#ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ ���ㅤ ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ ˚ㅤㅤ ◌ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏

[xenop0p]

Oh I’m not a good person

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤUGLY LOVEㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Mark Grayson x Fem Reader Part 1

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : Mark Loves You. He Loves You So Much. But You Don't. And Yet You Agree To Go Out With Him. Maybe Because No One Else Wants You. Maybe Because You Were Lonely...

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You remember the first time Mark Grayson asked you on a date.

It was embarrassing.

Not for him, no. For you. Because he did it in the middle of the school hallway, right when you were already feeling like shit, surrounded by people who immediately turned to stare like this was some kind of rom-com moment. Like you were supposed to blush and giggle and say yes because Mark Grayson was the loser who somehow still managed to be well-liked.

And you? You weren’t special. Not in any way that mattered. You weren’t pretty enough to turn heads, not hot enough to make guys stumble over themselves. You weren’t the girl anyone fell in love with. So when Mark fucking Grayson—big smile, nervous hands, that stupid blue-and-yellow jacket—asked you out, you just blinked at him.

"Are you serious?" you had asked, voice flat.

His expression faltered for half a second before he recovered. "Yeah! I mean, I think you're really pretty, and, uh, I'd love to take you out. Like—dinner, movie, whatever you want."

You wanted to say no. You really did. But then you thought about it—about how the guy you actually liked barely knew you existed. How you were always the afterthought, the last pick, the option. No one was lining up to take you out. But here was Mark, all bright eyes and open hands, so eager, so desperate.

So you said yes.

Dating Mark was easy. And awful.

He was in love with you.

Not in a normal, lovesick puppy way. No, Mark was something else. He looked at you like you were air and he was drowning. He texted constantly, always wanting to know where you were, who you were with, if you were okay. He remembered everything you ever said—your favorite color, the way you hated cold weather, that one time you mentioned wanting to try some random Thai restaurant downtown. It was suffocating.

And the worst part? You liked it.

Not him, though. Just the way he needed you. The way he worshipped you.

You let him hold your hand even though his palms were always a little too warm. You let him kiss you even though he always lingered too long, like he was memorizing your lips, like he thought you’d disappear if he stopped. You let him call you pet names that made your skin crawl—"baby," "angel," "my girl."

You never called him anything but Mark.

Then, of course, came the worst part.

The superhero bullshit.

The time he told you, it was supposed to be some big moment.

He sat you down in his bedroom, looking at you with this nervous excitement, like he was about to give you the best news of your life. Then he told you.

"I'm Invincible."

You blinked. "...You're what?"

He grinned, all proud, like an idiot. "Invincible! You know, the new hero? Yellow suit?"

Oh. Oh, that was him?

The guy flying around looking like a blind bee?

Invincible. What a stupid fucking name.

You had so many questions. None of them were good.

"You're telling me you willingly wear that suit?" you said instead, voice dripping with disgust.

His smile faltered. "I—I mean, yeah, it's kind of cool, right?"

You stared at him. Stared at the boy you were dating, who was apparently running around in an ugly-ass yellow and blue suit with those stupid fucking goggles like he was actually blind.

"You look so dumb," you muttered.

His face fell. "Wait, what?"

"Yellow? Seriously? Who the fuck told you that looked good?"

"Babe—"

"And the goggles? Are you blind? No, actually, are you?"

He looked heartbroken. Like you had just kicked a puppy. It was honestly kind of funny. But then he smiled again, weaker, like he was trying to brush it off.

"You’re not... mad?" he asked hesitantly.

Oh. Right. That was what he was expecting, wasn’t it? Screaming, crying, breaking up because oh no, my boyfriend is a superhero, it’s too dangerous, I can’t handle it!

You just shrugged.

"Why would I be mad?" you said. "Not like I actually care what you do."

He just stared at you for a long time. Then he smiled.

Too wide. Too happy. Like you had said something perfect.

God, he was pathetic.

Mark loved you too much. And you let him.

Every date was his idea. You never asked. He was always the one picking you up, texting first, clinging to you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

You tested him constantly, just to see how much he could take.

Ignored his texts? He sent more.

Canceled a date? He rescheduled immediately.

Made fun of him? He laughed, like it was endearing.

You let him kiss you, let him touch you, but never too much. Just enough to keep him hooked. You never said "I love you." He said it all the time, and every time you just looked at him, blank, and let the silence stretch until he got uncomfortable and changed the subject.

And god, he never gave up.

He looked at you like you were the fucking moon. Like you hung the stars in his sky. Like he needed you just to breathe.

You hated it.

You loved it.

Because you could never have what you really wanted. No one had ever loved you like this before. So you let Mark do it.

Even if you could never love him back.

Mark never noticed when you looked at someone else.

Maybe because he didn’t want to notice.

Or maybe because, in his head, you were already his. Permanently. Like he had claimed you the second you said yes in that stupid high school hallway.

But you noticed.

You noticed him. The guy you actually wanted.

He was everything Mark wasn’t—cool, confident, effortlessly charming. When he walked into a room, people turned. Girls actually wanted him. They laughed at his jokes, flipped their hair when he talked, hung onto every word. He could have anyone he wanted.

But he didn’t want you.

That stung. Even though you knew it shouldn’t.

You had Mark. Mark, who worshipped the ground you walked on. Mark, who held your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. Mark, who would probably die if you asked him to.

And still, you wanted someone else.

You tried. For a while.

It happened on a random night—Mark was picking you up from class, his stupid yellow goggles shoved into his pocket, hair still messy from whatever dumb hero thing he had been doing earlier. He grinned at you, all excited like always.

"You hungry? We could get that ramen you liked."

You weren’t in the mood. Not for him. Not for his stupid, endless happiness.

But then you thought about it.

You thought about how it would feel if he—the one you actually wanted—looked at you like that. You thought about how you were being handed something most people dreamed of. Unconditional love. A boy who would do anything for you.

So you tried.

You smiled—tight, forced. Let Mark hold your hand as he walked with you. You let him talk, rambling on about some new villain he fought, how he was getting better at flying, how his dad was actually talking to him about superhero stuff now.

You nodded at the right times. Gave him a few mhms and oh, really? Like a normal girlfriend would.

But it didn’t last.

Because Mark wasn’t what you wanted.

And because you were fucked in the head.

It always came out of nowhere.

One second, you’d be fine. Barely tolerating him, but fine. The next, something small—something stupid—would set you off.

Like tonight.

You were sitting in his room, scrolling through your phone, only half-listening as he went on about his superhero bullshit again. And then he said something—some dumb, innocent comment.

"I know I’m not, like, the coolest guy around, but—I dunno, sometimes I wish you’d talk about me the way you talk about him."

Him.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned to face him. Mark looked nervous, like he regretted saying anything. Good.

"What?" Your voice was sharp.

Mark hesitated. "I—I mean, I know you think he’s, like, really handsome and—"

"Are you seriously bringing this up right now?"

He blinked. "I—"

"No, really, Mark, really? Jesus Christ, I can’t have one fucking conversation without you getting all insecure?"

Mark flinched. Like you had actually hit him.

And fuck, that only pissed you off more.

"You always do this," you spat, voice venomous. "Always. Acting like I’m the fucking bad guy when all I do is put up with your bullshit, your stupid works, your pathetic little—"

You stopped.

Because Mark was looking at you like a kicked dog.

Like he had just realized something awful.

And fuck.

You felt sick.

The guilt hit fast.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, exhaling sharply. "Fuck."

Mark swallowed. "I didn’t mean to—"

"Just—just shut up, okay?"

You didn’t want to hear him apologize. Not again. Not after this.

You weren’t a good person.

And Mark wasn’t good enough to fix that.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— NEXT ☆ Part 2. Part 3.

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[heemeiji]

black and white music themed PNGs ! ♪

[cwrcent]

　　　𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑒𝑠 ˚　͙ᩙ᜔⁺‧͙    ㅤㅤ.       . ✦

❤︎ㅤ  ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͙ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏        ͏ ͏ ͏ﾟ  ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏ㅤ𓂂ㅤㅤ . . ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ⠀✧    。　    ✟͏  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ͟͟͟͟͟͟͟͟

[notaguia]

ᅠᅠᅠᅠHey! new random pngs 🎐

[v6que]

           

         messy symbols ✧

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⃟𐔌⠀ᩴ       ˁ ᪲˒ ˙˙˓ˀ       𓍚ํֻ       ⭑๋܂⑅

       

    ᰔᩚ        ꒰͡ ི ༏  ྀ͡꒱     ִ °. •̩̩͙ ִ * ° ໋•̩̩͙ ִ 𓈒ּ ° 𓂂

     

ཾֵ𐇵𓈒ֵ۫       𓇼ᬽ̇𓈒༙⠀⠀ ⠀   𓉳𐬹° ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⿻ྀི͚

   

  ᮫͙𓐩ꦿࣳੁᩧ         ♡𓈒⁎        ✦✧͏𝅘𝅥 ׄ ᩿

       ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀

ㅤ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏͏ ͏͏

[rottenfyre]

┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤ ♡ㅤㅤㅤ ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ┊ㅤ┊ㅤㅤㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ♡ㅤㅤㅤ ┊ㅤ♡ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ♡ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

𝑌𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝐵𝑈𝐿𝐿𝑌 who's obsessed with your pussy ⁺¹⁸

Yandere bully who is so mean to you in public, constantly teasing and making you cry, taunting you in front of everyone, pushing your buttons just to see you break. "What's wrong, baby? Gonna cry again?" He grins, acting like the bitch he's known to be. But in private, he's on his knees, your obedient pet, begging to please you however you want.

Yandere bully who's addicted to you, desperate for your approval. He'll do anything to have you, anything to make you cum, anything to feel like he's worthy of your attention -even if it means pushing you to the brink of pleasure every chance he gets.

Yandere bully who gets you alone any chance he gets and makes you cum over and over again, his cruel exterior gone as he worships you with his mouth and hands. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum for me. 'Il do anything for you, baby." His fingers don't stop, even when you're shaking, his lips constantly moving over your sensitive skin, drawing out orgasm after orgasm until you can't take it anymore.

Yandere bully who loves catching you off guard when you're trying to study, slipping under the table and spreading your legs without a word. His fingers slip inside you while his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. You try to concentrate, but it's impossible, and he knows it. "Come on, baby, keep studying while I make you feel good." He smirks against you, watching you fall apart as he fingers you under the desk.

Yandere bully who loves to suck on his lollipop in front of you, popping it in and out of his mouth with a teasing grin, only to push it inside your pussy without warning. "How's that feel, baby? Bet you never thought this sweet thing could fuck you, huh?" He moves it in and out, his eyes locked on your expression as he watches you struggle. And when he's done, he pulls it out, licks it clean, and goes right back to sucking on it like nothing happened, savoring your taste mixed with the candy.

Yandere bully who acts like he's in control, always smug and cruel with the things he says, but the moment you're soaking wet and he's got his mouth on you, it's like he's a different person. "Fuck, I can't get enough of this. You taste so good, baby... I need more, please."

Yandere bully who moans like he's the one getting head whenever he's between your legs, his voice breaking as he eat you out. He can't help the sounds slipping out of his mouth, so lost in the taste of you that he's grinding himself against the mattress. "Fuck, baby... you taste so fucking good. I'm gonna lose it.." The pleasure in his voice is unreal, like he's the one being pleasured.

Yandere bully who gets absolutely lost between your legs, so pussy-drunk he forgets everything else around him. His mouth is buried between your thighs, licking and kissing like he's been deprived of it for days. He's groaning into you, the wet sounds echoing as he slurps up everything you give him, completely obsessed.

Yandere bully who talks directly to your pussy like it's a person, his voice low and ragged, whispering how good it is, how perfect it feels for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet.. So good for me. God, I'm never letting you go." He kisses it like it's his lips, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

Yandere bully who gets so messy and sloppy, his face drenched with your slick, but he doesn't care. The more you give him, the more he wants, making filthy, lewd noises as he fuck you with his tongue. "Shit... I can't get enough. I need more, more of you." He's never satisfied, his fingers spreading you open just so he can see how you pulse for him.

Yandere bully who doesn't just lick, he makes love to your pussy with his mouth, slow at first, dragging his tongue in long strokes like he's savoring every taste. Then he's frantic, desperate, his lips locking around your clit, sucking so hard you can't hold back your moans, and he loves it. "Fuck, baby, you're so wet for me. Keep making those sounds, I'm fucking addicted to this."

Yandere bully who can't keep his hands off, always pinching and smacking your pussy between sloppy licks, just to watch it bounce and twitch under his touch. "God, I love seeing you like this, so swollen and needy for me." He'd smack it again, the sound so lewd it makes you blush.

Yandere bully who loves to spits on your pussy, his eyes dark with lust as he watches his saliva drip onto you before diving in with his tongue. "Look at this, baby. So fucking messy for me, just how I like it." He grins, dragging his tongue through the wetness and your slick, slurping noisily like he's savoring every second of it.

Yandere bully who bites your pussy just to see your reaction, his teeth grazing over your swollen lips, nipping at your sensitive skin. "Come on, baby, don't squirm. You know you love it when I get a little rough with you." His voice is low, teasing, as he watches your body jerk at the sensation. He alternates between soft kisses and sharp bites, pushing your limits.

Yandere bully who buries his face deeper, tongue pushing into you as far as it can go while his nose grinds against your clit. He groans with each taste, like he's drowning in pleasure just from having you on his lips. "You're so fucking perfect. I could eat this forever:" His words are so slurred and desperate, like he's too far gone to think straight anymore.

Yandere bully who tells you he loves you for the first time when you squirt into his mouth, the taste driving him so insane that the confession slips out before he can stop it. "Fuck... I love you. I fucking love you." His voice is hoarse, and he's groaning like he's the one cumming, licking up every drop you give him as his face gets soaked in your release. He's a mess, panting, eyes wide as the reality of what he just said settles in, but he doesn't take it back.

Yandere bully who gets so overwhelmed eating you out that he cums in his pants without even touching himself, his body shaking with how much he's lost in it. He's a mess, his cock twitching in his soaked boxers while he keeps his mouth on you. "Oh god.. fuck.. I'm cumming... I can't- shit-"And even after he cums, he still doesn't stop, licking up every drop of you like it's his lifeline.

Yandere bully who grinds himself against the bed, getting off just by eating you out, humping the mattress as he moans into you, obsessed with how you taste and feel. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum just like this... you're too fucking good. I can't take it..."

Yandere bully who stays between your legs even after you're spent, lazily licking and kissing, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "l'm not done... Stay still..." His voice is low, almost hoarse, as he presses one last kiss against your pussy, so utterly drunk on it that he can't stop himself.

Yandere bully who takes so many pictures of your pussy that his phone is filled with them. He's got one as his lock screen, grinning every time he unlocks his phone and sees it there. "God, you're so fucking pretty. I can't get enough." He pulls out his phone to take even more photos when you're spread out for him, snapping pictures while muttering to himself about how perfect you look. He's gross, but he doesn't care-he's obsessed with having every part of you to himself.

Yandere bully who wants to shave you himself, his hands steady as he moves the razor over your skin, but it always ends the same way-with him making you cum so hard that your pussy is swollen and puffy by the time he's done. "You look so cute like this... all swollen for me." His fingers trace over your sensitive skin, teasing you even more, knowing you're already overstimulated. He never stops until you've cum over and over again, leaving you a trembling, swollen mess.

Yandere bully who isn't satisfied until he's made you cum more times than you can count, watching you shake and scream, completely addicted to the way your body reacts. "Look at you.. all mine. No one else gets to touch you like this. Only me." He's possessive, obsessed, and so pussy-drunk that he's practically begging for more, even when you can't take it anymore.

Yandere bully who cries when you cum on his tongue, so overwhelmed by how sweet you taste that tears well up in his eyes. He's moaning and sobbing, his face soaked with a mixture of your wetness and his tears. "You're so fucking sweet.. so perfect... fuck, I can't take it..."He presses his face deeper into you, tongue flicking desperately, crying with how much he loves the way you feel.

Yandere bully who steals your dirty panties every chance he gets, slipping them into his pocket when you're not looking. He hides them away just so he can sniff and lick them later, getting off to your scent like a total pervert. "God, you smell so fucking good.. I can't stop thinking about İt." He presses the fabric to his nose, groaning as he grinds against the bed, cumming hard while licking your panties, completely high.

Yandere bully who can be the meanest, most disgusting version of himself, using your body for his pleasure, but you can feel the way he's addicted to you, how much he needs to please you. It's a twisted game between love and hate-he's cruel, mean, but the moment he's got his hands on you, he can't stop himself from worshipping you in the most filthy, desperate ways possible.

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[haobae]

‎. ܢ ̼̻ ⠀ 🀢͟ ͟ ✧ ꫶ࣺ᭮᭰ ⠀⣬ ♥︎

ूूूੂ ⸻ morir de la pena

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣬ ♥︎⠀⠀⠀Temple ⠀Of ⠀Love

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✿‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ༚༅༚˳ ᨶᯃྀི ✿

⠀

[kugelgelenktpuppe]

[ojiito]

             

                    𓂂  ケ̥ ׅ֯ー 𐇽۫キ   ♡͙ႉ

         

[j-eongs]

ㅤ𐙚 ㅤ ׁ ㅤ˳ ㅤ ✿ㅤ ㅤ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌ㅤ ,ㅤ 𝗂 ' 𝗏𝖾ㅤ ㅤ𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽ㅤ 𝗒𝗈𝗎ㅤ 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆ㅤ ㅤ𝗍𝗁𝖾ㅤ ㅤ𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭.ㅤ ㅤ

forㅤ@gigittamicㅤ♡

[amourx]

ㅤHot & Cold ˖࣪ ༻ 💧🍵

[strangepoppy]

“You ever touch me without permission again,” you whisper, “and I’ll gut you.”

Oh how the tables have turned. And he liked it.

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤFRESH FLOWERㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Leon S. Kennedy x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It doesn’t start with blood. Not yet.

Leon first notices you during one of his brief returns to the States. A quiet afternoon at some government building—you’re not even special. Not supposed to be. Just someone who works at the same place, maybe typing up field reports he never reads, passing him in the halls with your head down, apologizing too softly when your shoulder bumps his. You smell like vanilla and cheap drugstore shampoo. You hold a coffee cup like it’s the only thing anchoring you to Earth.

And that should’ve been it. He should’ve walked past you, like he does with everyone else.

But he didn’t.

Because you looked at him. Just once.

And you smiled.

Not some flirty thing. Not a “he’s hot” look. No—you looked at him like he was human. Like he wasn’t just a body with scars walking around on borrowed time.

Like maybe someone could love him, even if he didn’t think he deserved it.

From that moment on, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

At first it’s just your voice, your laugh, the way you never quite make eye contact unless someone makes you. The way you get flustered when people praise your work. How you always check twice that the microwave is actually off. How you twirl your pen when you’re thinking. He stores every detail. Files it away like evidence.

He learns your routines without meaning to. What time you clock in. Where you park. Which vending machine you like. What your grocery bags look like when you get off work.

And then he means to. He means to watch you. To learn you.

Because he needs to keep you safe. That’s what he tells himself. That’s always how it starts.

When he follows you home for the first time, it’s just to make sure no one’s tailing you. He tells himself that while he sits in his car across the street for two hours, watching your windows. Watching the light in your bedroom flicker. Watching your silhouette move. Watching your shadow get undressed.

He doesn’t touch himself.

He doesn’t need to.

He’s loyal. Monogamous. Faithful to a woman who doesn’t even know he’s hers.

And he is yours. In every sense. Every beat of his heart belongs to you. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know it.

You start finding little things. A better brand of coffee in the breakroom. Your broken office chair suddenly replaced. Your car tire mysteriously fixed when you were sure it was flat the night before. Your favorite sandwich waiting for you in the fridge with no name on it—but no one claims it when you eat it.

You don’t know it’s him.

You don’t know how much it calms him to do these things. How he holds your half-drunk coffee cup in his gloved hand like it's sacred, just to feel the warmth of where your lips once were. How he saves the wrapper of the gum you chewed, tucks it into his jacket pocket like a photograph.

It gets worse when he’s away.

When he’s knee-deep in rot and guts and monsters again, he hears your voice in his head. He reads your emails over and over, even if they’re not for him. He dreams about you begging him to come home, even though you don’t know he’s gone.

He kills faster for you. Survives harder.

Because you’re waiting. Even if you don’t know it.

And when he returns, looking tired and bruised, and you say something stupid like, “Rough day?”

He almost breaks.

Because you care. Even if it’s shallow, even if it’s nothing—it is something to him.

And it feeds that thing growing inside his chest. The thing with claws and fangs and your name burned into it.

He never means to cross the line.

But it happens. Of course it happens. All it takes is you crying one day. Quietly. In a hallway. And Leon finds you. Touches your shoulder. Offers you a handkerchief and silence. Just his presence.

You tell him your boyfriend broke up with you. You say it with a cracked voice, eyes on the ground.

Leon wants to gut the guy like a pig.

But instead, he hugs you.

He holds you like a man on fire.

And that’s when it truly breaks. Something in him. Something fundamental.

You’re his now.

After that, the jealousy gets sickening. He hates everyone who makes you laugh. Everyone who gets too close. Even friends. He wants to peel their eyes out. Crush their hands. Sometimes, he fantasizes about dragging you somewhere far away. Quiet. Safe. Just the two of you.

He wouldn’t hurt you. Never.

But he would chain you up if he had to.

Not to punish you. Never to punish.

To protect. To keep you safe from the world that breaks things. The way it broke him.

He watches you sleep more often than you’ll ever know. Sometimes in person. Sometimes through your webcam.

He buys you things you never ask for. Gifts that show up without a note. Perfume you once mentioned liking. A necklace that matches your birthstone.

Once, you come home to find your entire apartment cleaned. Nothing stolen. Just… cleaner. Neater. Lovingly touched.

You start to get scared.

But Leon doesn’t stop.

He can’t. He loves you. And love, to him, is everything. It's obsession, devotion, sickness, god. It's a bullet in the chamber with your name on it.

And if anyone ever hurts you—

They don’t live long enough to do it again.

You are the last light in his world of rot and smoke.

He would burn the planet to keep you warm.

And he will always be watching.

Just in case you forget that you’re his.

Forever.

There’s something desperate in the way Leon touches your name now. He types it into search bars like a prayer, like maybe the internet can tell him what you’re thinking. Where you are. Who you’re with. The idea of another man holding you, kissing you, looking at you the way Leon does—it makes his stomach twist. Makes his jaw clench.

You belong to him.

But it’s getting harder to pretend.

You’ve been acting different.

You’ve started locking your doors. Pulling your curtains shut. Changing your passwords.

He can feel you slipping. Slipping through his fingers like water.

And Leon—Leon doesn’t lose. Not people. Not you.

So he gets closer.

He takes a few vacation days and spends them camped outside your building in an unmarked car. It's not even that weird—he's done worse surveillance missions overseas. But this time it’s not a mission. This time it's personal.

He watches you go about your day like normal. Grocery run. Phone calls. Work. That little routine you built for yourself like a cage. You think it keeps the world out.

It doesn't.

Because he’s already in.

When he follows you on foot for the first time, it’s just to make sure you’re safe walking home. That’s what he tells himself.

But when your scarf slips off your shoulders and drops to the sidewalk, he picks it up like it’s something holy. Holds it to his face. Breaths it in.

You smell like vanilla. You smell like roses.

That night, he wraps your scarf around his knuckles like a bandage. Falls asleep clutching it. Dreams of you. Dreams of you soft and crying in his arms, telling him you love him, whispering you need him, “Don’t leave, Leon—please.”

He wakes up with his pillow wet from tears.

You start dating again.

Some guy from your friend group. You talk about him casually, like it’s nothing. Like it’s not a knife twisting in Leon’s gut every time your lips form his name.

Leon smiles when you tell him.

Tells you he’s happy for you.

But inside?

He’s already planning the guy’s funeral.

He follows him. Watches how he talks to you. How he touches you. How he doesn’t deserve you.

He thinks about how easy it would be to make it look like an accident. A mugging. A hit-and-run. Hell, Leon could make it clean. Professional. No trace.

But… no. Not yet.

Because you’re still looking over your shoulder. Still flinching at shadows. Still scared of the silence in your apartment.

You’ve noticed him.

You just don’t know it’s him yet.

So he waits. Watches. Smolders.

And then the guy hits you.

Not hard. Just a shove during an argument. You don’t report it. You don’t even tell Leon. You just show up to work with a shaky smile and red-rimmed eyes and act like everything is fine.

It’s not.

It never will be again.

Because Leon sees it.

And that night, the guy disappears.

You never hear from him again.

The cops never figure it out. You try to act like it’s not weird. Like he just left you. Like maybe it was your fault. Like you drove him away.

Leon lets you believe that.

He visits your place two nights later. Not as a stalker this time. Not hiding. No gloves. No mask.

He knocks on your door like it’s normal. Like he’s just your friend, checking in. Just Leon. Tired, sweet Leon. Blue eyes, tired smile.

He tells you he heard what happened. Says he wanted to make sure you’re okay.

And you let him in.

Because he looks at you with concern. Because he smells like gunpowder and leather and that shampoo he always uses. Because his voice shakes when he says your name.

Because deep down, you’re starting to feel safe with him.

Even though you know something's wrong.

He sits on your couch. You make tea. You talk.

And then—your hand brushes his when you hand him the cup.

And something shifts.

He leans in, too close. His breath is warm on your cheek.

He whispers, "I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

You don’t know what to say. You laugh awkwardly, try to change the subject. But he doesn’t move.

His hand catches yours.

His voice is hoarse. "You don’t have to be scared anymore."

You freeze.

And that’s when you know.

That’s when it hits you. The late-night creaks in the hallway. The lost scarf. The replaced groceries. The way your passwords kept resetting. The ghost of a man always watching.

You try to pull back. You try to make it seem casual.

But Leon is already smiling.

That same, tired smile he always gives you. That smile that hides too much.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he says. “You just didn’t see me.”

You realize you’re alone in your apartment.

You realize he locked the door when he came in.

You realize you’re not leaving tonight.

And yet…

You don’t scream.

You don’t run.

Because his eyes are wide and glassy, like he might shatter if you do.

He doesn’t hurt you.

No.

He just sits there. Holding your hand. Eyes closed.

Like a dying man praying to a god that finally touched him back.

You should have kicked him out.

You should have screamed, called someone, fought.

But instead… you let him stay.

You don’t even ask why he’s here. Why he’s saying these things. Why the man you trusted is looking at you like he’s not just in love, but drowning in it. Suffocating in you.

You stare at him, hand still in his, and all you can think is:

He’s beautiful.

Not handsome. Not cute.

Beautiful.

His cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

His lashes thick and black against that glassy blue.

His lips—soft, parted, like he’s waiting for permission to breathe you in.

And maybe it’s something about the look in his eyes—like he’s never been held right, never been kissed gently, never been told yes, I see you—that makes you hesitate.

Because maybe you’re a little fucked in the head too.

Maybe all those long nights of silence and unease did something to you.

Maybe you liked being watched. Liked the invisible eyes. The feeling of being wanted that much.

It made you feel safe. Precious. Loved.

You lean back against the couch, still watching him. Still trying to understand why you’re not afraid.

Your voice is soft.

“…How long?”

His eyes flutter shut like a prayer.

“Since the first time we meet.”

You let the silence stretch, heavy and strange.

His thumb moves across the back of your hand—slow, reverent. Almost worshipful.

Your lips twitch. You don’t know if it’s a smirk or a tremble.

“And you thought stalking me was the best way to deal with that?”

He doesn’t flinch.

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

You laugh.

A dry, bitter sound. “You broke into my apartment.”

Leon tilts his head, blue eyes wide and childlike. “But I never took anything.”

A beat.

“Except your scarf. But that’s different. It smelled like you.”

He says it so seriously. So softly.

You study him. Really look at him.

Not just the sharp suit or the clean cut hair. Not the tired lines around his eyes or the faint stubble on his jaw.

But the damage under it. The cracks. The haunted corners of a man who’s killed too much, lost too much, lived through hell and came out with bleeding hands and a single need:

You.

And here he is. On your couch. Holding your hand like he might unravel if you pull away.

And god help you, but you feel something twist in your chest.

Not fear.

Possession.

Because if you’re the only one he sees—if you’re the reason he’s still breathing after all this time—then maybe it’s okay.

Maybe he deserves you. Maybe he’s earned the right to want this bad.

Maybe you want him just as bad too.

So you lean in, slow. Testing.

He stills. Like prey. Like something caught and trembling.

He’s bigger than you, stronger than you, but somehow in that moment, he looks breakable.

Your mouth brushes his ear.

“You ever touch me without permission again,” you whisper, “and I’ll gut you.”

His breath shudders out. “Okay.”

You pull back, searching his face. His pupils are blown wide. His lips are slightly parted.

“…But if you ask,” you murmur, “maybe I’ll say yes.”

And that—that—breaks him.

He kisses you like a starving man, like he’s dreamed of this so many nights he’s memorized the shape of your lips. His hands tremble as they touch your face, your jaw, your hair.

Like you’re something holy.

He doesn’t push for more. Doesn’t undress you.

Just clings to you like he’ll stop breathing if he doesn’t. Like he’s finally home.

And you let him.

Because maybe you’re both broken.

Maybe you like the way his love curves around you like armor. Maybe you like the idea of a man who would burn the world to keep you safe.

Maybe you like how it feels to be the center of someone’s universe.

Maybe you’re tired of being lonely.

That night, you fall asleep tangled together on the couch.

And when you wake up, your front door’s already unlocked. Your windows are cracked open. Your passwords are reset. There’s a knife under your pillow.

And a note on the table in Leon’s handwriting.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t miss me too much. — L”

You smile.

Because now you know.

You’re not just being watched.

You’re being loved.

And maybe that’s worse.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[heemeiji]

random pngs

[orkdea]

"A kiss is the beginning of cannibalism." 。。。 　 ♥︎

運命の囁き —ㅤㅤ ㅤ▌│█║▌║▌║ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ🕷

[notaguia]

bios + pngs + symbols ❤️

ᅠ͟͟𝚝͟͟𝚞́͟͟ 🌳 𝚟𝚘𝚣 ✿ ͏ᣟ݂ ࿔⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ⋆

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𓆡𓆡*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡あなたは私がかつて知っていた人とは違う

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海のカタツムリ, 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚊_𝚌𝚘𝚕 🍀 💌.

[v6que]