heyhiray

[heyhiray]

Elysian: a Latibule Spinoff

Pairing: Doctor/Mafia!Kim Seokjin x Intern!Reader 

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Heavy chapter ahead? Also, comments and reblogs are my fuel so please let me know if you still want to read the story ahehe

Masterlist, Part X of __

“She’s not here.”

Seokjin’s brows pinched together, his usual demeanor of lightness gone as though it had never been there in the first place. He tilted his head, looking intensely at the head of your department as though if he didn’t say that you were here right now, there would be consequences to pay.

“Do you care to repeat that?” he asked in a conversationalist tone of his. One would assume that he was asking for a weather and that the question held no weight had the dark glint in his eyes not been anything but casual.

Your department head—an older man, composed and experienced—visibly stiffened. His throat bobbed in a swallow as he forced a polite smile. “I-I meant she’s not currently on-site. She called in sick this morning. Said she needed the day off,” he clarified quickly, hands clasped in front of him to mask the way his fingers twitched. “I’m sure she’ll be back shortly. Is there something I can help you with, Dr. Kim?”

Seokjin didn’t respond right away. Instead, he simply stared at the man. Just stared, as if weighing something, calculating in a way that made the temperature in the office drop several degrees.

Then he smiled.

But it wasn’t the kind of smile that warmed a room. It was the kind that made your stomach twist and your instincts scream.

“No,” Seokjin said, finally. “You can’t.”

He turned on his heel, coat swaying gently behind him, his phone already in hand as he walked away. His fingers moved with clinical precision, a message being typed, a call perhaps queued. Whatever it was, it wasn’t casual. And it certainly wasn’t good.

His jaw ticked as he stepped into the elevator, the polished doors reflecting the tight line of his mouth, the flicker of restrained emotion in his eyes. Anger? Worry? Hurt? Even he didn’t know. Not yet.

Had he spooked you with his confession last night?

Had his feelings stopped being reciprocated?

Had…he moved too slow that you lost interest?

Maybe he had moved too slow. Too cautious. Too afraid of crossing a line that you had already quietly erased behind him.

His last few messages sat there, unread. Delivered, but never seen.

His calls—rung out, ignored. Not declined, not blocked. Just unanswered.

He hated this feeling. He hated now knowing where you were. He hated not having you in front of him where he could see you. He hated not having access to you like you’d slipped through his fingers and he wasn’t even sure when.. He let out a laugh. Dry. Cold. Emotionless.

He laughed at the realization that he had quite turned into his father.

That obsessive son of a bitch.

He used to swear he was nothing like him. That he would never become the man who treated people like possessions, who clawed and controlled and manipulated because that was the only way he knew how to love. The man who loved violently. Selfishly. With chains instead of touch.

But here Seokjin was—phone in hand, jaw clenched, heart pounding because he couldn’t find you.

No.

He shut his eyes, drew in a breath that didn’t reach his lungs.

He was still there. He would not lose himself. He wasn’t like his father and you weren’t his mother.

You were you.

You were kind and brilliant and warm and—

Sick.

That was all this was.

You were just sick, right? You were just too sick to answer his calls. Of course. It was just that. Nothing had happened. No one had touched you. No one had hurt you. No one had taken you from him. You had not taken yourself away from him.

He opened his eyes and stared at your name on the screen again, his thumb hovering just above the last message he’d sent.

Call me when you wake up. I’ll come to you.

--

You woke up to the rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

As soon as you opened your eyes, a splitting headache pulsed just behind your eyes. It felt like your skull was caught in a vice grip. A groan tore from your throat, raw and small, as your fingers twitched against the stiff sheets beneath them.

A nurse appeared almost instantly, rushing to your side. “Oh good, you’re awake, dear,” she adjusted your dextrose with practiced precision

You blinked slowly, trying to sit up—immediately regretting it as the room tilted sideways.

“W-What happened?” you rasped.

The nurse offered a kind smile, placing a hand on your shoulder to keep you from straining. “You passed out in the ER after getting your arm checked. You were burning up with fever when you went here. Do you remember anything?”

Memory came crashing down at you. What transpired last night…Seokjin, his confession… His warmth when he said good night. And then the gang your father loved to borrow money from, the ones who came collecting month after month, each visit worse than the last despite trying to pay them on time.

The bruising grip on your arm. The threat, the sneer. The way your knees buckled afterward. The panic. The cold sweat. And finally, stumbling into the ER—alone—trying to breathe through it.

“You’re safe here, dear. The doctor will see you in a while. Try to rest, okay?”

But rest did not come. You laid awake that night. One moment you were happy, in the verge of falling for someone as perfect as Kim Seokjin until your old life reminded you that you were trash compared to him. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to envision your life alongside his. Now the world had pulled you back down by the ankles. Reminded you who you were. Where you came from. What you could never outrun.

Some parents did everything for their child. Some parents would move heaven and earth to provide for their child. Some parents would shield their child from the harshness of the world.

Funny enough, yours didn’t.

Your mother died trying. She was tired, worn thin, but she tried. She held the house together with trembling hands and sleepless nights. When your mother died, you father even got worse. He would drown his sorrow with alcohol. When that was no longer enough, he turned to drugs.

And when even the high couldn’t numb whatever haunted him, he found the one thing more destructive than both: Gambling.

You shut your eyes, the ceiling a blur through the sting.

He gambled away the funeral money. The rent. Your college savings. The electricity. The food. Your safety.

Until men with sharp smiles and cruel laughter started showing up at your door asking to speak with “Daddy.”

Until they started speaking to you instead.

The same men who found you again last night. The same ones who would go to you instead of your father now.

The same ones who reminded you that no matter how far you got, you were still just collateral in someone else’s debt.

You chuckled at your misery. How could you even dare to like someone as perfect as Seokjin?

You wrapped your arms around yourself, blinking away the sudden sting in your eyes—just in time to hear the door open.

A figure stepped in, clipboard in hand.

“Ms. Y/N?”

You straightened as best as you could in the hospital bed, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, forcing a small smile.

“Good evening, Doc.”

The doctor nodded, his expression professional but kind. He glanced down at your chart before returning his eyes to you.

“You came into the ER last night complaining of pain in your arm. You told the triage nurse you fell on it?”

You nodded stiffly. “Yes.”

“Well,” he continued, “good news is that it’s not broken. But it is sprained, and the inflammation around your wrist is significant. I’ll prescribe a mild painkiller and an anti-inflammatory. We’ll also have it wrapped to stabilize the joint.”

You gave him a tight, polite smile, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in your wrist that seemed to pulse in time with your headache. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He paused, then looked up again—this time his gaze lingered a bit longer.

“There were some… bruises noted along your arm,” he said gently. “Not consistent with a simple fall.”

You froze. Just for a second. Just enough for your stomach to twist.

“I—I must’ve hit something on the way down,” you said quickly. Too quickly.

The doctor gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, but his eyes didn’t quite believe you.

Still, he didn’t press. “Alright. I’ll send the nurse in shortly to wrap your wrist. You should be able to go home in a few hours. But I recommend rest. And next time, don’t go to a hospital two hours away from your residence.”

You didn’t respond. Just offered a polite nod and turned your face to the window.

You were discharged the next day.

You had no one to take you home. Suffice to say, you had only yourself.

 After buying the medicine from the pharmacy, you went home. The two-hour ride was too much for you; your thoughts were loud, your heart numb. Two hours of nausea and thoughts you couldn’t outrun. Two hours of silence and strangers, of shivering beneath your coat, of your injured arm throbbing every time the bus jolted.

Where could you even go that they wouldn’t follow?

Despite cutting your father off and moving so far away from him, they still found you. Was there no escape in this life?

When the bus finally hissed to a stop, you stood slowly, legs unsteady. Your coat hung limp around you, concealing the fresh bandage on your wrist. You wrapped your uninjured arm protectively around it, holding it close.

You walked with your eyes to the ground. Step by step. Heavy and dull. The weight in your chest deeper than fatigue.

You didn’t see him at first.

Not until he said your name. Not until his voice—low, rough, restrained—cut through the fog in your head like lightning.

“Sunshine…”

You froze.

Your breath caught.

Slowly, disbelievingly, you looked up.

And there he was.

Seokjin.

Standing at the edge of the sidewalk like he'd been waiting for hours. His coat open, eyes stormy and tired and wildly relieved.

He took one step toward you, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you yet.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked, voice low, shaking—but not from anger.

From fear.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant—guarded, brittle.

“What do you mean what am I doing here? You were gone for two days. No calls. No messages. Nothing. Am I not allowed to worry?”

You didn’t meet his eyes because if you did, you’d break. How do you look at someone you want with your entire being and tell him that you didn’t want him? How do you look at someone so perfect and tell him that he shouldn’t want someone as tainted as you?

“You’re not allowed to worry,” you said, voice tight. “Why would you?”

His expression cracked, confusion and pain flickering across his face.

“Sunsh—”

“And don’t come here anymore,” you cut in sharply, stepping back toward your apartment door. Your fingers shook as you reached for your keys, but you forced them still.

“Wait—” he called out, moving instinctively.

His hand shot out to stop you, to hold onto you—but he grabbed your injured arm.

A sharp jolt of pain lanced through you, white-hot and sudden.

You gasped, the sound leaving your mouth like a sob you tried too hard to swallow, and a whine slipped free before you could stop it.

Seokjin froze. His eyes dropped to your wrist—the one hidden beneath your coat. The one he now felt was wrapped.

You pushed him away as hard as you could, but he held on as gently as he could.

His brows pinched, jaw tight, gaze flickering between your eyes and your arm.

And then, with a touch too careful, too fast for you to stop, he brushed back the edge of your coat.

The fabric fell away.

And there it was. Your bandaged wrist. Angry and bruised. Swollen beneath medical gauze. Evidence.

Real. Inarguable.

The breath he drew in was sharp—quiet, but brutal.

His entire body stiffened like something inside him had just cracked.

“Who did this to you?”

[heyhiray]

hiii i think ur reqs are open but if they’re not ignore me ^-^ i was wondering if you could write some kind of soldier/military yandere x reader, maybe some kind of prisoner reader? >o< i’ll leave the details and all the creative stuff up to u :)

Yandere Military x Reader

You're not sure how many days it’s been. Maybe weeks. The days blur together in this place—some underground bunker, reinforced with cold steel and cracked concrete. Your wrists are raw from the cuffs, though Akin doesn't always keep you restrained anymore.

Not since you stopped trying to run.

You hear the heavy, limping footsteps before he even opens the door. You could recognize that uneven rhythm in your sleep now—the metallic thud-thump of his bad leg dragging behind the rest of him. The click of a keypad, the hiss of hydraulics, and then—

“Angel?” His voice is a low rasp, worn down like sandpaper, thick with an accent you can’t quite place. You don’t answer. You’ve learned that silence draws less attention than defiance.

He ducks into the room, too big for the narrow frame. Broad shoulders barely squeeze through. The light catches the scars carved into his skull, down his neck, through his arms like a road map of violence. His uniform is stripped of insignia, stained and fraying.

He sets a tray down and kneels in front of you, close enough that you smell the burn of smoke on his skin. His bad leg groans as he lowers himself. You instinctively shrink back, but his gloved hand finds your face before you can fully move away.

“You look tired,” he murmurs. His thumb brushes beneath your eye like he has the right. “Nightmares again?”

As if you’re the one dreaming of atrocities.

You bite your tongue.

His fingers linger, gentle despite their size. Rough hands used to break bones now treating you like something delicate. Precious. His. There’s something terrifying in how careful he is with you, like he thinks you’ll shatter if he doesn’t hold you right. Or worse, like he wants to break you slowly, so you'll never want to leave.

“I never wanted this for you,” he says. “But you came into my hands. And now I can’t let go. Not when everything else has fallen apart.”

He leans in closer. The scars on his face twist when he smiles, and the light in his eyes is too warm for what he is.

“There’s no going back,” he whispers. “They don’t want you. They left you behind. But I took you in. I’m the one who keeps you safe.”

Safe. In a cell. Behind three sets of locked doors. With a man who can crush a throat with one hand and still look at you like you’re the moon.

His breath brushes your cheek.

"Angel..."

You want to scream. But instead, you stay still—his hand still cupping your face like he’s holding something sacred.

Akin kisses your forehead, his lips rough and warm. When he finally pulls back, he’s breathing heavier, jaw tight, as though he’s the one barely holding on.

“I’ll make it better,” he says. “I’ll make it good. You’ll see.”

He limps out of the room without waiting for a reply.

The door seals shut.

And you’re left alone, with the scent of him still lingering, and the suffocating certainty that you’re the one thing he’ll never let go of.

No matter how hard you try.

Masterlist

[heyhiray]

Be the Character|| Masterlist.

Ever wondered what it would be like to be reborn as a character in your favourite show.

1- Yandere Platonic/Romantic Various X Naruto Reincarnated Female! Reader

2-

3-

4-

5-

[heyhiray]

can I request the first prompt you posted with bakugo? your work is great!

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

Prompt: "Go on, run. That's what you want to do, right? Then go ahead. Do it. I won't stop you. But just know that when I catch you, I'm gonna break both of your legs." 

TW: Implied Kidnapping.

AN: Here it goes, hope you like it 💖

--

Many are the adjectives that can be used to describe Bakugo.

Rude. Stubborn. Impatient. Angry. Tempestuous. But stupid? No. 

As much as you hate him with all of your heart, stupid is not a word that could ever be used to describe Bakugo.

Because he’s not stupid. Never has been. 

If he was, then he wouldn’t currently be rapidly escalating up in the Pro-Hero rank.

If he was stupid, then you wouldn’t be the unwilling love interest of a man with a powerful quirk, locked up in a soundproofed basement. You’d be free and independent, even if that meant working a boring nine-to-five job that granted only the minimum wage, just enough for you to live by. 

If Bakugo was stupid, then he wouldn’t be glaring at you with those red sharp eyes  that make him look so damn powerful. 

His whole body is tense, the veins on his arms flexing as he grips the rail of the stairs from where he stands at the top, the dark wood lightly cracking under his fingers. 

He doesn’t move and neither do you. The tension clogs up the air, thick and dangerous. Both of you painfully aware that one wrong move is gonna have devastating consequences.

Mostly for you though.  

You hold back your breath, heart thumping wildly against your ribcage, fighting against the adrenaline that runs on your veins.

The front door is closed, just a few meters away from where you stand. So close.

But it’s not the close proximity that tempts you. It’s the fact that the door is unlocked. 

Bakugo speaks at last, cold anger irradiating from him in waves. 

"Go on, run. That's what you want to do, right?” his voice is strangely calm, controlled. “Then go ahead. Do it. I won't stop you.”

Your face snaps at him, pure disbelief at his words. Does he really mean it?

The answer comes in less than a second later, crashing down your futile hopes.“But just know that when I catch you, I'm gonna break both of your legs."

[heyhiray]

THE MAN IN THE WOODS

summary: a quiet walk home turns dark when the man who’s been watching finally steps out — blood on his hands, your name on his lips, and no plan to ever let you go.

warnings: non-con (subtle/psychological themes), dub-con, obsessive behaviour, stalking, violence/gore, murder/s, possessive character, blood, threats/intimadation, breeding kink

pairing: dark!remmick x reader 

w/c: 11k+

DNI IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO TAGS, AND ARE UNDER 18

The Mississippi heat was sticking to you in a way that felt like it was just part of you now, like you couldn’t really shake it off. Thick, heavy, like the whole air was holding its breath. You were used to it by now, but that didn’t mean it didn’t get to you some days — like today, when the sweat was rolling down your back, and your dress felt like it was clinging to you like a second skin. It had a way of making everything slow down. You could feel it in the way the hours dragged by. Nothing moved fast when it was this hot, not even the wind.

You had stayed later in town than you meant to, but it wasn’t unusual. You never minded, really. Mrs. Avery had needed your help with the post office, and then you ended up talking with Miss Harriet for a while, listening to her ramble about things that didn’t matter, but you liked listening anyway. It wasn’t until the sun was a sliver on the horizon that you realized how much time had passed. And, sure, you could’ve taken the main road back, but you preferred this one. The back road that led through the edge of the woods, where the trees felt like an old friend, and the sound of the insects buzzing was the only thing that kept you company. It was quieter that way.

The stories had been getting worse lately — things going missing, bodies turning up in strange places. You’d heard the talk. The whispers at the market, the older folks talking in hushed voices, the sudden stares you got when people thought you weren’t paying attention. But you didn’t feel scared, not exactly. You had walked this path for years, had heard the same stories told over and over again. People got lost, sometimes, and some of them never came back, but that was just life around here. Life, death, and everything in between.

You tried not to think about it too much, but as the last bit of daylight started to fade, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Not that it was anything new, really — not in the Delta. The woods were always full of strange sounds at night. Always full of shadows that seemed to stretch longer than they should. And the feeling? It had come before. Maybe just nerves. Maybe nothing at all. It didn’t matter. You kept walking. Your boots pressed into the soft earth, the sound muffled by the dampness in the air.

But tonight, the quiet was heavier. The trees seemed to close in a little more, their thick branches blocking out the last of the light, casting shadows that seemed to move when you weren’t looking. It was the kind of quiet that made you wonder if you were the only one walking this path. You couldn’t hear the birds, the usual buzz of crickets. Just silence. The deep kind that settled over everything and made you feel like you weren’t meant to be here.

You shook it off. Told yourself it was just the night playing tricks. You kept moving, turning the corner past the old fence where the wood had started to rot years ago. The same stretch of road you’d passed a hundred times. But as you stepped deeper into the woods, there was a shift in the air. The kind that made your stomach tighten just a little. The kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up, like you were being watched, even though you couldn’t see anyone. You didn’t stop walking, but you did slow down, your senses sharp in a way they hadn’t been before.

And then, you saw him.

At first, it was just a figure. Tall. Broad-shouldered. He was standing in the shadows, like he belonged there, his back to you. And for a second, you thought maybe you’d imagined it, maybe you’d caught the wrong glimpse of something in the dimming light. But the longer you stared, the more you felt like there was no way he could’ve been anything but real. His presence didn’t make a sound. Didn’t stir the air around him like it should’ve. It was like he was... waiting. Standing perfectly still.

You almost turned around, almost told yourself you should’ve taken the main road after all. But you didn’t. You stood there for a beat too long, unsure of what to do. He wasn’t moving. Didn’t look like he was about to. But there was something in the way he stood, something about the way the trees almost seemed to part around him, that made you feel like he wasn’t just passing by. Like he was waiting for you to notice.

When he finally turned, you felt the air change, like a sudden shift in pressure. His eyes met yours.

It was like nothing else mattered. Like time stopped for just a second, just long enough for you to notice the way the fading sunlight seemed to catch in his hair, the way the shadows made his face almost too perfect, too sharp to be real. And that smile — not one you’d ever seen before. It wasn’t kind, exactly, but it wasn’t threatening either. Just... knowing. Like he had something figured out, something you weren’t meant to understand yet.

But you felt it, anyway. The tension, the slow, almost magnetic pull.

And then, just like that, the world shifted again.

You didn’t know it, but that moment would be the last time things would ever feel the same.

You should’ve walked away. Every instinct in you screamed to turn around, to leave, to put some distance between you and the man standing just a few steps away, the man whose presence seemed to fill the entire space around you. But still, you stood there, rooted in place, like something—some force—had decided it wasn’t going to let you go.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, and the quiet stretched between you like a taut wire. You didn’t know what you were waiting for, but it felt like the world had paused, holding its breath. His gaze never wavered, steady, almost calculating, like he was trying to read you in a way that made your heart pick up the pace.

Finally, he spoke, his voice smooth with a slow southern drawl. "Tell you what, darlin’... it’s mighty late for someone like you to be wanderin’ out here all alone." He stepped forward, his boots barely making a sound against the dirt, but the small movement felt like it took up more space than it should’ve. Like he was somehow pulling the air closer to him, drawing you into his orbit.

You hesitated, trying not to let the flutter in your chest show. "I’m fine," you said, the words coming out a little too fast. "I’ve done this walk a thousand times before."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. His eyes flickered down to your hands, clenched at your sides, then back up to your face. "A thousand times, huh?" His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Well, darlin’, you sure do make it sound easy."

You shifted on your feet, trying to shake the strange feeling creeping up your spine. "I don’t need anyone walking me home."

He didn’t miss a beat, his grin widening just a touch. "Oh, I reckon that’s your call." He took a slow step closer, his voice lowering just a little. "But I’ve been out here a long time, seen a lot of things. Some of ‘em don’t belong in these woods." His gaze sharpened, just for a second, and there was something else in his tone now. "Not to mention all the strange happenings lately. Folks keep goin’ missin’ around here. Real shame, that."

You froze, your breath catching. "What do you mean, strange happenings?" you asked, though you already knew. The disappearances. The bodies found scattered across these very woods. The whispers. Everyone had heard the rumors, but no one dared to speak too openly about it.

He leaned in just a fraction, like he was about to tell you a secret. "Oh, just... you know. Folks not comin’ home at night. Bodies turnin’ up in places they shouldn’t be. Nothin’ good about that." He paused, eyes narrowing. "Not safe out here these days, darlin’. You sure you’re alright walkin’ alone?"

You swallowed, the chill creeping up your spine. You knew what he was hinting at, what everyone was whispering behind closed doors. "I’m fine," you said, but it came out much less convincing than you intended.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. "Sure you are, darlin’. But even the toughest of folks could use a little company when things go sideways. You sure you don’t want someone with you? Wouldn’t want you to join the list of folks who got... lost." He flashed a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and there was something dangerous lurking behind the casualness.

You bristled. "I’m good," you shot back, though it sounded more like a plea than a declaration. "I don’t need anyone."

He chuckled, low and dark, but with an ease that didn’t match the words. "Well, darlin’, that’s up to you." He stepped a little closer, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "But I’ve got a feelin’ you might change your mind soon enough. After all, we both know how the story goes around here. Stranger things than gettin' lost happen in these woods." His smile was lazy, but there was an edge to it, something that made your pulse quicken.

A subtle threat hung in the air between you, yet there was still something oddly... comforting about him. Something about the way he was standing, the way he moved with such certainty, made you hesitate, even as every instinct screamed at you to get away.

He took another step closer, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper now. "I’ll walk you home," he said, as if it were already settled. "Wouldn’t want a lady like you to be out here alone with everything that’s been happenin’ around here lately."

You bit your lip, torn. A part of you wanted to refuse, to walk away from the situation entirely. But another part—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on—made you stay still. He was right, after all. The woods weren’t safe anymore.

Finally, you nodded, barely enough for him to notice. "Alright... fine," you muttered, hating how weak your voice sounded.

His smile widened, but it wasn’t kind. "Good choice, darlin’," he said, his voice soft yet steady, the kind of tone that carried an unspoken assurance. "Let’s get you home safe, then."

And with that, he fell into step beside you, his presence almost... comforting. The woods didn’t feel as suffocating anymore, the shadows not as dark. With him by your side, you felt less like you were walking into the unknown, and more like someone was guiding you through it. The path ahead didn’t seem so threatening, and for the first time tonight, you found yourself easing up just a little.

His steady stride kept time with yours, and even though you weren’t ready to fully trust him, there was something about the way he moved—something sure and quiet—that made it harder to keep your guard up. You had no idea where this would go, but for now, you weren’t alone, and that meant something.

After a few more minutes of walking in silence, you finally saw the familiar outline of your home ahead. The warmth of the night still clung to you, but the oppressive quiet of the woods started to fade as you neared your doorstep. The walk had felt longer than usual, and the air seemed to grow heavier with each step, but you didn’t mind.

Remmick kept pace beside you, his presence a strange mix of comforting and unsettling, until finally, the gate to your yard came into view. He didn’t say anything as you reached it, but just before you stepped through, he spoke, his voice low and steady.

“You be careful out here, darlin’,” he said, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long, like he wanted to make sure you understood.

You nodded, feeling a shiver run down your spine, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the heat or something else. “I will,” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave a half-smile, the same knowing grin from before. “Good,” he said simply, then took a step back into the shadows. “See you ‘round… names Remmick by the way.”

You didn’t say your name— too worried, and it seemed like he noticed that to. You watched him disappear into the night before turning toward your door. With a hand that felt almost numb, you turned the handle and stepped inside, the familiar creak of the door shutting behind you making it feel like the night was over. But the weight of everything that had happened lingered, like it wasn’t really finished at all.

And just like that, you were home.

It started the night he left you at your gate.

You didn’t notice it right away. At first, it was subtle — an odd sensation, like the remnants of a conversation you couldn’t shake off, the kind that clung to you even after the words had ended. It wasn’t something that jumped out at you, not at first. Just the faintest trace of unease. You told yourself it was nothing — just the lingering tension of meeting someone like him in the woods, a man who had the unsettling ability to smile too easily, stand too still, and know just a little too much about you. You thought it was your mind playing tricks, a fleeting discomfort that would disappear with time.

You tried to sleep that night, but the feeling didn’t go away. It settled on your chest, heavy and suffocating, like something was watching you from the shadows. Like something was waiting. Every time you closed your eyes, it was there, lurking at the edges of your consciousness. The memory of his smile. His eyes, so steady, so calculating. It lingered in your mind like a flicker of a memory that hadn’t quite been made yet.

But it wasn’t just the first night that left its mark.

By the second night, it was worse.

The tightness in your chest had grown, a feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of your mind. You couldn’t sleep, not even in fits. The air in your bedroom had turned thick and suffocating, as though the very walls were closing in around you. It was too hot, too heavy, like trying to breathe through cloth. You tossed and turned, futilely opening windows to let in a breeze that never came, then closing them again when the humidity grew worse. You left the light on, hoping the soft glow would bring comfort, but it only reminded you of how much you wanted to turn it off, to surrender to the dark. You shut your eyes, only to open them again, staring at the shadows in the corners of your room, hoping they would stay still. Hoping the night would pass.

But the quiet was too loud. The stillness felt too alive.

You began checking the locks more frequently. Not just the back door, but the windows too, making sure they were secure. You even double-checked the small, unimportant things, like the kitchen cabinet, the pantry door. Anything that could have been moved. Anything that didn’t feel right. Still, no matter how many times you checked, the discomfort wouldn’t leave. You never saw anything. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

The heat, the oppressive Mississippi heat, didn’t help either. It pressed down on everything; the old wood of your porch, the dampness of your sheets, the sticky sweat that clung to your skin. The air felt like it had taken on a life of its own, moving sluggishly around you, crawling along your neck, down your spine. The weight of it made you feel like your skin was too tight, like there was something inside you, waiting to break free. Something that shouldn’t be there. Something that had crawled under your skin and wouldn’t leave.

You needed to get out.

So you went to town, hoping for the relief of movement, the comfort of people. Just the sound of everyday life. The hustle of the bakery, the familiar gossip at the market. Anything that felt real. Anything that wasn’t this unshakable feeling of being watched.

It was late afternoon when you wandered past the bakery, the warm, golden sun sitting low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the street. The heat was just as bad as it had been the past few days, but you didn’t mind. Not much you could do about it anyway. The town had its usual lazy rhythm, with people moving in slow, deliberate motions, their faces slack with the weight of the air. But there was something in the air today. Something different. The usual hum of life felt muffled, drowned out by a strange stillness.

You didn’t mention your sleepless nights. You didn’t mention how you hadn’t been able to shake that feeling for the past three nights, that prickling sensation that had settled just beneath your skin, like someone was standing just behind you, breathing down your neck. You didn’t tell anyone about the dreams — not quite dreams, more like flickering images of a man standing at the end of your bed, silent, still, always watching, always smiling. But you weren’t ready to say anything. You didn’t want to sound crazy.

Maybe it was the heat. That’s what you told yourself as you stepped into the general store, grateful for the stale, cool air that rushed to meet you. But it didn’t quite reach your skin. Your thoughts kept wandering back to that night. To his smile. To the way his eyes had looked at you. Something about it had stuck. And it gnawed at you, quietly, as you ran your fingers over the shelves, distracted and restless.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice Jesse until you heard his voice.

“Hey. You alright?”

You looked up, startled, and saw him standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, his brow furrowed with concern.

You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until he spoke. His presence, so casual and familiar, made you realize just how much you’d been on edge all day.

“I’m fine,” you said, exhaling a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. “Just needed a few things.”

He didn’t seem convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you, as though he could see right through your words. “You sure? You look a little… worn out.”

The comment made you laugh, but it was more out of discomfort than anything else. “Thanks,” you replied, trying to make light of it. “I didn’t realize it was so obvious.”

“I mean it,” he pressed, stepping closer with a frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You didn’t respond. He wasn’t wrong. It had been days, maybe longer, since you’d gotten a full night of sleep. Since the night you met him.

“I’ve just been a little… off lately,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. You could hear the hesitation in your voice, the way you were avoiding the truth.

Jesse took a step closer, his expression softening. “You know, you can talk to me if something’s bothering you. I don’t mind.”

You forced a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “It’s nothing, really. Just one of those weeks.”

Jesse glanced out the window, squinting at the low-setting sun, its warm rays creeping between the buildings, casting long, golden streaks across the floor. He turned back to you, his gaze lingering on your face, searching for something you weren’t sure you wanted him to find.

“You heading home soon?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more deliberate.

You nodded, shifting on your feet. “Yeah. Just need to grab a few things.”

He glanced down at his watch, then looked up again. “You taking the long way home?”

The question hit you harder than you expected. The long way. The path you’d been avoiding in the past few days. The one you used to walk without a second thought, but now it felt different. Heavy. Haunted. You hesitated, trying to buy time.

“Yeah, I think so,” you said, your voice unsure.

Jesse didn’t push it, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. “Let me walk you,” he said after a beat, his tone firm but not forceful. “It’s getting late. And I don’t think you should be out there alone.”

His offer, simple as it was, sent a strange feeling through you. A part of you wanted to decline, to keep your distance, but another part — the part that had been feeling so exposed lately — welcomed the offer.

You wanted to refuse. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t need anyone walking you home. That you could handle it. But when you opened your mouth, the words didn’t come out. Instead, you nodded slowly, your lips parting in a soft sigh. “Alright,” you said, the heaviness of the words settling on you. “I’d appreciate it.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt a strange sense of relief mixed with something else, something that lingered at the back of your throat. You hadn’t meant to invite him along, but now that he was here, it felt… necessary. His presence, quiet but steady, seemed to ease the tightness in your chest, even if only just a little.

The sun was already slipping behind the trees by the time you finished your shopping. The storefronts bled amber light onto the sidewalks, but the sky above was fading fast — from hazy gold to bruised purple. Jesse stayed close, trailing quietly beside you as you stepped outside, the air thick with heat and something else — something colder that you couldn’t name.

The walk began in silence.

People had retreated indoors. Porch lights flicked on. Insects buzzed around street lamps. The town folded itself inward for the night, leaving you and Jesse alone with the steady sound of your footsteps.

It didn’t take long for the streets to give way to the quieter, tree-lined path you always took home. Familiar, but not in a comforting way — not anymore. You kept your eyes ahead, not daring to glance too long at the shifting shapes in the woods just off the road.

Jesse walked beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze occasionally drifting toward you.

“How have you really been?” he asked after a stretch of silence. His tone was softer now, less casual than before — like he wasn’t just making conversation, like he actually wanted to know.

You hesitated. “I’ve had better weeks,” you admitted. It wasn’t a confession, not really, but it was more honest than what you’d been saying to everyone else.

He nodded slightly, like he understood something in your voice. “Thought so.”

You didn’t say anything else. Part of you wanted to, but you weren’t sure how to explain it — the nights spent staring at the ceiling, the feeling of something in the room with you even when it was empty, the way you caught yourself checking over your shoulder like a nervous habit.

“I keep waking up,” you finally said. “Middle of the night. No reason. Just… wide awake and certain someone’s there.”

Jesse’s eyes shifted to you again, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I thought maybe it was just in my head at first. You know, stress or heat or something stupid. But it hasn’t stopped.”

“It started a few nights ago. After I walked home alone.” There it was — out loud. And now that it was, it felt heavier.

Jesse was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “Why didn’t you say something?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t want to sound crazy.”

His voice came low. “You don’t.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. “Feels like I do.”

The trees thickened ahead, the stretch of road narrowing as the shadows crept in faster than the fading light. You could feel it again — that pressure at the base of your neck, the one that told you to run even when nothing was behind you. 

It was only another couple of minutes in silence, you walked a little faster without meaning to.

Jesse noticed. “Hey,” he said gently, “we’re almost there.”

You nodded, eyes still forward, heart picking up a beat. The path wasn’t long, but in the dark, it stretched out like something else entirely — like a hallway with no end. The wind stirred the branches above you, and for a second, it sounded too much like whispering.

“I don’t like this road,” you said, more to yourself than to him.

Jesse didn’t answer right away. “I don’t either,” he admitted. “Never have.”

That caught you off guard. You glanced at him. “You used to live near here, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said, then hesitated. “Used to hear things out here at night. Long time ago.”

A shiver crept up your spine. “Like what?”

He paused. “Voices. Footsteps. Once I swore I saw someone just standing in the woods. But when I looked again, there was nothing.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

The last bend came into view — the one that would lead to your driveway. You felt the pull of home, of safety, just out of reach.

You were almost home when Jesse’s voice finally faltered. The familiar turn onto the last stretch of road had come into view, and the trees around it began to lean in closer, their branches curling overhead like fingers. Fireflies blinked in the tall grass by the ditches, but even their glow felt dim against the dark swallowing the horizon.

“I can walk you the rest of the way,” Jesse had offered earlier, his voice low but steady. “It’s not a trouble.”

You’d turned to him, the hem of your sundress brushing your knees as a breeze picked up. You’d really looked at him — his brows furrowed, jaw tense in the fading light. It wasn’t just a polite offer. He meant it.

Still, you had hesitated. He had already stayed longer than he needed to, and he had farther to go. You didn’t want to keep him longer than necessary. Plus, you didn’t want to worry him — not when you weren’t even sure what you were afraid of.

“No,” you’d said softly, offering a faint smile. “That’s alright. You should head back before it gets too dark then it already is. I’m almost there.”

He’d held your gaze a beat longer, like he might argue, but eventually gave a slow nod. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

He’d stepped back, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his figure swallowed slowly by the darkening trees. The silence crept in behind him, not sudden, but steady — like water filling a room.

You’d taken a breath, glanced down the road toward home, and started walking again. The gravel shifted under your shoes, the sound oddly loud in the stillness. Your dress clung a little to your skin in the humid air. Cicadas buzzed in the distance. Somewhere nearby, an owl called once, then fell quiet.

Then, a scream.

It came from behind you, from the woods Jesse had just disappeared into. It wasn’t just a shout, not something startled or careless. It was deep, guttural — raw and sharp with an edge that made your blood run cold.

You froze. Turned. The trees stood still, unmoving, their shadows stretching like long fingers reaching into the dark.

Another scream ripped through the air, even more tortured than the last. It didn’t sound like Jesse, not in any way you’d ever heard him before. It was something else — something full of agony.

“Jesse?” you called, but your voice trembled and was lost in the thick night air. Too soft. Too quiet.

You waited, every second stretching out like hours. But there was nothing. No response.

And then it came again. A scream, this one louder than the others, piercing the silence in a way that felt like it was coming from everywhere. All around you. And then — silence.

The kind of silence that felt wrong. Thick. Heavy.

You stood there, frozen. Your heart hammered in your chest, and your breath came shallow. You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to run, but your feet wouldn’t move. The trees loomed like dark sentinels, the forest closing in on you with the weight of something terrible.

But it was just the night, right?

The sound of the woods shifted, a crack in the dark.

It wasn’t Jesse.

It couldn’t be.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, but eventually, you forced yourself to turn back toward your house. It was only a few more steps, and maybe if you just kept walking, you could ignore whatever was happening behind you.

But that wasn’t possible, was it?

You couldn’t stay out here in the dark. You needed to be inside. You needed safety. The front porch of your house was just a few steps away. Just a few more steps, and you’d be able to shut the door behind you, lock it, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

But as your foot hit the first step of the porch, the sound you had been trying to ignore hit you again. This time it was your name being yelled.

It was Jesse’s voice, unmistakable.

The scream rang out with a desperation that cut through the night air like a blade. And it wasn’t just the tone of it, but the way it broke, jagged and guttural, that sent a wave of panic crashing through your body. The kind of panic that made your blood run cold. The way he said your name made your chest tighten with fear, like he was calling you for help — like he was begging.

You froze on the porch, your heart leaping into your throat. Your hands trembled, the grocery bags now slipping from your fingers and crashing to the floor in a mess of sound. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. All that mattered was that sound. Jesse’s scream. His call.

Your feet moved before your mind could catch up, your legs shaking as you turned and sprinted back toward the woods. The weight of your steps seemed heavier now, the path to the trees long and endless, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when he was still out there — in the dark, in the woods, screaming for you.

The road seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, the trees swallowed you again. The sharp smell of the earth hit you, the wet grass, the cool air between the trunks a relief from the suffocating heat, but none of it felt real. Not anymore. All you could hear was the sound of your own ragged breath and the call of Jesse’s voice echoing through the woods, tearing at your chest.

“Jesse!” you screamed, your voice raw, but it was lost in the thick air, swallowed whole by the trees.

Your heart pounded in your ears, the panic rising like a wave, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Something deep inside you — something that you couldn’t explain, not even to yourself — refused to let you go back to the safety of your house. It was as if the woods were pulling you in, and Jesse’s voice was the only thing that mattered.

You pushed forward, running faster now, the distance between you and the last place you’d heard him scream growing shorter with every step. Every branch that scraped your skin, every twist of the undergrowth beneath your feet, felt like nothing. Nothing compared to the sound of his voice calling for you.

The woods stretched endlessly before you, dark and suffocating, but you didn’t stop running. Branches scratched at your arms, the hem of your sundress catching on underbrush, but the sting didn’t register. Your lungs burned with every breath. All you could hear was the fading echo of your name on Jesse’s voice, still ringing in your ears, raw and pleading.

“Jesse!” you screamed again, but it sounded smaller now, swallowed by the trees, useless.

You pushed deeper.

The dirt beneath your feet was damp, soft with recent rain, and your shoes slipped as you clambered down a slope you hadn’t noticed before. You caught yourself on a tree trunk, breath catching in your throat. The air had shifted — no longer just humid, but colder now. Wrong. You could feel it pressing in around you, thick and still.

And then — something.

A shape, low to the ground. Just ahead in the clearing.

You stumbled forward, one slow step at a time, heart beating like a war drum in your chest. And then the shape resolved. You saw the boots first. Familiar. Mud-caked. Still.

Your stomach dropped.

“Jesse?”

You crept closer, voice trembling.

He was there, lying on his side in the wet grass, the folds of his shirt soaked dark and heavy. His body was twisted, one arm outstretched, fingers curled into the earth as if he’d tried to hold on. But it was the angle of his neck — the way his head had fallen too far back — that told you something was horribly wrong.

You fell to your knees beside him.

“Jesse—” your voice cracked, catching in your throat as your eyes finally took in the full horror of it.

His throat — or what was left of it — had been torn open. Not cleanly. Not like a knife would do. This was rough, brutal. Something had ripped into him with teeth, shredded muscle and sinew, left bone exposed. Blood soaked the grass around him, still wet, still warm.

Your hands hovered uselessly above him, too afraid to touch, as if reaching out would make it real. His face was pale, lips parted slightly, eyes glassy — but open. Staring. Not at you. Not at anything.

A soft sob escaped your lips. The sound didn’t belong to you. None of this did. None of it could be real.

You backed away, slowly standing up. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Jesse, who had smiled at you only minutes ago. Jesse, who had offered to walk you home. Jesse, who had screamed your name like it was the last thing he’d ever say.

And it was.

You wiped at your face, not realizing you were crying until your hand came away wet. The stillness around you felt heavy now. A silence not of peace, but of something waiting.

Then — the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

Something was here.

You didn’t hear it move. You didn’t see it. But you felt it. A presence. Something wrong. Something watching.

You turned slowly.

The woods behind you were too dark, the tree trunks pressed too closely together. You couldn’t see anything — but that didn’t matter. You knew. The way your gut twisted, the way your skin prickled. You were not alone.

You didn’t move.

The woods held still around you, suffocating in their silence, and the cold that had crept in earlier now settled deep beneath your skin. Your breath hitched in your throat as your gaze swept the trees, searching for whatever had stirred the air behind you. For a long second, there was nothing.

Then, from between the trunks — slow, deliberate — a figure stepped into view.

It was a man.

At first, the shape of him was just shadow and movement. But then the light shifted, and you saw his face.

Remmick.

Your breath left you in a soundless gasp.

It was him — the man who had walked you home just days ago, calm and courteous, his voice low and drawn with that rasp that curled at the edges of his words like smoke. The man who had said your name like it tasted sweet on his tongue. The man who, even then, had looked like he knew more than he let on.

He wasn’t breathing hard. Wasn’t flustered. His movements were slow, easy, almost casual.

Like he’d been here a while.

Watching.

His eyes found yours, and that same, familiar half-smile touched his mouth — the one that had seemed harmless once. Kind, even. Now it felt like a hook just beneath your skin.

“Well now,” he said, voice soft, coated in something you couldn’t name. “Ain’t you a sight.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even will your mouth to move. You felt frozen where you stood, just yards from Jesse’s lifeless body, the scent of blood still thick in your nose.

Remmick’s gaze drifted past you, to the place in the grass where Jesse lay twisted and ruined, and for a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change at all. No surprise. No horror. Nothing.

He already knew.

He took another step, the leaves rustling beneath his boots, you still couldn’t see him clearly.

“Didn’t mean to give you a fright, darlin’,” he said, slow and easy, like you were still back on that quiet walk home, like there wasn’t blood drying under his nails.

You swallowed hard, but the dryness in your mouth made it useless. “Remmick…”

It came out thinner than you wanted. A whisper. A question.

He looked at you again — really looked — and the softness behind his eyes shifted. Not cruel. Not angry. But something darker. Like he was peeling something back. Like whatever mask he wore had been slipping this whole time and he’d finally let it fall.

“I was hopin’ we’d see each other again,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Just didn’t think it’d be quite like this.”

Your knees locked. You couldn’t step back. Couldn’t flee. The woods behind you weren’t safety — they were a cage. You were stuck between Jesse’s body and Remmick’s bloody figure, the air too thick to breathe, your heart thudding so loud you swore he could hear it.

He smiled again — slower this time. Warmer. Like he thought you might smile back.

“C’mon now,” he said, his voice dipping low, nearly fond. “Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of.” But your body knew better. It was screaming. And somewhere deep inside, so did you.

You stumbled backward, your breath hitching in your throat as he fully emerged from the shadows, parting the trees like they were nothing. The moonlight barely touched him, but that little bit was enough. You saw the blood first—thick, dark, and smeared across his shirt, soaking into the collar, dripping down his neck. It clung to him like a second skin, and his chin was streaked with it, as though he hadn’t cared enough to wipe it off.

The blood glistened, fresh and wet, a stark contrast against the black of the night, but it was the way it soaked into him that made you freeze. He looked like something else entirely. Something not quite human.

His eyes met yours, cold and unwavering, as if you were nothing more than a passing thought in his mind, and for the first time, you realized how wrong you were about him.

“What…” Your voice trembled, the word barely leaving your lips as you took a step back. Your hands were shaking, but you couldn’t look away from the blood that stained his clothes and most definitely staining him. “What are you?”

He stepped forward slowly, one foot in front of the other, parting the branches around him like he was walking through a world that had bent to his will.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm. Too calm. Thick, like honey pouring over you, suffocating you.

“You ain’t askin’ the right question, dove,” he drawled, his Southern accent curling around every word, wrapping them up in something dangerous. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know how to yet.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps as you struggled to form a coherent thought.

“What did you do to Jesse?” You finally forced the words out, though they came out choked, angry. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Remmick’s gaze drifted behind you, toward the clearing, where Jesse’s body lay lifeless in the grass. His blood had soaked the ground, leaving a dark stain that was already beginning to sink into the earth. But Remmick didn’t seem to care. His eyes didn’t flicker toward the body with any kind of guilt.

He only looked back at you, and his voice was disturbingly quiet, though it was no less menacing.

“Somethin’ tried to take what’s mine,” he said, the words slow and deliberate. “And I don’t take kindly to that.”

You shook your head, the weight of his words pressing in on you like a heavy stone. “He didn’t try anything,” you spat, trying to back away, but your legs felt like they were made of jelly.

Remmick took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t matter. He touched you. Walked you home. Spoke your name like it belonged to him.”

Your heart stopped. You had a sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something cold and dark was wrapping around you, slowly choking the breath from your lungs.

“That ain’t how this works.”

You swallowed hard. “You killed him,” you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth, but it was a truth you couldn’t ignore. The horror of it swirled inside you, threatening to consume everything you knew.

Remmick didn’t deny it. His lips curled upward in a slow, almost affectionate smile.

“You’re a monster,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but it was enough to make his smile falter, if only for a fraction of a second.

He took a step closer, the blood on his shirt now darkened to a sickening rust color. His hands were covered too, but they were still steady, his posture calm as if he hadn’t just committed an atrocity.

“I ain’t like the things out here,” he said, his voice low and rough, his drawl thicker now, like he was speaking through smoke. “But I ain’t human, neither. Not in the way you think.”

You stepped back again, your chest heaving, the panic rising within you like a tidal wave. You had to get away. You had to run, but your feet wouldn’t obey you. Your legs felt like they were cemented to the ground.

“But I meant it when I called you mine,” he added, his voice almost reverent.

A chill ran through your spine as you tried to process his words. “You’re crazy,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, but the words felt heavy. “You don’t even know me.”

He tilted his head slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Maybe regret. Maybe something else. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I know you better than anyone ever could,” he said softly, stepping closer still. “Better than the man who thought he could take you home. Better than anyone who thought they could walk beside you. I was watchin’ over you long before he ever came around, long before you even known it.”

You recoiled from his words, his presence, everything about him. This wasn’t protection. This wasn’t love. This was obsession. The kind that made your blood run cold and your skin crawl.

“I saw you,” he continued, his voice lower now, like he was telling a secret only you were meant to hear. “When you were walkin’ home from town, your eyes down, not a soul beside you. I saw you. I was there. I always was.”

He took another step closer, his gaze moving lower, his eyes lingering on the hem of your sundress, the curve of your trembling hands.

“You don’t know how hard it was,” he murmured. “Seein’ you, walkin’ in those woods, all alone. You smelled like summer, like innocence. And I had to fight every instinct not to touch you. Not to ruin you right then and there. But I thought to myself, ‘It’s okay Remmick, you can wait abit longer, you’ve always been waiting for her’.”

You felt a sickening twist in your stomach. The weight of his words hit you like a punch, but the most horrifying part wasn’t what he said. It was the way he said it — as if this had been a slow, inevitable fate, and you were always meant to be his.

“You’re not—” You choked on the words, trying to push back against the terror crawling up your throat. “You’re not in love with me. You’re obsessed. There’s a difference.”

He smirked, the corners of his mouth curving upward in something twisted. It wasn’t affection. It wasn’t love. It was something far darker, more primal.

“That’s right,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m obsessed with you. And I always will be. You don’t get to walk away from this. Not now. Not ever.”

You backed away, the sickening feeling of his presence pressing in on you, suffocating you. But the moment you did, he stepped closer again, the distance between you closing like the jaws of a trap.

“Once something belongs to me,” he murmured, his voice dark with an unholy promise, “it stays mine.”

Something inside you snapped at that moment, causing you to run. The woods swallowed your footsteps the way a mouth swallows breath — quiet and final. Your legs screamed to keep running, but the moment your foot snagged on a root slick with mud, the world tilted sideways. You hit the ground hard, palms slapping the earth, the breath knocked clean from your lungs.

You turned over, gasping, scrambling backward on your hands. Bark bit into your spine as you hit a tree.

And he was already there.

Remmick stepped into view with the slow ease of something that had never needed to run. The moon cast a dull sheen on the blood across his throat, his chest, soaking deep into the collar of his shirt. It clung to him like it belonged there. His eyes caught the light in a way that didn’t look real.

You tried to speak, “Remmick—” but he didn’t let you.

“I was always there,” he said, voice low and almost reverent. “You just didn’t look.”

He stepped closer. The crunch of his boots against leaves felt louder than your breath.

“Every night you took that path, I was in the trees. When the sun dipped low and you walked with your head down, hummin’ those little nothin’ songs to yourself, I was already watchin’. Behind the brush. Under the dark.”

You shook your head. “I never—”

“You didn’t see me,” he cut you off sharply. “Couldn’t. Not in the day. I ain’t allowed in the morning. That’s not when I exist.”

He said it like a fact. Like a rule carved into his bones.

“But night?” His voice deepened, and his gaze swept over you. “Night belongs to me.”

You pushed back farther against the bark, digging your nails into the dirt, into anything. “You’re sick.”

He smiled. It wasn’t human.

“I watched you sleep,” he whispered. “Window cracked just enough. Dreamless, like you were waitin’ for somethin’. For me.”

“No—”

“You left the light on some nights. Like you wanted someone to see. All that bare skin under those thin blankets—”

“Stop.”

He crouched then, too close. His knees sank into the wet ground inches from your feet. His voice dropped into something hushed and awful.

“You finally saw me, that day in the woods. First time our eyes met, I could’ve torn the world open right then. You in that little dress, do you know how hard it was not to touch you? Not to drag you off the trail and make you understand what you were?”

You stared at him, horror swelling thick in your throat.

“You don’t know me,” you said, voice shaking.

His smile widened, teeth a little too sharp. “But I do. You don’t get it yet — what we are. But you will.”

“I’ll never be yours,” you hissed.

He leaned in until his bloodstained collar nearly brushed your knees. His breath was warm — wrong — as he spoke.

“You already were,” he murmured. “From the first time I I saw you while ago, under moonlight. I ain’t let anything touch you since.”

You tried to push yourself up — tried to find space, air, anything — but he rose when you did. Not fast. Just… deliberate.

“You think Jesse died ‘cause he was bad?” he asked, tilting his head. “He died ‘cause he thought he had a right to you. Thought speakin’ your name made it his to say.”

He stepped toward you again.

“But that name?” His voice was a blade now. “That name only ever sounded right in my mouth.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

Somehow, your feet found the ground beneath you. Somehow, you scrambled up from the roots and mud, your palms bleeding, your knees buckling. But you ran — faster than before, your breath ragged, every heartbeat screaming get away, get away, get away.

The trees blurred around you, branches whipping at your face and arms, but nothing could slow you down now. Not the cold sweat that soaked your dress. Not the taste of blood in your mouth from where you’d bitten your tongue.

Not even his voice behind you.

“Run, dove,” he called, smooth and syrup-thick. “Go on. I like when you run.”

You didn’t dare look back. Every fiber of your being pulsed with one command: move.

But he was faster.

You didn’t hear him coming. You didn’t even feel the ground change — one second you were upright, the next you were jerked backward so hard your scream died in your throat.

Pain bloomed hot across your scalp.

His hand was tangled in your hair, yanking you off balance. You hit the earth again, your knees skidding against gravel and moss as he pulled you back into him, the back of your head nearly colliding with his chest.

He crouched behind you now, crouched low like a wolf over a carcass, his breath brushing your cheek.

“I said run, didn’t I?” he murmured, voice mock-gentle as his grip tightened. “But we both know you were never gonna make it back to that little porch light. That door was never gonna open for you again.”

You struggled, clawed at his arm, but he only laughed — low and breathy and too calm.

“Don’t,” he warned, his lips grazing your ear now. “You’re gonna make me hurt you, and I don’t want to do that.”

His other hand slid to your throat — not squeezing, not yet — just resting there. Like he was measuring something. Like he owned it.

“I’ve been good,” he went on, voice fraying at the edges now. “So good. Watching. Waiting. Keeping things away from you. But you keep runnin’ from me like I’m the danger.”

He yanked your head back again, forcing you to look up at the trees, at the stars barely visible between them.

“I’m the reason you’re still breathin’. Ain’t no one else ever gonna love you like I do, dove. They don’t even see you. Not really.”

“I’m not yours,” you choked out, voice raw.

He growled — a low, inhuman sound that vibrated against your back.

“You are,” he snapped, fingers tightening in your hair. “You been mine. From the minute you stepped into my woods. From the second you smiled at the trees like they were friends.”

You twisted beneath him, trying to throw him off, but his body was all heat and weight and blood.

“You’re sick,” you spat, and this time, it shook him. He went quiet. Still.

Then, quietly, coldly; “So be it.”

The air crackled with a sudden shift. The playful menace in his voice vanished, replaced by something sharp and dangerous. His hand tightened in your hair, not just holding you, but possessively, painfully. The fingers at your throat flexed, a subtle warning that sent a fresh wave of panic through you.

He shifted, his weight pressing more fully against your back, pinning you to the rough ground. The scent of damp earth and pine needles mingled with his own darker, muskier smell, overwhelming you. You could feel the tremor that ran through his body, a tightly leashed fury that threatened to break free.

"Sick?" he repeated, the word a low growl against your ear. "Is that what you think?"

He released your hair, and for a desperate moment, you thought you might be free. But then his hands were on your shoulders, his grip like iron as he rolled you over onto your back. The sudden movement stole your breath, and you stared up at him, his face a shadow against the faint starlight. His eyes, though, burned with an intensity that pierced the darkness.

He loomed over you, his knees bracketing your hips, effectively trapping you. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the raw power that emanated from his still form. Your chest heaved, and the taste of blood in your mouth seemed to intensify with your fear.

One of his hands left your shoulder, tracing a slow, deliberate path down your arm. His touch, despite the underlying threat, sent a shiver down your spine. It was possessive, claiming, like he was mapping the contours of his territory.

"You think this is sickness?" he murmured, his voice low and rough, like stone scraping against stone. His fingers reached your wrist, his thumb pressing against your racing pulse. "This…need? This hunger I feel when I look at you?"

His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingering there for a long, breathless moment. You tried to pull away, to twist beneath him, but his weight held you firmly in place. The gravel dug into your back, a stark reminder of your vulnerability.

"Tell me," he breathed, his face dipping closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Tell me you don't feel it too. Even a little flicker?"

His eyes searched yours, demanding a truth you were terrified to acknowledge. The fear was still there, a cold knot in your stomach, but beneath it, something else stirred – a primal awareness of his nearness, the undeniable intensity in his gaze. The woods, the cold, the fear, all seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in the suffocating darkness.

His words hung in the air, a challenge and a confession. You didn't answer, couldn't answer, trapped between fear and a strange, unwelcome curiosity. His eyes, dark and intense, held yours captive. He lowered his head, his breath warm against your lips. You could feel the subtle shift in his body, a tightening of muscles, a coiled energy that promised a release you both dreaded and, perhaps, secretly craved.

His hand, still on your wrist, tightened again, his thumb tracing the delicate bones. It was a possessive gesture, a claim. The air thrummed with unspoken desires, a silent battle waged between predator and prey, between fear and a burgeoning, forbidden attraction.

He paused, a hair's breadth from your mouth, giving you one last chance to speak, to deny the connection that seemed to crackle between you. But the words wouldn't come. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the oppressive silence.

"No?" he whispered, his voice rough with a barely contained passion. "Then I'll show you."

His lips brushed against yours, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of electricity through you. It was a tentative beginning, a question asked with skin instead of words. He waited, as if gauging your reaction, giving you a chance to pull away, to end it. But you didn't.

His hand, having found the hem of your dress, continued its slow ascent. The fabric whispered against your skin, each inch a deliberate exploration. His breath grew warm against your neck as his touch finally reached the top of your thigh.

He paused there, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of your inner thigh, sending a shiver down your spine. You clenched your legs slightly, a reflexive attempt to guard yourself, but his touch remained, a possessive claim.

His mouth left your neck, and you felt his breath moving lower, tracing a hot path down your throat. He lingered at the hollow of your collarbone, pressing a soft kiss there before continuing his descent.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body as he shifted, his weight pressing more firmly against yours. The hard ridge of his arousal against your thigh was an undeniable reminder of his intent.

His lips continued their downward journey, past your stomach, lower still, until you felt his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, just inches from where your underwear began. A gasp escaped your lips, a mixture of fear and a strange, unsettling anticipation.

His hands, which had been on your thighs, now moved to the hem of your dress once again, bunching the fabric higher to allow him more access. You felt the cool night air on your exposed skin as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the inside of your thigh, his lips lingering there, sending a wave of heat through you.

He moved again, his kisses tracing a path closer to the edge of your underwear, each touch a deliberate tease. You could feel the tension building within you, a confusing mix of apprehension and a burgeoning, forbidden awareness. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin as he nuzzled closer, the anticipation becoming almost unbearable.

His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear. The thin fabric offered little resistance as he slowly, deliberately, eased them down.

The sensation was jarring, exposing a part of you that felt intensely vulnerable under his predatory gaze. You squeezed your eyes shut, your hands clenching into fists against the damp earth. The sounds of the forest seemed to fade, replaced by the frantic pounding of your own heart.

He paused in his task, as if sensing your heightened distress. You could feel his gaze on you, a heavy, possessive weight. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken tension and the raw anticipation of what was to come.

Then, with a final, gentle tug, the last barrier was gone. You felt the cool air envelop you completely, a stark and undeniable exposure. His breath hitched again, a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your thigh.

He lowered his head further, and you braced yourself, every nerve ending screaming in a mixture of fear and a terrifying, undeniable curiosity. You felt the brush of his lips against your bare skin, a soft, tentative exploration that sent a shiver through your entire body.

His kisses became more insistent, tracing a slow deliberate path, once again to your inner thigh, closer and closer to the most vulnerable part of you. Each touch was a brand, a claim, stripping away not just the physical barrier but also your sense of control. 

The anticipation alone was a brutal kind of pleasure, a tightening coil in your belly that had nothing to do with wanting. Then, the invasion. Slow, deliberate, and impossibly intimate as he slid his tongue inside.

A sound escaped you, a delicate moan ripped from your throat against your will. It wasn't a sound of pleasure, not the soft sigh you might offer in a moment of genuine intimacy. This was something else entirely – a strangled gasp of shock, a raw expression of vulnerability laid bare. It echoed in the stillness of the woods, a testament to his violation. Your body betrayed you with its involuntary response, a stark reminder of your helplessness under his relentless advance. 

His tongue continued its relentless exploration, and he finally lifted his head, his eyes dark and possessive as he stared down at you. A slow, knowing smirk stretched across his lips, a cruel anticipation that made your stomach clench.

"Your sweet little cunt tastes like pure heaven, darlin'." He lowered his head again, his breath hot and wet against your most sensitive flesh. "Sweeter than any blood I ever craved, honey."

He pressed closer, his tongue delving deeper, and a strangled sound was torn from your throat, a mortifying mix of revulsion and a shameful flicker of sensation you couldn't control. "You got no idea what you do to me, dove," he murmured against you, his voice thick with desire. "Makes a man… wanna forget his own damn name."

His fingers digged into your hips, holding you captive as his mouth continued its brutal assault. "Every little taste of you is drivin' me wild," he groaned, the words punctuated by wet, insistent sounds that echoed in the stillness of the woods. "You're gonna be screamin' my name before this night's through, you hear me?"

He shifted his angle, his tongue finding a particularly sensitive spot, and a sharp gasp escaped you, a sound that disgusted you even as it seemed to please him. "That's it, sugar," he breathed, his voice low and guttural. "Beg for it. Say my name when you’re comin’. " 

"Remmick—" The sound that tore from your throat was a raw, involuntary plea, a shameful testament to the sensations he was dragging from you. Your hands, clenched moments ago in protest, now fisted in dark hair, your grip tightening as a wave of heat washed through you. 

Your hips lifted slightly off the cold earth, a movement you couldn't control, a sickening surrender to the intimacy he was forcing upon you. The wood sounds faded, replaced by the wet, insistent rhythm of his mouth and your own ragged breaths. A strange, dizzying lightness bloomed in your head, a horrifying disconnect between the violation and the undeniable physical response blooming within you.

"That's it, dove," he rasped against you, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Feel it, don't you? Feel what you do to me." His fingers dug deeper into your hips, anchoring you as his ministrations grew more demanding, more relentless. The delicate dance of his tongue was now a possessive claiming, stripping away the last vestiges of your resistance. 

A moan, deeper and more resonant this time, escaped your lips, a sound that horrified you even as it seemed to fuel him. It wasn't a moan of desire, but one of pure, unadulterated sensation, a body reacting against your will. The high, as you called it, was a dizzying loss of control, a shameful betrayal of your own boundaries.

He finally lifted his head, the wet sounds ceasing, and a thick, carnal quiet filled the woods. His dark eyes, pupils blown with desire, he looked at your flushed face, a look of pure lust. A slow, wicked smirk stretched across his lips as he watched the lingering shudders that still wracked your body.

“Sweet little cunt got you all worked up, ain’t it dove?” he rasped, his voice a low, heavy with lust. 

He suddenly shifted, his hands beneath your thighs, lifting you higher, “Gonna feel me stretch you open and fill you up proper. You gonna be milkin’ my shaft so nice, darlin’.”

The head of his erection pressed insistently against your slick folds, a thick, undeniable presence. His eyes were burning into you as he fully shifted you, slowly and deliberately stretching you open, so you were sitting atop him— his back against a tree, supporting him.

“That’s it.” His eyes were feral, demanding, and the raw, possessive hunger in his gaze was a palpable thing.

The stretching sensation was intense, an unfamiliar pressure that made you gasp. "Remmick—it's… it's too much," you choked out, your hands gripping his shoulders, your knuckles white. The unfamiliar fullness was overwhelming, bordering on painful.

He stilled for a moment, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. "Tight little thing, ain't you?" he murmured, his voice a low, almost impressed rumble. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs pressing into your flesh. "You're okay, darlin'. Just gotta relax for me."

Despite your choked plea, he didn't withdraw. Instead, he began to guide you, his hands firm on your hips, initiating a slow, rocking motion. "Easy now," he instructed, his voice softening slightly, though the possessive edge remained. "Just follow my lead."

The movement was awkward at first, the unfamiliar friction and fullness making you tense. You could feel him deep inside you with each downward slide, a stark and undeniable invasion. "It hurts," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat.

"Shhh," he soothed, his gaze unwavering. "Just gotta get you used to me, sweet thing. You'll open up. Trust me, dove. This is gonna feel real good soon." He continued to guide your hips, the rhythm becoming slightly faster, more insistent. You could feel the heat building between your bodies, a strange and unwelcome warmth spreading through you despite your discomfort. His low groans filled the night air, a stark contrast to your own shallow, unsteady breaths.

The awkward, uncomfortable rhythm continued, each downward slide a raw reminder of the unwelcome intrusion. You clenched your jaw, trying to breathe through the ache, your hands still tight on his shoulders. "Remmick," you gasped, the word catching in your throat, "it still—"

He cut you off with a low growl, his hands tight on your hips, pushing you down a little further. "Gotta ride it out," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Just gotta loosen up for me. Feel how good this could be if you just let go."

The rubbing began to burn, a rough feeling mixed with the deep ache inside. You tried to slow him down, to find a way that hurt less, but his hands on your hips called the shots, a steady push and pull that left you gasping for air.

But then, little by little, something started to change. As that initial tightness started to give way, a different feeling poked through. The deep ache started to shift, the rubbing making a strange, almost hypnotic beat. A small sound slipped from your lips, not quite a cry anymore.

He seemed to feel it, his movements getting a little smoother, like he knew what he was doing. His low groans got louder, and you could feel his body shaking a little underneath you. A weird heat started low in your belly, still mixed with that ache, but with a tiny spark of something else.

Towards the end of his guiding, when the rhythm felt more steady, a different kind of breath caught in your throat. The hurt hadn't gone away completely, but it was tangled up with a strange, almost overwhelming feeling in your body. A soft moan slipped out, surprising even you. The tightness in your shoulders started to ease, your hands in his hair weren't so tight anymore. The night air still felt cold on your skin, but the heat between you was real now, a slow, unwelcome fire starting to burn.

His breath hitched in his throat, a rough sound against your ear. "That's it, dove," he growled, his hands still firm on your hips, guiding your movements. "Feel that heat building? Feel me gettin' nice and deep inside you."

He shifted beneath you, his hips bucking harder now, meeting your rhythm. "That's right," he rasped, his voice thick with a raw hunger. "That sweet little pussy is grippin' me good."

His hands slid up your sides, "You feel me pumpin' inside you, baby?" he murmured, his eyes locked on yours, dark and intense. "Gonna fill you up real good. Gonna breed you nice and deep, make you all round with my baby."

He leaned up slightly, his lips grazing your ear. "You gonna be screamin' my name, breathin' heavy, wantin' nothin' but this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna plant my seed deep inside you, make you carry my mark."

His hands squeezed your sides, urging you to move faster. "Beg for it," he urged, his voice rough with lust. 

A moan escaped your lips, a sound you barely recognized as your own. The heat between your bodies intensified, a suffocating pressure that demanded release. Your head fell forward, your hair falling over your face as a wave of intense sensation washed over you.

"Please…" The word was barely a whisper, a broken plea torn from your throat.

"Please what, darlin'?" he urged, his voice low and demanding. 

Tears welled in your eyes, a confusing mix of shame and a desperate need for the relentless pressure to cease, yet also… to continue. "Please… more," you choked out, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

A triumphant smirk stretched across his lips. "More of this, sweet thing?" he growled, his hips bucking harder, deeper. "You want me to fill you up good? You want my seed inside you?"

Another groan escaped you, followed by a soft, broken sob. The line between fear and a terrifying, undeniable desire blurred, leaving you adrift in a sea of overwhelming sensation. "Yes," you finally whispered, the word a shameful admission of the power he held over your body. 

As the intense waves of sensation began to crest within you, your grip on his shoulders tightened, your body instinctively clenching around him. A series of involuntary gasps escaped your lips, each one a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that was now intertwined with the lingering fear.

"Yeah, that's it, darlin'," he grunted, his voice thick with exertion. His hands gripped your hips even tighter, his own movements becoming more frantic, more urgent. "Milk me good, sweet thing. Squeeze me tight."

He bucked his hips upwards with a deep groan, his head falling back, his jaw clenched. "Feel that, dove?" he rasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Feel how close I am? You're gonna pull it all outta me."

The pressure inside you intensified, building to an almost unbearable peak. Soon after he followed you, after a few more harsh and deep thrusts, you felt the hot, thick pulse of his release deep inside you, a claim.

As you both finally came down after a few minutes, you still stayed sat atop him, chest rising, the warmth of your skin clashing with the cold bite of the earth beneath you.

Remmick didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you.

Then, slowly, he leaned in close — so close his breath brushed your cheek — and whispered, low and calm:

“I should’ve taken you the first time I saw you.”

He brushed your hair back away from your face, lips barely grazing your temple.

“But I waited. Now you’ll never leave me again.”

His words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be. You felt them settle in your bones — heavy, inescapable.

Because truly, he was inescapable. 

[heyhiray]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. yandere prince adores his personal maid.

he doesn't even bother hiding his favouritism. the contrast in tone when he talks to you vs anyone else is huge.

"oh, you think that suit looks better than this suit? of course, my sweet! whatever you say ♡."

"my sweet, i'd hate to be a bother, but could you run some errands for me? i know, i'm horrible!"

he'd coo and coddle you, as if you were a favoured child. trailing his silky soft fingers across your cheeks when you pleased him, though it wasn't very hard since he is absolutely enamored with you. then, some random servant would walk in, and it was like a switch was flipped.

"can't you see i'm busy? go away!"

"you're utterly useless! you know i can have your head on a silver platter, right?"

it was slightly off-putting.. you remembered the first time you were introduced as his personal maid, his eyes having lit up like a christmas tree. you didn't really know why he liked you so much, but it's better than being threatened with death for serving his tea in the wrong cup. you do try your best to appeal to all of his 'demands' (which are just suggestions at this point), because you have to remember your place.

which is by his side. forever.

"you'd never leave me, would you, my sweet?"

"never, my prince."

"good."

[heyhiray]

bride of the abyss

Pairing: Yandere Siren x Reader Description: Years after you saved him, Zeiryn returns to drag you beneath the waves—where his love waits, fierce and inescapable. Warning/s: Yandere | Noncon/Dubcon Themes | Kidnapping | Possessive Behavior | Captivity | Obsession | Emotional Manipulation | Mild Violence | Body Morphing/Transformation Note/s: Commissioned on ko-fi! Thabk you for trusting me with your commission! Idk if you've received the email. I hope you enjoy this one! Tags will be added later!

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The first time you met him, the sun was so high it burned your shoulders through your shirt. Your sandals had long been discarded, the soles of your feet pressed against coarse, grainy sand, warmed by the afternoon heat. Vacation meant freedom, and for you—a curious child with scraped knees and untamed hair—that meant wandering far beyond the adults’ lazy eyes and picnic baskets.

You weren’t supposed to be near the cliffs. The locals had told stories, murmured warnings of tides that dragged unsuspecting feet into the undertow. But you were eight, and warnings slid off your ears like water. You’d chased a crab across slick rocks, nearly slipping once—okay, twice—before rounding a jagged stone formation and stopping short.

A glint of silver caught your eye. At first, you thought it was trash—a bit of foil or an abandoned soda can. Then it moved. Just slightly. Enough to catch the sun and reflect a brilliance so blinding it made your eyes water. You stepped closer, heart thudding, and gasped.

He was tangled in a net.

You didn’t know what he was—some strange fish, perhaps? But then he turned his face to you, and your world cracked open.

He had eyes like the sea after a storm—grey, but not dull. There was depth there. Sorrow. His skin, though damp and streaked with grit, shimmered faintly under the sun. Hair, long and tangled with bits of kelp and shell, framed a face that was almost too lovely for this world. And below the waist…

A tail. Silver-scaled, powerful, twitching weakly with every shallow breath he took.

You froze.

He didn’t speak. He just stared. His lips slightly parted. You noticed the way he held himself, cautious and ready to defend. His hand—webbed and claw-tipped—twitched when you shifted your weight.

“I won’t hurt you,” you said, holding out your hands to show you had nothing. No rocks. No spear. Just your palms, scraped and pink from climbing.

He blinked slowly, suspicious still.

“Are you stuck?” you asked.

No reply. But he didn’t back away when you stepped closer. You knelt beside him, the scent of salt and something sharper—like rotting seaweed baking in the sun—invading your nose. It made your stomach twist. But you pushed it aside and began working at the net.

The knots were tight. You pulled and untangled, ignoring the barnacles slicing your fingertips. Time passed, but neither of you spoke. It wasn’t silence. The waves talked, the seagulls screamed above, and your own breath came hard with effort. Still, it felt sacred—like speaking would shatter something delicate between you.

Eventually, the net slackened.

He let out a sharp sound—surprise? Relief?—and pushed himself forward, dragging the last threads free with a flick of his tail. Then, to your astonishment, he touched your arm. A light brush of damp fingers on your skin. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes—raw and electric—said everything.

And then, he was gone. A splash, a spray of saltwater, and silver glimmering beneath the waves.

You never told anyone.

You convinced yourself it was a dream, a fantasy born from too much sun. But you visited that rock again. And again. Just in case.

Years passed. You grew up. He did not fade.

• • — ✦ — • •

Beneath the waves, he remembered everything.

Zeiryn had been young when you saved him, and even then, his mind was unlike the others. While his kin drowned sailors and split hulls for fun, Zeiryn watched the world above with a secret hunger. He had never known mercy—not until you. He thought you were an illusion at first. A sun-struck phantom, kindness shaped like a child.

But you were real. You touched him without fear. You saved him.

And he had never forgotten.

Seasons passed above and below. He grew stronger, his voice deeper, the gift of his lineage blooming in his throat. His tail thickened with muscle, the silver of his scales deepening to something more molten, almost iridescent. His hair, once wild and matted, was now woven with the treasures of the deep—rings of coral, braids of pearl, beads carved from whalebone. He was no longer a drifting child of the tide. He was a leader now.

Yet every dusk, he swam to the same stretch of shore, peering through kelp and coral, waiting for the only face that had ever haunted him.

And then—finally—he saw you.

You stood there, older, but still you. Your eyes held the same wonder, the same distant sadness. He watched from the rocks, heart hammering, the sea rising with every thrum of anticipation. You were holding a bottle. The scent reached him even through the water. Alcohol. Sour and sharp.

You stumbled closer to the edge, barefoot like before. He didn’t understand your tears at first. But when they hit the water, he tasted them.

Bitterness.

He had never tasted sorrow before.

He moved without thinking, cutting through the water with a predator’s grace. When you stepped into the sea—lost, maybe hoping it would take you—he was already there. His arms wrapped around you just before your knees buckled. He caught you. Held you. And for the first time in years, he felt whole again.

He turned to the shore. His eyes, once filled with awe, hardened. There were people there. A town. A world that had allowed you to suffer.

He would never forgive it.

The water closed over your head.

And he took you home.

• • — ✦ — • •

The cold hits you first. It pierces your skin like needles, forcing your eyes open.

Then the pressure—thick and heavy—presses against your chest. You try to gasp and choke instead. The world is liquid. Blurry shapes. Movement. Panic claws through you. You thrash—

Then you notice the shimmer.

Your legs—no. Not legs.

You scream, but no sound comes out. Just bubbles.

The tail is yours. You move, and it moves with you—powerful, golden, alien.

Your lungs don’t ache. You aren’t drowning.

You’re breathing. Underwater.

A presence approaches. You backpedal—awkward, instinctual.

Then he’s there.

The siren.

Older. Towering. Regal in a way that defies language. His eyes widen as you meet his gaze. He reaches for you like a lover, a prayer on his lips without sound.

You float, stunned, your heart racing in your chest.

"You're awake! Welcome home!" he says—somehow, impossibly, the words sliding into your mind like a current. His voice doesn’t echo in your ears. It resonates in your bones. Inside you.

Your lips tremble. “What... what did you do to me?”

He cocks his head, almost confused by the question. “I saved you.”

You glance around. Coral walls. Bioluminescent plants. Faint shadows darting beyond what your eyes can track.

“I didn’t ask to be saved.”

His face falters, just briefly. But then the soft smile returns. “You did, once. When I was dying. You touched me. You gave me your warmth. Your kindness.” He swims closer. “You were the only one who ever did.”

“That was years ago.” You try to back away, but your body is sluggish in this new form. “I was a kid.”

“You remembered me.” His voice is gentle now, like a lullaby. “You returned.”

You shake your head, panicked. “No. I—I was just walking. I didn’t know—”

His hand reaches forward, cupping your cheek. His touch is warm now. Familiar. Like seawater kissed by the sun. “You were hurting. They made you cry. But you don’t have to cry anymore.”

“I want to go back,” you whisper.

“There’s nothing there for you.”

He’s not angry. Not yet. Just... patient. Like he’s waiting for you to understand something you’ve missed.

“You belong here,” he murmurs. “With me.”

You remember the way he looked at you back then—curious and soft. But this is different. There’s devotion in his eyes. A fire born not of gentle affection, but of obsession that has steeped too long.

“You changed me,” you say, voice shaking. You look down at the tail. “How?”

“There’s a pearl,” he says, pointing to your side. You notice now—embedded near your hip is a small, glowing orb, barely visible beneath your skin.

“I couldn’t risk losing you again.”

You turn, frantic now. “No, no, this isn’t right. I can’t—this isn’t real.”

“You are real.” His voice is sharper now. “I dreamed of you so long I thought you were only in my mind. But you’re here. Flesh and spirit. And you’ll never have to suffer again.”

You shake your head. “I’m not your wife.”

Silence.

Then he leans close, his breath warm against your ear even underwater.

“Yet.”

• • — ✦ — • •

Back on the surface, a woman named Marina squints at the shore where she last saw you. She’s a local—grew up with the sea in her lungs and warnings stitched into her grandmother’s lullabies. When she saw you walk into the ocean, something in her gut twisted. She waited hours. You didn’t return.

Now, she’s standing with a fisherman and an old priest, their gazes following the waterline.

“No body,” the man mutters. “Currents here don’t drag far. Should’ve washed up if she drowned.”

“She didn’t drown,” Marina says softly. “She was taken.”

The priest mutters something in an old tongue. The fisherman scoffs.

“By what? Sea spirits? Merfolk?”

“No.” Marina’s eyes don’t leave the water. “A siren.”

“Those don’t exist.”

“They do,” she says. “And if it’s the one I think… she won’t come back.”

And deep beneath the waves, Zeiryn brushes a strand of hair from your face as you lie curled in coral-silk bedding. You’ve cried yourself into a stupor. But your skin is warmer now. The transformation is complete. Soon, you’ll forget what it was like to walk. To speak above the waves. To live without him.

He hums you a song—a melody he’s written over the years, just for you. It wraps around your heart like a net.

You stir in your sleep.

He smiles.

Tomorrow, you’ll love him back.

You have to.

After all… you’re home.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

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[heyhiray]

[heyhiray]

[heyhiray]

Persephone (Teaser)

Jungkook, also known as Hades the king of underworld, has to run a company on earth to watch over his future soul targets. What he didn't expect though, was to see you; a beautiful and ethereal girl who grows flowers wherever she sets a foot. The dark urge to take you was strong enough to blind his judgment, making him want to steal you from Demeter and go to war with Olympus itself.

Jungkook x f. reader

Teaser: 450 words.

Whole fic: 3.5k words.

Genre: Hades and persephone au | yander-ish.

Tags: Possessive behavior, retelling of persephone and hades, captivity, Jungkook is infatuated and whipped for reader, reader is bubbly and innocent, smut, kidnapping but it's kind of consensual, grumpy x sunshine type of trope, fluff.

sneak peek ↓

You kneel on the grass, picking flowers while the breeze moves your long hair, unknowing that you were being watched.

Jungkook stood tall in front of the large window glass of his office that stretch from the ceiling to the floor. He had his hands in his pockets, and his breath was taken away by the sight of a stunning girl in his company’s gardens, picking flowers as if she was fucking Cinderella.

He’s known for having an iron grip and being ruthless with anyone who dares to disrespect him and his territory. Invading his property as if it were a public park was reason enough to have you on your knees begging for forgiveness. He doesn’t tolerate people that acts out of line, that’s why everyone in this building and in the underworld flinch with terror at the very sight of him.

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side when he caught the sight of flowers growing from your touch, you looked ethereal and otherworldly in his garden surrounded by flowers, as if you were in your element. He couldn’t take his dark eyes off you, feeling captivated by your beauty.

His brows knitted in a deep frown, who are you? And what are you doing here? He didn’t know about any goddess or semi-goddess that grows flowers besides Demeter, and she didn't have a daughter that he knows of.

His gaze burned on you so intently that you felt it, lifting your chin up to look at him from your spot. And you did something that took him by surprise, you waved a hand at him with a bright and sweet smile on your face, making Jungkook inhale sharp at the gesture. You looked so beautiful smiling so brightly, it made Jungkook’s pupils dilate in a predatory way.

He swallows hard, his fists clenching in his pocket with the urge to grab. You, the Cinderella girl, are not aware of the darkness that you have just awakened, triggering something deep and primal within Jungkook.

“Bring her up to my office,” he barked an order to the quiet assistant from behind him without looking away from you. The woman shriek at his voice, “now!” he screamed turning around to throw daggers at her, making the poor assistant run away to get to you.

He licked his pierced bottom lip when you kept picking flowers unaware of the predator hovering over you, ready to pounce at its prey. But first, he’ll find out who you are and what are you doing here, fragile and innocent, in a world full of evil beings and humans.

You won’t be out of his sight until he figured you out.

You want to read the whole fic right away? You can read it on my Patreon.

The fic will be posted on my Tumblr in 4 weeks in time.

[heyhiray]

A Gentle Kind of Forever

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: ceo au, strangers to lovers, soft yandere

summary: there was always something different about the way he loved you. gentle, patient, like he was studying a language only he could understand. even when you’d parted, he carried you quietly in the soft folds of memory, never once questioning whether you’d return. and when you finally do… he knows. this time, he won’t let you go.

he touches you like you’re made of glass, speaks to you like every word has been rehearsed for years. there’s comfort in his arms, safety in his silence. but behind the calm is a devotion that doesn’t waver, doesn’t yield. It waits, it watches, it binds. you think you’ve come back to something familiar. but you’re stepping into a love that never left. one that’s willing to reshape the world just to keep you close.

warnings: yandere yoongi, obsessive love, possessive behavior, gentle dom, emotional manipulation, surprise pregnancy, breeding kink, voyeurism (hidden cams), soft horror, unsettling intimacy, dubious consent, power imbalance, bittersweet ending, psychological tension, it’s romantic until it isn’t, mind games disguised as devotion, love that holds you too tight..woo 😮‍💨 that was a lot. i like to think i’m getting better at my warnings

word count: 4,336

Like It Was Always Meant to Be

The first time you see him, he’s alone.

Sitting in a faded green armchair by the window in the hotel lobby, legs crossed, cup of espresso cradled in his hands like it’s something holy. His gaze is cast toward the rain slick street outside, but his mind is clearly elsewhere—lost, maybe, or just tired. You notice the scuff marks on his boots before you notice anything else.

He doesn’t look up when you sit a few seats away. Doesn’t move when you unzip your coat or sigh from the ache in your legs after walking all morning through Florence. He’s still, like a painting. One that hums quietly with emotion but asks for nothing in return.

You steal glances, not because he’s beautiful, though he is, but because there’s a softness in him that feels out of place in a city made of marble and gold.

Then, as if sensing your attention, he turns.

His voice is low, rough from disuse. “Rain like this makes the city quieter, doesn’t it?”

You nod, caught off guard. “It’s like everything slows down.”

He smiles—just a twitch of the lips, but it changes his whole face. “Sometimes slow is good.”

******

You exchange names at a corner café two hours later.

Yoongi.

He stirs his coffee three times clockwise, once counter. You try not to assign meaning to it, but your brain’s already making poetry from his hands, the way he brushes his thumb over the cup’s rim like he’s coaxing a memory to the surface.

He tells you he’s here for the quiet. You tell him you’re here to feel something again.

You don’t elaborate. He doesn’t ask.

There’s comfort in that.

******

You run into him again two days later—accidentally, you think, until he confesses he’s been visiting the same bookstore every morning, hoping to spot you.

You laugh behind your scarf, flushed from the cold and the attention. He looks sheepish, but not sorry.

“You’re easy to be around,” he says with a shrug, “and I’m not easy around many people.”

You believe him.

You let him walk with you that day. He holds your umbrella when the rain returns. When you slip on the wet cobblestones, he catches your elbow, his grip firm and careful.

You start calling him your ghost. He calls you trouble.

You like how it sounds in his voice.

******

That night, in your hotel room, you kiss.

It happens slow. He looks at you like he’s giving you time to back out. You don’t.

His lips are warm and unhurried, coaxing yours to part. When his tongue slides against yours, something in your chest caves in. The kiss deepens. You tug him closer by his coat.

He doesn’t rush to undress you. He lays you down on the bed and maps your skin with his mouth—your collarbone, the curve of your hip, the inside of your knee. He peels off your clothes like he’s opening a gift he’s waited too long to touch.

“Okay?” he murmurs against your ribs.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, Yoongi.”

His name tastes good when you say it like that.

When he sinks inside you, you gasp—not just from the stretch, but from the way he looks at you, as if you’re both terrifying and necessary. His movements are slow, controlled, like he’s memorizing the shape of your body around him.

You come with your fingers tangled in his hair, gasping his name into the shell of his ear. He follows with a quiet groan, forehead pressed to yours, breath catching in his throat.

After, he holds you in the quiet.

No music. No TV. Just breath and skin and the sound of rain against the window.

******

Days melt together.

He sketches you while you sleep. You catch him once, and he pretends he wasn’t. But later, you find the paper tucked into your coat pocket, your face rendered in graphite with stunning accuracy. You stare at it longer than you mean to.

He watches you like he’s unsure what’s happening to him.

“I was alone for a long time before this,” he tells you, one night while your legs are tangled together under the duvet. “By choice, mostly. Then you showed up with your terrible Italian and your rain boots and I… forgot how quiet I used to be.”

You kiss him then, not because you know what to say, but because you don’t.

He moans into your mouth. Pulls you beneath him again.

******

The last night, you argue.

You’ve been dancing around it for days—the inevitable parting. Your return ticket. His extended stay.

“You’re leaving,” he says, like it’s a betrayal.

You sit on the edge of the bed, half dressed, hair still damp from the shower. “You knew I had a flight.”

“But it doesn’t have to end here.”

You hate the crack in his voice. Hate the way it mirrors the one in your chest.

“I don’t live here, Yoongi.”

“Then let me come with you.”

You laugh—a wet, sharp sound. “What are we, a story? We fucked and shared a few pastries and now you want to uproot your life?”

He doesn’t flinch. “You think this was just that?”

You bite your lip. His silence wounds more than his words.

“I think,” you whisper, “I was trying to find something here. And I did. But that doesn’t mean I get to keep it.”

His shoulders fall. His jaw tightens. He crosses the room, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you like a man clinging to the edge of a dream.

You kiss back like you’re already mourning him.

******

You don’t say goodbye at the airport.

You just turn one last time, hoping he followed you, hoping the ghost stayed true.

He doesn’t.

And maybe that hurts more than anything.

******

You return to the noise of your life.

Emails. Fluorescent lighting. A bed that’s too cold and dreams that echo with his hands. You find yourself cooking things you only learned how to make because of him. You walk into record stores, hoping to hear the soft rasp of his voice beside you.

You never do.

Until—

Six months later, you open your mailbox and find a small, thick envelope. Inside: a sketch. You, laughing in the hotel lobby. Wearing his jacket.

No return address. Just a note in familiar handwriting.

Still not easy around most people.

Still hoping.

– Y

~*~

Yoongi came to Florence to be alone.

Not in a bitter way—not at first—but in the quiet, intentional kind of solitude that only people who’ve lived too long with noise can crave. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. He booked the ticket after his third bottle of red wine and didn’t bother learning Italian beyond the essentials. He packed light. Brought only one notebook.

He didn’t expect to stay long.

He certainly didn’t expect you.

******

He noticed you before you noticed him.

That first day, when the rain made the city shine like something out of a postcard, he was already settled in the hotel’s lobby, watching water drip from the wrought iron railing outside the window. You walked in, cheeks flushed, nose red from the cold. You dropped your umbrella by the door, shook out your coat, and sighed in that tired, human way that made something in his chest ache unexpectedly.

You didn’t look at him.

He didn’t stop looking at you.

It was stupid, he thought, to feel anything at all. You were just someone passing through. Like he was. Like everyone here.

But then you sat two chairs down, close enough for him to smell the hint of vanilla on your scarf, and all his quiet suddenly felt full of tension.

He told himself not to speak.

Then you looked over at him—just once—and he broke.

“Rain like this makes the city quieter, doesn’t it?”

You smiled at him like it was the first thing anyone had said to you all day. And when you answered—“It’s like everything slows down”—he felt it, too.

The slowing. The shift.

Like something starting.

******

He tried not to get attached.

The coffee shop wasn’t a coincidence, not really. He’d seen you head that way after leaving the lobby and waited twenty minutes before trailing behind, pretending to stumble upon you like fate.

He told you his name. You told him yours.

He felt it land heavy in his chest.

He watched the way your fingers curled around your mug. The way your lips moved when you laughed. The way you avoided talking about where you came from, or where you were going. You were drifting, just like him, and that made him feel less alone.

When you left, you smiled again. That same soft, surprised thing.

He went back to his room and wrote your name at the top of a blank page.

******

He didn’t expect you to show up again.

But when he saw you in the bookstore—hair damp from the drizzle, eyes scanning the poetry section—he knew it was over for him.

He’d spent years building walls no one could see. People thought he was shy, but that wasn’t it. He was tired. Of pretending. Of performing. Of being something for everyone else.

And then there you were, talking to the old man at the counter in broken Italian, your accent a disaster, your smile bright with apology.

He watched you butcher a thank you and laughed out loud before he could stop himself.

You turned. Caught him watching. Raised a brow.

He offered to walk with you.

You said yes.

He didn’t go a day without seeing you after that.

******

He fell in love slowly.

With the way you tilted your face up to the sky when the rain hit. The way you danced around puddles like a kid. The way you made space for him, even when he didn’t ask for it.

You never pressured him to share more than he wanted.

He told you anyway.

He let you in inch by inch—quiet confessions at night, soft touches under blankets, shared silences that meant more than words. You never looked at him like he was too much or not enough. You looked at him like he was there.

Present.

Real.

You made him laugh again.

Made him want to stay.

******

The first time he kissed you, you tasted like lemon and sugar.

He remembered the shape of your lips under his. The way you sighed when he deepened it. The way your hands gripped his shoulders like you’d been waiting.

When he touched you, it was slow. Like prayer. He wanted to give you something that didn’t feel temporary. He wanted to memorize the weight of your body, the heat of your skin, the sound of your voice when you begged him not to stop.

He made you cum with his fingers first. Then his mouth. Then, finally, with his body inside you, moving deep and steady until you cried out his name like it was something fragile.

He whispered yours against your throat. Held you through the shivers.

Stayed until morning.

Then stayed again.

******

He was supposed to leave Florence after a week.

He extended his stay after the bookstore.

He extended it again after the first time you slept together.

And again.

And again.

He sketched you while you were sleeping. Drew the curve of your mouth, the line of your back, the way your fingers curled loosely toward him even when unconscious.

He didn’t show you the drawings. He wasn’t ready to admit what they meant.

But you caught him once. Smiled, even. He wanted to say, I’m keeping you in every way I can, but he only kissed you instead.

******

He knew you were leaving. You’d said so, gently. Mentioned your return flight like it wasn’t going to shatter him.

He tried to play it cool. Tried to pretend it was okay.

But then you started packing.

And he lost it.

“You’re leaving.”

You looked at him like he was being unreasonable. Like the ache in his chest wasn’t valid. “You knew I had a flight.”

He knew.

It didn’t make it easier.

“Then let me come with you.”

You laughed like he was ridiculous.

Like this wasn’t the most real thing either of you had felt in months, maybe years.

“We fucked and shared a few pastries and now you want to uproot your life?”

He didn’t even blink. “You think this was just that?”

He watched the fight drain out of you.

Watched the hurt settle in.

“I think… I was trying to find something here. And I did. But that doesn’t mean I get to keep it.”

He crossed the room.

Kissed you like it was the last time.

Because it was.

******

He didn’t go to the airport.

He couldn’t watch you leave.

Not when he still had your scent on his clothes and the shape of your mouth etched into his memory.

He stayed in Florence another week. Tried to sketch. Failed. Walked aimlessly through alleys that smelled like you.

He finally flew home. Buried himself in projects. Got used to the silence again.

But it didn’t feel like peace anymore.

It felt like a bruise he couldn’t stop touching.

******

He sent the sketch because he had to.

You, laughing in the hotel lobby. Wearing his trench coat.

He didn’t sign his full name. Didn’t include a return address. Just a few lines of honesty scrawled under the drawing:

Still not easy around most people.

Still hoping.

– Y

He didn’t expect a reply.

But part of him still waits for one.

******

He hadn’t been back to the temple in months.

Not since before Florence.

Not since you.

The stone stairs still creaked in the same places. The pines still whispered above the slope, tall and watchful like they remembered every soul that passed. He came for the stillness. For the absence of everything else.

Instead, he found you.

At first, you were just a shape.

A coat too light for the weather. Hair he thought he might’ve dreamed. But then you turned—just enough—and it was you. Blinking up at the shrine, camera forgotten in your hand, lips slightly parted like you were about to say something to the sky.

It hit him all at once. The weeks of silence. The bruising ache of missing you. The months he’d spent trying to forget the exact sound your laughter made.

He nearly stopped breathing.

But he didn’t call out.

Didn’t move.

Just… watched you.

Because some part of him had always known this would happen.

******

You didn’t see him until he was only a few steps away.

Your breath caught—loud in the quiet, like it startled you to realize he was real.

“Yoongi,” you whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you, searching for proof you hadn’t been stitched together by grief and fantasy.

“I didn’t know if I’d find you,” you said.

His voice was low when it finally broke free. “You came looking.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

And just like that, he knew.

You’d run away. Like you always did, he’d learned. But not far enough.

And this time, you came back to him.

******

He brought you to his apartment—a quiet, high rise unit on the edge of the Han River. It wasn’t large, but it was spotless, uncluttered. Like nothing had been touched since the day he left for Florence. Since the day you walked out of his life without turning around.

You stood in the middle of his living room like you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

“Are you okay?” you asked after a while.

Yoongi tilted his head. “You came all this way to ask me that?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Why now?”

You swallowed, eyes flicking toward the window.

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you admitted.

And he believed you.

But that didn’t mean he trusted you not to leave again.

******

That night, he didn’t touch you.

Not at first.

He made you tea instead. Sat across from you on the floor with the lights low and your knees nearly brushing his.

You talked. Or rather, you did.

About what happened after Florence. About your job, the apartment you hated, the city that didn’t feel like home anymore.

You kept your voice soft, like a confession. Like you were afraid he might turn away if you said too much.

He didn’t.

He listened to every word, heart pounding like a war drum beneath his skin.

Because even if you didn’t know it yet, he did.

You belonged to him.

******

It happened in pieces.

Your fingertips brushing his wrist when you passed him the tea.

Your gaze lingering too long when he stepped out of the shower in only a towel.

The way your shoulders dropped in relief the first time he pulled you into bed beside him—even though neither of you slept.

By the third night, you were curled against his chest, your breath steady against his collarbone, and he knew.

You weren’t just visiting.

You were settling.

******

When he finally touched you again, it was with all the hunger he’d buried.

He kissed you like an addict who’d been promised one final hit. Like he had to memorize you with his mouth before you vanished again.

You melted.

Of course you did.

He knew your body better than he knew his own name.

Every kiss turned into something deeper. Every sigh pulled a little more of your self control away.

When he sank into you, there were no words.

Only you, clinging to him like you’d finally stopped running.

Only him, gripping your hips and staying deep—deep—until you moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist like you wanted to keep him there forever.

He didn’t stop to ask about protection.

Didn’t even pause.

He fucked you slow. Steady. Possessive.

And when he came, he buried himself inside you with a groan—low and shuddering, forehead pressed to yours.

You gasped.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t say no.

You just held him tighter.

******

Later, when your lashes fluttered and sleep dragged you under, Yoongi stayed awake and ran his palm over your stomach.

You had no idea.

None at all.

You didn’t know the things he’d done since you left.

Didn’t know he’d searched your name on every platform that existed. Hired someone to check your last known address. That he’d nearly flown to your city three separate times, just to watch you through a window.

You didn’t know he’d waited for you at this temple three times a month since returning to Seoul.

And yet here you were.

You came back to him.

Willing.

Warm.

Already full of him.

He kissed your shoulder.

“You’re never leaving again,” he whispered.

You didn’t stir.

And that was fine.

He didn’t need your permission.

******

In the mornings, he cooked for you.

Made your favorite drinks. Bought you books you mentioned in passing.

He took time off work. Canceled meetings. Declined invitations. He needed to be home. Needed to watch you.

There was always the possibility that you’d change your mind.

That some other version of you would wake up, remember the life you’d left behind, and walk out again.

But Yoongi was prepared this time.

Your passport was in a drawer only he could open. Your phone mysteriously stopped connecting to international numbers. He told you it was your service provider.

You believed him.

You trusted him.

And every day, he loved you harder.

Made you laugh until you forgot to feel uneasy.

Fucked you until you forgot you ever belonged to anyone else.

******

Weeks passed.

And when the nausea started—soft and slow at first, then unmistakable—Yoongi simply held you in the bathroom while you vomited into the sink.

“I think it’s food poisoning,” you whispered, shivering.

He kissed the crown of your head.

“Maybe.”

But he already knew.

He’d known since the first time.

It had to happen. The universe wouldn’t have brought you back to him if it wasn’t meant to be.

He tucked you into bed, brought you crackers, brushed your hair behind your ear with a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

You curled into him.

Safe.

Unaware.

Exactly where you were supposed to be.

******

The test sat on the edge of the sink like a verdict.

Positive.

Two pink lines, faint but unshakable.

You stared at it in silence. For minutes. Maybe hours. The world around you had stopped making noise, and your own reflection in the mirror felt like someone else’s. Pale. Wide-eyed. Frozen.

Behind you, Yoongi leaned against the doorframe. Watching.

He’d known.

Before you did.

Before your body caught up to the truth.

Now that it was real—now that you knew—it was time.

He stepped forward quietly, like you were a skittish thing that might bolt, and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You flinched at first, but didn’t pull away. Just leaned back into him like gravity had finally found you again.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered.

Yoongi kissed your temple. “You don’t have to do anything.”

You turned your head slightly, eyes meeting his in the mirror. “You’re not… upset?”

His gaze darkened, but not with anger.

“I’ve never been happier in my life.”

******

He became impossibly gentler after that.

Touching your lower back when you stood too long. Waking up early to make you breakfast, even when your appetite was unpredictable. Googling symptoms, ordering prenatal vitamins, whispering to your belly when he thought you were asleep.

You caught him once—half laughing, half serious—telling your stomach, “Grow strong. I want her to feel you.”

You didn’t understand the weight of it then.

But he did.

He felt it every time he looked at you.

Your changing shape became his obsession. The curve of your belly. The softness of your steps. The way your body bloomed with a life that he had planted.

You were proof.

Of desire.

Of fate.

Of the fact that you belonged to him and no one else.

And now the world would know.

******

There were days you panicked. You’d sit on the edge of the bed and cry, asking if this was a mistake, if your life was over, if you were even ready.

Yoongi never faltered.

He’d kneel in front of you and lay his head gently against your stomach, as if it soothed him to feel how warm and alive you were.

“It’s not a mistake,” he said once, voice thick. “This was always going to happen.”

“Even if I hadn’t come back?”

“You would’ve. You were always going to come back.”

His conviction should have scared you.

But it didn’t.

Maybe it was the hormones. Maybe it was how safe he made everything feel. But somehow, his certainty steadied you.

Like he’d already seen the future, and all you had to do was follow him into it.

******

As you grew, he withdrew from the world completely.

Stopped returning calls. Let meetings pile up unread. His company functioned without him, but it didn’t matter. You were his purpose now.

He didn’t need anything else.

You were glowing—he told you that often—and when you rolled your eyes, embarrassed by the weight gain, the swelling, the unpredictability of your moods, he’d just kneel at your feet and kiss your thighs like they were scripture.

“I wish I could keep you like this forever,” he murmured once, tongue brushing slow against the underside of your belly.

You laughed, breathless. “Pregnant?”

He looked up at you with something fierce in his eyes.

“Yes.”

You thought it was a joke.

He knew it wasn’t.

******

The birth came early.

A summer storm had rolled over Seoul in the hours before your contractions started—heat lightning splitting the sky, thunder rolling low like some ancient call awakening the earth.

Yoongi never left your side.

Not for the screaming.

Not for the blood.

Not when your nails dug into his hand or when your tears soaked his shoulder.

He was there.

Even when the doctors pulled the baby from you and you collapsed into sleep, too exhausted to process what had just happened—he was there.

Holding her.

Your daughter.

His.

******

You woke hours later to the sound of lullabies in a soft loop.

Your body ached in places you didn’t know could ache. But when you blinked and adjusted to the dim light of the hospital suite, you saw him—

Yoongi—cradling your daughter against his chest, rocking her slowly in the chair by the window.

She was so tiny.

Wrapped in pale pink and sleeping against his heartbeat like it was the only one she’d ever need.

You said his name.

He looked up.

And he smiled.

Not the small smirk you remembered from Florence. Not the quiet, tight-lipped curve he used when he was trying not to feel too much.

This smile was full.

Free.

Undeniable.

He crossed to you in seconds and gently laid her in your arms.

“You did so well,” he whispered, brushing a curl from your forehead. “You’re incredible.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked down at her face and felt everything shift inside you.

“Her name?” you asked softly.

He kissed your forehead. “Anything you want. As long as it’s ours.”

******

He didn’t tell you about the cameras installed in your apartment back when you’d first moved in with him.

Didn’t mention the second nursery he had built in his private countryside estate—just in case.

Didn’t say he’d already filed the paperwork for sole guardianship under the table, with a judge who owed him favors.

None of it mattered anymore.

You wouldn’t leave.

Not now.

Not when your child looked like him.

Not when she cried and only settled when he held her.

Not when you were still sore and tired and soft, and he was there to carry you through it all.

You were his.

Entirely.

And if you ever forgot that—if some wild, traitorous thought of leaving flickered across your mind again—he’d just point to her.

To the proof.

To the gentle kind of forever he planted inside you.

And you’d stay.

Because where else could you go?

[heyhiray]

Yandere AIB Boys - Dating Starter Pack

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

-> Arisu, Chishiya, Niragi.

WARNINGS: Toxic/Unhealthy Relationship; Abuse/Violence.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

--

Arisu

“Why can’t I join you and your friends? That way we could spend more time together.”

“I know it might be too soon for this, but I’ve started apartment-hunting for us. Sharing a home with you is something I really want.”

“I just wanted to surprise you at work. Why are you upset? I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“Why don’t you share your phone’s password anymore? Are you hiding something from me?”

“I’m just trying to look after you. You’re my girlfriend, of course I worry about you. I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

Chishiya

“Hm, such interesting friends you have… I’m sure they have a good explanation for not inviting you to their party.”

“A work promotion, I see. Do you think it’s a good idea? You’re a good employee, sure, but do you have what is needed to be promoted?”

“I don’t think your family likes me very much. Maybe they don’t think I’m good enough for you. It’s okay.”

“You didn’t mention staying late for work. A warning would’ve been nice. Guess you didn’t bother thinking how worried I’d be.”

“That coworker sure does text you a lot. Don’t you think that’s quite unprofessional? Separating professional life from the personal one is an important skill - hope you realize that.” 

Niragi

“I don’t remember giving you permission to go out with your friends. That means you’re not going anywhere.”

“Job interview? Pff, what, you actually think they’ll hire you? Do you even have a brain to use?”

“You’re gonna give me your phone right fucking now. Or I swear I’m gonna break it. Your choice.”

“What are you looking at? Go grab me a beer, I’m thirsty as hell.”

"Stop looking at that guy. You fucking slut. You just really want that attention, don't you?"

[heyhiray]

(Dark!) BNHA: Trying to get you pregnant

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

Boys -> Hawks + Bakugo + Deku + Shoto

Reaction: An inside view of some moments between the boys and their darling when they're deeply invested in getting you pregnant - willingly or not.

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Captive reader; Implied Non-con.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback 😊

–

Hawks

“... none of that, babe, just close your nose and gulp it all the way down.” Keigo’s soft voice does little to help you, and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to hold back the contents that attempt to rise up to your mouth. 

He patiently stands by your side, holding the cup of the disgusting mix of vitamins, nutritional powders and vegetables, waiting for you to recover from the small sip.

The taste is somehow even worse than the putrid smell, lingering in the corners of your mouth – bitter and repulsive. It takes long minutes before you’re reasonably recovered – after painfully  swallowing back the bile that kept rising up your throat. 

“C’mon, just a few more sips and it’ll be over quickly, okay? Just pretend this is a soda and trust me, this will go down much easier.” you turn your face away, pursing your lips shut when Keigo pushes the cup closer to your mouth. 

“I can’t drink more.” 

“Babe, we talked about this.” he sighs. “This is for your own good, to make you healthier and stronger.” 

“I’m just fine.” you weakly scoff, pushing his hand away. “And you’re just saying that because you’re not the one drinking this gross thing. It’s seriously awful.”

“Babe…” he starts, wings ruffling behind him, restless. “You know exactly why drinking this is so important.”

“And I already told you – I don’t want a kid. So why bother?” you argue back. 

Keigo visibly frowns at that. 

“Don’t be like that.” he says. “Of course you want a kid. Maybe not now, but trust me, when our little birdie is born you’re gonna love it.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Yes, you will.”

“I won’t.”

“You will. And arguing with me won’t let you off the hook.” his tone hardens at that, brows tightening for a moment before Keigo forces himself to relax. “C’mon, just a few more sips, okay? Super tiny sips and I promise it’ll be all for today.”

“Keigo, I can’t, it tastes so bad, I’ll just end up throwing up.” you grab his arm vehemently, begging. 

“You’re a strong girl, I’m sure you can hold it all down, right?” he cheers you, immediately pressing the cup back to your lips. You gasp, feeling the sickening content touching your lips.

Keigo doesn’t relent until you finally open your lips, even when your hands attempt to push back the glass away. In the end, it takes the sharp stab of a red-feather against your thigh for you to at last open your mouth and Keigo is eagerly tilting the cup and slipping as much as he can into your throat. 

“That my good girl, drinking it all down.”

Your ears barely catch onto his praise as you’re too busy choking, the retching content refusing to slip down your throat and worse, it seems like all of it – including what you had already swollen – is aiming to come to the surface, much to your dismay. 

All it takes is one fleeting glance towards the kitchen sink and Keigo is immediately behind you, aggressively tilting your face backwards.

One hand slaps down on your mouth while the other works on pinching your nose shut. Muffled screams and tears are the only reaction you’re able to deliver, unable to push Keigo away. 

Fumbling and pushing is futile against his overwhelming strength and your vision starts getting fuzzy, the lack of oxygen getting to your head and you barely realize that you’ve swollen the nasty liquid until Keigo is finally allowing you to breathe again. 

“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad.” 

Shoto

Slowly scanning the test, it comes back as negative and relief immediately floods you, tense shoulders relaxing at the good news.

But the tension returns just as quickly when Shoto reaches from behind you, retrieving the test to see for himself. 

Controlling your face to be neutral is harder than it seems when Shoto’s disappointment switches into cold rage in a heartbeat. His hand angrily presses down on the pregnancy test, crushing it between his fingers before your silent figure catches his attention. 

Pressing your arms to your sides and lowering your eyes to the ground do little to calm Shoto's emotions and the tall man walks closer to you until he’s breathing on your hair. 

“I’m sorry.” the words escape from your lips, coated with softness. 

“Yes, you should be.” he icily glares at you, squinting his two-colored eyes down at you. “It’s been five months since we started trying and there are yet no positive results.”

“I’m sorry.” you repeat. 

“Look at me when I’m talking.” Shouto hisses at you, his simmering frustration leaving you uneasy as you reluctantly raise your eyes to meet his monochromatic eyes. “I don’t care about your meaningless apologies. What I want to know is why aren’t you pregnant yet? Care to explain that to me?” 

“I don’t know…” you quietly mutter, fingers fidgeting with each other in a nervous tick. “... but I didn’t do anything, I swear.” 

“Yes, I know that. There are no ways for you to prevent a pregnancy – I made sure of that – but clearly your effort and desire of building a family together is disappointingly low, to say the least.” 

If you could, you’d roll your eyes at that, frankly insulted on why would Shoto even think you’d be thrilled to have a child with your kidnapper.

Instead, you shrug your shoulders. 

He groans in frustration, hand rubbing all over his face. 

“Clearly you don’t desire this child as much as I do. I can’t force you to want a child, I’m aware of that.” he starts, provoking a wince in you when he brings his hand - his cold hand - to cup your cheek a little tighter than usual. “But I’ll be damned if I can’t make you love them. They deserve your love and attention, just as much as I do.”

His eyes burn into you, hot turmoil behind them. 

“And then we shall be a perfect family. No matter what I have to do in order to achieve that reality.” 

Bakugo

“Bak– Katsuki, can I take a break? I’m tired…” you beg breathlessly, sweat profusely running down your forehead.

Your feet are numb and the muscles of your legs burning with how long you’ve been forced to walk on the treadmill. 

Ever since Bakugo cemented the idea of having a baby you haven’t been able to rest for a single minute, constantly terrorized by the man that demands you to exercise following an incredibly demanding and exhausting physical plan. 

“And I don’t care. I told you before, the exercise plan has to be followed correctly to get results.” Bakugo sharply reprimands you. “How the hell are you supposed to be healthy and in shape to carry our kid if you can’t even walk the treadmill for 45 minutes, huh?” 

You frown at that, sending him a dirty look that he clearly chooses to ignore. Fuck him and fuck the kid. If it’s up to you, he won’t ever get that baby he wants so much.

But much like everything that has been happening, your level of decision is frankly limited. 

“You’re almost done with the treadmill anyways. 10 minutes left, that's a piece of cake.” he declares, checking the smartwatch on his wrist before returning his full attention to you. “After that, it’s the 60 push-ups and some light pilates. See? Easy work-out since you’re whiny today.”

You scoff.

“Oh yes, soo easy, thanks a lot.” your sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed as Bakugo raises a brow at that. 

“Keep bitching and I might add more exercises to it.” he lightly threatens you. Pressing your lips together, you push yourself to keep going and finish the stupid workout. 

Bakugo doesn’t give up on pestering you as he leans forward, veiny hands holding onto the handrail and pink lips curling into a smirk.

He looks you up and down, drinking in your figure dressed with a revealing sports bra and tight leggings and his eyes darken with desire. 

“Might even create a new special workout exercise just for you.” he rasps out. “Get those legs ready cause I’m gonna make you ride me till I knock you up.” 

Deku

“Is this uncomfortable, my love?” he asks, fingers gently tracing random patterns against the slightly wet skin of your legs. Izuku’s messy hair tickles you when he leans to press a few loving kisses over the expanse of your naked stomach. 

“Silly question, of course it’s uncomfortable.” he replies to his own question, shaking his head. “But you’re fine with this, right, my love?” 

He looks up, sickly smiling at your exhausted figure.

You can’t answer – not with a gag-ball stuffed inside your mouth. You can’t move either – not with your arms rigidly tied to the bed’s headboard.

But what Izuku truly means is the obnoxious position way your legs are being held up into the air, blackwhip rigidly holding them up.

You’re not even certain if the old trick to holding legs in the air is scientifically proven to be accurate, but Izuku has been obsessed with forcing you into such a pose ever since Kaminari confided to him how Jiro got pregnant after a short period of time by doing this trick. 

Izuku coos, noticing the clear discomfort on your face. 

“Hey, I know, I know. It’s not very cozy, is it?” he apologizes, moving up so that he can hover over your face. His face is glowing, covered by a thin layer of sweat and happiness.

“But just think about it, my love, how all of your little sacrifices are going to be worth it in the end when we finally get to hold our little bundle of joy. Our own sweet baby!”

His eyes glint, unhealthy obsession and delusional love glimmering in those green esmeralds. Izuku looks nothing but personified insanity. 

“Oh, I can’t wait!” he reveals blithely, shuffling his body to lay your head on his bicep as he nuzzles your neck. “We’re going to have the cutest babies ever. Even Kacchan will get jealous, I bet.” 

You screw your eyes shut but that doesn’t stop a lonely tear from sliding down your cheek. Izuku hums, kissing the tear away. 

“You’ll see, my love, we are going to be one big happy family.”

[heyhiray]

exhibit #3 - stepcest.

an installment of the freak shit march gallery showcase.

pairing: yandere!toji x reader (jjk).

length: 3.0k.

warnings: non/con, fem!reader, step!dad + step!daughter, manipulation, mentions of death, mentions of grief, age gap (toji is in his mid 40s, reader is in her early 20s), long-term stalking, rampant daddy kinks, and slight infantalization. dead dove: do not eat.

Your plane landed about two hours before the funeral. By the time you got to the house (a tucked away two-story built for recluses and retirees), Toji was waiting for you in the driveway, already half-dressed in a pair of suit pants and a plain white button-up – leftover from a wedding or one of your mother’s work parties, you were sure. There was a fifty-dollar bill crumbled messily in his hand, and he palmed it to the cab driver after helping you out of the backseat and hauling your lone, malnourished suitcase out of the trunk. Another day, you might’ve tried to stop him, to insist on taking care of yourself, but you weren’t really in a place to take care of much of anything, at the moment.

You waited in silence for the cab to pull out, disappearing down the greenery-crowded backroad that led into town. When the vehicle was finally out of sight, you took a deep breath, shut your eyes, and collapsed into Toji’s chest.

His arms were around you in a heartbeat. You went boneless against him – exhausted from the news, the sobbing, the flight. If you hadn’t been so tired, you might’ve been able to greet him, to say you were sorry, to recognize that he was in mourning too, but you were tired, and you were sad, and it was all you could do to mutter distantly into his shoulder. “It just feels so…”

“I know, kid, I know.” He squeezed you against him, the same way he had the first time you’d failed a class, or after you’d heard your mother planned to sell your childhood home. It was the good, bone-crushing kind of hug, the type that flattened your lungs and made you feel safe. It was the kind of hug you’d only ever gotten from Toji. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“And you’re sure the ceremony is—”

“All taken care of.” He laughed airily. “We should get you dressed. I tried to lay out everything that still fits, but it’s gonna take some trial and error.”

His hold loosened, but didn’t fall away. You stayed where you were. “If we’re early, do you think I’ll be able to get a few minutes alone with her?”

He sighed, then kissed the top of your head. “It doesn’t matter what time we get there, princess. If anyone tries to stop you, I’ll deal with them.”

You sniffled, but straightened, determined to take consolidation where you could. Toji slung your suitcase over his shoulder and, taking your hand, led you inside.

~

You weren’t early. Toji had to help with your dress – your hands were shaking too badly to slot the buttons into place. You thought, briefly, about make-up, but you hadn’t remembered to pack any, and the only stock in the house would’ve been hers. Instead, you kept your head bowed and your eyes on the floor as you waded through rarely-seen friends and distant relatives, as faces you only just barely recognized recited hollow platitudes about how wonderful your mother was, how much they’d miss the light she’d brought into their lives, how fortunate you’d been to grow up with such a sparkling presence in your life. The business trips, the boarding schools, the screaming matches – those remained unmentioned, unthought of. It was the cruelest thing they could’ve put you through, and it was the most merciful they possibly could’ve been. It was terrible beyond description, and it was the best you could’ve hoped for.

Toji was at your side all the while, only occasionally stepping away to grab yet another box of tissues or a fresh bottle of water. He guarded the doors during your private visitation, and when you left a few minutes into the ceremony to vomit, he held your hair back without a word of complaint. His own estranged children – Megumi and Tsumiki – made an appearance. Neither spoke to you, but Tsumiki hugged you close and Megumi rested a hand on your shoulder. Their sympathy was hollow, but welcomed. What they’d gone through was different, easier. They’d lost both their mothers as children, when they were too young to really know what that meant, but you appreciated the sentiment.

There wasn’t a burial. Cremation had been in the will, added only a few months before the accident. It wasn’t your place to complain, but you wished she would’ve talked to you about it. Even a hole in the ground would’ve been more comforting than knowing you’d have to pick up a cold piece of porcelain containing what was left of your mother some time next week. Toji promised he’d take care of it as he drove you back home, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to argue.

Left to your own devices, you wandered the house. It’d been less than seventy-two hours since the accident, but already, the house seemed colder, emptier. Too many doors were shut rather than left ajar, too many counters clean rather than cluttered, too many blankets folded instead of absentmindedly thrown into a heap – the way your mother would always leave them when she got up. You tried to brave her bedroom, to find the sweater she’d been attempting to crochet for as long as you could remember, but you couldn’t make it farther than the doorway.

Toji caught you on the staircase. He stood at the bottom, arms crossed and back against the banister. As you neared the end of your descent, he sighed. “Any big plans, kid?”

You tried to smile, but it fell away quickly. “I think I might turn in early. I’m pretty tired from the—” You paused, swallowing. “—from everything.”

He hummed, letting his eyes fall to your feel. Abruptly, you realized that you hadn’t taken off your dress after the funeral. Or your jacket. Or your shoes.

“Yeah.” He straightened, pushing himself onto his feet. “That’s not going to happen. Change, get your ass on the couch, and put on a movie. I’m ordering take-out.”

He didn’t want you to be alone. You might’ve felt a little warmer, if you’d been able to feel anything at all. “I’m fine, I promise. You don’t have to babysit me.”

“And listen to you cry yourself to sleep?” He let out a breath of a laugh. “Ass. Couch. Now. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

It didn’t seem like he ‘no’ for an answer. Reluctantly, you shuffled past him and did as you were told – throwing on a pair of shorts and oversized shirt you hadn’t worn since your sophomore year of college. The living room seemed too big, too foreboding, so you stowed yourself away in the garage, your mother’s makeshift movie room. An unmemorable romcom was chosen out of a catalogue of identical titles with no particular sense of favoritism, but your mind began to wonder as soon as the opening credits started to play.

Toji was a good guy. Really, he was. You had to remind yourself of that from time to time, when something made you think of the bank-vault full of handguns he kept in the guestroom or your mother complained about how vague he was about his high-paying occupation, and you hadn’t always thought so – fuck, when she first brought home a man nearly fifteen years her junior with the build of a hitman and scars to match, you’d called her insane and insisted that, if they ever got married, you’d never speak to her again. You’d figured he was a scam artist, but a conman wouldn’t get up an hour before sunrise to make breakfast for their mark every day without fail, or volunteer for the droning domesticity of weekly laundry and vacuuming, or hide enough cash to cover the first three months of rent in their girlfriend’s daughter’s suitcase when she finally moved out.

You doubted he really loved your mom, but you doubted she’d ever really loved him, either. Toji was good for her, a steady hand to balance out her rashness, a beating heart to keep your home alive whenever her impulsivity led her elsewhere. When they did eventually get married in a small, unglamourous courtroom ceremony, you’d even acted as their witness. He was good to her, and she was happy. That was all that really mattered, you guessed.

When Toji came back, he was carrying a large paper bag printed with the logo of your favorite restaurant – ordered before your conversation, most likely. He pretended not to watch you as you ate, the action mechanical and joyless. You didn’t have much of an appetite, but you didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

The romcom had only passed the half-way mark by the time you tuned back in; the point where your protagonists began to lull into a false sense of security before their lives came crashing down around them. You would’ve expected Toji to leave after making sure you’d gotten something to eat, but instead, he sat stiffly next to you, half buried by your mound of blankets as you stretched your legs across his lap. The hero was delivering his nth poorly written monologue – something about family or belonging, it was hard to tell. As the actor struggled to cry on demand, Toji rested a hand on your knee.

As the heroine stormed out of his apartment and into the melodramatic rainstorm waiting outside, his touch wandered, skirting over your bare thigh.

As she ducked under the canopy of a brightly lit café, pulling out her phone to call her estranged parents for the very first time in five years, his hand slipped under your shorts and settled over your cunt.

Your immediate thought was, embarrassingly, that it had to be an accident. You weren’t sure how it could be, but the logistics didn’t matter – it had to be an accident. The stiff shape pressing into the underside of your calf was a nonfactor, static cast over your conscious mind. You wanted to get up, to take a hot shower, to lock yourself in your room, but your body wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move. That’d get his attention, and he’d realize what he was doing, and—

The heroine sobbed and threw her phone in the overflowing gutter, her reconciliation having ended messily. At the same time, two of Toji’s fingers slipped underneath your panties, tracing the length of your slit before pushing a quick circle into your clit. That was it. You scrambled off of the couch, your foot catching on a cushion and leaving you shambling and crumpled on the floor. You tried to pick yourself up, but you weren’t fast enough. Toji was already shifting, already leaning down, already taking you by either side. A little too easily, he hauled you back onto the sofa and threw your back against the armrest, the impact forceful enough to bruise the base of your spine. You cringed, but he only laughed, letting his hands fall to your hips and squeezing. “Where do you think you’re going, kid?”

“I wasn’t—” A knee was forced between your thighs, nudging them apart. Toji was quick to fill the empty space. “It’s—Uh, it’s kind of funny, actually. I thought I felt something touch my leg, and—”

“Mhm. Just like how I used to find you rooting around in my stuff because you thought it belonged to the old hag.” You winced. That’d been early on – when you were still too suspicious to let your guard down and too naïve to be subtle about it. You’d assumed he would’ve forgotten about that, by now. “Have anything else you want to get off your chest? Go ahead – Daddy’s here to listen.”

Disgust pricked at the back of your throat, bitter and acidic. It must’ve shown through to your expression - Toji smirked as he hooked a thumb underneath the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down to your knees. Your hands shot out on reflex, grappling for what was already lost, but Toji only clicked his tongue and bowed his head, his tongue drawing a wet stripe over the seat of your panties. In the end, it was all you could do to tangle your fingers in his hair and shut your eyes, as if drawing him closer had ever done you any good.

The sound was the worst part. Messy and indulgent, the soft click of saliva against skin and Toji’s airy groans as he buried his face between your thighs. He traced the shape of your cunt through your panties, only occasionally pausing to grind the fabric into your clit, to draw the meekest possible ‘no’ or ‘stop’ out of you. His hands fell to your thighs, forcing them over his broad shoulders and letting him pin you down that much more efficiently. Your body suddenly felt smaller than it had in years, as fragile and as helpless as the morning you’d first woken up with a strange, gigantic man in your home only to be told that the person you loved most in the world invited him in. It was hard to believe you’d ever trusted him, that you’d ever been stupid enough to trust anyone. You’d been in danger from the moment you decided you were safe.

You only realized you were crying when your vision blurred, when you felt the first tear drip onto your chest. Awareness accompanied revulsion as you felt your body start to react, your thighs going rigid as something other than Toji’s spit started to dampen the fabric of your panties. Arousal wasn’t really the right description. Fear-induced hysteria would’ve been a better fit, or a latent survival instinct you would’ve preferred to live without. Either way, Toji chuckled as he pulled back, dragging your panties to the side and thrusting his tongue into your now-sopping cunt. You felt him curl and flex, causing friction where stretch wasn’t possible. You let out a miserable sob, digging your nails into his scalp, trying to pull him away. In response, Toji only nuzzled closer, grinding the bridge of his nose into your clit.

Your orgasm was humiliatingly swift. You’d never really had time to date, not between work and school, and there was only so much that masturbation could prepare you for. You weren’t used to it – the heat, the slickness, the pressure of something splitting you open from the inside out – and it was all happening too quickly, too mercilessly to stave off. Your hands fell away from his head, darting up to cover your face as you came into his mouth. Rather than warmth, a cold dread filled you in-tandem with your climax, the knowledge that’d you’d just done something terribly, terribly. He was your mother’s husband, for fuck’s sake. He was your—

Your mind went blank before you could make the full connection, two wires disconnecting before the unthinkable could be communicated. You imagined black clothes and cardboard tissue boxes and coffins, and convinced yourself that nothing else had ever crossed your mind.

Toji wasn’t as introspective. He pulled back with a jarring sort of rush, then just hastily, shoved his mouth against yours. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue as he all-but forced it down your throat. By the time he let you breathe, he was panting.

“Been waiting years for that.” He picked himself up, calling against the back of the couch. You stared blankly at the ceiling. “Since the first time I heard you fucking yourself on those pathetic little fingers. You know how thin those walls were, right? You were probably trying to get caught – needy little brat.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Something vital to you had curled up and died in your throat minutes ago, and now, it was all you could do to try and suck in air around it. Toji’s gaze flickered over you, then he laughed. “C’mon, now, don’t play shy. You had to know.”

The words weren’t yours. They belonged to someone else, someone in another body. “You married my mom.”

“Jealous little brat, too.” You felt his arms around you, drawing you upward. Your body was stiff, uncooperative, but Toji was patient – carefully positioning you to straddle his lap, resting your hands on his shoulders and planting his own on your waist. His eyes were softened, half-lidded, his smile lopsided – weighed down by affection. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve mistaken him for genuinely lovestruck. “I had to. She never would’ve let me stick around if I didn’t, and—” He paused, squeezed your side. “I wasn’t going to give you up. Not when we were just starting to get to know each other.”

That wasn’t true. He’d already been living with you for years by the time they’d gotten married. You liked him enough not to tell your mom when you caught him smoking on the front porch or not using coasters, and he liked you enough to invite you out on his long, late-night drives and do your laundry with—

Oh, god.

He’d been doing your laundry.

Your voice was soft, almost inaudibly so. It took everything you had just to get your lips to move. “…can I go, now?”

“Not just yet.” A hand slipped between your body and his, dipping below his sweatpants. His cock – flushed and veined and monstrously thick – was pulled free, allowed to press into your stomach. Weakly, you tried to draw back, but Toji held you still, taking himself by the base and pumping once, twice. “I had to call in a lot of favors to make that accident happen, y’know. It’d be nice if you could show me a little love.”

The shock was cold, numbing. Toji guided you onto your knees, positioning the head of his cock against your entrance. Slowly, delicately, he dragged you down, lowering you inch by agonizing inch until your hips were slotted against his. He started to let his head roll back, then thinking better of it, pulled you closer – burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You blinked. His cock twitched inside of you, and it was all you could do to melt, to rest your forehead against him and let your body go slack in his embrace. “Toj—”

“You know that’s not right, pretty girl.” His hips rolled against yours, drawing a pitiful whine from your lips. “Tell me who takes care of you.”

“D-Daddy.” And then, sniffling into his chest. “I’m really scared.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

It might’ve been easier to believe, if you hadn’t been able to feel his grin biting into your throat.

“That’s why you’ve got your daddy for, right?”

[heyhiray]

could I request yandere cato hadley hcs?

Yandere!Cato Hadley HCs

Warnings: typical yandere behavior (obsession, possessiveness, etc.), Cato is a spoiled douche who tries to force you to marry him, tried to make Reader gender-neutral but lemme know if I gendered something

Cato is a lot to handle. Being from District 2, his life has been fairly easy and he views aggression and dominance as honorable traits

He trained for the games since he was a kid, and takes his goal very seriously. His obsession probably began because he saw you as a rival. Cato is extremely competitive, and didn’t take kindly to being one-upped. You were his motive for getting stronger, and eventually you invaded his thoughts more and more often.

His frustration towards you became fascination. He’s arrogant, and the thought of someone being half as great as him is mind-boggling. He begins thinking of ways to impress you, starts subconsciously looking for you in crowds, and even looks for ways to establish some sort of dominant role over your life.

Cato is a jerk, but he knows how to turn on the charm when he needs to. When his feelings become romantic (his twisted version of romance at least), he lays it on thick. Brings you all sorts of gifts. Nice and practical gifts that, despite your stubbornness, do make your life easier. Ex: new shoes that are just a tad more expensive than the old pair (he’s gotta show he’s “better” than you financially ofc)

The next stages could go one of two ways; you willingly go out with him, or you refuse and provoke his utter douche-ness

Option One: you willingly date him

He may actually prefer to call this “courting” or something else that implies a much more serious relationship

He asks you out in a very nonchalant way, however. He brings up how similar you both are maybe complimenting you but don’t hold your breath and suggests that it would be mutually beneficial to partner up (I imagine he’d phrase it similarly to forming an alliance in the games. His entire life is focused on that shit)

Anyway, he’s over the moon when you say yes. Just be aware that this is a “no backsies” kind of situation. He immediately tells everyone whats going on between you and makes it very difficult to change your mind.

At this point, you’re probably a bit uncomfortable with his behavior but still think you can get through to him somehow and fix him up (spoiler: you can’t)

Option Two: you reject him

He’s pissed. Point blank.

Every positive thought he had about you is gone, but the obsession remains. The rejection solidifies his belief that you are below him.

He’s not gonna let a weak embarrassment of a person hold him back from the plans he’s built these past months. In his meltdown, he spills every idea he’s had for the two of you

He’s been training so hard to win this shit, just for you. Weak, pathetic, adorable you. So he can come back as a victor and bring honor to his district. So he can come back and marry you! How could you not want that?

I imagine that Cato’s family has some kind of foothold in District 2’s community, so it wouldn’t be hard to keep you under his thumb even after you refuse him. Wether that be through social isolation, threatening people who help you, or direct abduction is up to you.

The day of the reaping, you get dressed together. He chooses your clothes to compliment his, sits silently at the breakfast table as you both eat, and stops you at the door before you head to the square.

With your wrist in a tight grasp, he pries your hand open and gives you a plain golden ring. It’s proud and foreboding; like the man who gave it to you. He tells you that when he gets back, you’ll be his. Forever.

You can only hope for a deadly miracle in that arena.

[heyhiray]

Can't Leave Me

Pairing: Dark Hawks x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: Seeing a darker side of Keigo has you rethinking your entire relationship. But it’s not like Keigo is planning on letting you go. 

WARNINGS: Murder; Kidnapping. 

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

–

His hand rubs comforting circles over the expanse of your back, innumerous apologies being mumbled as he kisses the crown of your head. 

“I should’ve eased you into it. I‘m so sorry, baby.” his tone is apologetic, almost regretful, but you can’t be bothered by that.

Not after what you witnessed. 

The queasiness in your stomach increases, and you swallow hard, closing your eyes in a poor attempt to control both yourself and the wave of nausea that threatens to rise. 

“Next time, I promise I’ll let you know beforehand, ‘kay? No more nasty surprises, I promise.” his cooing has you pushing your palms against the edge of the marble kitchen island, and you take a few stumbling steps backwards.

“I really thought you’d like to see my patriotic work.”

“You…” his golden eyes squint for a second when you dodge his hand from touching your arm, “That man-”

“He’s no one. Just some fucking dirtbag I caught the other day on patrol. No one even cares that he’s gone, if that makes you feel better.”

You look at him in bewilderment, unable to believe his words. Was Keigo - always so sweet and gentleman - trying to convince you that killing people was fine? That it was okay for his basement to have pools of blood and pieces of human limbs?

The pungent smell of fresh blood is still haunting your nose and you scrunch it, remembering the nasty scene your boyfriend presented you. 

When Keigo asked you to come to his house, telling you he had a surprise stored in his basement for you, your mind wandered to the idea of receiving a sweet gift.

Maybe a painting or a bracelet, anything with a romantic meaning. A normal thing. 

But when Keigo took you to his basement, chest inflated with pride at what he called “city scum cleaning” it wasn’t at all what you expected. 

“You’re worrying too much.” he sighs, his wings ruffling behind him. “I’m cleaning the city from the filthy scum, nothing else.”

“They’re human beings, Keigo. You can’t take justice into your own hands, that’s not your job.”

Keigo only shrugs his shoulders, disinterested at your attempt to bring some conscience to him.

“I know this upsetted you, baby, so why don’t we change the subject? How about we start making dinner and then watch a movie? I know you’re excited to see that new action movie, right?”

His proposition makes you feel sick to your stomach for more reasons than one, but the realization that your boyfriend is trying to distract you from the fact that he’s a serial killer is too much.

You need to leave. Immediately. 

But you’re scared. Terrified of becoming Keigo’s new addition to his basement, if he realizes that you’re not on his side. You’re not sure if he loves enough to spare you from such destiny.

You’re not sure of anything anymore. 

You shift the weight from one foot to the other, eyes drifting to the kitchen door. 

“I think…” your voice shakes, and you attempt to clear your throat, “Maybe I should go,  Keigo. I’m not…feeling great.”

His expression drops for a moment, cold anger being replaced with feigned sympathy so quickly that you almost believe you imagined it. 

“Sweet cheeks, if you’re not feeling well, then you can just sleep over.” he takes a minuscule step in your direction, his wings stretching behind him for a moment. Demonstrating their enormous size before he pulls them back.

A not very subtle threat.

“I can prepare a warm bath for you, and then get you in bed with some painkillers. How about that?” 

You shake your head, feeling helpless. 

“No, Keigo, it’s fine, really. I can just go home and-”

“Nonsense. Besides, I don’t like the idea of you all alone in your apartment, especially if you’re feeling sick.” he brushes you off, “I can’t have you puking or passing out when you’re on your own. What kind of boyfriend would that make me, am I right?” 

A few of his feathers gracefully fly in your direction, gently but effectively pushing you forward. 

The conflict inside your mind only fires up, but you’re hardly able to bitterly swallow down all the shabby excuses and useless begging that would only result in angering Keigo. 

Your body bumps against his and Keigo instantly wraps his arm around your waist, replacing the feathers that rejoin his wings. 

He kisses your cheek with an arm tightly gripping your waist, as if he’s waiting for you to bolt and run away. You’d be lying if you say the idea doesn’t seem awfully tempting.

Maybe if he looks away or gets distracted…maybe then  you could take the chance. 

“C’mon, let’s get you a bath, ‘kay? You’re really not looking too good.” 

The melancholic moonlight hits you in the face, seeping through the locked window. Your eyes are wide open, despite the ungodly time of the night. It’s quiet now, aside from the light cricket’s sounds and the occasional car speeding up through the street.

You barely move your head as you glance towards the fluorescent numbers of the digital clock on the bedside table next to you, careful enough to shift as little as you can.

The arm draped across your waist feels like a rope, keeping you bound to Keigo.

But it’s better than the red wing that lays wide open in all of its immense size, acting as a second blanket to your body, caging you to the bed with its oppressive weight. 

Despite your objections of becoming too hot during the night, Keigo still insisted on covering your body with it, shutting you down with a gentle kiss.

He sleeps soundly, his chest a few inches away from your chest, his deep calm breathing hitting your ear and neck. 

You can’t sleep. Your mind is too bothered, too upset to even consider something as futile as sleeping when there are more urgent necessities. Such as escaping this house. 

Keigo fell into a deep slumber a few hours ago while you remained awake, thinking about your next steps. You have to leave the bed, leave the house, leave him. 

But even the last step seems complicated when you can’t even pull yourself out of the bed - out of Keigo’s suffocating embrace. 

You’re frozen with fear, you begrudgingly admit. Scared of accidentally waking Keigo up and in the process, to wake a side of him that you don’t want to see. 

You have to do this.

The first step is to test the waters.

You take a deep breath, slowly shifting your body, your hand gently pushing his arm down and away from you. Nothing happens.

Your heartbeat speeds up as you embrace yourself for the final step. 

Looking down at the impending problem of escaping the red wing, you take the decision to slide underneath it. 

It’s awkward and embarrassing when you weirdly dive underneath the wing, squishing yourself against the bed as you try to touch the feathers as little as you can. They don’t pulse or move, remaining completely still as you make your escape. 

A relieved sigh gets caught in your throat when your feet touch the floor. Just a little more, you think, bending your body to slide down the curve of the bed. 

Premature hope makes your breathe faster. Maybe you can actually get away.

Oh god, you’re actually going to get away. 

Your whole body freezes for a scary moment when Keigo mumbles a few incoherent words, shifting and turning in bed, but thankfully he remains asleep. You can breathe again.

It’s a bit hard to walk in the darkness, only the dim light of the moon helping you guide yourself, as your feet take baby steps and you prod the walls with your hands until you finally find the closet room.

The door creaks slightly as you slowly close it, and you hold your breath for a moment. Nothing happens. 

You open the light, hoping it doesn’t infiltrate through the door’s crack and search the place with your eyes, looking for your clothes. Keigo kept them there before handing you one of his shirts earlier in the night, saying that it would be more comfortable for you to sleep in his clothes than in your outer clothes. 

It’s easy to find your shirt and pants, both of them tucked away in a corner of the room, the evident contrast between Keigo’s expensive clothing and your cheap casual outfit standing out. 

You quickly put them on, looking around for your purse before remembering that you had left it in the kitchen. Fuck. 

You close the light, and silently leave the closet. 

“Babe.” 

Your blood runs cold at the sight of Keigo casually standing in front of you, arms crossed in his chest. There’s no anger  in his face - nor sleepiness, you notice - but there are hints of annoyance. Did he really expect you not to try and run? 

“I’m kinda disappointed, I gotta say.” he shakes his head with a tired sigh. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t do anything stupid tonight. Guess I was wrong.”

“I wasn’t-” your words lose strength, and for a moment, the idea of dashing for the door with all of your speed seems incredibly enticing, “It’s not what you think.”

“Yeah? Pfft, c’mon, you seriously think you’re gonna fool me into believing any crappy excuse? Like I didn’t just catch you trying to sneak off on me?” he clicks his tongue, messy strands of blonde hair falling onto his forehead, “But you know what?”

It’s now. The moment he switches the flip on you and beats you and-

“Let’s continue this tomorrow, alright? It’s late, so how about we sleep on this and in the morning, we’ll talk.” 

You look at him, surprised. Isn’t he gonna drag you by the hair to his basement and beat you? 

Keigo directs you back to the closet, watching as you hesitate to change back into his shirt. 

“That was never gonna work, you know that, right?” he says. “It’s not like you could outrun me. I’m too fast for you, with or without quirk.”

When you get back on the bed, his wing covers you once again and his arm pulls you flush against his chest, suffocating you with his presence.

He kisses the nape of your neck. 

“Sleep tight.”

You wake up startled, mind buzzing with a chilling nightmare. Red blood and sticky viscera follow you even though you rise away from the realm of dreams. 

You breathe in. It was just a dream. 

Distant sounds coming from another room catch your attention and you remain quiet, catching the tiny rays of sunlight that come through the curtains, basking on pacific solitude. 

What are you supposed to do now? Relent and pretend that everything is peachy, to act as if the basement isn’t torture chamber and that your boyfriend isn’t some cold-hearted killer? 

You roll to the side, yelping when your leg gets caught on. 

A chain. 

A soft leather wrapped tightly around your ankle, connecting it to the links of metal that keep you in a short leash. There’s barely any length to it, meaning you won’t even be able to reach the bathroom if you need to. 

This can’t be real. 

You persistently rub your eyes, shaking your head as fear threatens to spill in the shape of a panic attack. 

Keigo wouldn’t do this. He can’t do this. He just can’t. 

Much to your consternation, you don’t wake up. This isn’t some wicked dream, after all. 

“No, no, please, no.” you cry, pulling and tugging on the solid chain with both of your hands. It doesn’t work, despite all the clicking it does. Doesn’t so much as move away from your ankle.

But it does make a shrilling noise and soon Keigo rushes into the room, a worried expression on his face before he understands what you’re doing. 

He plops next to you, firm hands pulling your shaky ones away from the chain, despite you not giving up and you yelp when he uses his strength to expertly twist your wrist, forcing you to let go of the chain.

“Keigo, please, don’t…don’t do this. I promise I won’t run away, I swear!” you plead, snot and tears pathetically dripping down your face as Keigo pulls you into his lap, a large hand securing both of your wrists. 

“Keigo…”

“Shh, it’s okay. Everything is fine, it’s all okay.” 

It only makes you cry harder. One of his hands rubs your back while the other holds the back of your neck, pushing your face to his chest. 

“C’mon, don’t cry.  You know how awful that makes me feel.” he presses a gentle kiss to your head, rocking your bodies back and forth, comforting you as if you were a child throwing a tantrum.

“You left me no choice. You were gonna leave me, abandon me like I never meant anything to you.” his voice is almost quiet and you know that if you looked up, his face would resemble a kicked puppy.

It almost makes you feel bad until the stupid chain in your ankle clinks, reminding you that Keigo isn’t a good man. 

“But it’s okay now. I know you’re not happy with… our current situation, but you’ll soon see it my way. I’m doing this for you - for us.” 

His arms tightened around your wriggling body, keeping you close to him. 

“I’m not letting anything get between us. Not even you.”

[heyhiray]

Lover's Quarrel

Pairing: Dark (aged-up) Katsuki Bakugo x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: You get away from Bakugo’s toxic clutches. But soon your peace comes to an end.

WARNINGS: Toxic Relationship; minor Violence/Abuse.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

I just realized today is his birthday, so here it is :) hope you guys like this.

–

“...you better damn pick up my calls, (Y/N). I’m losing my patience here so you better get that fucking attitude out of your system or I’ll do it for you. Swear to god I’m gonna drag your stupid ass back home if you don’t come to your damn senses and if you fucking think that-”

You press a button, closing the voicemail with a sigh. Throwing your phone to the bed’s edge, you turn your back to it, curling yourself into a ball. 

Your mind is an unstable whirlwind of thoughts and worries and a solitary tear rolls down your face. It’s not fair.

None of this is fair.

You pull the blankets over you, but even their warmth isn't enough to calm the cold that scatters through your body. 

A sob breaks your composure and you hastily push your face into the pillow, smothering down the ugly sobs and whines that break out. 

It takes a long time until your eyes are finally dry and you have no more tears to weep.

But even afterwards, as you finally fall asleep, the heavy feeling still weighs on your heart.

Ding. 

Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. 

Your friend looks at you and you’re quick to mute the notifications that pop up, eyes catching sight of the messages that Bakugo is spamming you before you black the screen. 

“I know I’ve asked before, but is everything really okay?” she asks, ignoring the movie on display in favor of looking at you, a concerned wrinkle settling between her brows.

“You seem… so distracted ever since you came. Is it about Bakugo?” 

You shift on the couch, uncomfortable. 

“It’s nothing.” you hesitantly tell her, measuring your words carefully. None of your friends know about the depth of Bakugo’s dark side and you’d rather not involve them.

Even though you’re almost sure that she suspects something is up, especially with the unannounced way you dropped by unannounced a couple of days ago, asking if you could stay a few days. 

“You can tell me, you know that, right? I’m not gonna judge or whatever.” 

You nod, giving her a small smile but no words come out of you despite the hefty weight on your mind. You don’t want to burden her with your problems. 

“I know, don’t worry. We’re just giving it some time. Lover’s quarrel and all.” you try to joke even though there's no humor in your smile.

"I see, okay." your friend draws a small smile, hesitating for a moment before letting it be. 

Work drags far too slowly. 

Boring paperwork to be filled, a few documents that need reviewing.

Nothing that actually manages to successfully distract you away from your current problems. If anything, it leaves you with far too much time for your mind to wander through your situation.

A definitive break-up is more complicated than what it seems as you’re aware that Bakugo won’t peacefully accept that. 

Just the idea of having to deal with an even angrier Katsuki has you cowering further into your chair and you distract yourself by opening your work email, digging into the emails that need to be answered. 

You’ll think about Bakugo later. 

“Later” arrives much earlier than what you expect.

When the clock hits 6 p.m you reluctantly turn off the computer, gathering your jacket and your purse. 

When you check your phone out of habit, the lack of messages surprises you. Strange.

Maybe Bakugo is finally catching the hints that you want to be left alone? You sure hope so.

You couldn’t be more wrong about it and you almost jump when your co-worker shrieks in delight, nudging your arm as you retrieve your car keys from the purse. 

“Oh god, he’s so cute, damn. Seems like someone was eager to see you.” 

Your heart drops at the sight of the blonde man that leans against your car, crimson eyes fixed on you.

“You’re so lucky. My boyfriend never comes to pick me up.” she whines before finally saying a distracted goodbye, throwing adoration filled glances at Bakugo when she walks away. 

For a moment, you consider leaving your car in the open parking-lot. You could take the bus to your friend’s apartment. It would be no big deal, only half an hour before reaching her place. 

But the impassive expression on your boyfriend’s face warns you not to ignore him and you don’t doubt Bakugo’s ability to cause a overly explosive scene right in front of your workplace. 

Your legs walk on their own towards him and he straightens up, pushing himself off the hood as he walks to you, meeting you half-way, far too close for your comfort.

He’s wearing civilian clothes, you notice. They make his firm muscles bulge from beneath the thin material, the veins in his arms popping out with his hands hidden in the pant’s pockets, as always.  

“What do you want?” 

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“Talk then.” 

Irritation seeps into Bakugo’s face. He’s never had much patience. 

“We can talk in your car. The keys.” 

Despite his stretched hand, you don’t deposit the keys in his palm. It’s your car. It’s your life. You have to fight for it. 

“Y/n.”

You take a step back, shaking your head. 

“If you wanna talk, then we can talk here. Out in the open.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches with ire, and it compels you to take another tiny step away from him. 

“Will you stop fucking stepping away from me?” his voice booms loudly through the empty parking lot, eliciting a wince from you. “Quit acting like I’m gonna beat you to a bloody pulp or somethin’. I’m just trying to take you back home, you idiot.” 

“But I’m not going back.”

“You are.”

You clench your teeth, hoping it would help ease out the incoming flow of angry tears that threatens to spill at any moment now. 

“I said. I’m not going back.” 

Bakugo ignores your words, losing his patience upon your refusal. 

“Like hell you aren’t. I’ve had enough of this stupid attitude of yours.”

His hand latches to your wrist, holding it in a bruising grip, tight enough for you to feel the bones in your hands being painfully compressed together. 

“Ah, Katsuki, you’re hurting me!” you cry out, attempting to release his grip by using your free hand.

But your fingers are far too weak to pull him away and he groans when your nails scratch him. It makes him grip your hand harder and you sob, body limpless following forward when Bakugo tugs you in his direction. 

You bump into his hard chest, head sharply pulled back with his callous hand enveloping the back of your neck, his large palm easily covering all of it.

The tall hero doesn’t even bother looking around, unafraid of the possibility of someone walking by. Bakugo’s never been one to be overzealous, much less now that the position on Pro Hero Number 2 belongs to him. 

“You’ve had your fun these past days. But it’s over now, y’hear me?” the tips of his fingers dig into your neck, and you’re barely able to hold his threatening gaze, already knowing that you’re not coming out on top of this.

“You’re coming back home with me. No fuckin' fuss, no complaining, and that’s final. Like hell I’m gonna let you get away from me, so you better start fixing that attitude.”  

He squeezes your neck, looking at you with deadly eyes. 

“You hear me? Brat.” 

He keeps his hand on the back of your neck when guiding you to your own car, unceremoniously pushing you to the passenger’s seat before claiming the steering wheel for himself. 

A few tears escape from your eyes and you turn your face to the window, ignoring the sharp looks Bakugo throws your way.

You hug yourself, all of your hope dissolving at the realization that you’re never truly gonna be free from him.