrapping her palms around her belly. Then blushes slightly.

The relatives chat around. It's always a fine concussion of a reminder, how many there are, of you. Sister squeezes your hand shortly in gratitude.

"I'm sorry we didn't speak more".

It's a very vague apology. 'Didn't speak more' sounds like an unfinished conversation from yesterday, not a full six months of ghosting you. But you can't stay mad at her for long. You look around, seeing if anybody else is surprised by her growing belly. If there are the typical accusatory glances at you, blaming you for making your younger sister take the burden because you are just so selfish. Your mother asks her about the boyfriend softly.

"Boyfriend?" you ask, surprised, "you're not married?"

She shrugs.

"It was a happy accident".

Her eyes shine with what you know is infatuation.

"Where is he? Has he come with you today?"

She opens her mouth and says nothing at first, but her stare is direct. Your convoluted mind halts, waiting for a response. The voices of your family a hiss of the sea around. The room is yellow.

What enters the living room is black.

"I should've told you", her throat convulses, eyes bulge a little. All features indicate that she is feeling guilty. You look down at her stomach, then back at her face, then again, behind her shoulder.

Because your battered brain refuses to register.

"Sorry", she whispers quickly.

His hand lies on her shoulder, and you stare at the fingers with clean, short nails.

Yoongi is all black, like a swan that's undergone a transition.

He is happy, as well.

"Hi".

Your mother is mesmerized by the handsomness of this dude. He has a trendy cut with sidebangs, an there's a silver earring in his ear, but it just suits him so well. Black shirt is ironed, you know she did it. Yoongi bites his lower lip shyly. His eyes are revealed, and your mom drowns in them. It's in the genes. She can't not see the perfect slant. You bet she is almost fainting at the realization her grandchild will have these eyes.

It's a callback to his kitchen greeting: wow, that's awkward.

It's what you say now, to deelectrify the air. Yoongi's gaze darts to you like he doesn't recognize you. Nani's face gets flushed.

"We used to date", you explain to your mother. She opens her mouth, confused. Nani twists out of his hand gently. And takes the mother's arm.

"We should leave them for a while".

Throws you another cautious look. You had not a single idea this girl was capable of being a cunt. Not a single idea.

She lingers for a moment, looking at him, then at you, then purses her lips and leads mom away.

Yoongi looks at her like he would rather slash his veins that let her go. You feel your eyes go cold.

Seeing him in black is so weird, it's so... it's like you've accidentally jumped into a parallel dimension. You study his hair, shiny, black like his jacket.

"Is this your natural colour?" you don't know why you whisper.

It's the first thing you tell him after three years.

By the way, he doesn't look crippled.

Is this the same person at all?

When he opens his mouth, you recognize the voice.

"Yeah. Why?"

You can't remove the frown from in between your eyebrows.

"You've seen my teeange pictures".

You blink the paralysis off.

Yoongi orbits you a little, choosing an angle, then stands by your side, like you're both observing the living room.

"I have a great family", he sighs, "so many people".

Finally, the ice-cold spear of understanding slides down your guts and settles there, where Nani grows his parasite.

"You fucked my sister?"

He raises his eyebrows at the vulgarity of that. He is slowly changing his young adult face to his man face. It's rougher. Still handsome to the point of annoyance. Cheeks soft. But the white is drained. It's mute.

"She has your eyes", he deadpans.

"That all you got to tell me?"

Yoongi grins a little. There are small creases at the corners of his eyes. He must work a lot.

"One thousand, one hundred sixteen days", he replies. His eyes travel across your face. "And you finally don't fuck around".

"Walk with me".

You turn and make your way into the kitchen that's across the living room, down the corridor and to the left. Nani and mom are sat on the couch and watch you two, a little scared for some reason.

Yoongi strolls behind you soundlessly.

You rake your hair, it helps you think. Yoongi closes the door behind him and gets distracted by the little vase with candy. You stop at the knife stand, staring at it like it knocks all thoughts out of your head.

"You'll be an aunt soon", he says from behind you. Traces his finger on the table as if checking if your mother is as dirty as you are. You barely ever dusted.

"It's a boy".

"I don't believe it. Is it really yours?"

You turn with a swing to face him. He's a crow now. A levelled-up creature.

"Yeah, it's mine. I had lots of sex with her".

You cover your nose like you're ready to vomit.

"When did you start it?"

"About a year ago".

"And before?"

"Huh?"

He is playing fool now. Direct and annoyed Yoongi is taking his time pulling the nerves out of you.

"Where have you been before? It's been three years".

He smirks with his teeth, and takes a step towards you like he likes something in your voice.

"Why are you asking? I was working. I need to provide for my family. While you were drowning in your own shit, I got really loaded and ready to procreate".

He says it with mercy, a soft tilt of the head, a hand ready to catch you.

The balcony flight really cemented your unbalanced seats in this fucking spectacle. It's true. You've been surviving. Him, his aftershock, and then, without him. Bizarre. Your life started revolving around him.

Yoongi sighs through his nose and holds himself against the counter. Looms above you the way he likes to.

"You can't have Nani".

"Oh, shit", he whines, "I can't have you, I can't have Nani. Who am I allowed to have? Your mom?"

He observes you like he actually considers it.

"I actually might get a shot with her".

You chuckle at the cold delivery, so obscenely empty that there's an echo inside your ribs.

You turn slightly, and grab the knife from the stand. It's a good, broad knife with a sturdy black handle. Nothing white anymore, it's all coming together.

"Take off your jacket".

Yoongi obeys, disinterested. He puts the jacket on the high stool and gets back in front of you, eyes slightly curious about the thing in your hand.

"It's bad timing. I am proposing tonight".

He acquired a new expression. It's a condescending smile. His triangular, softly oval face is clean, pale, with the eyes oozing black like never before. He has the capacity to be very safe for the right people.

"You shouldn't have gone for my sister".

"I won't deny it's all about you", he notes softly. The words low, dipped in careful reproach, "but don't get cocky about it. You've hurt me twice".

You raise your hand, and he doesn't react, at all. His eyes, you realize, are so focused on you, like he is drinking the image of you.

What if he hasn't watched you these three years? And hadn't seen you? And whatever's happening now - this stillness, is the waves drawing away from the shore?

Your limbs go numb. Yoongi's mouth is raw pink. The times when he had breakfast on your kitchen, masturbated to you walking around the apartment unaware, and went through your phone, feel so simple now. Almost nostalgic.

"Yoongi", you call, to test the waters. You look where you should - at his hand, suddenly forming into a fist, thumb shaking.

"Why did you choose me?"

His eyes stare through you.

"Did you know I can recognize your smell?"

"I can recognize yours, too", you shake your head dismissively. The knife still limp between you.

"No. At distance. Like a trail. I think we're soulmates".

You have no jabs to throw. You lift the knife and stick it to his chest. Yoongi grabs your wrist.

"At least go for the heart, my love. And good luck; if you think I won't hunt you down in the next life..."

He swirls it sideways so that the tip goes in between the ribs.

Betrayal is what you can't forgive. Not dying the hair is alright. His natural colour makes him more mature. Makes him blend in. Perhaps he has got tired of being the snowball head.

Gaining weight made him look like an apex predator. Strong structure of his jaw gradually lifts into the cheekbones that give up his old blood. The animal bows its head at you and drops the hand, asking for nothing. You have no idea what's going on in his head. You know nothing goes on in yours. Nothing to report.

You press the knife in, and Yoongi helps, keeping himself in place with the hand clutching the counter edge. Bright kitchen light is atrociously yellow. It takes some force to drive it through him, but once you get it going, it gets easier. There's a nasty crack, and he gasps quietly. His chin drops like he wants to watch. Yoongi stumbles forward, and the last thing he does is kiss you. You haven't kissed him for three years. His mouth is warm, like the forest nest where you can hide. Sweat immediately appears above his upper lip, and you lick it clean.

Yoongi falls on the floor.

Then the knife hand clunks against the tiles.

Then, people come in. They scream. Nani screams the loudest. Mother goes pale. Blood. Jail. Death.

No, rewind back.

You let yourself soak in the scene, calculating, your head goes light.

It's not even the jail that stops you, but another, second best thing: the world without Yoongi. The whole rest of your life without him on your scent.

His hand still grabbing your wrist. He calls you pretty. To give him a kiss, you have to cut the distance with the knife.

You press it harder, just to let the anger out, and Yoongi lowers his eyes, unimpressed. Probably far from the pain level to even notice for him.

You press until the tip penetrates his skin and tears the black shirt just a little, then your upper lip twitches in anger.

You throw the knife on the counter.

He kisses you, pressing you against the hard edge, the bulge in his trousers nudging you in the thigh. Some things never change with Yoongi. His hand cradles the back of your head, and you feel loved, the way only a stupid, capricious bitch can be loved, that earned the love of a demon.

You grab his chin hard, digging into the jaws, and feel his teeth with the fingertips. He looks a little funny like this, like a kissable twink again.

"You will never see her again. You never hurt her again".

"Oh, Nani is screwed for life", he promises, with a sigh. "You made me do it".

"And you stop gaslighting me about every little thing", you utter through your teeth.

He bites his lip like he bites his tongue. His eyes come alive. The animal is sniffing you.

"Get your things", he suggests, "we should leave now".

You nod. Half way out of the kitchen, you turn. Yoongi is tapping his chest, lower lip pulled up, and with the other hand, feeling for his jacket.

"You care about the baby at all?"

He shakes his head.

"We could take it from her, but it's undercooked..."

You suck the air through your teeth and shake the door handle before opening the door.

You walk through the living room, shooting one empty glance at your sister.

She looks at you, her hands crossed on her lap. You wonder to yourself if she was manipulated into it; seems way too pliable, even for her.

Whatever. This is utterly your world.

You leave the house and take extra pleasure out of bumping your shoulder into uncle Namgil.

Yoongi emerges five minutes later into the street full of icicle teeth. You have no idea what car he has now, so you just linger outside, away from your mother's house, where, if they throw something out the window, it won't make you.

He waves his hand in an order, and you don't move. Yoongi frowns, but there's a smirk in it. Punches his cheek with his tongue, walks over, gets your elbow. And then crooks his neck and kisses you again, the steam leaving your mouths. The street is muted and white, covered in funeral snow crust; like pieces of his old hair, spread out. Yoongi is a black stain, impossible to lose again. He leads you to a big chocolate-brown Hyundai and gets the door for you.

"What did you tell them?"

"Not to search for us".

You throw a look at the house. Someone is watching from the window.

He drives calmly, one hand resting on his lap. Once he makes sure where you need to go, the hand crawls over to yours, and takes your palm, lovingly. Nobody ever quite mustered the tenderness with which Yoongi always touches you. Like only he knows the code to your door. Like he kills the competition and fucks the copies of you. The fingers interlock, and you think to yourself, if you keep him close, nobody else will get hurt.

You wonder if the lotus-shaped spa is ready.

─────────────── ✧

You rub your eye carefully and adjust the lamp light from your phone. Laptop is on your knees on top of the blanket. Yoongi is in the same bed with you, an elbow away, drawing something on his iPad. He really likes drawing things. It's always some structures; he doesn't draw people. Except for you. He draws you, and buildings. Staircases, lintels, slabs. Like an engineer. And balustrades, pediments and columns, like an architect. Eyes, wrists, ears, hips. Like Yoongi. You rub your eye again, and he says,

"You work too much".

Your hand stops clicking the keyboard. You look at the time. Almost made it a whole half an hour without his comments. Almost done.

You glare at him, tilting head, brows up.

He smirks.

"What? You don't need all that. Ever since we moved in together, you started working more".

It's because you finally got your peace of mind and therefore, productivity increased.

"It's like you're trying to prove something".

He looks away from his intricate, angular black and white molding and peeks at you from under the black hair.

"Because everything I do is about you", you sneer gently. He goes back to his work.

"Well, everything I do is about you. But I'm a fool for hoping my ministrations would be reciprocated".

"If the both of us acted like this", you sigh, "we wouldn't leave the house and nothing would get done".

"By you. I am proactive".

You decide it's best to leave him hanging. He is irritating when he is on his superiority wave. Yoongi loses interest in his drawing when he spots the time. You realize the work is done when he puts the iPad and the pen away, and his hand reaches for your laptop.

"No, no! Not finished".

The tip of his tongue helps him concentrate on catching you. You turn on your side. His fingers clutch the lid of the computer.

"I am your husband. Be with me".

"You're not my husband".

The silent, lazy struggle doesn't leave your square in the bed.

"I will be. Give it to me".

Yoongi is pressing his weight against your free hand, trapping it under, and yanks the laptop away.

"I mean it", you press, slightly angry. You need to win this at least once. You need to know that he sees a human in you, still.

"I don't care".

You sit up, let go of the laptop and go limp. Yoongi hates that the most. Fighting is exciting. But total surrender with no expression on your face is something he is powerless against.

He whines tiredly.

"Come on".

He walks around the bed and puts your laptop on the desk, then gets inside, under the blanket, on your side, sitting on top of your knees. Then stretches his body like a cat, straddling you. Tries to look inside your eyes.

"Y/N".

"You don't care. Fine. Go to sleep".

"Tsk".

You stare through him knowing that it will drive him up the wall in no time.

"I don't mean it like that".

"Uh-huh".

That's the worst part. He totally means it like that. He always means he doesn't care what you think as long as he knows better.

He doesn't think you need to work at all. What has he been breaking his back for then? You should just be a good girl. Enjoy the fruit of his labour. Stay pretty. Stare into his eyes.

Yoongi slides his thighs, taking you with him. His hips are incredibly strong for someone who's never been fucked by a man. You are forced on your back, and he grabs your face, plumping your lips.

"I say things to make you mad, you know that".

Two things can be true at the same time. You press into his cut. One little wound: empty eyes; and he is going desperate.

"If I really didn't care, my dick would be in that mouth four times every day", he narrates, and it's twistedly funny.

"If I didn't care about what you say, I wouldn't memorize every single thing you say, every day".

You wait another minute and blink as surrender. Good enough. His fingers relax a little. His back muscles do, too. Yoongi presses a kiss on your cheek, light like a touch of a moonray. He hovers, moves his lips to the corner of your mouth as an apology but doesn't go further. Begs for permission.

"We're going to Namjoon's party?"

He opens his eyes and lifts himself a little. Your hand swipes through his hair. It's been a new hobby; longer locks are like a coping mechanism for you.

"Do you want to?"

You shrug. Saying you miss Namjoon's smiling face with dimples would be stirring new shit when Yoongi has just demonstrated such outstanding capability for being pliant.

"I want to see everybody. You ever cared about them?"

"Parties?" he curves his lips into a lopsided shape.

"Namjoon and Hobi".

"Oh. I like them. They are the only two people from uni I didn't hate".

You gasp.

"And me?"

Life is unfair. Two disgusting people like you get to enjoy the bliss of being together in a huge, warm bed, while other, less corrupted souls go through their lives struggling.

Well, those souls maybe should've worked better and become architects.

"You... are barely a person", he concludes seriously.

"Weird, I always thought the same thing about you".

"Wow", Yoongi rolls his eyes. "We are so-o quirky".

He drops down, and your hands wrap around his head. He is corporeal, at least when in your grasp.

taglist: @mar-lo-pap , @benyhime

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

i don't know if you do platonic yanderes , but I want to request how platonic yandere gambit would be with a darling

BLACK SHEEP.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Remy LeBeau x Mutant! Reader. (Platonic Fic)

¿Request? Yes!

This is a Headcanon!

warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, scars, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Gambit? Idk, fights, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

sinopsis ⸺ Marked by a past of solitude and betrayal, his affection for you is a poisonous blend of devotion and control, always teetering on the edge between tenderness and obsession. For Remy, you are everything, his only family, and losing you would mean his ruin... so he will do whatever it takes to keep you by his side, even if it means locking you in a cage made of his possessive love.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish is—Thank you for placing the order! I really appreciate your trust and enthusiasm. Your support means a lot to me, and I’m excited to work on it. If you have any specific ideas or details you'd like to include, please feel free to let me know.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... actually knew who you were before you even exchanged a glance. Charles Xavier, Beast, and Logan talked about you often, in conversations filled with worry and caution. Your destructive powers had isolated you, and it was a tragic accident that took your parents' lives while they tried to protect you from yourself. That story resonated with him. A broken soul, chained to a gift that society did not understand nor could accept. Remy was always drawn to broken things; they were like pieces of a puzzle he needed to complete. The first time he saw you, hidden among the bushes in the garden, covered in dirt and fear, his heart beat faster. He knew that the moment he reached you, he would never let you go.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... was not intimidated by the hurtful words you threw at him, desperate attempts to make him leave, to protect him from you and what you were capable of. “Don’t touch me!” you shouted, with tears that dared not fall from your eyes. But he did not move. Instead, he smiled softly, that mischievous, almost playful smile that hid a dark depth that few could see. “Cher, Gambit isn’t going anywhere. You don’t scare me. In fact, I think you and I are more alike than you think.” The words sounded soft, almost hypnotic, as if they were designed to disarm you. And, little by little, they began to work.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... slipped into your life without you realizing, appearing in the most mundane moments, when you tried to find a bit of peace in the chaos of your existence. At first, he did it subtly: he listened as you lamented about your family and your life before your mutation, his jacket over your shoulders when the cold hit you, or staying with you in that corner. He made sure you saw him as someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn’t back away out of fear. But always, in the background, there was something more. A glimmer in his eyes that told you his presence was not merely accidental, that he was watching.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... used his story to soften you, to connect with you on that deeper level that always seemed inaccessible. He knew you were broken inside, hurt by the loss of your parents and consumed by fear of your own power, so little by little, he began to open up. He told you how he too had been an outsider, an orphaned boy raised on the streets of New Orleans. How he had been rejected even by those who took him in, feared for his own gift, a gift he could not control either. “Tu sais, I wasn’t always like this, chérie,” he would say with a melancholic smile, as his fingers played with a deck of cards. “Everything i am now is because Gambit had to learn to survive. In this world, if you don’t have anyone, you are nothing.” And with every story he shared, you felt the wall you had built begin to crack. Remy, with his soft words and warm gaze, was slowly digging into that shell you had fought so hard to maintain.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... made you feel less alone, but never in the way you desired. He knew when you were about to break, and there he was, holding you before you could fall. “You can’t get rid of me so easily, chérie,” he whispered as his hands found yours, strong but gentle. He made you feel safe, but there was something suffocating about his constant presence, something you could not name.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... began to take up more space in your life, even in your most painful moments. When your nightmares woke you up at night, sweaty and echoing with the explosions that never stopped resonating in your mind, he was there. You didn’t ask how he knew you were awake, nor why he was always so close. But his touch, his soft words, wrapped around you until the terror dissipated, only for another kind of unease to grow in its place. “You’re never going to be alone again, Gambit promise you,” he said, almost like a vow.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... started to make you doubt everything. When you tried to pull away, when you wanted to put distance between your destructive powers and those around you, he whispered in your ear: “No one else is going to understand you like I do, chérie. No one else can bear what you carry inside.” His words sank into you like sweet poison, until the idea of being without him began to seem more terrifying than the idea of destroying everything around you. Who else could face your power? Who else would keep loving you after everything you had lost?

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... carefully decided who you could associate with, selecting only those he considered “safe.” He encouraged you to get close to Jubilee, with her sparkling and carefree energy, because he knew that she posed no threat to his control. “Elle est bonne pour ti, chérie. She has a good heart,” he would say when you saw her, and little by little you convinced yourself that he just wanted what was best for you. Ororo was also welcome in your little circle; her calm, motherly nature made him feel that she was not a dangerous influence. And of course, Rogue was always nearby, though you could never shake the feeling of tension between her and Remy. He justified her presence by saying they were old friends, but there was something in the way he looked at her when you were around that made Rogue keep her distance, while Morph, Bobby, and others like them were completely off-limits.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... whispered words of comfort in your ear when your darkest memories suffocated you. “It wasn’t your fault, chérie. Your parents didn’t know what they were doing, but I did. I would never leave you.” And though those words should have eased you, there was something in his tone that made you feel trapped, as if there were no escape from the invisible cage he was building around you.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... didn’t want you to associate with people who could “corrupt” your view of the world. Bobby tried to talk to you once, casually, while you were in the kitchen. His easy smile and relaxed nature made you laugh, something that didn’t happen often. But it wasn’t long before Remy noticed. “What was he doing with you, huh?” His tone was as smooth as a knife's edge, his eyes burning with something you hadn’t seen before. “I don’t like you getting close to him.” And though you knew that wasn’t true, you felt the coldness of his control wrap around you. The situation exploded when Remy and Bobby ended up in a violent fight, sharp words and barely veiled threats exchanged until Jean and Scott had to separate them. You, however, saw him as a friend, someone who could help you forget for a while how dangerous you were. But over time, even Bobby began to avoid you, and the few friendships you had dwindled down to those Remy approved of.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... enjoyed the simple things with you, those that seemed harmless on the surface. He liked to take you to shopping malls, where he could walk beside you and make sure you felt safe, but always under his watchful eye. “Choose whatever you want, ma belle. Whatever it is, it’s yours.” He let you pick out clothes, books, little decorations for your room. But even in those moments, there was an underlying control. The options he offered you were carefully selected; he made you feel you had freedom, but it was always within the limits he set.

Yandere Remy LeBeau who... loved to see you smile, and one of his favorite ways to achieve that was by playing board games with you. He was charming, relaxed, and playful during those moments. “Allez, chérie, you’re going to have to try harder if you want to beat me,” he challenged you while a carefree laugh filled the room. Those were the moments that made you doubt, that made you think that maybe Remy just wanted what was best for you, that his closeness was a good thing. When you laughed, when for a second you forgot your destructive powers, he looked at you with devotion. But behind those crimson eyes, there was an insatiable hunger, a need for control.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... took his time decorating your room, making sure everything was to your liking, but always with his touch. “It’s important that you feel comfortable, mon coeur,” he would say as he placed a soft lamp by your bed or adjusted the curtains so that the light came in just as you liked it. But even here, there was a shadow of possession. The things he chose for you always reflected his own taste, his vision of who you should be. It was not just your space; it was a reflection of his influence over you.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... could not stand the idea of anyone else entering your intimate life. The thought of you falling in love with someone else filled him with a silent fury. “If you ever find someone,” he said in one of those moments where he seemed casual, almost brotherly, “it has to be someone Gambit approve of. Someone who will take care of you like I would. Not just anyone can be with you, chérie.” And even though he said it with a smile, there was something in his tone that chilled you. You couldn’t imagine Remy sharing that control with anyone else.

Yandere Remy LeBeau who... as time passed, that possibility grew even more distant. The few attempts you made to get close to someone were sabotaged before they could blossom. Remy made sure that any connection broke before it could grow strong. He would tell you it was for your safety, that your power made you too dangerous to be with anyone. “They can’t handle what you are, mon amour. But I can. I always will.”

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... hated it when you rebelled against his control, when you tried to challenge him and do things your way. The arguments began with soft words and gentle warnings, but soon intensified when you refused to obey. One night, you tried to go out alone to practice your powers, tired of feeling constantly watched. But before you could get too far, Remy intercepted you. His hand gripped your arm tightly, his eyes shining with a mix of fear and rage. “You’re not going out alone, chérie, not like this.” His grip was rougher than you expected from him, and you tried to break free, but it was in vain. “You don’t understand how dangerous it is. I won’t let you take that risk, I can’t.” His words were severe, his tone more dominant than usual. But when he saw you trembling, when he saw the fear and frustration in your eyes, his hardness faded, replaced by a desperate plea.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... immediately apologized after those episodes of harsh control. He hugged you tightly, his trembling hands, as if he feared you might disappear at any moment. “I’m sorry, ma belle,” he murmured against your hair, his voice filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but I can’t lose you. Not after all we’ve been through. You’re all I have.” In those moments, when his hardness crumbled and only a broken man remained inside, vulnerable to the fear of losing the only person who meant something to him, it was hard for you to push him away. His need for you, that connection that made you feel like you were his anchor, enveloped you, confusing you. Was it love? Was it protection? Or something much darker?

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... never let conversations about other guys last long. If he saw you interested, he subtly changed the subject or found a way to make you feel guilty for even thinking of opening up to someone else. “Personne ne te comprendra jamais comme je le fais.” His words became more intense over time, more definitive. The world outside, he told you, was too cruel, too fragile for you. But he, he was your refuge, the only constant.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... felt deeply affected the first time you went on a mission with the X-Men. He knew this day would come, but he wasn’t ready for the unbearable anxiety that invaded him. “I know you can take care of yourself, but I can’t help but worry,” he had told you before you left, with a carefree tone that hid how much he hated the idea of you exposing yourself to any danger. But when you returned, injured, all trace of his usual charm disappeared. His gaze burned with a fury and desperation you hadn’t seen before. “Merde, chérie! What did they do to you? Who did this to you?” He enveloped you in his arms protectively, almost suffocating, as his fingers traced the cuts and bruises on your skin. You could feel the tension in his body, as if he were on the verge of exploding.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... went mad when he saw you hurt, his mind filled with images of what could have happened if you hadn’t returned. “Je ne veux pas te perdre,” he said in a hoarse voice, almost inaudible, as he held you tightly. “You are my family. You have no idea what I would do if something happened to you.” There was something dark and disturbing in his words, in the intensity with which he held you close, but you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in his desperation. It was as if, in his twisted and possessive love, Remy was capable of doing anything to keep you safe.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... did not allow his possessiveness to ruin the moments of tranquility you shared. On quiet nights, when you lay in bed, emotionally exhausted, he was there, sitting in a nearby chair, watching you with that mix of devotion and control. “Dors bien, ma belle. I’ll be here to take care of you.” And though those words should have comforted you, sometimes you felt as if those invisible walls he had built around you closed in a little more each night.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... always found a way to soften his behavior after moments like those. He took you to quiet places, away from the tensions of the mutant world, to strolls through the mall or parks where there was no immediate danger. He loved to see you laugh, as if that could erase any trace of the darkness that lay between you. “Look, ma chérie, this is how it should always be, right? No worries, no fears.” And in those moments, when it seemed like it was just you and him, you could forget, at least for a while, how invasive his presence had become.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... never let you forget that, for him, you were family. He constantly reminded you how alone he had been before meeting you, how you had filled a void in his life that no one else could fill. “I don’t know what I would do without you, ma chérie. If you ever drift away from me, if I lose you...” He never finished the sentence, but the weight of those words needed no ending. It was a warning, a reminder that his love for you was so intense that any possibility of losing you pushed him to the brink of despair.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... had a special way of softening his manipulations, of making you feel that everything he did was out of love, for your well-being. After a fight, he would always come back with a repentant smile, hugging you and telling you he never meant to hurt you. “Je suis désolé,” he whispered, with a tenderness in his voice that left you speechless. “But, mon coeur, you don’t understand. Gambit can’t live without you. You are my family, the only thing I have.” And though you knew there was something unhealthy in all of this, his words pierced deep into your heart. You had lost so much, and while his love was suffocating, it was also the closest you had to feeling loved.

Yandere! Remy LeBeau who... looked at you as if you were a broken work of art, one he was determined to rebuild, but only in his image. And, in his mind, he did it out of love.

A/N ─── I love you, Remy, you're divine, I don't care what anyone says. Now, I adore Remy, he's charismatic and handsome, what more can I say? I love writing in French. Although I’ve had some less pleasant experiences with the language and culture, in Remy's case, French sounds almost like a caress. It's part of his essence!

He has that irresistible charm that makes him stand out, not just for his looks but for his heart full of complexities. Who wouldn’t fall in love with someone who, despite living in the shadows, always tries to bring light to others?

If you have any problems knowing the meaning of a phrase in French, tell me in the comments and I will be happy to answer you.

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

[lucagray813]

Co-Exist AU - Part 3

First | Prev | Next

Season 2 here we go!

It doesn't take MK long to question why they're not just taking the fight to LBD because surely she's no match for the Monkey King, right?

Which, pfft, obviously she's not but while she is most definitely not as powerful as him, she is plenty dangerous. She's all but unkillable for a start and her particular brand of magic makes her exceptionally difficult to keep imprisoned so they need to have a fool proof game plan before they face her because if she gets away there's no easy way to find her or figure out her next move.

Right now she's lying low, taking her time, she doesn't know that they know what she's up to - they have the advantage and they need to make the most of it because trust him, kid, you don't want to find out what that witch is capable of when provoked.

Naturally, MK asks how they stopped her last time and Wukong explains that it was his master that had figured out how to lock her away but as it transpired that hadn't been the permanent solution they had hoped for.

But together they were going to get rid of her for good this time and he already had ideas brewing! He just needed to check out a couple of things first - follow some leads, talk to some old friends, that kind of stuff.

All of which MK is keen to get involved in but Wukong is quick to tell him that his responsibility in all this will be to focus on his training and helping Mac protect the island whenever he's away. And let's not forget you've still got a city protect, kid.

It all sounds very reasonable, even if he doesn't think Mac needs help, but MK can't help but feel he's being sidelined and is very put out that Wukong won't actually fill him in on what he's planning to do whenever he's away.

From Wukong's perspective, he's just trying to keep the kid safe - he's going to be checking out some dangerous places that MK legit isn't ready to go yet and he's likely going to be doing some morally/legally dubious things that he doesn't want MK to see or get involved in. The less MK knows the better.

But while Wukong would rather keep MK in the dark about a lot of things, he does feel the need to caution him about LBD. She's smart, she's not going to make a move before she's got all her ducks in a row, so he's not necessarily afraid she's going to put MK in immediate danger but she could very well try and get information from him.

LBD is a master of disguise, he warns, and that's why it's important that he needs to learn to hone his instincts and remember his Golden Vision.

He wants him to get in the habit of using it in the first instance whenever something feels off or when faced with a new situation. In fact from now on, he'll be randomly checking to make sure MK is staying on his toes - via traps, surprise attacks and turning up in disguise himself while MK's in the city.

MK is unbelievably stressed over the fact that there's such a dangerous enemy plotting beneath his feet and he gets exceedingly paranoid that everyone he runs into could be her in disguise. Something that doesn't go unnoticed by his friends and family but, like canon, MK makes the questionable decision to keep his knowledge of LBD to himself (which we'll get into later with this AU's version of the Shadow Play.)

But his paranoia does ease up a little as nothing LBD related seems to pop up and he gets better and better at using his powers and acing Wukong's surprise tests of his Golden Vision.

Down in the depths of Spider Queen's lair, Huntsman's absence has most definitely been noted and while no one feels particularly upset about his presumed death it does leave the Spider's feeling uneasy. For LBD, it simply offers her a conundrum of how to gain access to Wukong's vault and really there's only one person she could conceivably try to manipulate into gaining her access.

Fortunately, she already has the perfect disguise in Bǎi Hé.

It's not hard for the mayor to "encourage" some demons to incite some chaos in the city - Bǎi Hé won't be showing up anywhere with Spider Demons (no need to give MK any reason to be suspicious, after all.) And it's then straightforward enough to put herself in a position that MK can save her from.

She is very aware of MK's Golden Vision and thusly for this initial meeting, she actually relinquishes her control on Bǎi Hé altogether, recapturing her only once MK has saved the day. MK only interacts with Bǎi Hé for a split second to remove her from harm's way - giving the real Bǎi Hé no chance to warn him about LBD.

(I'm on the fence if the real Bǎi Hé is aware she's being used as bait or if LBD tampered with her memory somehow. If the real Bǎi Hé is aware of what's going on then know that she's absolutely terrified.)

A couple of days later, LBD (as Bǎi Hé) appears at Pigsy's Noodles, deliberately picking a time she knows MK won't be there, wearing her Monkey King schoolbag and looking nervous.

Pigsy, and Tang, take note of her and once he's given her her noodles he asks if she's alright. "Gathering her courage" she asks if this is where the Monkie Kid works and she explains that she wanted to thank him for saving her the other day - she even has a gift for him!

Tang and Pigsy try and tell her that no thanks are needed, especially not a gift but they agree to pass it on to MK when he gets back. LBD is long gone by the time he's back and after a quick check with his Golden Vision is very touched by the chocolate and the hand drawn card calling him her hero and he's sorry he missed her - vaguely remembering the girl he'd saved from her description.

LBD shows up a couple of more times, on her way home from school, trying to catch a glimpse of MK (knowing full well he won't be there). She endears herself to Pigsy by always buying some food to go and complimenting his cooking and she endears herself to Tang by being an obvious Monkey King fan - the two chatting while Pigsy makes her food. Eventually, Pigsy tells MK to hang about one afternoon so she can actually meet him.

The thought of using his Golden Vision doesn't even cross her mind - she's just some sweet kid that he saved and that has both Tang and Pigsy's approval and look at how unbelievably excited and nervous she is to have a chance to ask for his autograph and on some fanart she drew of him!

(Side note: I think it would be funny if the Spider Demons and the mayor had been tasked with the fanart (I think the mayor's artwork was almost immediately disqualified for being too abstract and disturbing). Strong likes the drawing, Syntax is highly offended but is goaded into trying to outdo Strong, Spider Queen is disgusted with the whole thing.)

And so, every once in a while LBD shows up to say hello to her hero, still sometimes missing him, and the two start to bond over Monkey King and art. He's none the wiser when a wide-eyed LBD asks him if he'd really met the Monkey King and been to Flower Fruit Mountain - she's not asking anything he wouldn't have asked after all.

And then the fatal mistake happens.

MK let's her flick through some of his artwork and she very innocently asks who this other monkey that looks like Monkey King is.

MK explains that's just a friend of Monkey King's and full of wonder she asks if he stays on the island too and if he's just as strong? He answers that yeah, he lives on the island and that he's super strong but his powers are totally different from Wukong's. He gives her his name when asked and just like that she has the lead she's been waiting for.

She's heard of the Six-Eared Macaque, his name comes up more than once in the book.

A book that mentions he has the ability to Listen to the past and the future.

A demon close to the Monkey King, very likely one with access to the cave, and with a power so useful to ensuring destiny is on track?

Destiny has delivered her the perfect Champion.

While all of this has been happening with LBD, MK has been getting closer to Mac - training with him again and sharing lookout responsibilities while Wukong is away (MK has dayshift, Mac nightshift and the two hang out during the evening for a little while.)

Mac is overall displeased with Wukong's current strategy but he unfortunately knows better than to question the king and so he's just doing his best to prepare for when everything inevitably goes wrong.

And one thing he can do is try to positively influence MK and stop him following in his mentor's footsteps.

This comes to a head one evening following an "argument" of sorts between MK and Wukong. MK is well in the habit of checking over Wukong with his Golden Vision at this point so when he comes back glamoured to hide the fact he's a little worse for wear after searching one of LBD's old hideouts MK calls him out.

He wants to know what he's doing! He can help! Wukong is dismissive - reiterating that MK is most useful here getting stronger and protecting the island. The Monkey King has everything in hand.

MK is complaining about this to Mac the next time that Wukong is away, even going as far to suggest he should follow him and prove he's more use to him by his side that being left here without a clue what he's really doing.

The whole time he's doing this, Mac notes how he ignores the way his phone is buzzing, as he often does when his friends and family try and contact him for anything but an attack on the city.

Mac very helpfully points out the similarities between Wukong's behaviour and MK's - using the shadows to show two images side by side of Wukong walking away from MK and MK walking away from his friends.

MK is quick to tell him that it's not the same. That he's keeping his friends safe. He's practically invincible and with Monkey King's powers to boot - they don't. He can't let them get involved with this LBD mess - a demon that's giving even Wukong a hard time. It's not the same.

There's a seed of doubt been planted however and Mac intends to see it grow.

He has the shadows show him Mei growing more concerned and frustrated before eventually taking matters into her own hands and following MK the way that he was planning to follow Wukong and getting hurt by LBD as a result.

MK misunderstands, thinking Mac is telling him not to follow Wukong because he's not strong enough and Mac decides it's time to try a different tact.

It's time for the Shadow Play.

This Shadow Play shares similar beats from the original. It focuses at first on Mac and Wukong being friends and equals before showing how the relationship changes as Wukong gets more powerful, ignoring Mac, refusing to listen to his concerns and making decisions for both of them until it eventually accumulates in a burning island and Monkey King trapped under a mountain.

The point Mac wants to get across isn't that bad things happened because he or Wukong weren't strong enough but because Wukong had thought he knew what was best, that he could do it all by himself and that was the reason for his downfall.

To avoid any doubt, he has the Shadow Play run again but with Mei and MK in Mac and Wukong's roles respectively, fine tuning the story to make it more in line with the modern age - ignored phone calls, etc., but instead of ending in fire, it ends in ice and it ends with MK alone.

Mac wants him to see that by making the choice for his friends MK isn't keeping them safe.

MK struggles with this because he knows the moment he tells his friends about LBD they'll want to help him take her down however they can and he just can't let them do that but at the same time does he really know what he's doing? His friends don't have to get involved in the fighting to help and if there is a risk that things do hit the fan then they'd probably like a heads up at least.

He also really doesn't want his friendships to fall apart the way that Mac and Wukong's relationship did.

So he promises to think about it. But he can't resist asking Mac if this is the reason he avoids Wukong (he suspects there's more to it because he remembers Mac's fear at the idea of MK challenging Wukong) but he doesn't get an answer, just a request that he better than Wukong.

And that rounds up this installment! Next time - Mac becomes LBDs unwilling champion!

As ever, any thoughts or ideas - I'd love to hear them!

[jksarchives]

IRRESIST

Trust between a human and a vampire in the context of love is a complicated series of challenges that combines fear, curiosity, and vulnerability. You trusted Jungkook despite what your parents had instilled about his kind and your own paranoia. You loved him, and you had never loved someone so much as him. But from time to time, you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if Jungkook had broken your trust. You knew he had good control of himself and would never hurt you that way, but the thought of the unpredictable future scared you a bit.

➪ PAIRING; jungkook x reader

➪ GENRE; angst

➪ TAGS/WARNINGS; vampire jk, human oc, violence, manipulation, manhandling, assault, murder, blood, attempted rape (nothing graphic!), angst, sensitive/paranoid oc, panic attack, trauma

➪ WORDCOUNT; 7.8k

𐚁₊⊹

▍3 SEPTEMBER 2020

Once considered creatures of myth and legend, vampires emerged from the darkness years ago to proclaim their dominance over the earth. They conquered humanity with their immortal lives, undefinable power and thirst for blood, reducing humans to an alienated minority fighting for survival at night.

Amongst the group of oppressed minorities was you, a young college student born into a society where fear and caution were as essential as the air you breathed.

Raised as an only child by parents who had witnessed the horrors of vampire dominion firsthand, you were nurtured with an inherent sense of alertness. They taught you how to navigate carefully in a world where one wrong move could cost you your life.

You heard all sorts of horrifying stories, but it wasn’t until you witnessed their brutal savagery with your own eyes for the first time. And as you grew older, you continued coming across more of the atrocities.

You could never stomach the fact that you lived in a world where merciless monsters ruled over the world and hunted humans like animals, and everyday you were scared for your life and those of who you cared about.

But it was about two years ago when your whole life changed.

It was quite late that day, you were hurrying home after a late class and your mind was preoccupied with thoughts of assignment. But little did you know that the night would transform your world forever.

You were walking through the deserted alleyway, and when you rounded a corner, you stumbled upon a chilling sight. A tall figure stood towering over another man, and his hand was wrapped around his neck with a tight iron grip. The man helplessly tried to break free but it was clear to you that he was no match to the other guy.

You were frozen in horror as you witnessed him effortlessly snap his neck. As you watched the lifeless man’s body drop cold with a thud, a bloodcurdling scream tore from your lips, echoing in the isolated streets as terror gripped your soul.

When the dark figure turned to face you, you felt the colours on your face drain completely. You felt as if your heart was about to jump out of your chest.

He was everything you had been warned about — tall, terrifying, and unmistakably a vampire. His eyes were ruby-red, like pools of crimson fire, and somewhat mesmerising. His skin was pale as a ghost which seemed to glow under the moonlight.

He then began to walk towards you, his movements slow and fluid, like a predator eyeing his prey. Your mind was screaming at you to turn and run, but you felt your feet glued to the ground. And as he drew closer, your heart raced at an unimaginable pace. Your breathing was erratic as droplets of sweat cascaded down the side of your face.

But to your surprise, he didn't lunge at you with fangs bared, ready to drain you of your lifeblood. Instead, he was looking at you with his head tilted to the side, studying your trembling form with curious intensity.

“Are you afraid of me, human?” he asked, his tone tinged with amusement. You nodded, unable to form words as you stared into those crimson eyes.

“You have every reason to be,” he continued, his lips curling into a sarcastic smile.

Like a flicker of light, you saw the colour of his eyes shift to a darker brown.

“But I assure you, I mean you no harm”.

His words should have sounded hollow, devoid of sincerity. After all, he was a vampire, a creature of the night who thrived on the blood of the living. And your instincts screamed at you to flee, to run as far away as possible from this creature of the night.

But something held you in place, a strange mixture of fear and curiosity. You found yourself studying him, taking in every detail of his supernatural presence.

And as you looked into his eyes, you sensed a hint of something else beneath the surface — loneliness, perhaps, or even longing.

Jungkook had walked the earth for ages, witnessing the rise and fall of empires, yet never finding satisfaction in the short-lived pleasures of mortal life. Many feared him, and those who knew of his existence muttered his name in hushed tones, since he was the very definition of a hellish vampire — ruthless and violent.

But the more you learned about him, the more you understood that he wasn’t everything that people described him to be. He was savage for sure, he was also someone who knew his boundaries and had control over himself.

You remembered when you first encountered him. You couldn’t lie, he was everything you have been warned about. But as your encounters became more frequent, you found yourself strangely drawn to him. You wanted to know more about him despite the nagging sense of danger.

And as your relationship blossomed, you discovered a side of Jungkook that few had ever seen — a side that was gentle, compassionate, and fiercely protective.

Your biggest challenge at that time was confronting your parents about your relationship with Jungkook. You both knew that your love was forbidden, and that both sides of the society would never accept your unique relationship.

You, in particular, were worried about your parents' reaction, knowing all too well of the presumptions and hatred that existed against beings like Jungkook.

While it took time for Jungkook’s parents to finally accept you as someone more than just a human they fed on, you knew it was still early to reveal everything to yours. However, the truth could only be kept hidden for so long, as secrets have a way of revealing themselves in the light of day.

It took a lot to muster up courage to tell your parents everything, and Jungkook offered to go with you. Their reaction was exactly what you had expected. Horror contorted their faces, their words laced with disbelief and disgust, unable to comprehend how their daughter could be entangled with such a vile creature.

You remembered how they pulled you away from Jungkook who was sitting down next to you, fear written over their faces as they shielded you from him.

Jungkook could only sit and stare in pain, yet understandably. He knew to be silent, because anything he said would fall in deaf ears. Humans knew better than to trust monsters like him.

But despite their rejection, you remained steadfast in your love for Jungkook, unwilling to abandon the one who had captured your heart. You understood that they were trying to protect you, you couldn’t blame them for that, but at the same time, you knew what you were doing.

If anything was to go wrong, you would be the only one to be blamed.

[𝟶𝟾:𝟷𝟻 𝚙.𝚖.]

It was a chill night, and you found yourself nervously adjusting your dress, your fingers tracing the delicate lace. It was Yunho’s, Jungkook’s best friend's, birthday, and though you weren’t quite sure about going, you knew you had to attend out of courtesy at least.

As you and Jungkook entered the grand mansion where the party was being held, you couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine. There were quite a lot more guests than you had expected. The atmosphere was charged with energy, the air thick with the scent of sweat and alcohol.

It made you scrunch your nose up in disgust. The whole aura made you uncomfortable, but not more than the fact that the house was practically filled with vampires and you being the only human.

You just couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, like a lamb wandering into a den of wolves. You clung onto Jungkook like he was your lifeline, pressing yourself against him like glue.

“It's okay, I won’t let anyone hurt you” he whispered, his voice soothing against your ear.

As the night wore on, your discomfort slowly waned as you engaged with Jungkook’s friends and the other guests. You learned that a lot of them were quite chill and fun to be around despite being bloodthirsty creatures.

You discovered shared interests with them and exchanged playful banter. You even found yourself joining in on a game of charades and chugging down shots with them. But you made sure to not go overboard.

“Babe, I’m going out to smoke with the boys, will you be okay on your own for a few minutes?” your boyfriend walked up to you and asked.

“Mhmm, I’ll be fine” you told him and gave him a warm smile, “shout if you need me” he quickly pecked your lips before walking off with his three friends. You sighed and took a sip of the apple juice.

Just then, Yunho emerged from the crowd. “Hey, Y/n” he greeted, “oh hey Yunho” you greeted back with a smile.

“Could you perhaps go and grab my charger from my room? My phone is about to die and I’m kind of in the middle of a game right now” he asked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Sure, where’s your room?” you stood up straight, “first floor on the right, and if you keep walking straight you’ll find a black door. That’s my room” he smiled.

“Okay, I’ll get it for you” you said to him and walked off.

As you made your way up the grand staircase, you couldn't help but admire the intricate details of the mansion's architecture. The plush carpeting beneath your feet muffled your steps as you ascended to the upper floor. Each hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, branching off into different wings of the house.

Despite the vibrant atmosphere downstairs, the floor upstairs seemed to be a huge contrast — as if no one was supposed to be here.

You felt a sense of unease crept over you as you glanced down the long, dimly lit hallway leading deeper into the mansion. The vastness of the house and the thought of getting lost intimidated you.

In the end, you finally managed to find Yunho’s room. Twisting the golden doorknob, you creaked the door open, revealing a very spacious and elegantly furnished room.

After a brief search, you found the charger on a bedside table. And as you went and reached for it, a voice startled you from behind.

“Need a hand?” Yunho’s voice broke the silence, causing you to jump slightly in surprise.

“Gosh, you scared me” you sighed in relief, placing your hand on your chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just wondering what was taking you so long” he let out an airy chuckle as he stood with one hand in his pocket.

You chuckled nervously, feeling slightly embarrassed, “it's alright, I guess I just got a little lost in this enormous mansion of yours” you said. Yunho stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning around before they turned back onto you.

“Yeah, it can be a bit overwhelming at first” he muttered, “but don’t worry, you’ll get used to it around here” he said. The tone in his voice dropped into something sinister, and your smile dropped instantly.

Before you could say anything, the door slammed shut on its own with a loud bang, causing you to jump in fright. Your heart began to race, panic coursing through your body as you realised you were trapped in the room.

You rushed towards the door, your hands trembling as you tried to turn the handle, but it wouldn't budge.

“What are you doing?” your voice shook with fear as you turned to face Yunho, only to find him standing there, a smirk playing on his lips.

Your breath hitched when you saw his fangs protruding menacingly and his eyes glowing scarlet red, a disturbing reminder of the gruesome nature of a vampire.

When he began to walk towards you, you began to move yourself across the wall to the other side of the room. “S-Stay away from me” you warned, struggling to steady your breathing.

“Oh darling, you can’t tell me what to do” he growled with his disgusting grin. With each step Yunho took, your fear threatened to consume you whole.

You pressed yourself against the cold stone wall, searching desperately for a way out, but finding none. The room seemed to narrow around you, suffocating you with his evil presence.

“Please, Yunho, stop this” you begged, feeling yourself choke up with panic.

But all your pleas fell into deaf ears as he slammed his hands on the wall next to you, trapping you under his monstrous body. “Jungkook really hit a jackpot with you, huh?” he leaned in close and took a long sniff from the crook of your neck.

“Your blood, it smells fucking sweet” he said and he dragged his tongue along your neck.

With a rush of adrenaline, you gathered all of your courage and lashed out, striking him with every bit of strength you had. You kneed him in the groin and pushed him off you, watching him drop to the floor groaning in pain. You caught a glimpse of surprise on his face before it contorted into a mask of wrath.

“You bitch” he gritted his teeth as he stood back up on his feet.

With a snarl, he lunged at you, grabbing you by the neck and slamming you against the wall. Pain seared through your body as you fought to loosen his iron grip, your muscles straining against his inhumane strength.

“Jungkook sure taught you well to defend yourself, but I’d like to see you defend yourself now” he grinned sinister as he let go of your neck.

Before you could even catch your breath, Yunho picked you up and slung you over his shoulder as he walked over to his bed.

“Let go of me you sick bastard!” you screamed as you hit his back with your fists, but Yunho remained unmoved. In a matter of seconds, he threw you down on the bed and cuffed your wrists with his single iron gripping hand.

“You can scream all you want darling, no one is going to hear you” he smirked as he hovered over you.

Your glossy eyes widened in horror as your breathing became more erratic. “N-No,” you shook your head, trying to push him off. But he was too strong. “GET OFF ME!” you screamed your lungs out.

“JUNGKOOK!”

┄┄┄┄┄

After indulging in a smoke break with his friends in the dim courtyard, Jungkook went back inside to join you again. But he frowned when he couldn’t find you from where you were standing earlier.

“Have you guys seen Y/n?” he asked around.

His question was met with shrugs and indifferent shakes of the head. No one seemed to have noticed your absence amidst the buzz of the party. But then he noticed something else that he found a little odd. Yunho was nowhere to be seen either.

“Hey Baekho, have you Y/n? Or Yunho?” he asked one of Yunho’s close friends who was drinking with the rest. “I don’t know about Y/n. But Yunho said he was going to his room to get something” Baekho shrugged.

Jungkook muttered a small ‘thank you’ before making his way upstairs. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.

Reaching Yunho’s room, he could hear muffled voices from inside. He tried to open the door but it was locked. “Yunho? Are you in there?” he knocked on the door, but no answer.

Frowning, he attempted to open the door. And miraculously, the door opened on its own, like the lock was being controlled.

When Jungkook opened the door, the sight in front of him made his heart drop.

“Yunho? Y/n?” his voice was barely audible due to shock.

His shoulders dropped as he took a step inside. Unknown to Jungkook, Yunho’s lips curled up in a smirk as he laid on the bed. And straddling him, hair tousled and eyes wide with shock, was you. Quickly wiping the smirk off his lips, Yunho pushed you off and got off the bed.

You, eyes wide with fear and desperation, got up and ran to reach out to Jungkook, your voice trembling as you tried to explain yourself. “Jungkook, l-listen to me” you said as you held his arm.

But Jungkook was quiet as he stared at you, standing there as his mind reeled with a thousand emotions. Before you could go on to say anything else, Yunho cut in.

“Your girlfriend isn't all innocent as she plays Jungkook” he said as he fixed his clothes. “I tried to stop her, and remind her that she has a boyfriend, just she just wouldn’t listen” he tried to explain.

All Jungkook did was stare and listen to what was being said. “You lying bastard!” you screamed, lunging towards the blond haired vampire and grabbing him by the collar.

“We’re going home” Jungkook’s deep murderous voice spoke up, and you froze at the chilling tone that you never heard before.

He grabbed you by the arm and dragged you out of the room, and you briefly turned to Yunho who smirked as he waved his hand at you.

“Jungkook wait! He’s lying! That’s not the truth!” you protested as you tried to keep up with the speed that he was pulling you with. But he said nothing.

When you finally reached downstairs, all eyes were on you. “Stop!” you shouted, stopping in your tracks and harshly pulling your arm out of your boyfriend’s tight hold. Your chest heaved with each ragged breath, your hands trembling as you clutched your dress.

“We’re not leaving until you know the truth!” you said.

“Stop making a scene Y/n” Jungkook gritted his teeth as he stepped towards you. “I’m not Jungkook! Your best friend is a fucking liar! He tried to-”

“I think you had quite a lot to drink Y/n, you should go home and rest” you heard Yunho’s voice cut you off. You saw Yunho making his way downstairs and the guests made way for him to walk through towards you.

“You’re my best friend’s girlfriend Y/n, I would never have any ill intentions about you” he looked at you with a soft gaze, but you knew it was all fake.

“It’s okay, I know you made a mistake, you don’t have to lie” he then said, and you didn’t miss the slight smirk that he gave to you.

At the moment, you felt your body fire up in anger. And then, you raised your hand and smacked him hard across the face. The crowd of guests gasped in shock as Yunho’s head snapped to the side, and Jungkook was quick to pull you back.

“You asshole!” you screamed. Yunho clenched his jaw as he tried to control his anger, and he raised his head back up and smiled at you. “You’re a monster, a sick bastard! You don’t deserve to be Jungkook’s friend, or anywhere near him!” you ranted.

“THAT IS ENOUGH!”

Jungkook’s loud angry voice cut through the air, silencing everyone in the room. You flinched and turned to your boyfriend, swallowing a thick lump as you eyes his furious form.

Without saying another word, he grabbed your arm and pulled you with him. You turned and glared at Yunho for the last, whose smirk never seemed to fade the entire time.

The music faded into the background as you both reached outside. You stumbled along the way, trying to keep up with his swift pace, and your heart raced with anxiety.

“Jungkook please listen to me” you pleaded, but he remained quiet. His jaw clenched tightly as he dragged you towards the car.

┄┄┄┄┄

[𝟷𝟶:𝟶𝟶 𝚙.𝚖.]

The door swung open with a loud thud as Jungkook stumbled through, his eyes clouded with anger. The usually quiet and snug atmosphere shifted abruptly as he dragged you inside by the arm with a force that made you whimper in pain.

Your cries echoed through the large hallway, a desperate plea for him to release you from his iron grip. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing with the traces of blood from where his fingers dug into your delicate skin.

“Please, Jungkook, you're hurting me” you sobbed, your voice barely audible amidst the chaos of your entry. But Jungkook’s grip only tightened, his face contorted with rage as he pulled you further into the house.

Finally when you both reached the living room, he released you with a harsh shove, sending you sprawling to the floor. You curled up into a ball, clutching your injured arm as tears continued to stream down your face like waterfall.

For a moment, there was silence as you looked up at him in disbelief and fear. The only sound heard was his ragged breathing and your choked cries as he glared down at you.

This wasn’t him.

This wasn’t the man who promised you his love and protection.

Pushing yourself up, you steadied your trembling limbs. You then began taking cautious steps towards him as you reached your hand out for him.

“P-Please, hear me out, please baby” you pleaded with your shaky voice. But Jungkook was quick to push your hand away, his expression hardening as his fists clenched at his sides.

“What is there to hear about Y/n? I saw it, you were fucking all over him!” he yelled.

You violently shook your head in denial and grabbed his hands in your shaking ones, “n-no, it’s not what it looks like! Please, you have to believe me” you panicked.

“H-He asked me if I could fetch his phone c-charger from his room a-and I went to get it. T-Then he just came in out of n-nowhere a-and locked the door, a-and he-” you frantically blabbered, but Jungkook’s loud voice stopped you midway.

“STOP!” he screamed, causing you to flinch and cower in fear. “Don’t you even try to make up excuses.” he gritted his teeth as he took a step forward.

“Seriously Y/n? My best friend? You chose to fuck with my best friend?” he questioned as he took another step closer. Each step he took towards you, you took a step back, until you found yourself being trapped in between his intimidating presence and the brick wall behind you.

“It’s not like that Jungkook, he’s lying. Please listen to me, it’s all a misunderstanding” you cried, your eyes begging him to believe you. You let out a sharp gasp when he slammed his hand on the wall next to you.

“Shut up! Just shut up!” he yelled in your face. “Yunho and I’ve been best friends for years, way back before you or your grandparents were born. I know for a fact that he’s not what you’re trying to paint him as, so just fucking stop, okay?!” he said.

Your heart dropped, but then it started to race as you began to realise that the man you loved may be slipping away from you over a grave misunderstanding. Your shoulders dropped in defeat and all you could do was stare at him with your tearful eyes.

He wasn’t believing you.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” you asked, your voice barely above whisper.

Instead of answering, he leaned in closer to you, your noses almost touching, as his nose flared in anger. A choked sob escaped from you, “what do you think of me as Jungkook?” you questioned.

“Do you think I’m some kind of slut? Is that what you really think of me?” you silently cried.

“You know me better than anyone. You know what I love and what I hate. You know my fears. But most importantly, you know that I love you, and only you” you said. “I can’t believe you would question my loyalty” your words came out as a whisper.

You were angry. Hurt. Frustrated.

The man who was supposed to take your side was now against you, blinded by what he only saw on the surface and not the depth of the truth.

Not wanting to deal with him any longer, you pushed him off you and tried to walk away. But Jungkook quickly caught you by the arm and pulled you back, slamming you against the wall. You whined in pain as your back came in contact with the hard brick wall.

“Where do you think you’re going? We aren’t done talking yet” he snapped, and you felt his fingers digging in your shoulders. “We’ll talk when you’re in your fucking senses” you snapped back, glaring at him with your red and glossy eyes.

“Now let me go” you tried to remove yourself from his tight grip, but he was too strong. The struggle to break free from his hold would soon come to a stop when you heard a low inhuman growl. When you looked up at Jungkook, you saw something that made your blood run cold.

His once gentle gaze now glowed with a sinister crimson hue, and you watched in horror as his fangs elongated before your very eyes.

“J-Jungkook?” you stuttered in fear. A guttural growl escaped his lips, sending shivers down your spine as you realised. He wasn't just angry — he was something else entirely.

“You’re mine, and only fucking mine. Got it?” he growled. Your heart hammered in your chest, your breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as you struggled to free yourself from his grasp. “S-Stop Jungkook, you’re s-scaring me” you tried to tell him.

But he was far from reality.

A terrified squeal escaped your mouth when he grabbed your face and pulled it close to his. “Jungkook,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your own heart. “Please stop, you’re scaring me baby” you choked on your sob.

But there was no humanity left in his gaze, no trace of the man you loved. Only a possessive rage that made your stomach churn with dread. This wasn’t your boyfriend. This was a creature of the night. A monster that everyone feared.

A vampire.

Your breathing was erratic. You struggled to breathe as the world spun around you. You clutched at your chest, your heart racing uncontrollably. And when it couldn’t withstand the weight of fear and distress, you felt yourself slipping. And before you knew it, your vision soon faded into darkness.

The last thing you remembered was your body dropping down, but a pair of strong arms caught you just before impact.

As Jungkook caught your limp form, his mind snapped back to reality. He blinked and shook his head as the haze of his vampire instincts faded away. Slowly, his eyes travelled down to your unconscious body, and his heart dropped like a stone in his chest.

“No…no no no” he panicked.

He cradled you close, his hands trembling as he brushed the strands of hair from your pale and tear stained face. “Y-Y/n?” he shook you, “baby wake up, I-I’m sorry” his voice cracked with desperation.

But you remained unresponsive. Your breathing was slow and faint, and your body was cold. “Fuck! What have I done?” a frustrated cry escaped from him. Regret was consuming him whole. But at the same time, anger boiled within him, directed not at you, but at himself for losing control. He didn’t mean to, but he was a monster after all.

His eyes stung with tears as he quickly picked you up in his arms and rushed you up to your shared bedroom. He kicked the door open and walked towards the bed. Gently placing you down, he fished out his phone from his back pocket. With shaking hands, he dialed his private doctor. After a few rings, the doctor picked up. Jungkook hurriedly expressed his urgency.

Ending the call, he chucked his phone on the nightstand. As he awaited help, Jungkook sat down next to your still form and tenderly held your hand, feeling his heart heavy with guilt. “I’m so sorry baby, I don’t know what got into me” he sniffled as his thumb gently caressed over your cold hand.

He knew he fucked up. He knew things weren’t going to be easy when you woke up, and he feared it would change your relationship forever.

Perhaps your parents were right, he really wasn’t any different to the other vampires. All of them were blood sucking creatures, and that perhaps that was their only purpose. Maybe he really wasn’t capable of loving anyone, let alone a human.

┄┄┄┄┄

[𝟷𝟷:𝟹𝟻 𝚙.𝚖.]

Jungkook paced anxiously around the room as the doctor checked up on you. And after what felt like an eternity, the doctor finally straightened up and met his gaze with a reassuring smile.

“She's fine, Jungkook. It seems like she fainted because of shock and stress” he explained with a calm and steady voice. Jungkook’s shoulders sagged as he let out a shaky breath of relief.

“She just needs to rest for a while. I’ll give her a vitamin injection and it should help her gain some energy when she wakes up” he then explained. Jungkook nodded and let the man do his job.

The doctor, Dr. Kim, checked your vitals once again using his stethoscope and blood pressure monitor. Once he was done, he removed the stethoscope and covered you with a blanket before turning to face Jungkook.

“Nothing to worry about now, she’s going to be alright. She should be awake in the morning” he said to him. “Thank you Dr. Kim” Jungkook thanked as his tired eyes stared at him, his voice filled with gratitude.

“No problem, if anything else happens, do call me” he said, and Jungkook hummed. Having said that, he helped him back to his car.

┄┄┄┄┄

[𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢 — 𝟶𝟾:𝟻𝟶 𝚊.𝚖.]

As the sunlight crept through the curtains, you began to stir from your slumber. With a soft groan, you slowly sat yourself up, your eyes squeezed shut against the throbbing headache. Your hands gently massaged your temples to soothe the pain, taking slow deep breaths.

As the dull ache subsided, you opened your eyes expecting Jungkooking to be sleeping next to you, but he wasn’t there. The side of his bed was neat and empty, like he hadn’t slept there at all.

The events of last night flooded back to you like a tsunami, and you couldn’t help but shiver. Your mind raced with many thoughts which were all over the place, but nothing more than dread and heartache. You weren’t ready to face him at all. You were simply scared to.

Removing the blanket, you got up from the, and you almost lost your balance which caused you to stumble. Your legs still shook even after everything yesterday, but you managed to push yourself to stand firm. You never thought you would have to be cautious in the very house you felt safe and protected. It felt as if you were living the way you have lived before you met Jungkook.

You looked around the room and gulped, nervous to move a muscle. You were scared he was going to jump in front of you with his menacing form and glowing red eyes.

But you felt icky and disgusted from Yunho’s touch, and you wanted to wash off every mark and scent of him from your body. Inhaling a breath, you took your first step, and you walked towards your wardrobe to grab clean pair clothes. You then proceeded to make your way into the bathroom.

After the shower, you changed into your blue jeans and plain white shirt. You stood in the middle of the room as you looked around with a heavy heart. The room, once filled with laughter and love, now felt cold and unfamiliar to you.

Shutting your eyes for a brief moment, you let out a shaky breath and controlled yourself from breaking down. You had one thought in your chaotic mind, and it was that you needed to get out of here. You opened your eyes and went to grab a large suitcase and a duffel bag. You then began grabbing all your clothes from the wardrobe and stuffing them into the suitcase.

Each item you carefully folded and placed into the suitcase held memories of yours and Jungkook’s time together: the pale yellow sundress which you wore on your first date, the denim jacket which you wore when you had your first kiss, the polka dot pyjamas you wore when you both had your first argument, and the red silk dress you wore the night he made love to you for the first time.

Your movements were slow and deliberate, your heart growing heavier as the wardrobe became emptier. Tears welled up in your eyes as you zipped up the suitcase and the duffel bag, and your hands dropped to your sides as you stepped back a little.

You looked around the room one last time, not missing a single corner. You looked at the photo frame on the wall above the bed, it was the two of you smiling together, taken on a sunny day in the park. You could help but feel a pang of sadness in your chest.

You could feel the muscles in your chest tighten in despair at the thought of how all this was ending. How had it all come to this? But you knew you couldn’t stay here anymore. Despite your love for Jungkook, you couldn't shake the fear that was bubbling inside you.

Maybe what happened yesterday was a wake up call, that no matter how much he loved and cared about you, the shadow of the monster that he was would always be part of him. But most importantly, you couldn’t ignore the betrayal you felt and the lack of trust he had in you.

Sniffling and wiping away your tears, you grabbed your things and turned around to leave. But the sight of Jungkook standing by the door made you gasp in fear and drop everything you hand in your hands. “Y/n?” his voice was calm and low, something that would’ve usually soothed you, but not now.

Jungkook looked at you and your packed belongings before his eyes turned to you. “You’re…leaving?” he asked with a hurt voice. But you stayed quiet as your breathing started to quicken.

Jungkook knew you were still shaken so he tried to be careful and calm with his approach. “Can we talk? Please baby” he pleaded as he took a step forward, only for you to take two steps back instinctively. “N-No, stay a-away” your voice shook. Jungkook’s heart sank at the rejection, but nothing more than the fear that was written all over your face.

You were scared of him.

He felt a lump form in his throat and tears prickle in his eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you” his voice cracked. He knew you would be scared, he just didn’t know how bad it was until he took another step forward with his hand reaching out to you.

You screamed as you backed away and fell to the ground. And you pulled your knees to your chest while your hands clamped to your ears. “P-Please, d-don’t come near m-me” you fearfully said. “Y/n-”

“I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me” you cried, cutting him off.

And in that moment, Jungkook felt his whole world fall apart. His eyes widened slightly and his breath hitch, and his knees grew weak before he dropped down to the floor. The silence was loud and deafening, only your muffled sobs and ragged breathing could be heard.

Who would’ve thought that a bloodthirsty monster like him would cry over a mortal human whom he scarred and traumatised for life? “B-Baby, I’m not going to hurt you” he choked on his cry as tears streamed down his face, “please don’t be scared of me”.

But his words seemed to fall on deaf ears as you continued to cry, your fear too overwhelming to be soothed by mere words.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry” he slowly crawled towards you, but you immediately pushed yourself back. Jungkook’s heart only sank deeper and deeper. His usual pale face was flushed as he desperately tried to comfort you, and somewhat himself.

But he knew he was losing you, and the reality of it all scared him. Jungkook knew that whatever that he tried to do, it wasn’t going to work. You were beyond his reach now.

“But you did Jungkook” you finally spoke up as you raised your head, “you did hurt me” you said.

You looked at his crying form as his eyes made desperate pleas towards you. “You hurt me when you didn’t believe me, you hurt me with your words, and you hurt me the way you manhandled me like I was some ragged doll” you snapped at him.

“If I stayed conscious any longer, what were the chances that you weren’t going to hurt me?” you lashed out, questioning him. Jungkook remained silent as he questioned himself.

Was he really going to hurt you?

“I wasn’t thinking straight, I really wasn’t. I’m so sorry” he croaked.

“No amount of sorry is going to fix this Jungkook. The damage is done” you shook your head. “I was begging you to listen to me, to believe me, but you didn’t. You just let your jealousy and insecurities get the best of you” you continued.

“I don’t care how long you’ve known Yunho for and how good of a friend he is to you, but he’s a sick bastard who tried to take advantage of me. And just when I tried to fight back and you walked in, he took it as a perfect opportunity to paint me as a cheater, and you believed him” you said.

“I’m sorry” he kept mumbling as he silently cried. “You know how scared I am of vampires already, did you really think I would ever cheat on you with one?” you asked. You took off your leather jacket and rolled your sleeves up to your shoulders.

“If I had really cheated on you, I wouldn’t have these on my arms” you said as you pointed at the dark spots of bruises on both of your arms, most importantly the hand print around your neck.

Jungkook’s cries came to a halt when his eyes landed on all the marks on your arms and neck. He stopped breathing for a second and his defeated eyes suddenly grew dark and enraged.

“The worst part is, I don’t even know who caused which ones, Yunho or you” you said, your voice sounding tired. Jungkook’s heart sank at your words, and it was the realisation that he and Yunho were no different which haunted him. Yunho hurt you, but so did he.

Jungkook quickly crawled closer to you and you let him. His cold and shaky hands reached to cup your face and lift your head up a little. You flinched at his touch and your body stiffened, but you let him. His watery eyes scanned the bruise around your neck, specifically the hand print, and you could see the fury bubbling inside his eyes and the way his body violently shook.

“H-He-”

“yes Jungkook, he, your fucking best friend” you interrupted. “And there’s no point going up to him now, because it’s too late. What’s done is done. He won’t regret a thing even if you beat the crap out of him” you told him.

Jungkook hated that you were right. He knew Yunho seeked pleasure in destroying things and hurting others. He just wished he had realised it sooner when he tried to hurt you.

“I’m not going to beat the crap out of him” Jungkook shook his head, “I’m going fucking kill him” he said.

You couldn’t help but chuckle in mockery, “too late don’t you think?” you looked at him. “I don’t care what you do with him Jungkook, just please,” your eyes softened, “just please leave me out of this mess, and let me go” you begged.

“I’m scared, okay? After what you pulled yesterday, it made me realise that you’re no different to the rest of the vampires. And as much as it hurts to let you go, I know it’s the best for me and to keep myself and my family safe. I hope you can at least respect my decision and leave me alone after this” you softly cried.

Jungkook’s shoulders dropped and his heart shattered into pieces. He knew this was coming, but he didn’t prepare to deal with the pain it came with.

“And you know what I’ve been thinking of lately before all this happened?” you then began, and all Jungkook could do was sit and listen.

“I’m a human who is bound to die when my time comes. I will grow old while you stay young and live for many more years to come. How was our relationship going to work? When I die, would you live on to find your next lover and forget about me? Could there be a way for me to live with you forever?” you spoke.

Jungkook was thrown back at your words, but coming to think about it, his heart dropped. “You know I would search for a lifetime to find a way for us to be together forever” he said, and you chuckled. “But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore. Not when you doubted my loyalty” you told him.

You grabbed your jacket and wore it before standing up. Your legs shook and you were about to fall, but Jungkook quickly caught you. But you flinched and pushed him away. Jungkook felt his chest tighten and he clenched his fists as he retracted his hands.

He knew your decision was final and that he had to let you go. There was nothing he could do but blame himself for what he had caused. “I’m sorry princess, I really am. I never meant to hurt you like this” his lips quivered the spoke, “and I’m sorry I didn’t believe you” he cried.

Your heart ached watching him cry. Vampires weren’t emotionally sensitive and known for having thick skin. But with Jungkook, you knew he was truly regretting. You could see how defeated and desperate he was at the same time. He lost you, and he was scared of what his life would be without you.

“It really didn’t have to end this way Jungkook. I love you, but I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me, let alone someone who would kill the woman he loves over his own insecurities” you responded. Jungkook shut his eyes as he cried, gripping a fistful of his hair.

“I’m sorry” he kept repeating like a chant, as if he wished it would magically fix everything. “Yeah, me too” you said. You stared at him for the last time before grabbing your things and leaving.

That was the last time you had seen Jungkook, and it tore you to pieces having to leave a man who you thought was the one. But turns out your parents were right all along — he was just like the rest of the night hunters.

You didn’t know how to face your parents after this, but you knew that as long as you were safe, it was all that mattered to them. When you moved back with your parents, they welcomed you like a lost child finally being returned home.

They felt bad about what happened between you and Jungkook, but a big part of them were relieved that you were no longer associated with a creature like him. It was hard adjusting to your new routine without Jungkook, and you had a few mental breakdowns every now and then thinking about him.

You missed him so bad no matter how much you hated him. He was your first love, and getting over your first love is never easy.

But there has always been a nagging feeling inside of you that no matter how much you both loved each other, the two of you were just not meant to be. While you grow old and rot away after death, Jungkook will continue with his life for a hundred more years. And you couldn’t help but think of the possibility of him finding a new lover.

The thought of it all made you want to dig up a hole and bury yourself in it.

But at one point, you knew you had to learn to move on and not let the pain drag you forever. You took it as a lesson to not trust anyone and always look out for yourself and the people you cared about. You hoped that Jungkook would keep your words and not meddle with you and your life again.

Days blended into nights as Jungkook roamed the darkness. His immortal existence stretched before him, a seemingly endless expanse of emptiness. He never felt so lost and alone in his entire lifetime.

He didn’t know what his purpose was anymore without you, and the pain of the heartbreak will forever haunt him. He couldn’t keep the promise he made to his mother, to never hurt the person he loved, yet here he was.

But Jungkook kept his promise when he said he would never hunt down a human. Instead, he spent his nights hunting for the blood of animals in the nearby forest. Despite his forced isolation, Jungkook couldn't bring himself to cut all ties with you. From a distance, he would watch over you like a silent guardian in the shadows.

He remembered your words and promised to not let a single vampire go near you and your family. But he still longed for your touch, yet he knew that his very presence could only bring you harm.

But Jungkook had more pressing matters to attend to than his broken heart.

Yunho was still around doing what he usually did, like he didn’t do anything wrong. So there he stood, in front of his best friend’s house, with a wooden stake tightly gripped in his hand. His jaw was tightly clenched and his gaze hardened as he huffed out a breath before kicking the door open.

Despite his immortal nature, Jungkook had never felt more human than in that moment, consumed by the agony of lost love and the burning desire for revenge.

There, in the dimly lit living room, sat Yunho who had a smirk playing on lips. “Oh? Jungkook?” Yunho slightly tilted his head, acting clueless.

But Jungkook didn’t say a word, because he knew Yunho was well aware why he was here. With a gaze as cold as death itself, he advanced towards him, the stake glinting ominously in the moonlight.

There was no need for explanations, no room for apologies. Only justice, swift and merciless, could mend the shattered fragments of his wounded heart and joy.

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Stars

Yandere! Platonic! Justice League x Isakai! Reader

Based of the Justice League Animated Series and Justice League Unlimited (loosely).

Trigger Warnings: betrayal, gaslighting, manipulation the use of telepathy to erase a memory, general yandere behaviors, and Batman’s famed paranoia and mental issues. Bittersweet ending, but not for reader lmao

When there’s an alert about a flux in dimensional energy, they are all wary, aware. Batman monitors the area obsessively, cameras and audio devices and sensors on in an attempt to ease the very real concern they all felt.

And then you practically appear, at the Daily Planet. Your clothes had been ragged, been worn, and you had been clutching your bag tightly, like at any second someone would come and take it away from you.

When Clark saw you, he had felt terrible for you, and he had come over with a kolache from the break room and an apple juice from the vending machines. He hadn’t expected you to take them.

But you do.

And when you look at him, seeing his face for the first time, Clark sees your eyes widen. Hears the way your heart picks up, sees the way your muscles loosen and relax. You’re looking at him like he had hung the stars and moon, like he was your idol, with the sort of wonder and awe reserved for Superman.

And he knew that you knew.

For a moment, he had panicked. How could you possibly have known? He had never met you, never seen you, and he knew that Bruce would have told him if he even so much suspected that Clark’s identity had been compromised.

But then you had taken the kolache and you had smiled at him, bright and trusting and warm, and Clark knew without a doubt that he could trust you with his identity. Knew that you trusted him, wholly and completely.

“Thank you.” You had smiled, and he remembers smiling gently at you. Something about you had been disarming, although maybe it had been the way you had relaxed in his presence, fully confident that if anything were to happen, he would protect you.

“It’s not a problem. Do you need anything else?”

The question “Do you need help?” had went unasked, but it had hung in the air between the two of you, and he could see the way you had sighed, nodding.

“Yeah. Would it be alright if.. we talked in private?”

Clark had nodded, guided you to his office. It was one of the most secure rooms available at the time, Bruce had set it up for him early on, and when he had closed the door, your entire body had screamed nervousness and anxiety but you had explained everything anyways.

When you finish explaining, showed him the evidence of what you could, your hands shaking and nervous, he had smiled at you, gentle and reassuring and placed a warm hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll get you home. Promise.”

——————

The reveal that you knew their identities went over strangely. Bruce had suspected, of course, and you had told him outright, not bothering to hide your knowledge from him or even attempt to. His remark that you were oddly forthcoming about that information had been met with a huff and a smile.

“You’re Batman.” You had almost laughed it out, like the idea that he wouldn’t be able to figure you out was hilarious. “You would’ve realized anyways.”

He had felt a surge of.. not quite pride. That hadn’t been the words for it. It was a strange mix of pride and caution. You had said it like you knew him. He supposes in a way you did.

When he tells you that there may be no way for you to return home, that it may be an impossibility, but that he would ensure you would be taken care of, you had smiled at him, accepting his words as truth. Accepting that he would do everything in his power to return you to your home dimension, accepting that it may simply be beyond what he could do.

A part of him wished the stories had been a bit more accurate. It would have felt like like a betrayal to you, to the trust you had placed in him and the League so eagerly, without reserve.

The more pragmatic part had been glad that the stories had painted him the way they had. A selfless defender of a broken city, a protector of children, someone to be depended on and trusted. He couldn’t see it, not really, but in your world he was fiction and fiction was always prettier than reality, always less grim.

Because if he was the person you believed him to be, you would not be staying at the Watchtower. You would be somewhere, tucked away and hidden, far away from the villains of their world, not so very close to all of them, in the line of fire.

But he cannot stand the thought of you so far from them, from the people who would protect if the secret of your origins was revealed. There would be no one to save you, if Luthor or the Joker or Ra’s Al Ghul were to discover that you had such sensitive information. You would be there one day and ripped from them the next.

He gives you a phone, and you are so very grateful you don’t think to check it for any tampering. He spends hours upon hours going through your texts, your emails, ensuring anyone you had contact with met his standards. Anyone who did not was quickly dealt with, in some way or another. He didn’t threaten them, that would be traced back to him too easily and you would not understand, not fully, but they would suddenly lose your contact or be locked out of an email. You rarely left the Watchtower anyways, and he trusted his fellow Justice League members to be able to determine if you were with someone trustworthy or not.

Even as he works to get you home, there is always the question of if he were to simple.. stop. If he were to allow you to remain here, with them. If he could keep you safe and close and protected.

He had eventually abandoned his efforts getting you home.

Not because he had felt it was impossible, but because they had been too close.

————

Things come to a head when you are laughing alongside Barry bright and bubbly and warm. You are sitting and talking and laughing, and no matter how much Barry wishes it wasn’t true, sometimes his mouth ran faster than his thoughts and he had smiled and laughed, telling you that he was glad you were happier now.

And maybe something in his tone had tipped you off. Maybe you had seen the way Batman was softer around you, the way Wonder Woman gave you fond looks. Maybe you had seen the reluctance to discuss your home dimension. Maybe Clark, the terrible liar he was, had accidentally clued you in a few times.

But your smile had slipped away and your eyes had filled with something, clouds hiding the stars Barry was used to seeing, and he had felt his heart drop.

You hadn’t accused them.

You hadn’t said anything.

You had simply stood and walked away, and he hadn’t even been mad at Bruce for the way the man had chewed him out for hours afterwards.

He tries making it up to you, distracting you. He brings you treats, small hidden things for you to nibble on because Bruce was too strict about your diet, and tells you jokes. He gets Hal to help him convince Bruce to take you to an amusement park, but you show no interest in going even though you had been so excited not a month before. He drags you out of the room as often as he can, taking you to Central City, showing you his favorite places.

Anything to make that clouded, lost expression go away. Anything to ease the guilt that bubbles in his stomach, anything to get rid of the knowledge that this would all stop being so complicated if they just sent you home.

Eventually, he stops dragging you out of your room.

He marches up to where they all meet, the viewing port in the Watchtower, and the sight of so many stars makes him almost sick.

“We have to do something.” He announces. “They’re barely eating, and I couldn’t even get them excited about Power Rangers! They love Power Rangers!”

The announcement had been met with varying agreement. According to Bruce you had barely been earrings. Diana had said that you were listless while you trained, something you had developed a passion for. Clark said that he heard you crying, sometimes, and his voice had been so pained and so hurt that Barry had winces, his chest aching.

J’onn had said that your thoughts had turned dark, and Barry sees the way Bruce’s posture shifts.

“I already know what you’re about to say. Don’t even think about it.” He had immediately argued, the words coming fast in what could be panic or anger. Barry loved Bruce, he really did, but sometimes the man was willing to go to lengths none of them would even consider.

“I haven’t even said anything.” That was all Batman, there, not Bruce, and Hal jumped to Barry’s defense.

“We all know you were thinking it, Bats. You were gonna ask J’onn to alter their memories.” Hal hadn’t sound.. disapproving of the idea, and Barry had thrown him an angry glare.

“It’s an option.”

“It’s not. For one, I doubt J’onn would even agree, and for two, it’s wrong, and you know it!” Barry had shot back, irritated on your behalf.

“And what we’ve been doing now hasn’t been?”

Bruce’s words are brutal, making Barry flinch. Making Clark cringe to, and Hal avert his eyes.

“All of us, not just me, have lied to them. Monitored them. Mislead them. We may have been doing it for their own benefit, but that doesn’t change that in the standard sense, our actions are morally reprehensible. Having J’onn alter their memories will spare them a lot of pain, and he has already agreed to do so, if there’s a majority vote in favor of it.”

“You all discussed this, didn’t you? While I was out with them.” He accused, and Bruce had nodded.

“Yes. Hal, myself, and J’onn already agreed. Clark and Diana disagree. You’re the deciding vote.”

Barry had felt the pit of his stomach drop at the thought. That was such a horrible responsibility, whether to take away your pain or leave it there because it was yours.

And then he thinks of the clouds in front of the stars in your eyes and the way you looked numb when you stares into space, and he sighs.

“It’s safe?”

“As safe as it can be. With me monitoring them, there will be no issues.” J’onn had assured, and maybe Barry had been thinking too much with his heart and not his head.

“Fine. Fine, just.. I don’t want to be there. I don’t want to see that.”

J’onn had nodded. Barry had left, not wanting to see Clark and Diana’s disappointment, not wanting to see Bruce’s relief.

————

When J’onn alters your memory, the stars in your eyes come back. You laugh with Hal and Barry, go to your lessons, go shopping with Bruce, work with Clark on the projects scattered around the apartment. You trust them, just as much as you had before, and even though you believe you can’t go home anymore, there’s an almost tangible supernova of hope around you, a determination to live in their world and grow and be better.

Too many of them decide they don’t regret it. And when J’onn takes you aside sometimes, ensuring that the false memories held, too many of them felt a surge of relief.

[naeverse]

Dear My Beloved (2/2)

~Ｖｉｃｅ ＃３~

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝟑: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥

(𝐎𝐜𝐭. 𝟏𝟑-𝟏𝟗)

----

𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳:

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯.

-

"𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯."

Ｍｕｓｉｃ：

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘰 𝘔𝘦" - 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘍𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳

"𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘮 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘮 𝘚𝘰𝘯𝘨" - 𝘉𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘰𝘥

🤎staring: Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

      👗preview: But then, everything seemed to stop.

The music faded into the background as, almost in a trance, you stared at the kitchen tool in your hand, the hum slowing on your lips.

Twirling it between your fingers, your eyes traced the jagged edge. Transfixed, your hands ached with an foreign yet strangely familiar desire—one buried deep in the recesses of your mind.

The record player  suddenly grabbed your attention when the previous song's lyrics of adoration from Helen Foster shifted.

The tune slowed, the pitch of the female singer’s voice deepening to an haunting croak.

 “Nothing is what it seems… Oh dear, nothing is what it seems...”

💄summary: It’s your husband Miguel’s birthday, a day that should be filled with love and celebration. Yet, something feels…off. 

🎂tw/cw: 1950s Era, Abuse, Angst, Blood, Body Horror, Death, Despair, Disturbing Imagery, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Grief, Hallucinations, Mental Breakdown, Mental Illness, No Smut, Paranoia, Psychological Horror, Trauma, Violence, 

💙Pet names: Amor (Love), Bebé (Baby), Cariño (Darling), Esposa (Wife), Mi amor (My love)

     ♥️Rating: 18+ explicit I ANGST I

 🎵 Word Count: Total - 14.5k, Part 2 - 8.2k words

Art found on Pinterest, all credit go to original artists/designers/photographers 

All credit also goes to musicians as I do not own the two songs heavily used in this oneshot. 😊

Dividers and mood board was created by me.

⚠️⚠️ Trigger Warning: This section contains highly sensitive content, including blood, trauma, verbal abuse, mental health struggles, and death. If any of these topics may be triggering for you, please proceed with caution and at your own discretion. ⚠️⚠️

“MAMA!!”

You froze, eyes wide, breath catching in your throat. Hastily, you pushed Miguel away, panic rising in your chest. “Did you hear that?!” you asked, your voice tight with alarm.

For once, Miguel’s expression mirrored the terror that gripped you. Rising from the couch, he reached out to steady you as both of you looked toward the stairs, your pulse pounding in your ears. The air between you was heavy now—this wasn’t just the innocent sound of a child’s call.

Something was wrong…

Your husband moved first, his long legs quickly striding to the stairway. He climbed them in an instant, with you close behind.

“Princesa!? Gabriella!?” Miguel’s thunderous voice echoed down the hall of your family home.

“Gabi?!” you called out, your heart hammering, never feeling this level of panic before.

Miguel walked briskly down the narrow upstairs hallway, flanked by four doors—two leading to bathrooms, one to your shared bedroom, and the last to Gabriella’s room.

Frantically, you tore through each room, throwing open doors, your eyes scanning for any trace of your daughter. With each second that passed, the dread in your chest grew heavier. “Gabi?!” your voice cracked as it echoed off the walls. But the silence that followed was unbearable.

She wasn’t there.

Meeting in the hallway, your teary eyes locked with Miguel’s. His stern gaze didn’t falter, but the tension in his clenched jaw betrayed his growing desperation.

“One last door, cariño. She’s here,” he said, his voice resolute as his knuckle brushed your cheek in a soothing gesture. But the flicker of anger in his eyes spoke volumes—anger at the unknown, at his own helplessness.

Swallowing hard, your throat dry, you both turned toward Gabriella’s bathroom.

Miguel let out a frustrated grunt, and with the force of a charging bull, he bursted the door open. You pushed past him, your feet hitting the cold tiles when you entered the room.

The bathroom hit you like a slap. The air was heavy, unnaturally still, and it clung to your skin in a way that made every nerve scream with unease. The cold tiles beneath your feet were a stark contrast to the warmth of the hallway carpet, a biting reminder of how wrong everything felt.

⚠️⚠️(Trigger Warning Approaching!!)) ⚠️⚠️ 

Skip to this if you wish to avoid it >> 🤎💙

Your hand scrambled along the wall, fumbling for the light switch. When the harsh fluorescent bulbs buzzed to life with a sickly hum, the scene before you came into focus.

And you froze.

The color drained from your face, your breath caught in your chest, and your knees felt as if they might give way beneath you. The bathtub, the room, the sight—it all sucked the life out of you in one brutal instant.

‘This has to be a dream. Let this be a fucking dream.’

But it wasn’t.

Gabriella was there, hunched over the edge of the bathtub.

Your sweet little girl—the same one who had just been beaming with joy as she dashed upstairs to fetch her gift—now laid lifelessly. Her small body was draped over the edge, twisted in a way that made her look like a discarded, broken doll. The innocence of her form had been stolen, transformed into something grotesque.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The world had stopped spinning, leaving you trapped in this moment of unimaginable horror.

🤎💙 Safe to continue reading💙🤎

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head frantically. “No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be real.”

Your voice broke, a sob ripping through your chest while stepping back on trembling legs. “My daughter. My sweet little girl.” Tears blurred your vision, cascading down your cheeks as you sank to your knees.

“Oh, gosh, w-what happened to you? This can’t be real. No, no, no.” The words spilled from your lips in a torrent of grief and denial.

A guttural cry tore from your chest, raw and unrelenting, shaking your entire body. Your hands gripped the fabric of your blue dress so tightly that your knuckles turned white, the tears soaking the material until it clung to your trembling form.

Your heart raced, your breathing uneven, and your head throbbed with disbelief and terror. The questions, the pleas, the desperate prayers poured out of you in a relentless stream, each one more frantic than the last.

But the pain was too much.

Your vision blurred further, darkening at the edges as the world around you began to fade. Overwhelmed by the sheer weight of grief, your body gave out, collapsing into unconsciousness.

As darkness enveloped you, fragments of thoughts slipped through the cracks of your mind.

‘Please don’t be real.’

‘My sweet girl, Gabriella.’

‘I can’t lose you.’

‘I can’t lose you.’

And then, like a flickering light extinguished, your final thoughts faded into the void.

“Mi amor…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything will be okay.”

“You are okay.”

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, your body weak and trembling. A pounding headache reverberated through your skull—a pain so excruciating that even thinking was a grueling task.

“W-where am I?” you whispered, struggling to sit up from your crumpled position on the ground. Surrounded you a cold, dark hallway—one that sent a chill down your spine. The memories came rushing back, sharp and unbearable, as a strangled sob escaped your throat.

“G-Gabi. Oh gosh.” You wept into your hands, the ache in your chest only intensifying when the horrific moment played out in your mind once more.

Above, the lights flickered on, one by one, casting an eerie glow over the hallway. The endless stretch of white doors along the walls appeared stark and unnervingly perfect. Each was identical—smooth, sleek, and disturbingly pristine. No wood grain or signs of age, no layers of paint chipped over time. Just a clinical, sterile design that felt foreign. These weren’t the familiar, warm doors of your home.

Your gaze stretched down the corridor. The symmetry of the doors and the sterile glow of the flickering lights heightened the unsettling atmosphere. Your stomach churned, a sense of dread sinking deep into your bones.

Shakily, you rose to your feet, your legs trembling beneath you. You were still barefoot, dressed in the pastel blue dress you had worn earlier, although your jumbo curls were now a mess and in need of another douse in hairspray. 

Everything about you was the same, yet you felt completely different—wrecked by despair that gripped you tighter with every thought of your little girl and…

Miguel. 

Your eyes darted around frantically, trying to seek him to find no other being in sight. 

Where was he? He had been with you when…

“Y/N!?”

His voice boomed through the hallway, shattering the silence.

Your head whipped toward the sound—a desperate yell followed by loud bangs against one of the white doors.

“Amor! Esposa!” Miguel’s frantic voice echoed as he jiggled the doorknob. “Fuck, it’s locked! I’m in here, baby! Open the door!”

“Miguel!?” you cried out, rushing toward the source of his voice.

“Y/N! Oh, bebé, I’m so happy to hear you are okay,” he said, relief breaking through his panicked tone.

“M-me too. But Miguel, Gabi—”

“I know, amor,” he interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. “First, I need you to open the door. There’s…something in here with me.”

His words sent a chill through your entire body.

“It’s chasing me through these halls. I can’t see it, and—shit—it stabbed me.”

“It stabbed you!?” you exclaimed, horrified, pressing yourself against the door wishing to be there next to him more than anything.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Nothing fatal, though.” But his weakening tone betrayed his words.

“It’ll be okay, Miguel. I-I’ll open the door. I’ll get you out.”

Your hands shook as you gripped the doorknob, turning it desperately. However, It didn’t budge.

It was locked…

Your heart sank. “M-Miguel, it’s locked!” you whimpered, twisting and pulling at the knob repeatedly in a frenzy.

“Try again. Stay calm for me, baby. Just try again.”

“I am!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face, completely helpless as fear tightened its grip on you. “Try it from your side!” you begged.

You stepped back, letting him attempt the lock from his side. The sounds of his struggle filled the hallway, but the door refused to open.

“Mierda!” He cursed in frustration, hands slamming against the door with a loud bang, making you jump. 

“M-Miguel, what are we going to do? I-I can’t leave you, I can’t…” You sobbed, not wanting to be alone and leave your husband to die at the hands of that thing. 

Instead of an answer, your stomach turned into knots at his response. “It’s here! Fuck!” Miguel stated, harsh bangs and kicks to the door filling the quiet hallway at your husband’s futile attempts to escape. “Get out of here, esposa!” 

A new wave of terror crashed over you. “N-no! I’m not leaving you!” you cried, not wishing to leave and lose him too. You tugged at the door in desperation alongside his assaults upon the relentless door, crying all the while. 

“Y/N!” Miguel’s stern voice cut through your panic, startling youfor a fleeting moment. “I love you, but you have to leave. Understand me!?”

You choked on your sobs, every fiber of your being screaming to stay, but his command left no room for argument.

“Y-yes. I understand,” you whimpered in a trembling voice. “I love you too.”

However, silence fell on the other side of the door.

Your eyes widened  when a loud, sickening thud from behind the door filled your ears. In that moment, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

“Miguel!” you screamed, banging your fists against the wooden surface. Your cries were frantic, pleading for any response, begging for his death not to be real.

A harsh, coppery scent filled your nose, like a punch in the face. Sharp and metallic, it clawed at your every sense as a wet, sticky sensation spreading under your foot made your breath hitch.

Your eyes darted down in alarm. 

Blood.

It pooled from beneath the door, crimson rivulets spreading across the pristine floor, soaking into the soles of your bare feet.

You staggered back, trembling, disbelief gripping your entire being.

“N-no, not you too. Not you too.”

The words spilled from your lips in broken, anguished sobs, a mantra of denial as tears blurred your vision. The reality was too much to bear, too cruel to endure.

You turned and sprinted down the hallway, no longer caring where it led, no longer caring if you’d be lost. 

The sterile glow of the flickering lights stretched endlessly ahead of you, the hem of your blue dress billowing behind you as you ran. Your breath hitched, your sobs growing louder, hair whipping wildly around your tear-streaked face.

And then, your legs gave out.

You collapsed to your knees, chest heaving, despair consuming you.

You sobbed uncontrollably, your trembling hands clutching at the cold floor. The weight of the loss crushed you, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in its wake.

‘First Gabi, my little angel…and now Miguel.’

The thought shattered you. It was too much. Too much pain. Too much emptiness.

Your tears fell harder, your cries echoing down the lifeless corridor.

And then—

A sound.

The soft creak of a door swinging open.

Your head snapped up, your breath hitching and your heart plummeted into your stomach. One of the white doors stood ajar, its perfect surface now marred by a sinister shadow. 

A cold, unnatural wind blew from the pitch-black doorway, tousling your hair and sending a shiver down your spine.

You froze, your body rigid with fear and grief, staring into the darkness.

For a fleeting moment, you found yourself yearning, besseching for whatever had taken Miguel to take you too. To end this nightmare. To reunite you with your family.

But instead of a monster emerging from the void, you saw something else.

You and Miguel…

But not really…

You were sitting in a fancy restaurant with your husband, Miguel, donned in a glamorous dress and him, a pristine tux. This world was nothing you were familiar with, nothing like your checkerboard floors, poodle skirts, and pin-up curls. It was more futuristic to what you were used to, yet familiar all the same. 

The waitress completed taking your order and collected your menus. Innocently, your husband exchanged a glance with her, his eyes lingering a little too long for your liking, his smile too warm and it all riled you up. 

As soon as the waitress left, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

“I saw you.” You spat, glaring at him, the tension between the two of you growing thick. “I saw you look at her. You think I didn’t notice?” You asked with a scoff. "Anyone could see how your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull."

Miguel’s charming features shifted to a mix of confusion and frustration. He leaned in close, trying to keep your conversation down. “What are you talking about? I just glanced at her, it was nothing.” 

“No, no, don’t lie to me! You think I’m stupid? T-That I cannot see what is evidently in front of me!?” Your voice rose, attracting the attention of nearby diners. “Well, I assure you, husband, I’m not fucking blind.” You said harshly, spitting his title that was meant for endearment like it was venom in your mouth. 

Miguel steadily placed his glass down, his large hand reaching across the table to hold yours in hopes of quelling the raging storm. “Calm down, please, amor. Let’s not ruin our date.” He whispered hopefully, stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “You’re not seeing things clearly. Nothing happened.” 

The look on your face was of pure rage from something so harmless as a glance. You were lost in your own chaotic thoughts—a belief that he would leave you for someone younger, someone more beautiful. The waiter, the clerk, the neighbor down the street—anyone could take him from you. 

Anyone.

You yanked your hand from his, standing up with a loud squeak of your chair on the floor, gaining the attention of the entire restaurant. “Since you wish to ogle at waitresses, you can eat dinner by yourself. I'll be in the car.” You said, storming out and leaving an embarrassed and pitiful Miguel in your wake…

The door slammed shut with a loud bang, snapping you out of the long-lost memory. “W-who was that? What was that?” you stammered in utter confusion and horror at the person who looked like you but was anything but.

“That… could not have been me,” you thought, but you couldn’t shake the familiarity of the situation.

You could practically feel the red dress you wore upon your body, remember the paranoia and anger, smell the spices wafting through the restaurant, and see the look of pity your husband gave you amidst the storm of your deranged thoughts.

You rose on your shaky legs, the tears you shed now dried upon your cheeks. Your bare feet wandered down the flickering hallway and found yourself wanting answers to the many questions that plagued your mind. 

Suddenly, you heard another door to your left fly open, forcing you into that terrible world once more—one that was far from the perfect world you remembered. 

Or thought you remembered…

You were in the hallway, walking into the kitchen when you heard Miguel on the phone. His voice was lower than usual, speaking to someone in hushed tones. You couldn’t make out the words, but you could hear the familiarity in his voice. His voice was warmer. Softer. He didn’t speak to you like that. 

Not anymore. 

You stormed into the room, catching the last part of the conversation. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up later. Miss you too, sweetheart. Bye.” 

Your mind instantly spiraled: Who was he talking to? Who is “she”? 

Miguel looked back startled at your sudden appearance. “Hey, cariño, you scared me-” 

“Who is she?” Your voice shaking in desperation and anger. “Who the hell were you talking to?” 

He looked at you in perplexion, a flicker of hurt in his eyes at being accused of such a thing. “I was talking to Gabi. She’s at my mother’s for the weekend, remember?” He stated in betrayal. “Why are you constantly accusing me of cheating. I love you, amor. Only you.” 

Miguel tried to convince you, but you didn’t believe him. You couldn’t. 

You never could anymore. 

“No, no, you’re lying to me. You’re having an affair. I know it. You don’t care about me anymore.” You wholeheartedly believed, could even see the loving looks he'd give her—hear the dirty things he would say to her. 

“You are just using our daughter as a coverup!” You shouted at him, stepping up to jab a finger to his chest. “And I would not let you make me look like a fool, Miguel!” 

The memory faded away, throwing you back into the endless hallway, the door swinging closed. 

Your eyes watered up, tears beginning to fill your cheeks. “No, this can’t be true. What is this?” You whimpered, shaking your head. “This is a lie. Miguel and I were happy. He would dance with me, hold me, sing to me with his guitar. No, this isn’t real!” You shouted aloud, more to yourself in hopes of dismissing such riveting tales this nightmare was trying to plague you with. 

“I won’t believe these false tales! I won’t let you lie to me!” You cried out, walking, or more like, stumbling down the hallway. Your body felt weaker, unable to hold yourself up as you walked to the next door that would surely bring you back to that hellish world. 

Like you predicted, dread engulfed you when another white door flung open, pulling your consciousness into the world of false once more. 

You sat on the sofa in the living room, sipping at a mug of coffee. Watching your daughter, Gabriella drew at her mini table, her small hands carefully drawing stick figures with bright red crayons.  “What are you drawing, sweetie?” You asked, noticing her become tensed at your question. 

“I’m…I’m drawing us, Mamá.” You hummed, peering over her shoulder with a smile until you noticed one of the three stick figures with their head tilted, a red line crossed through their face. 

“What is this?” You demanded, pointing a finger at the crossed out figure. “I-Its-” Gabi’s eyes widened as you snatched the paper out of her hands before she could explain. “I-It’s just a…picture, Mamá.”

“A picture? And what is Mama doing here, huh? Being crossed out of your life?” 

“N-No, Mamá…” She began to weep. “You are just sad.” Gabi cried, trying to point out that the red streaks were instead tears, but to you, they were anything but. 

You turned to Miguel, who was watching from the kitchen. “This is what she learns from you, huh!?” You shouted in a voice full of accusation. “Filling her head with ideas of hating her mother?!” 

Miguel hastily raced into the living room, hiis burly arms reaching out to place Gabi behind him, shielding her crying form from you.  “It’s just a child’s drawing. She’s drawing what she is seeing.” Your husband stated. “Please, stop being like this. Please, amor.” 

But you can’t let it go. The image haunts you, filling your mind with fears of what Gabi might be learning from her father, and what she could be thinking of you. 

You storm out of the room, the paper crumpling in your hand, heart pounding with a sense of betrayal.

“No more.” Was the first thing that escaped your cracked lips and scratchy throat. You shook your head from your crumbled position on the floor, hair and blue dress a mess. “Please, don’t show me anymore.” You begged, knowing if you moved, you’d be brought to that horrid place again—feel the overwhelming anger, fear, delusion that raked your body, practically eating you alive—and your family too. 

A faint, yet familiar noise began to echo down the hall. It was quiet and undiscernable, but you were sure it sought to drive you insane. 

You didn’t want to make sense of what you were seeing, because if you made sense of it, it'd only mean they were true. “This isn’t real. I loved my Gabriella and she loved me.” You affirmed, remembering the memories you deemed true. “S-She’d draw me pictures all the time, work with me in the kitchen, a-and we'll play with her dolls together.” You cried, tears breaking free. “This isn’t real. I won’t believe it. I-I won’t.” 

If to prove you wrong, another door bursted open further down the aisle. You instantly felt the pull, but this time, you wouldn’t let it easily take you. 

You clawed at the floor, trying to fight against the force that was tugging you into the dark abyss. However, it only strengthened, seeking to haul you back to that horrid nightmare. The noise only grew louder, yet distant as if becoming angrier at your resistance. “No…please.” You begged, pleading for it not to take you as your fingers soon gave out, drawing you back again… 

One afternoon, the thoughts have become too overbearing. ‘Miguel wants to leave, so I’ll help him.’ Your deranged mind thinks, believing you to be in the right as you heaved another load of his clothes, books, and personal items out onto the porch. 

Only moments after Miguel comes back from work, Gabriella, at his side from school. He races inside in panic and sorrow. “B-Bebè, what is this?” he asks, his deep voice wavering for the first time. 

You glared at him, breathing hard. “If you’re planning on leaving, then go. I already set your things outside, so get out!”

Miguel stares at you, heartbroken, whilst the sobs of Gabi behind his leg fills the hallway of your bedroom. “I-I never planned to leave, mi amor-” 

“Then what is this!?” You exclaimed, throwing his personal journal at his chest, hearing it clatter to the floor. He didn’t even flinch. “You wrote in there that I was deranged, crazy, and needed help—help you cannot provide me. Isn't that right?” You asked with a wicked laugh, head falling back against your shoulders. 

“I don’t think a handsome man like you would want a deranged wife, now do you?” The taunting words being spat at Miguel as he just stood there with Gabriella behind him, taking the full force of the lashes. 

“I tried to stay strong for us—for Gabi—for you, mi amor.” He said once your verbal assault and endless pacing ceased. “But I can’t…not anymore. Not if you don’t seek help yourself, nor face the fact that you need it.” Miguel stated, his voice full of sorrow, but he should have been talking to the wall as nothing he said was reaching you. “If you want me gone so bad, I will-.” 

“Are you still here?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him, the wildness of your hair in crazed disarray. Your husband met your gaze of pure rage with pity. “Not anymore.” He muttered sadly. “Come on, Gabriella.” Miguel said, ushering your daughter along who weeped all the way out the front door. 

But you knew deep in your core that they would be back. That your sweet husband and daughter would never truly leave you. They would never leave you, no matter how much Miguel said it. 

Like a punch to the gut, you sunk to the floor, sobbing. You didn’t want to believe it, but the more you saw, the more you remembered, and the weaker your body became, like the energy was being drained from your being. 

The familiar tune of the hall was loud, practically driving you mad. “Stop this. Please.” You begged anyone who would listen. Your hands gripped the wall, dragging yourself up onto your feet, your frail legs trembling under your weight. 

A gasp escaped you when suddenly, the lights shut off for a moment, leaving you in blackness before one flickered back on. Your heart skipped a beat at the table that the light shone down upon. “W-What is that?” You whispered so quietly you weren’t sure you said it.

Staggering slowly over, your feet dragging along the floor in an effort to walk on your weakened limbs. You leaned your weight on the table to find only a black, unnamed folder that sat atop it. 

You gulped, not wishing to see what was inside, but was drawn to it, despite yourself. 

Your fingers reached out for it, instantly feeling like you were holding a sack of bricks although the folder seemed almost empty. 

You took a deep breath, trying to bring yourself to open it and when you did, inside, you found two items: 

A singular letter and…

Divorce papers. 

A tear ran down your cheek at the papers. 

Never in your life did you ever believe you’d see them, but here they were, practically burning the skin in your palm just by reading the fine print. 

The first thing you saw are names: Miguel O'Hara and Y/N printed side by side in formal, sterile black text. Beneath them, the words "In the Matter of the Dissolution of Marriage of" are bold, undeniable. It feels distant, like this couldn’t possibly be real—but the sensation in your chest makes it all too clear. 

This is real.

Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. You swallow, and your eyes drift down, taking in the official stamp, the cold lettering, the case number marked by a court you don’t recognize. Every word is unmistakable, every letter sharp, a document that seems foreign yet irrevocably final.

You placed the papers onto the table, unable to look at them any longer. 

The neatly folded piece of letter draws your attention. You opened it slowly, heart sputtering and stomach churning at the pristine ink of your lover’s perfect lettering—a handwriting he swore was chicken scratch, but one you always adored. Your breath catches in your throat as you read the first words. 

"Dear my beloved,"

You hear his voice in your head as you read, soft yet unwavering, as if he’s right beside you, saying every word with sorrow but certainty.

“I hope that by the time you read this, you are in a better place. I wanted to say this face to face, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to. I would be brought to stay, and I know I can’t. Not anymore. 

I am leaving. For Gabriella’s sake. You know as well as I do that things have been falling apart for a long time. And I can’t—we can’t—keep pretending we’re fine.

I’ve tried, Y/N. Goodness, I’ve tried so hard. But the constant fighting, the tension… it’s not good for Gabi. She’s been through too much. It hurts me to hear her cry, hear her fears about you, our marriage. I need to give her the stability she deserves, and right now, I’m not sure I can provide that in this environment. And neither can you. 

I’m taking Gabi with me. I know this will hurt you, and I know you’ll never understand why; I only wish that one day you will. But please, for her, for both of us… get the help you need. You need it more than I can give you.

I will always love you, Y/N. You will always be a part of me. I want you to know that. But I can’t keep watching our family fall apart. Please forgive me.

With all my love,Miguel O’Hara” 

Your chest constricts as you finish reading, the words sinking in like a weight you can’t lift. The paper crinkles in your shaking hands while you stare at the letter, a deep ache in your body that won’t go away. 

The tears come, but they’re different this time. They’re quiet. They don’t scream for help or comfort. They just fall, knowing no one would come to wipe them. 

Beside the letter, divorce papers rest, untouched, cold. 

And for the first time, you are alone. 

You sobbed silently, no sound passing your parted lips as you fell to your knees. Your body shook, feeling cold and empty, the sensation more real than the happy life you believed was true—more real than the blue pastel dress you wore from an era you never lived—and more real than the belief that this was all a dream. 

You were so wrapped up in your grief and sorrow that you didn’t notice the lights shut off, the music now clear enough to identify that filled the hall again and the presence that now accompanied you. 

The bulbs turned back on again, flickering eerily, the air thicker than before. Your gaze was blurry with tears, head pounding like a drum and you found yourself incapable of moving. You remained kneeled, slumped on your heels to look down at the end of the hallway, the table, folder, and note that was in your hand now gone. 

You could feel that you weren’t alone, the familiar prickling on your neck beginning again. You weeped in fear, finally hearing the song that played on repeat, slower and slower, louder and louder. 

It was your song. 

‘You Belong To Me.’ 

The same song that you believed to have been the happiness of your relationship was also the catalyst of eternal ruin. 

“See the pyramids along the Nile…

Watch the sun rise on a tropic isle…

Just remember, darling, all the while…

You belong to me…” 

A loud thud to one of the doors made you yelp and break down into more tears. The song continued slowly, the female voice of Helen becoming horrendously eerie and croaky, almost inhumane. “P-Please stop! I-I understand now! Stop!” 

“See the marketplace in old Algiers…”

“Send me photographs and souvenirs…”

“Just remember, when a dream appears…”

“You belong to me…”

Another bang that sent you cowering, shielding your eyes at the figure you knew was steadily approaching. The music continued to play, burning every lyric into your head and making sure you remembered that night. 

“I’ll be so alone without you…”

“Maybe you’ll be lonesome, too

And blue…

Another voice—a deep, familiar voice sung along, causing the ache in your chest to intensify—the tears to run. “M-Miguel…” You whimpered his name, knowing the song well on his tongue. 

“Fly the ocean in a silver plane…”

“See the jungle when it’s wet with rain…”

“Oh, mi querida, till you’re home again…” 

“You…

Belong…

To…

Me…” 

Your husband’s deep voice vanished along with the song, leaving you wishing to hear it again upon his lips—to hear his words of adoration—to see him again. 

And for once, this nightmare granted your wish…

But with a price…

“Mi amor…” 

“Shh, it's okay. Everything will be okay.” 

“You are okay.” 

Your heart leapt at the whispers of comfort that your husband always gave you. Frantically, your eyes searched the desolate hallway, only finding the doors before finally settling in front of you in the dark end of the hall. 

His words were clear, coming from the blackness and calling out to you. “Mi amor, everything will be okay.” He consoled, footsteps slowly echoing closer. 

Your chest heaved, rising and falling rapidly at being able to see him again. “M-Miguel!” You cried out for him, wanting to feel his touch, be in his arms again and found yourself craving that more than life itself. 

However, your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach at the sight of him. 

All you saw was…

Blood. 

Shrieking, your hand clasped over your mouth, weeping. The white button-up and black slacks, the outfit he wore the last time you saw him still adorned his being, but it was completely ruined. 

His once white shirt was now red, his dark brown slicked hair wet with blood and even worse was the wounds along his body. They were large and horribly fatal, littering his chest. 

You sobbed into your palm, crying as he stepped towards your trembling form, unable to move due to being physically stuck in your spot. He shushed you in that soft tone he always used despite walking towards you like the undead. 

“Shush, Cariño,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he advanced, his movements slow and deliberate. “It’s okay; you’ll be okay.” His words, tender but hollow, slipped into your ears but it sounded so wrong, so unlike him in a way. 

“No, no, no!” you wailed, voice cracking under the weight of terror and despair. “What is happening!? W-Who did this to you!?” Each cry came out strangled, desperate, as if voicing your confusion might somehow make sense of this nightmare.

Miguel’s body grew unnaturally still, his gaze sharpening, a twisted smirk spreading across his lips as he tilted his head to one side. “Oh, bebè, isn’t it obvious?” His bloody eyebrow rising in a mock question, daring you to confront the truth he already knew.

And then, before you could respond, his face seemed to explode with anger.

“ISN’T IT!?” 

With a sudden roar, he lunged at you, your scream cut short as his hands found your throat, slamming you onto the cold floor. Your breath vanished instantly under his crushing grip. The impact jarred you, leaving your lungs heaving, begging for air.

You gasped, fingers clawing at his forearm, frantically trying to pry him off but his grip was unyielding, his hands like steel. The veins in his arms bulged underneath his button-up, his fingers digging into the skin of your throat and bruising the sensitive flesh. His face loomed over you, eyes blazing, dark and empty all at once.

“Look at me, Cariño. Look at what you’ve tried so hard to ignore!” He bellowed, each word cutting through you, sinking into your bones. “See it. Feel it, damnitt!” Your husband shouted, slamming you against the floor, feeling the air be knocked from you once more. 

“You couldn’t hold on, could you? Couldn’t keep us together, not for me, not even for Gabi.” His grip tightened, further choking you. Your vision started to blur, spots of darkness creeping in. Tears began to prickle at the edges of your eyes at the thought of death by the hands of no one other than your beloved husband. 

The blood dripping from his hair traced cold lines across your cheek that you could hardly feel against your numb skin. You could only stare up into the shell of your husband and see the inhumane rage, anger and spite that bled off him so tangibly you could practically taste it. 

Your spouse’s amber orbs were devoid of warmth or light, his glowing skin now a lifeless gray, cold to the touch. “This is what you brought into our lives. This is what your love has done.” His tone, grueling and heartless, seeking to twist the already burrowed knife deeper into your gut until you were gone. Miguel leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath a harsh reminder of everything slipping away.

“Accept it, mi amor. Embrace it, because this is all that’s left.”

Your sight blurred, eyes fluttering closed as those final, chilling words rung through your mind like chiming bells. Fingers loosened from his forearm, dropping to your side, body stilling to leave you encased in a world of blackness. 

‘Accept? How can I accept this?’ 

A thought was breathed like the fluttering of faint fireflies in the darkness. Your consciousness slipping away.

‘Who could possibly accept consequences such as this…?’ 

The inquiry repeated alongside your husband’s words until the abyss consumed you, dragging you under and into the oblivion you could no longer escape.

“Serum R9 has left Patient 1105. Patient 1105 is now conscious.”

An electronic voice announced as your eyes fluttered open. Instantly, the blaring lights from the ceiling seared your vision, forcing you to cower away. ‘Where am I?’ you wondered, unable to survey your surroundings with the glaring bulbs overhead.

The hum of machines engulfed your ears, seeming to be everywhere at once. Each beep and whir further disoriented you. Everything felt distant and detached, like something had chewed at your memories, leaving you clueless.

Then, through the haze, you heard the familiar sound of a record scratching, stuttering through a line from You Belong To Me, a song you knew all too well—“See the… see the… see the…”

Weakly, you glanced down, noticing a white gown adorning your figure, but not remembering how you obtained it nor how you ended up in this bed. Your head ached the more you tried to fill the gaping holes in your memory, but one thing rang true.

“Gabi? M-Miguel?” you called out in a scratchy, hoarse voice that you almost didn’t recognize as your own. Your lips felt horribly cracked, and your legs were stiff from inactivity. ‘I have to get out of here. S-Someone has taken me somehow,’ you assumed, fear rising in your chest.

You tried to sit up, but found yourself physically incapable. ‘What the hell?’ Panic bubbled up inside as you tried again and again, but when your arm started to flail, you felt a tug at your wrist. The metal cuffs cut deep into your skin and clanged against the bed rail.

In horror, your eyes snapped down to see your hands were cuffed to the cold metal of your bed. “What is going on?” you hardly whispered, your dull eyes finding other things attached to your body that you hadn’t noticed before.

An IV drip pricked into your inner elbow with withered tape, wires coming from electrode pads under your gown to attach to your chest whilst an oxygen tube was held up to your nostrils, filling your body with more air than you needed at the moment. 

An ache in your neck made you reach up to touch your nape. There, you felt a lump and upon touching it, a sharp pain shot through your skull that made you further disoriented and terrified.

Your chest began to heave, hyperventilating. ‘What is going on? I-I need to get out of here. I don’t understand what is happening.’ You could only think, weakly tugging at your cuffs, becoming a sobbing mess.

“Patient 1105’s heart rate elevated to 145 beats per minute. Respiration rate above normal limits. Increased agitation detected. Subject is vocalizing distress; emotional levels are unstable.”

Your body jumped at the inhuman form’s sudden voice, coming from somewhere in the room. Instantly, you became rigid with fear.

“Sending for Dr. Owens. Sending for Dr. Owens.”

“What’s happening? Why am I here? What happened to my family?” you could only ask the electronic voice in a strained whimper, seeking answers amidst your confusion and cluelessness. Your vision was shielded by globs of salty tears running down your cold cheeks as you wept.

Almost instantaneously, a door burst open somewhere in your room, startling you. You whimpered in fear, eyes squinting to see the newcomer.

In a white coat, a woman entered. Her dark brown curly hair was tied up in a professional ponytail with a stern look on her ebony face that made you tremble. “W-Who are you?” you tried to ask between crackles in your voice.

The woman barely acknowledged your words. Her attention, behind her glasses, was focused on a screen beside you, fingers flying over the keys as though your questions were mere background noise. Ignoring your weak, desperate gaze, she muttered something under her breath and continued to work.

“Please…” you croaked, throat tightening with desperation. “Where’s Miguel, m-my husband? Where’s my daughter, Gabi? H-How did I get here?”

You couldn’t explain it, but a sudden rage exploded from your being at her indifference. “Give me back my daughter and husband, dammit!” you shouted, your tight voice strained. Thrashing in your bed, you screamed and yelled, the cuffs crashing against the metal bed railing.

“I know you took them! You took them away from me, you bitch! Give them back to me! Give them back!” you bellowed before breaking down into tears, feeling your cheekbones press against the taut skin of your face. Your emotions felt all over the place.

Without looking up, the woman clicked a final command, heaving a sigh. “Patient 1105, I’m Dr. Jessica Owens, and as stated many times before, you agreed to this.”

Your eyebrows quivered, believing you’d heard her wrong. “W-What?” you rasped, your ghostly features scrunching up in confusion.

“Indeed. It was either receiving your normal sentence here or assisting us in a few tests,” the ebony doctor explained. You could only look at her in bewilderment. “And… w-where am I?”

“Obscura Psychiatric Facility,” she replied, her voice emotionless and straightforward. Your dull eyes studied her for a moment, trying to recall your past memories, but it felt impossible. “Why am I here? Why can’t I remember anything? What… tests did I agree to? And where is my family?” you asked, desperate for answers, or else you feared you would lose it.

Dr. Owens stepped up to your bedside, and your body instinctively recoiled from her. “You’ll be surprised how many times I’ve answered these exact questions from you before, Patient 1105,” she muttered, running a calculating eye over you from behind her frames. “But I’ll bite.” The doctor cleared her throat, clasping her hands behind her back.

“Patient 1105, or Y/N, you’ve been in our care for seven years. Upon arrival, you were miserable and depressed, seeking an end to your troubles that the judge took away from you.”

“T-The judge?!” you exclaimed in confusion, needing her to backtrack and explain. However, it seemed Dr. Owens only wished to tell you what she wanted, questions be damned.

“We presented you with the decision to continue your usual routine here at Obscura or to partake in testing of a new drug being administered. You chose the latter.” Dr. Owens said, walking over to a cabinet in the room and retrieving a pair of latex gloves to snap onto her hands. 

“You were cautioned about the addictive effects, memory loss, and life-long dependency on this drug, but there was one thing about this medicine that fascinated you more than anything, causing you to choose it regardless of the consequences.”

“W-What was that?” you asked, watching her return to you and ignore your question like before. The doctor began checking your facial features, under your throat, along your arms, legs, and back, feeling for any abnormalities. “Serum R9 is the drug that is being tested on you, Patient 1105. It is still being researched, but from your results, it’s a paradise, putting you in a dreamscape that you’ve always wanted.”

You listened to Dr. Owens, allowing her to finish her checkup and scribble on a notepad she pulled out from the breast pocket of her lab coat. It felt odd being told about your actions and words despite not remembering them.

Glancing up at her as she wrote, anger bubbled inside of you. “If I’m here, where is my family?” you asked. “Is there a reason I don’t remember agreeing to this? Did you force me to do this?! A-And what is this thing in my neck?! ” You demanded, the lump in your neck tingling once more.

“My husband, Miguel, would never have let me agree to such a thing. He knows I have a daughter—a family to get back to, for fuck’s sake!” you angrily shouted. “And you—lying assholes have made me sell my life to a fucking drug, and now I can’t get back to my family because of you—”

“Patient 1105, your family is dead.”

Your words halted, and you felt like your world had ended. Swallowing thickly, you wetted your cracked lips. Your eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists. “W-What the hell are you talking about?” you bit out, glaring daggers at her. “If you’re lying to me, I promise you when I get out, I-I’ll…” 

Dr. Owens chuckled at your stammered threat, utterly unamused. She shook her head, her curly ponytail moving with the motion. “I'll expect that from a killer like you.” 

Before you could think, you could yourself leaping up, reaching for the collar of Dr. Owens’ coat, and due to her closeness, you grabbed hold. A sudden burst of energy coursed through your being. Pulling her toward you, the chains of your cuffs jiggled with your movements. “Say that again,” you growled, staring directly into her cold eyes that gazed back at you.

“You killed them,” the doctor spat back with indifference. “You stabbed your husband to death and drowned your daughter when he decided to divorce you because of your insanity. I take it you didn’t like the fact they were leaving you.”

“S-stop lying to me!” you shouted, shaking her, not wanting it to be true. “I tell you nothing but the truth, Patient 1105. You’re here because of your actions, and you begged for Serum R9 to escape the despair you’ve brought into your life,” Dr. Owens stated with a glare, pulling away from your tight hold.

Delusions and unchecked rage were what you were known for, and even now, you sought to silence Dr. Owens’ words. You weren’t ready for the truth, despite having already lived it.

Acceptance was a lesson one could never learn without getting hurt in the process. Although you couldn’t remember it, you didn’t want to feel that pain, hurt, or loss ever again, so you ran from acceptance like hell.

You chuckled manically, your laughter growing louder and more deranged. “You lie. You lie! YOU LIE!” you shouted over and over again, pure rage bellowing from your voice. 

In your mind, you saw your husband and daughter at home, calling the police in search of their missing wife and mother. Dr. Owens and the people at this facility were keeping you from your family. It was the only reason—the only truth you saw and was willing to accept.

Suddenly, you snapped, shouting threats at Dr. Owens, trying to break free from your handcuffs, and thrashing about in your bed. Security and more nurses entered the room as Dr. Owens typed away on the screen by your bedside. “You lie, you bitch! You can’t keep me here! I’ll kill you, I promise you, you piece of shit!” you screamed at the top of your lungs. The electronic voice from before filled the room.

“Serum R9 is being administered once more. Sweet dreams, Patient 1105.”

The staff released you as the IV tube was filled with a blue liquid, flowing from a nearby machine into your arm and soon bloodstream. The lump in your neck buzzed to life upon activation and instantly, you became weak and drowsy. 

“W-What are you doing to me? I-I have to get out of here. M-My family is…w-waiting for me,” you said once more, trying to fight the drug.

“You are right,” Through your hazy vision, you could see Dr. Owens resetting the needle on the record player as the song You Belong To Me began to play. Your body became rigid, unable to help but focus on the tune.

“Your family is waiting for you,” the ebony woman added, her voice growing fainter as the music grew louder, until it was the only thing you could hear.

“So don’t keep them waiting any longer,” were the last words you heard before the song drowned out everything, and your eyes closed.

Your world of darkness was full of despair and turmoil. Like the speed of light, every memory you couldn’t recall before came rushing back.

Entering second grade.

Going to prom.

Meeting Miguel.

Getting Married. Having Gabriella. Kissing your husband. Drawing with your daughter. Family dinners. Night cuddles. The fights. The screaming. The crying. The blood. The guilt. The hate. The loss.

The Despair.

It came rushing back so intensely that it was grueling, before vanishing as quickly as it came.

You were left a hollow husk of a person. Your memories shed, leaving only two things behind: pure happiness and a need for your family.

~ I say, Oogum, oogum, boogum, boogum ~Boogum now, baby, you're castin' your spell on me. ~

The jolly tune of Brenton Wood resonated from the record player, your hips swaying to the song while you cooked. Sunlight poured in through the drawn gingham drapes, filling your home with a warm glow that energized everyone inside.

But, in particular, you.

Your eyes occasionally glanced over at the cookbook you had "borrowed" from your and your husband's shared closet—a cookbook from his late mother.

Currently, you had tasked yourself with making a childhood Mexican-Irish breakfast for your husband to celebrate his birthda-

“Wait,” you uttered, coming to a stop. Your eyebrows furrowed, feeling like you’d done this before.

You glanced down at the breakfast you were cooking, a sensation of unease gripping you. You tried to figure out the source of this déjà vu when your thoughts were instantly interrupted by a pair of burly arms enveloping your waist from behind.

Your heart fluttered as a blinding warmth of happiness, adoration, and peace engulfed you. “Good morning, mi amor,” your husband whispered into your ear, his deep voice of love enough to quell even your most chaotic days.

You leaned back into him, accepting his embrace. All previous worries and concerns vanished from thought, and the only thing you could think about was the feeling of how right everything was.

“You okay?” he asked, his hand caressing your stomach through your dress, his touch setting your body ablaze. Completely in love, you nodded, a huge smile on your rosy lips.

“Of course...

Everything is perfect.”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the finale of Dear, My Beloved. Yes, it was very sad, tragic, and completely different from my other writings—aside from A Fate Worse Than Death—but that was intentional. The vice was Despair, so I went above and beyond. If you almost cried like me, then I did my job, lol. 🤧

To tie up loose ends and make everything clearer: Y/N ended her family due to insanity, abandonment, and mental health struggles after being divorced by Miguel. Serum R9 is the drug administered by Obscura Psychiatric Facility, which places Y/N in a 1950s simulation-like world where everything is "just right."

The scary occurrences were caused by the serum leaving her system and attempting to restore her lost memories. The entity that "kills" Miguel is, in fact, Y/N’s true self.

And yes, I was inspired by the psychological thriller Don’t Worry Darling. It has to be one of my favorite movies! 😍

If there are any loose ends or unanswered questions, feel free to DM me or ask in the comments. I know this was a rather complex, psychological, and angsty one-shot that might leave some readers with questions.

Also, let me know if any additional content warnings need to be added! I know the Gabriella section needed a warning, but please DM me if you think any more should be included.

Overall, I hope you enjoyed it! If you’re excited to see what else my older sister, @powerful-niya, and I have in store for Vicetober (I know, I know 🤧), be sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! Wishing you all a wonderful day—stay safe! 👋🏾💙🤎😈

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[wilhelmina-afton]

I keep thinking about the audio log Edwin leaves in the MCM, where he says that Fiona was right - that 'they' (presumably Henry and William) don't think of him as a friend anymore.

This is, in all likelihood, due to the fact that once Fazbear Ent. caught wind of the MCM's increasingly financial instability and the fact that employees were leaving with company secrets and selling them off, so they also started bribing and coercing employees to join them -> or at the very least, William did.

(The game never specifies who started it, though. We see as matter-of-fact that William was definitely bribing people to bring Edwin's work with them when they left near the end of Edwin's life, but we don't know if Fazbear's Ent was the start - it could have started with trying to keep Fazbear secrets like endos and so forth off the market, collection on comissioned characters it was unlikely Murray would finish, and then eventually other characters not yet purchased, but we don't know. It's so fucked up,).

My question, though, is which Fiona he is talking about - his real wife, the human Fiona who died at Fallfest, or F10NA, the mimic who took on Fiona's personality and came to love Edwin herself.

I personally figure it is F10NA, as while the OG Fiona was still alive, Edwin was...kind of healthier (the MCM was still hazardous though, as seen with the deadly elevator that Fiona herself knew about), and his relation with Henry and William was presumably better - Fiona herself took the concept of Chica's party world and was the design artist for said character which Fazbear's later bought - plus, another audio log, which he presumably directs at the deceased Fiona, he says he misses their friends, and he misses her.

It implies their friendship started folding under Edwin's grief, the decline of his own mental state, and how that would later effect the MCM's production of comissioned material for Fazbear Ent.

This is supplemented by another audio log from F10NA in the MCM, where she urges Edwin not to tell anyone else about her, because they wouldn't understand.

I don't think F10NA would have meant Edwin any ill-will or to cause him any mental distress when cautioning him against Henry + Will (especially Will, regardless of whether he started the stealing/hopped on the bandwagon to preserve Fazbear-only materials, because William is a sly and manipulative asshat, even if I don't think he stole everything/mansion), but in Edwin's mental state, and under the strain of the resulting poor financial and managerial decisions he made because of that, he clung to her for sometime -> at least until he snapped, came to his senses that the OG Fiona and David were gone (methinks David is posessing his tiger stuffy/suit, though), and tried to destroy M2. -> and this urging from F10NA could have led to him becoming extremely paranoid about matters and making everything worse.

Which, he wasn't wrong to be -> whether it started with Fazbear or not, his employees were leaking company secrets as they left (though they were in the right to leave), but the severity of said paranoia and the way he began to isolate himself following it, only conferring with F1ONA and M2 (Mimic David) would only further worsen his mental state and lead to himself digging deeper and deeper into a hole he would not be able to climb out of.

[jellymellydraws]

Astarion Worries About His Simple Plan

Alt POV from Chapter 12

Summary: Astarion and Gale were assigned scouting duty for the day, but before they head off, Gale and Rose disappeared into a tent together. Astarion, who was in the early steps of his very simple plan. And now, it seemed, the wizard could absolutely fuck that up. (just a little drabble I wanted to write after Chapter 12 of I've Got You with a different POV)

Astarion watched from the distance as Gale got close to Rose, even putting a hand over hers. Then, the two disappeared into the large command tent where they would strategize, and the flaps were closed.

Rose was a simple target. She so easily went along with his flirtations. Moldable as wet clay in his finely trained hands. She already fell for the first few steps of his plan. He seduced her, and he slept with her. But that last step was proving a bit tricky.

How to manipulate her feelings so she'd fall for him and never turn against him? It was so easy with other targets. Except Rose didn't swoon like a dame, she didn't reach for romance. Perhaps he misstepped-- she seemed more keen on sleeping with him than falling in love with him.

Was the wizard more her type?

He tried to listen in the conversation, but only the sounds of whispers were perceived-- just no words. Tch.

Gale's stupid face had a smile plastered on it as he left the tent. The nervousness that was once controlling his very posture was no more. And Rose, the ever watchful, ever cautious, was checking who noticed their sudden disappearance. He immediately looked at his nails, pretending to inspect them. Ah, but she was smarter than that. Of course, she was. So it was no surprise that she approached with a warning in her eyes.

"How much did you hear?" She growled.

"My friend, I have no idea what you are talking about," he smirked at her cooly.

"Keep it that way."

Ah, his favorite part about her-- the paranoia. The caution. He could work with that. Whenever she woke up screaming, who was conveniently nearby to lend an ear? When the oh-so-perfect composure of their fearless leader slipped from her grasp, who was there to catch her?

He'd make her fall, in time. But first he needed to figure out where that damned wizard could ruin it all.

It was a good thing that they had the whole morning to get to know each other.

[animeyanderelover]

Yandere Gojo satoru and suguru geto (cult reader one) with non-sorcerer pregnant reader?

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, overprotective behavior, clinginess, manipulation, forced pregnancy, isolation, birth, angst in Geto's part

Pregnancy Hc's

Gojo Satoru

🩵​Gojo has always gotten away with some stuff since he is the strongest sorcerer currently but at the same time he has also lost a lot. A price for being who he is. He has always been entitled and selfish when it comes to you simply because for the first time he has someone he can wholeheartedly call his own. Even if you may still be uncomfortable with him and even if he has forced you into this position, you're still his. This should be enough for him yet apparently Satoru's greed knows no limits as he wishes for a child. You wish that he would only joke but the usual mischief in his eyes is completely gone as his blue eyes look at you with a silent longing in them, one that threatens to bring you down to your knees. He is fully aware what he is demanding from you and he knows about the risks that you as well as the baby would have to face simply for being his but he can't help the longing of his heart. He wants a child that only belongs to you and him and to no one else.

🩵​Satoru is extremely giddy and excited when he finds out that you are expecting as in that moment, only the two of you and the new life both of you have created seem to exist. He pokes your stomach gently, greets the little life inside with a grin on his face before he wraps you in his arms. As soon as the first wave of euphoria has passed, the fear and paranoia creeps up on him though. Nothing about your pregnancy is made public as he prioritises your safety and privacy. He knows that people are eventually bound to find out and that is what scares him so much. You are kept close by his side and aren't allowed to leave the house, not without him at least. Everything he does is done with an alerted level of awareness as he arranges Shoko to be your doctor and you notice the tighter grip he keeps on you when he takes you out of his home. That caution melts away for a while though when it is revealed during a scan that he's actually going to be a father of two. He has genuine tears in his eyes when he sees their little forms.

🩵​He talks twice as much to your stomach after that as he claims to you that two babies need more attention and love from him after all. Satoru's mood is all over the place as he seems to be even worse than you. He has exactly two moods during the entire timespan of your pregnancy. He is either doting and teasing on you and your stomach or is overly paranoid and protective. The latter feelings increase when news eventually leak out shortly after you have entered your second trimester. His clan acts highly displeased for you are only a non-sorcerer and for that might weaken the strength of his children and at the same time are offended that they weren't informed about this. They demand for him to take you to them yet Satoru denies them as he declares that he doesn't want them to be involved in the lives of his babies. There will be no expectations put on his kid's shoulders from a young age on nor will there be any assassins coming after their heads. Not as long as he is alive.

🩵​As soon as you start showing he is constantly lifting up your shirt to talk to your belly. Attached would be an understatement to use as you have a feeling that both of you will become one person if he sticks any longer to you. Satoru starts discussing pretty early on possible names, especially once Shoko is able to confirm the gender of the two babies. His joy upon knowing that he will have two boys is your personal nightmare as you don't even dare to imagine having three of him in the house. Whilst he has told you that he'd like you to choose one name for one of the boys too, at times you have the feeling he just wants to choose both of their names. Satoru is incredibly eager as he starts purchasing everything and starts preparing the nursery. You are not surprised when he wants everything painted blue as you can already see two babies with his blue eyes in your head. Whilst Gojo isn't opposed to having his boys look like copies of him, he's secretly hoping that they will resemble you from appearance too.

🩵​As soon as they start kicking, you have no doubt that those babies are truly his as they won't give you a minute to rest. Gojo on the other hand loves when he can feel their limbs whenever they make a tumult inside of you. They are awfully active and whenever you have a scan, both of them look like they're performing stunts in your womb and whilst it makes Satoru laugh when he sees the positions the twins are always in when you are visiting the doctor, you hope that they won't do that when you're in labor. Gojo on the other hand gets all silly the more you start showing. He starts painting on your stomach and even puts stuff on it to see if it'll stay on there. All whilst ensuring that you don't hurt yourself but he insists that it is bonding time with the babies if he does stuff like that and whilst you highly doubt it, it's not like he'll stop. It gets pretty exhausting and painful at one point due to their activity and you despise how emotional you get with the only available option for comfort being Satoru.

🩵​Despite your hopes of giving birth in a hospital, Satoru decides against it. He doesn't want to risk anything, especially when you will be completely vulnerable during birth. You're slightly afraid of giving birth at home because whilst Satoru trusts Shoko and the other people she has arranged to assist, you are far too new into this world to make up your mind about anything. Your labor starts a week earlier than expected which causes some panic, especially since neither of the boys are in the right position. For some time a C-section is considered but your prayers are answered when the babies turn in the last moments in the right position. Satoru doesn't leave your side once and in that moment you're thankful for it as everything is so intense and painful for you. Once both of the twins are born, you can't help but be surprised that they don't look just like mini Gojos. One has a tuft of his white hair and the other one has his blue eyes. Satoru couldn't be happier though that both of them turned out to be the perfect mix of him and you.

Geto Suguru

🗻​You don't even notice it as you are still quite stressed with everything that is going on around you. It is Suguru who senses it long before you do and so do all the other sorcerer around you, leaving you once again completely in the darkness about it. This wasn't planned at all and that is what gives Suguru some complicated feelings. His feelings for you have mellowed out somewhat as he has settled more into accepting the fact that he fell in love with what he despised most but he never considered before having a baby with you. Other sorcerers kind of argue about it too as some simply feel like discriminating because you are a non-sorcerer and others argue that Suguru is still the father. A lot of controversy breaks out and that is how you ultimately figure out what is going on and you break down in tears when you find out that you are pregnant. Yet you know that you can only wait for Geto's decision as you know that he would never allow you the freedom of choice.

🗻​To your surprise Mimiko and Nanako take a very protective stance as both of them are excited with the news that you will give birth to his child and both of them actively try to persuade him to let you keep the child. Ultimately Suguru doesn't seem to have the heart to get rid of the child and whilst it is an unpleasant realisation for him that he has gotten very soft simply because the baby is his and yours, he manages to convince everyone who feels iffy about it since there is always the chance that the baby might not be able to see curses and use cursed energy. From that moment on Mimiko and Nanako spend a lot of time with you as both of them are very giddy now that Suguru has decided to keep the baby. They instantly start arguing whether or not the child will be a boy or a girl and whilst you know that they only care about you because you mean so much to Geto and because you carry his baby, their excitement is still welcome and somewhat comforting.

🗻​Suguru is aware that you tend to be under a lot of stress ever since he abducted you so he does his best to take away as much as he can to avoid putting unnecessary stress on your mind and body which could harm the baby. For the first time he seems to consider more what frightens you and what doesn't, something he used to use against you to keep you in line and to remind you of your inferiority. You don't enjoy the fact that he tries to spend more time with you and he isn't ignorant to your clear hesitance and unease about it. You expect him to give you that displeased look that always tells you that you have messed up and will be punished but instead this time he only gives you a sigh. He doesn't feel guilt for what he has done to you ever since he has abducted you but he also doesn't want his child to grow up in a dysfunctional family. Can you at least cooperate with him this time? For the sake of your child? You can only swallow all the anger bubbling up inside of you. Of course this isn't about you. It has never been.

🗻​Your emotions start flaring up as you become more aware of the people around you who are all allies of Suguru. You notice the lingering looks they give you as your stomach becomes visible and sometimes you can even pick up on some of the conversations they have about you and the baby. Suguru, Mimiko and Nanako try their best to keep you away from such things but you know very well how everyone here feels about you. If the baby isn't like them...would they kill it? Mimiko and Nanako assure you that Suguru would never let that happen when you decide to open up to them when they spend time with you but you aren't convinced. This is a man who murdered his own parents after all. You snap one day when you are exposed to such talk once again and storm to where Suguru is, asking him this question that has been plaguing you for a while now. He appears to be shocked that you ask him this question, tries to reassure you but you are too hysteric in that moment and scream at him that someone capable of killing his own parents would be able to kill his own child too.

🗻​Thick silence falls over the entire room after those words as you can see the way he clenches his fists, his eyes narrowing as he glares at you. He looks like he's about to hurt you and a part of you wants him to do it just so that you know that you are right and that he is a monster. Instead he storms out of the room and leaves you standing there. You can hear how some of the other sorcerers start mumbling as they look at you but you don't care as you glare at all of them. They're all murderer after all. You don't see Geto for the rest for the day and you are very content with that. The only people looking after you are Mimiko and Nanako who appear to be worried. When they try to convince you into thinking that you were too harsh with Suguru, you demand from them to leave you alone as well. They initially don't do as you say and only when you start yelling at them do they leave you alone as well. You glare for a few seconds longer at the door until you start crying and sobbing as you realise once again that you are completely alone and that no one here really cares about you because they like you but because Suguru has told them to do so.

🗻​You fall into depression, snap at everyone until they all start avoiding you. You don't care about it anymore though. They're just finally showing their true faces. You eat less which ends in Geto having to force everything down your throat and you can tell that he is fed up with your behavior as well. You don't care anymore though. You just spend most of your time alone and scare anyone away that tries to talk with you. When Suguru one day decides that he has had enough of it, he storms to your room, fully prepared for your screams. Instead he finds you in your bed, a pillow over your head as he hears sobs and whimpers from you. Despite his plans he feels a twinge of guilt when he sees your lonely and trembling form. When he steps closer though, his heart drops when he realises that your water has broken an entire month too early and you're in labor yet were too stubborn to call for any help. Suddenly all hell breaks loose in your room as everyone who can help tries their best to assist you yet even with contractions you still try to reject them all. You are only able to hear the cries of the newborn and how someone announces that it's a boy before you pass out, hoping to never wake up again.

[anxiousandindenial]

I think that the Sanders Sides might represent more than each has told.

Let me explain.

Okay, so we know that the sides can represent more than just their official role. Logan also represents reason, knowledge, and realistic expectation. Patton also represent emotions, childlike wonder, and over controlling yourself. Roman also represents passion, ego, femininity, and masculinity. We haven't seen a lot of Remus, and have no official things that he represents besides intrusive thoughts, but we can surmise based on his personality and entrance he also represents dark thoughts (such as ones induced by depression), disturbing thoughts (which are very different from intrusive thoughts), and impulsivity. Janus represents deceit, denial, self-preservation, and selfishness. As for Virgil, he represents anxiety, but he also represents shame, apprehension, introversion, pessimism, paranoia, fear (to some extent), foresight, caution, anticipation, motivation (slightly, but this is more by proxy of him representing anxiety), and satisfaction. Now, that last one may not seem accurate, but here's a quote from Accepting Anxiety Part 2 from Patton: "ALSO, YOU'RE THAT FEELING OF TINGLINESS AFTER ACHIEVING SOMETHING HE DIDN'T THINK WAS POSSIBLE!" That feeling is known as satisfaction. However, satisfaction doesn't seem to go along with the other things he represents, which are all before the event things, while this is a post event feeling. So perhaps he represents more similar things, and perhaps the other sides also have more to them. Let's take another look.

Logan first. Now, if we inspect his behavior throughout the show, we notice something: He seems to get annoyed easily. He also gets angry rather easily. Some would say this signifies that he's being influenced by the orange side, and that the orange side is Anger/Wrath, but I have my own theories about that. I think that this may mean Logan may also represent Anger and Annoyance, two things that would go right along with Logan's personality, and his habit of being ignored over the need to be polite.

Next, Roman. Now, for Roman, it's a bit tricky, however, if we look through everything, including how he acts towards the Dark Sides, we begin to realize something: He seems to decry and defame anybody who is different, suggest a different idea, or who is criminalized by the world. Therefore, he may also represent Bias/Prejudice and Societal Conformity.

Third, Patton. Now, Patton is extremely difficult, but after some searching, verifying, and double-checking, I noticed that Patton's default is to try to convince the other sides that his way is most important, often going to Roman first, then Logan, then the others, in no particular order. Therefore, it could be that our dear daddy Patton also represents Manipulation. However, the reason he hasn't taken total control of them all by now? One, he is likely repressing that part of him in favor of being "nice", and two, Patton is canonically an indecisive mess. With that in mind, we can accurately guess that Patton likely also represents Indecision.

Fourth, Remus. Now, Remus' is a little bit obvious, he essentially says it right up front with the 'cut out all the juicy stuff' comment. Remus is Honesty. And as for the other, it may seem odd, or like I'm reaching, but hear me out. Remus makes a lot of comment about religion, especially on the way of innocence, the losing if it, as well as biblical events that were meant to teach a lesson. Therefore, it is possible that Remus may be Wisdom.

Now for Janus. In SvS Redux he didn't use lies at all near the end, relying instead in harsh truths, ones that Thomas maybe would've preferred to have been kept in denial about, so clearly he didn't care about or even consider his purpose as Deceit. Plus, Thomas wasn't even lying here, so Janus shouldn't have even been summoned. Some would claim that Thomas was in denial, and that's enough, but we have seen that the state of simply being in denial is not enough to summon him, or he would've been summoned three or four thousand times in the first season. You have to actively lie to summon him, and Thomas wasn't actively lying. Additionally, he was summoned in DWIT, when Thomas clearly wasn't intending to lie, and objecting to it in the first place. You know what he was feeling both times? Guilt. So perhaps he represents Guilt, which, while similar to his normal things, is also very separate from them. Now, in addition, we notice that Janus only attacks or uses sarcasm as a defense mechanism. Additionally, his whole purpose throughout the show has been "Protect Thomas by keeping him in denial," but then it became "Protect Thomas by helping him face his inner demons," as seen by the fact that he revealed Remus and allowed them to defeat him when he could've just let Remus keep festering, which would've actually benefited Janus, but not Thomas. So perhaps Janus represents Protectiveness as well, even protectiveness towards oneself.

Now, with this in mind, the realm for what Orange could be suddenly got a lot smaller. It has to be something that could be a dichotomy of Logan while not being an emotion (as none of the sides are an emotion, with the exception of Virgil). Additionally, it needs to leave room for him to also represent things that are not directly related to what he is. Now what is he? I can't say, though I do have my theories.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

Adding in to the Xavier and Erik thing, could we get a Drabble of them together? What if the reader argues with them in the middle of the night?

BIRDCAGE.

Synopsis. You couldn't have friends, you couldn't go out, you couldn't break the routines, you couldn't use your powers... So, what were you supposed to do?! Why did they have to hold you like that, as if you were a danger? Why did they keep you in that prison of rules, not letting you be who you really are? Didn't you deserve more than being under their control, living in fear of doing what you truly wanted?

pairing ── Yandere Charles Xavier x Raven!reader x Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr (Platonic Fic)

Content. MDNI ── Dark themes, violence, mention of death, teenage reader (14-15), quick mention of Quicksilver, discussion, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Xavier and Magneto? Idk, fight, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, mind invasion, inappropriate use of powers, mention of Trigon, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish — I'm not sure if this counts as a drabble, but it's pretty short. I hope this is something like what you were expecting. It took me a while to finish because I was in Paris, hehe.

You walked quickly and silently, the sound of your footsteps barely interrupted by the night wind that caressed your face. The Arcade, with its flickering lights and distant laughter, was already behind you, but the feeling of the evening lingered like an echo, a scrap of joy that you couldn't let go. Quicksilver, or Pietro, your friend, the only one they had allowed you to have, had been by your side the entire time, a constant presence amid the bright lights and deep shadows of the amusement park. It had been an out-of-place evening, one you had never imagined enjoying.

The watch on your wrist, already turned off for hours, displayed a time that didn't match reality. The wind had begun to cool, and the streetlights, those that had always accompanied you on your lonely nights, seemed an unnecessary reminder that something had been lost. You had forgotten the time. You had forgotten that at this hour, your guardians, those you could never call parents, were waiting at home, in that stillness that so often suffocated you. The bedtime story, that ritual of which you never felt a part, should have already faded in their voices. But no. Anxiety remained, the hurried pace evident in every gesture they made to calm you down. There was no time left. And you knew it.

"I must go back," you thought, and for a moment, you wished the sky would open up, that time could stop.

Upon arriving home, you slid the door open with the same caution that had accompanied you for the past few years, as if every noise, every misstep, could awaken the accumulated fury on the faces of those you considered your guardians and active parental figures. The house was silent, a heavy silence that foreshadowed something bad. The living room, once a refuge of calm, now seemed a trap of unresolved tensions.

As you passed in front of the open door of the living room, you saw them. Erik, in the center of the room, was tense, as if every muscle in his body was on the brink of exploding. His face, so familiar for its hardness, was marked by a fierce expression, a repressed rage that needed no words to be understood. You felt a knot in your stomach. It was the anger he usually reserved for those who dared to challenge him. "Where have you been?" his voice came out raspy, laden with frustration but retaining the authority that characterized him.

Beside him, Charles Xavier, the other pillar of your life, was leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the floor as if avoiding facing you. Disappointment emanated from his presence like an invisible weight, much heavier than Erik's fury. "Little one..." he said softly, but that softness only made his reproach feel deeper, like an abyss. "Do you know what time it is?"

You didn't respond immediately. Guilt flooded you, but you hurried to keep your facade intact, the same control you always tried to impose on your surroundings. It was too late for explanations. Only the weight of your decisions remained, the glow of the Arcade lights still in your eyes, and the feeling that, for once, the night you had unexpectedly enjoyed was crumbling in its safest place.

The tension in the room grew, palpable like a dense fog. You took a deep breath, your eyes fixed on Erik, who had already begun to pace back and forth, his fury hard to contain. "I'm not a child, and you have no right to treat me as such!" you exclaimed, your voice louder than you intended, but the rage contained the words. "I want freedom! I want to decide what I do with my life! I don't need you to protect me all the time!"

Erik shot you a piercing look, the magnetism around him vibrating strongly. "You are still a child. And until you can understand the gravity of your decisions, I will treat you as such. And that includes not seeing Pietro," he said, his tone sharp and final. "If you dare to see him again, I will ensure you never set foot outside this house again and that he loses what he so enjoys boasting about."

You felt a chill run down your spine, but the fury did not leave you. "You are not my father! No one has the right to decide for me!"

Charles Xavier, until that moment silent, let out a sigh of disappointment. "It's for your own good, little girl," he said, the softness of his voice only aggravating the feeling of helplessness. "You will not leave this house until further notice. You need time to reflect on your bad actions and learn to control your temper towards your parents." His words, filled with a paternal but distant love, caused a deep pain in you.

You couldn't take it anymore. Rage overwhelmed you, and your powers manifested uncontrollably. Shadows began to crawl from the corners of the room, rising like dark tendrils towards the walls. "You will not confine me! You will not control me!" you shouted, the shadows wrapping around your hands as you manipulated them in an attempt to express your frustration.

Erik did not hesitate, extending his arm and manipulating the nearby metal, ready to stop you. Charles, however, only looked at you with sadness, knowing that this confrontation was just the beginning of a larger battle between them.

The room was engulfed in chaos, the shadows swirling around you like furious serpents, as your powers spiraled out of control. Erik, tense and ready to act, watched cautiously, but it was Charles who acted, with a grave, almost sad expression. He didn't want to do it, but he knew there was no other option.

"Little Raven," he said calmly, his voice overflowing with unyielding authority. "You must understand that we are not trying to control you, only to protect you. You know what happens when you let those emotions take control."

You looked at him with eyes filled with rage, your breathing heavy. You didn't want to listen, you didn't want to yield. And yet, Charles' presence in your mind began to grow, like a dense fog surrounding you.

"Don't you dare invade my mind!" you screamed, but it was too late. His eyes briefly shone with a purple flash, and in that instant, Charles took advantage of his ability to penetrate your consciousness.

Images of your progenitor overwhelmed you, rapid and overwhelming. Your father, the ancient demon, his grotesque face and infernal eyes filled your mind with palpable horror. The screams, the voices of pain, the images of destruction and chaos took over your thoughts. The fear you had always kept in check overflowed like a torrent. The abyss he represented seemed so close, so real, that you felt an unbearable pressure in your chest.

"Stop!" you screamed in horror, your knees buckling as you fell to the floor, struggling to free yourself from the images that tormented you. "I don't want to see it! I don't want to feel it!"

Charles, with his mind still anchored in yours, maintained the contact, his tone now softer but firm. "What he can do, what he has done to you, is part of what you must control. We are here to help you not become like him. And we will not allow anyone to interfere."

The shadows in the room slowly dissipated, but the echo of the visions continued to resonate in your mind. Your eyes, now glassy, reflected the internal struggle you could not win.

Erik approached, watching his adopted daughter with a mix of concern and disgust. "We did it for your own good, child. So you understand what is at stake."

But Erik's words barely penetrated your pain-clouded mind. You couldn't stop seeing Trigon's eyes, that gaze so filled with power and destruction.

You fell to the ground, your legs giving way under the weight of the visions still flooding your mind. The air around you seemed to thicken, and the pressure in your chest left you breathless. Your pale face reflected the terror you had just experienced, with eyes wide open and empty, unable to process what you had just seen.

It was Erik who, in a swift and firm motion, lifted you into his arms, the physical contact of his imposing figure and the magnetic energy of his presence sending a strange vibration through your young body. The weight of his gaze left no room for doubt: he was in control.

"Calm down, daughter," Erik murmured in a grave voice, a whisper that contrasted with his usual demeanor. But there was something unsettling in his tone, a softness that sounded like a veiled threat. "We love you, little Raven. We always have."

Charles Xavier's voice joined the scene, his tone soft and controlled, but his words filled with a weight he could not disguise. "It's time to sleep, little one. It's time for the bedtime story... It's what you need, what we have always done for you."

Erik carried you to the living room, where the low lights and tranquil atmosphere offered a false sense of peace. The two men settled you on the couch, and as Charles approached you, the shadow of his telepathic power floated over the room like an invisible fog.

"Sleep now, dear. The story is about to begin," Charles whispered as Erik sat beside you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firmness you could not reject. They both watched you with such immense attention, so intensely protective, that you couldn't help but feel trapped in an invisible web, with no way out.

The light flickered slightly, as if the place itself shared a collective fear, and although calm seemed to envelop you, you couldn't stop thinking about the echoes of your own fear. In what had been done to make you forget.

[deceptivemorals]

“ so, i’m curious to know your opinion on your brother’s obsession with me. ”

        elijah's eyes assessed stefan as the question about niklaus’s obsession hung between them. a faint flicker of curiosity crossed his features as he thought about the answer.

       "i've heard you two met first in the 1920s. i cannot say what happened between you two back then since i wasn't present." elsewhere occupied, distracting mikael while his brother and sister apparently chose to indulge in fun. but that's another story. "i’ve seen niklaus’s fixation on you take root in mystic falls. it’s pragmatic at its core; your compelled loyalty a tool when he broke his curse. yet, it’s deeper. niklaus is drawn to your duality: the ripper’s ferocity tempered by your quest for redemption. you’re a mirror to his own fractured self, a puzzle he seeks to master. he envies your control, admires your darkness, though he’d never admit it. it’s a fascination born of both utility and conflict."

       he knows that niklaus often believes he is not worthy of love, that people do not see his potential. he's often eaten by paranoia. apparently, stefan managed to get through his brother's armor.

       "i find it… heartening, in a way, that my brother seeks connection, even in you." a connection he doesn't entirely understand, if he's honest, as stefan has proved a lot of times that he loathes him. "friendship, however rare for him, is a flicker of humanity i cherish. yet, i wish it weren’t forged in bloodlust, a shared taste for violence that binds you." klaus is drawn to the ripper, not necessarily to the 'ordinary' stefan.

       "i suspect you don’t share his enthusiasm. where my brother sees kinship, you likely see chains; a burden, not a bond. am i mistaken?"

       elijah’s gaze held a quiet intensity, his approval of his brother's rare camaraderie tempered by skepticism. "it’s a fragile thing, this attachment. niklaus craves loyalty, but his methods, control, manipulation, often sour it. i doubt you reciprocate his fervor; your heart lies elsewhere. still, his obsession persists, a testament to his need for connection, however flawed. i’d caution you: indulge it carefully, or it may consume more than you’re willing to give." his brother's friendship won't save him if he makes one wrong step; if he does something that's considered unforgivable. 

@salvatoraes

[pyremet]

&. ⟨ joseph morgan . cis man . he + him . ⟩ ⸻ * seems like VIKIRNOFF , has been spotted around THE PRESERVE FOREST . you know , the 35 / UNKNOWN year old ORIGINAL VAMPIRE , who’s been in forks for ABOUT A WEEK . whenever I look at them they exude BURN BY 2WEI . with their loyalty to THE OLD ONES and plans to FIND HIS MATE . that would explain why they have a tendency to be BARBARIC + UNPREDICTABLE . however , lets hope that DEVOTED + SHREWD side helps them prepare for what’s coming. After all , something wicked this way comes.

basics.

BIRTH NAME.  vikirnoff.

AKA. vik, vikki ( for ppl close to him only ).

DATE OF BIRTH. unknown.

AGE.  thirty5 / unknown.

ZODIAC SIGN. unknown.

GENDER. cis man.

PRONOUNS.  he / him.

ORIENTATION.  bisexual.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS.  mated to kisa.

SPECIES.  original vampire.

GIFTS. weather manipulation, fear manipulation.

OCCUPATION.  local menace.

RELIGION.  atheist.

appearance.

HEIGHT.  6’4.

BUILD.  above average height and fit.

EYES.  red when fed, black when hungry.

HAIR.  light brown and curly.

SKIN.  smooth and cold.

SCARS. some various ones from fights with other vampires.

TATTOOS.  a feather on his left bicep that fades into birds across his left collarbone.

PIERCINGS.  n/a.

SCENT. velvety sandalwood, earthy, musk with a base note of rich amber and dark, warm vanilla.

background info.

BIRTHPLACE. what is now northern europe. 

FAMILY.  kisa, his wife. the other old ones, sorta.

CURRENT RESIDENCE.  forks, wa.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES.  english and many many many more.

FINANCIAL STATUS.  filthy rich.

EDUCATION.  homeschooled (?).

gifts.

weather manipulation: he can sense, channel, shape, create and manipulate the weather, granted complete control over the weather and natural disasters. it grants him an innate connection to the earth's atmosphere, enabling to shape and influence various weather patterns on both small and large scales. he can sense changes in air pressure, temperature, humidity, and other meteorological parameters, granting him an almost instinctive understanding of impending weather changes.

fear manipulation: he can control and shape fear, reaching into the minds of others and unearthing their deepest fears. the effects of his power can vary in severity, from a subtle unease that festers into paranoia to a soul-crushing terror that consumes every thought, up to and including physical manifestations of their fear. for some, his presence alone is enough to break them, their minds unraveling under the sheer weight of terror. however he can also do the opposite, removing fear and leaving the person devoid of caution or hesitation.

background.

vikirnoff doesn't remember much of his early life, but he's certain he came from somewhere in what is now northern europe. before imprisonment, he spent much of his life travelling as much as possible to gather knowledge and map out this planet - the one he was determined to conquer someday.

he had no one to truly care for until he met kisa, with whom he formed an obsessive and everlasting bond with. they became an inseparable pair, and he provided everything she ever needed or wanted, never allowing her to go without. being separated from her for so long has driven him to the brink of madness, and he will be seeking both her and revenge for their forcible parting of ways with animalistic fervor.

he is cutthroat, manipulative, and always working on achieving his current scheme. though he is charming and can easily convince others he is a friend to them, the list of people he actually cares about is exceedingly short. the world is a chessboard to him, and most of those who walk it are nothing more than pieces in his game.

views other vampires as nothing more than a watered down version of the originals, and there's certainly no love lost there for him. he sees humans as nothing more than bloodbags with legs, and cares nothing for taking their lives.

while he does have allegiance with the other old ones, his and kisa's own motivations always come first. he despises the volturi, and eagerly plans and looks forward to their downfall.

vik is extremely possessive and protective of kisa, preferring to keep her by his side always and seeing potential new bonds she forms as threats to their own. anyone attempting to harm her will be met with a swift and brutal end.

[orangerosebush]

I’ve been super fascinated abt something you said a while back abt artemis’ need for control and how it relates to his loved ones, where he feels if they just let him dictate everything for them it would be easier/for the best/etc (please forgive me if I’m remembering wrong!!) But I found that a super interesting analysis and I was curious if you think that would’ve been something he had observed/inherited from Artemis Sr?

Although I do think Artemis Sr's desire to protect his family is connected to the guilt/grief we see in the original series (as well as the paranoia/anger we see toward the People in the sequel series), the way that desire translates into patterns of behavior differs between Artemis and Artemis Sr. Like, it's the difference between thinking you can keep someone safe if you could just put them in a snowglobe and never let the real world come close enough to touch, versus thinking you can keep someone safe if you could convince someone it was their idea to never stray beyond your side.

In canon, Butler doesn't ever really indulge in that side of himself, as he's been trained to shove the personal down in favor of whatever the Fowl-Butler contract conscripts him to help with. But a similar thread to the one I describe with Artemis Sr. and love's ability to pluck at his worst impulses runs through Butler. For example, Butler mentions he'd be willing to leave the fairies out to dry when Artemis offhandedly mentions that the situation with Minerva might require endangering himself. Similarly, we also have Butler consider punitively breaking his contract with Artemis when Artemis puts Juliet's life in danger in TAC.

When Artemis wants something from his loved ones, he's very circuitous in realizing that desire. He often doesn't directly confront or try to strong-arm, but rather lies or acts discretely. I would argue that Artemis is most like Angeline in this sense -- they can both be remarkably calculating. Though of course, I say this with some caution, as I have found some historical attempts to discuss that side of Angeline to veer into misogyny and ableism. Neither Angeline nor Artemis are vapid, shrill, or frivolous in their manipulativeness. They're both traumatized characters who use their intellect (and the affection that others have for them!) to get their loved ones to behave in the ways that are "for the best" -- and neither really gets why that side of them makes others bristle (though both Artemis and Angeline hardly enjoy being on the receiving end of one another in this respect).

This is a bit of an aside, but in writing this, I realized the extent to which, arguably, Artemis appeals to emotion in the manipulation of his loved ones more often than he relies on his immense intellect.

tldr I love thinking through the mechanics of the worst and cruellest tendencies of these characters