#Executioner!Reader

[idkfitememate]

Furina Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Meka Reader x Furina

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 1.1k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Reader is implied to (technically) be a murderer, Furina gets scared, Reader is also implied to know original Hydro Archon

Imagine Furina exploring the deeper parts of the Opera Epiclese, only to find tunnels between the walls.

These tunnels led to crawl spaces beside vents, they lead to small doorways and openings to different rooms and spaces, some places even she’d never seen before.

After wondering for a while, she came across one more room she’d never seen.

Surrounding her on all sides was broken down and shattered Meka. Meka of all kinds. Dancing, protecting, alarming… and some she couldn’t tell off the bat.

Some that looked like perfect replicas of birds and one that looked like an opera singer. Eel like Meka and others.

It was a room of abandoned Meka.

Old and rusted, decaying and ruined.

As she walked through, every now and then one would scream or twitch, causing her to jump and whimper.

She passed a window and was shocked when she saw she was beneath the surface. Fish swam by the window, and an otter even passed by, knocking on the glass.

What really scared her was when a Meka turned on for a second, music blaring from its mouth before it broke down again.

The only light was from the windows the pointed out into the water around her, giving off an eerie deep blue glow throughout the room.

And then she finally made it to the end of the room.

There sat a thin and spindly Meka. It was tall, dressing in clothes that were a mixture between a circus ringmaster and a jester. Under its top hat wearing head as a face that was halfway between the comedy mask and the tragedy mask. It’s legs ended on needle points, small almost invisible holes on the end.

The most terrifying part, however, was that on its chest was an open window, and the inside was entirely filled with water from the Primordial Sea.

To be clear, its midsection was thin, it was made in a way where it mimicked a starving person, seeing its ‘ribs’ through its skin. On its back you could see its ‘spine’ poking through its clothes.

It was rusted and its once brilliant blue, white and gold clothes were worn and washed out with tears in the fabric. Small chips and cracks riddled its metallic skin, but beyond that, it was in perfect condition.

No missing limbs, no missing clothes - as far as she could see anyway - and over all it just looked a little worn. That’s all.

But as she crept closer, something seemed to flip on inside the odd Meka.

“Gnosis Found. Start Up Sequence Initiated…”

The Primordial Water inside your chest glowed a bright blue as it began to flow through your body.

What the God thought was cracks were actually intricate flowing lines to show the Water flowing through your metal bones. Your mask creaked as the joints in your face warmed back up after years of neglect. The mask spun to the comedy side and pressed down into your head, hiding the tragedy behind it. Your eyes lit up in blue as the water filled your skull.

Your joints moaned as you slowly stood. Furina summoned her sword and pointed towards you, though her hands shook terribly.

As you stood, you easily towered at a height of over ten feet. The smaller could hear the liquid sloshing inside you.

“Startup Sequence Complete. Running Diagnostics… Running All Systems…”

She could now hear mechanical whirling inside you. Then, your head turned a full 360°. Furina yelped and fell the to floor, still clutching her sword.

Then your face did a 360°, the face turning upside down then back. Then it flipped, revealing the tragedy mask, then back to comedy. Your chest did a 360°, your midsection did a 360°, and your arms did a 360° at each joint.

The Water in your chest drained and your chest transformed, metal claps coming out from your back and creating a holding place on your entire midsection. The girl could hear multiple things going on inside, going from flames to something metal.

After a few moments, the cage slipped away back inside you. You raised a hand and watched are your already think fingers somehow became thinner. Then they slipped into your thin hand, and flames burst out causing the girl in front of you to scream. Sharp scissor-like appendages came out and snipped at the air. Finally, a few syringes came out and filled with some kind of glowing substance. Five syringes and five colors. After, your thinned fingers came out before thickening again, not that it made much difference.

You did the same to your other hand, and Furina just watched. While she was scared, at the same time she was slightly intrigued. Though, she kept her sword close to her person.

When you reached your legs, you did practically the same thing with your hands. Thinning, fire, needles- though there were only two - and then back to the needles.

Your body shuddered and small metal sheets pulled away on different parts of your body. Long metal tentacles slithered out. Thin and grey they moved in circles. A few had small claps that opened and closed, and some that suddenly flashed with Electro energy. The metal tubes slid back into your body, but a few more with needles slid out. They filled with the same liquids then slid back in, the metal plates going back into place.

“All Systems Functional. Scanning… Archon Located. Persona Downloading…”

You stood still for a moment and let the Primordial Water flow through you, then stood up straight as you were leaning before.

“Persona Downloaded. One Moment Please…!”

Your eyes lit up brighter.

You jumped, making Furina scooted back.

You did a spin, small wheels sprouting from your feet. Your hat spun off your head. You preformed a few hat tricks, before spinning the hat back onto your head. A cane launched from somewhere on your body and into your hand. You even did a little dance as you wheeled forwards towards the now extremely shocked Furina.

“Hello Mon Archon lumineux, lustré, d'une beauté aveuglante et décoré avec amour! It is I, your Exécution Entièrement Automatisée et Divertissement Meka! At your service!~♡”

Furina stared at you before your hand suddenly disconnected from your wrist, a metal wire connecting the two. It flew to her hand, careful of the sharp points and pulled her up. A soft tune played from your body as you twirled her around before falling to your knees before her.

You pressed your cold, metal lips to her palm, a comedic kissing noise playing out as you lifted your head.

“Happy to be of service once more, Madame la mer étoilée. ~♡”

Furina swore she could hear the crying of a child coming from your Primordial Water Filled Chest.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I had the idea a long time ago for an Execution Meka, and finally finished it! There’s inspo from everywhere in here. A little of Spinel from SU, some Mommy-Long-Legs from PP, a little murder drone (I don’t watch it but know a little), also some Pearl from SU, and a little FNAF in there as well (if I write anymore/if any gets requested you’ll know why!) ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

I don’t know, just thought it’d be interesting, plus I feel like if any Nation had something that was made/born specifically for some type of execution directive, then it’d be Fontaine.

Again, I don’t know why, it just feels right. Also I feel like the laws are almost like the Queens Rules like from TWST, a few that make sense, and many more that are absolutely bullshit, so mixing entertainment and execution seems right up that alley! ☆૮꒰ˊᗜˋ* ꒱ა

* My luminous, lustrous, blindingly beautiful and lovingly decorated Archon - You to Furina

* Fully Automated and Entertainment Execution Meka - You to Furina

* Madam star-studded sea - You to Furina

(If any of this is off, blame the translator, same goes for all fics I write that have something other than English!)

[heartfullofleeches]

Jester Executioner Darling my beloved-

[Tw: Death]

Jester Executioner Darling who is more machine than flesh.

Living off the blood they spill and the cheers of their people.

Jester Executioner Darling who mutters beneath their breath as they ruthlessly maim and rip apart the accused. If one were stand close enough to them they'd swear the words spoken without a sound sound eerily similar to a prayer.

Royal Yan who realizes there is a heart underneath that cold, painted exterior.

Royal Yan who is forced by the hand of their birth givers to rip it from their chest.

Royal Yan who loses themselves the moment they've lost what makes them whole - a cruel, vicious tyrant born as their jester's body collapses to the howls of joy from the crowd.

Royal Yan from a bloodline that lives centuries beyond the average lifespan of their people - mourning for decades to come.

Jester Executioner Darling who is reborn as a gentle, soft hearted individual obsessed with clowns, jesters, and the like.

Royal Yan who recognizes them instantly by the swirls painted on their cheeks.

(I'll make a full fic for this if there's interest. I love my bloodthirsty Jester and their sweetie clown reincarnation)

[filthyslashertoad]

Could you do one for Pyramid Head?? Like him watching and stalking reader, being intrigued by them and him just… not feeling that they’re worthy of punishment, and instead should be protected.

Just a little Drabble or headcanon of Pyramid Head falling in love 🥰

I'm assuming that this is regarding the game/movie Pyramid Head and not DBD.

Pyramid Head Falling in Love

At first when he sees you, he doesn't sense any impurities within you because of that he begins to get curious.

For a while he follows you watching your actions and the choices you make and eventually one night when you're defending yourself against a split head.

He steps in to protect you and after that, he continues to stay with you.

His love for you begins with you randomly offering him little items or trinkets that you find during the day.

Overtime, he begins to join you for your wanders around the town during the day.

He enjoys watching how curious you are about certain things and how you point at objects and show him things that interest you.

At night when you lay in bed, he's typically not there because of all the damnation or wtvr. but when he is, you cuddle up to him, whether it be sitting in his lap, leaning on his side, or laying your head on his chest.

He enjoys physical touch so when you wipe blood or dirt off of him or hold his hand to take him somewhere he absolutely loves it.

[morwap]

I just ask for some Pyramid head smut. That man makes me SO weak 🙏🙏🙏

dbd setting!! he has like a tentacle tongue thing???

he stretched you out, no matter how many times you two did this you never got used to it. he was so big in every sense of the word, you didn’t know how it fit at first and at this point you just stopped wondering.

you tried to open your legs wider for him, the growls came from him seemed to be pleased with you trying to help.

the cold from the desks he had pushed together gave you goosebumps. your fingers circled around your clit as your cunt struggled around his cock.

you closed your eyes for a second, you felt his cold tongue lick up your thigh as he thrusted into you. you opened your else and he let out a purr, glad he caught your attention.

the executioner’s tongue licked at your clit once you moved your fingers for a moment then he licked up your body.

his gloved hands pushed your legs to your chest as he got rough, making the desks shake and his knife that he rested against a few desks beside you.

[yanderedbdimagines]

Could you write a few killers who already have their sights on someone, but become obsessed with the reader because they forfeit their own safety to protect others?

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I really like this request, and I picked four killers that I really wanted to write about the moment I started to play around with it. Someone else requested something similar, so it's two in one.

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Warning!: NSFW Elements present! Violence, blood, etc.

The Deathslinger

The wooden stock of Caleb’s custom-built rifle was warm in his grip, slick with a thin sheen of blood. One of theirs, but whose, exactly? He neither knew nor cared. The scent of gunpowder clung to the thick, stagnant air. Mingling with the acrid aroma of rust, dust and decay. The once-thriving outpost of Dead Dawg Saloon stood in eerie silence around him, its skeletal remains a graveyard of splintered wood, abandoned buildings, and the ghostly echoes of men long since put in the ground.

The trial was nearly at its end.

Three of them still clung to life, but their fate was sealed. Prey, reduced to desperation, staggering like wounded animals, their time borrowed and running thin. But there was one among them who refused to fall without a fight.

Yui Kimura.

She was fast, sharp-witted and stubborn as hell. Caleb had chased her across these damned streets, through shattered buildings and over the warped gallows. She had vaulted, juked, and twisted her way out of his reach more times than he cared to count. His patience had worn thin, his hands aching to cut this chase short.

Now, she was cornered.

His keen eye spotted her huddled low behind an old wagon, her body taut, fingers pressing against a wound he had delivered earlier. The crimson stain against her torn sleeve told him what he needed to know. She was weakening.

Caleb exhaled. Settling the weight of his rifle against his shoulder. One well-placed shot, one squeeze of the trigger and it would be over. He aligned his sights. His finger tensed.

And then you appeared.

You had been running toward safety, clear of his reach, your escape route wide open towards an opened exit gate. But instead of vanishing into the fog like any sensible survivor would, you turned. And ran back.

Straight toward the saloon.

Straight toward them.

Caleb hesitated.

His finger hovered over the trigger, his grin faltering for the briefest second. He had seen panic before. He had seen desperation, raw and wretched, as men clawed at the dirt to get away from him. But this? This was something else.

This wasn’t fear.

This was sacrifice.

Your reckless, stupid, godforsaken heroism sent a slow, amused snarl curling over his lips. He admired grit, respected those with enough iron in their spine to fight back, but what you had just done? That was pure foolishness.

He realigned his sights and steadied his aim. The rifle cracked, the harpoon slicing through the air in a deadly whistle.

Yui had no time to react.

But you did.

The iron spear punched through your shoulder, the impact ripping the air from your lungs before you even realized what had happened. Your world tilted as the force sent you sprawling backward, boots scraping against the dust-coated ground. The chain snapped tight and yanked you toward him with ruthless precision.

You hit the dirt hard.

A strangled cry tore from your throat as you skidded toward him, pebbles biting into your skin, the searing pain of the harpoon digging deep into flesh. Caleb didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just reeled you in, watching with an eerie calm as you clawed at the dirt, your body trembling from shock.

Then, at last, you were beneath him.

Looming, towering and waiting.

His shadow stretched over you, the barrel of his rifle lowering slightly, though the chain still remained taut in his grip. His ghostly, sunken eyes, shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, raked over you with something unreadable.

“You really are a damned fool, ain’t ya?” His voice was slow, deep, like rusted iron grinding over old bone.

Your chest heaved. You could feel the warm trickle of blood soaking your sleeve, the pain unbearable. But you had done it. Yui was gone. Running. Safe.

The realization flickered in Caleb’s gaze.

A chuckle rumbled low in his throat, though there was no real humor behind it. His amusement had curdled into something darker, something more intrigued. He pressed the sole of his boot lightly against your ribs. Not hard enough to crush, just enough. A reminder that you were at his mercy now.

“You got a death wish, darlin’?” His voice dipped lower, hushed, almost soft, like a secret between sinners. “Throwin’ yourself in front of my gun like that?” His fingers tightened around the rifle, muscles in his forearm tensing. “Ain’t had someone do that in a long time.”

You braced yourself for the hook. For the end.

But it didn’t come.

Instead, Caleb hesitated.

He had every reason to end this right now, to drag you screaming to a hook, to leave you gasping for air as the Entity claimed you.

And yet…

Something about the way you had offered yourself… Not to save yourself, but for another, struck something primal in him. A desire.

A possessive craving.

Something that made him want to keep you, not just kill you. Because that kind of loyalty? That recklessness?

It had potential.

That flicker of interest was your only chance.

With a sharp cry, you wrenched yourself free.

Pain shot through your body like wildfire, the wound in your shoulder ripping wider as you tore against the chain’s hold. The harpoon slid loose with a sickening squelch. And suddenly, the world was spinning as you stumbled to your feet and ran.

Caleb cursed, lunging forward, his chain snapping as he tried to grab you, but you were already sprinting, fueled by agony and desperation.

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t dare.

The saloon blurred around you, the ruined gallows looming like an omen. Caleb was already chasing, his boots pounding against the dirt, his rifle swinging downward to fasten his approach.

But then you saw it.

The hatch.

Your only way out.

With a final, ragged gasp, you threw yourself forward. The ground vanished beneath you as you plummeted, the fog swallowing you whole.

The hunt was over.

Caleb skidded to a halt, boots grinding against the dirt. The hatch let out a final thunk as it sealed itself, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.

For a long moment, he simply stared.

His chest heaved, not from exertion, but from something else entirely. Something unexpected. A slow, twisted grin curled over his lips, his jaw cracking in the process, his fingers tightening around the rifle’s grip.

That was new. That was interesting.

His fluorescent white gaze flickered over the empty spot where you had vanished.

Oh, he’d see you again. Because now? Now you were more than just another survivor. Now, you were his obsession.

And Caleb Quinn never let go of what he deems to be interesting.

The Executioner

The walls of Midwich Elementary School groaned under the weight of something ancient, something wrong. The air hung thick with decay, saturated with the acrid stench of rust and stagnant rot. It was as if the building itself had absorbed suffering, the very bones of its foundation tainted with the echoes of long-forgotten agony. Shadows pulsed unnaturally in the dim light, twisting along the broken tiles, whispering through cracked walls. The voices were not human.And through the heart of this nightmare, he pursued.

A towering monolith of flesh and metal. His form is an instrument of judgment. Silent, relentless and a monstrous man deemed inevitable. He did not stalk like a man, nor did he hunt like a beast. He moved with the certainty of something that had no need to rush, something that would always find you in the end. The Great Knife dragged behind him. Its rusted, monstrous edge carving deep gashes into the bloodstained floor. The sound of metal grinding against tile was unbearable. A screech that set nerves alight, yet it is no more deafening than the suffocating weight of his presence.

Adam Francis ran. He had spent his life educating others, priding himself on patience and on reason. But here? In this twisted parody of a school? Reason meant nothing.

He could feel it closing in behind him. The sheer weight of its presence bore down on him, thick and suffocating, like a shroud wrapping around his throat. He dared not look back, his breaths ragged as he pushed forward and forcing his burning legs to carry him further.

The knife swung.

A sharp whistle cut through the air. A death sentence descending upon him…

But then, you moved. The metal door of a locker slammed open, the dull light reflecting in your panicked gaze as you threw yourself forward, barreling into Adam’s side.

Your body crashed into his with the force of a desperate savior, knocking him off his path, sending him sprawling onto the cold tiles just as the Great Knife carved through the air.

A sharp and searing pain ignited across your back.

You barely had time to scream before the sheer force of the blow ripped you from your feet, sending you hurtling onto the blood-slicked floor. The cold, unforgiving tiles met you with a crack, the breath torn from your lungs as your limbs collapsed beneath you.

Your vision blurred. The pain was immediate, a blistering agony radiating across your spine where the blade had nearly cleaved you in two. Your fingers curled weakly against the ground, shaking, struggling to push yourself upright.

And then… Silence.

Adam’s footsteps faded into the distance, a fleeting comfort.

A shadow loomed over you. Impossibly vast and suffocating in its abyssal presence that swallowed everything in its path. The air itself quivered beneath his weight. The world recoiling as if it knew what lingered above you.

Slowly and deliberately, he stepped forward.

The Great Knife plunged into the ground beside you with a sickening crash, the sheer force rattling the earth beneath your trembling frame. The bloodstained steel quivered, buried deep in the floor beside your face. A statement.

Your breath came shallow and trembling, your body frozen as something huge, unseen, and utterly consuming filled the space between you.

The Executioner was watching you. From beneath that terrible, rusted helm, his unseen gaze bore into you. Studied you.

Your pain. Your sacrifice. Your willingness to suffer for another.

It was not fear that bound you in place.

It was the sheer, overwhelming intensity of his presence.

A gloved hand, which was massive and inhumanly strong, reached out. The white leather of his fingers, slick with blood, traced the line of your trembling jaw. The touch was shockingly delicate.

A shiver crawled down your spine. An instinctive reaction to the sheer power coiled within him.

He lingered. His fingers curled slightly, almost testing. Measuring the fragile warmth of your skin, the rapid thunder of your pulse against his fingertips.

For the first time, something shifted in the Executioner.

And in that moment, where pyramid head stood rigid, you did the only thing you could.

You ran.

Your body screamed in protest, every nerve aflame, but you did not stop. You pushed past the pain, past the overwhelming pull of the Executioner’s unseen gaze, and ran through the endless halls of this cursed place.

The shadows clawed at your heels, the darkness twisting with each turn. You could feel him following, his footfalls heavy. He did not chase in haste.  Because he did not need to. He was inevitable. You were no different, in that regard.

But then, the hatch.

Like a beacon in the endless dark, it hummed just ahead.

With the last of your strength, you threw yourself forward.

And the fog swallowed you whole.

The trial was over.

The Executioner stood at the edge of the empty space where you had vanished, the silence pressing against him like a vice.

His great knife, still drenched in fresh blood, lowered.

Slowly, his free hand curled into a fist, the phantom warmth of your skin still clinging to his fingers.

The moment played again in his mind. Your breathless defiance, your willingness to bleed for another. The way your body had trembled beneath his touch, not from fear… Not entirely at least. But from something else, too.

You had changed something.

And now, you were his to seek, and to find.

The rusted helm tilted slightly, as if listening to something far beyond human comprehension.

It was not over. Not even close.

Because no matter where you ran, no matter how many times you escaped… The Executioner would come for you this time.

And next time?

You would not escape him.

The Knight

The air was thick with the stench of burning wood and rotting flesh, smoke curling in dark plumes through the ruined remnants of Shattered Square. What had once been a thriving settlement of merchants and craftsmen had been reduced to a battlefield of blood and embers, its people long gone, their suffering permanently etched into the scorched ruins and broken cobblestone. The streets were littered with the remnants of a life now lost in time. Shattered pottery, splintered carts, iron tools abandoned in the dirt. All remnants of a struggle that had ended long before this trial began.  But the trial was not yet over.

Thalita Lyra ran.

Her breath came in ragged bursts and her limbs trembled with exertion as she tore through the crumbling marketplace, past the skeletal remains of merchant stalls and overturned wagons. Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs, a frantic drum of fear and survival.

And behind her, he followed.

The Knight.

A towering presence of steel and death, his body encased in armor blackened by soot and battle. His crimson surcoat, though singed and tattered from the flames, still billowed with every step, the deep red standing stark against the plated steel beneath. A war banner of a man, a conqueror draped in the colors of blood.

He did not rush. He did not need to. His Guards had done their part.  The Jailer’s chains had nearly dragged her down, the Assassin’s blade had come within a whisper of splitting flesh. But he did not rely on them. There was no evading him.

A shadow loomed.

A flash of steel.

The Knight’s zweihänder sliced through the air, a lethal arc of gleaming death.

Thalita’s body twisted at the last moment, barely dodging the strike, but she had nowhere left to run.

Her foot caught on debris, and she hit the ground hard, her body barely able to brace for the impact.

The Knight took one step forward, the weight of his presence pressing down like an executioner looming over the condemned. His zweihänder rose, the tip gleaming with flickering embers of the fires still burning in the ruins.

A sudden blur. The impact was sudden, your shoulder colliding with the steel plating of his side, the force of your weight crashing into his armored frame with everything you had. It was a fool’s act.

His steel-clad arm barely budged against the force of your impact, but it was enough. The zweihänder stopped mid-swing, the momentum of his blade shifting ever so slightly, his body barely shifting from your impact. You may as well have thrown yourself against a fortress.

But that single moment, that single hesitation, was all Thalita needed.

Enough for Thalita to push herself up, stumbling onto her feet, her body swaying as she regained balance. Without looking back, she turned and disappeared into the thickening smoke, her form swallowed by the ruins.

The air around you felt heavier, thick with something indescribable as the battlefield fell into silence.

The Knight's visor tilted downward, the slitted gaze beneath it locking onto you for the first time.

Your chest heaved, your heart a frenzied drumbeat beneath your ribs. Pain shot through your limbs from the force of the collision, but you did not dare to move.

You stood firm.

For someone else, you had placed yourself in his path.

For someone else, you had intervened.

Something shifted in the Knight’s imposing stance.

He had seen many things in these wretched trials. Cowards, warriors, fools who thought they could outlast him.

But this?

This was different.

His gauntleted fingers flexed against the hilt of his zweihänder.

The feeling drummed against his ribs, an unfamiliar rhythm that had no place in a battlefield. It was something new, something he had not felt in so long he had forgotten it existed at all.

His own heartbeat.

Steady. Strong. And faster than ever before.

He exhaled slowly, the sound of it low and controlled beneath his helmet.

For the first time, he did not feel like a warrior in pursuit of his duty. He did not feel like a mere extension of the Entity’s will, nor just another commander of its cruel games. You stepped back, already turning to run away.

With terrifying precision, his free hand lashed out. A hand that could crush bone, that had twisted the life from so many before.

The metal of his gauntlets was slick with blood as his fingers closed around your throat.

A sharp gasp left your lips. Your hands flew up, fingers soon clawing against the unyielding steel, desperately seeking a weakness, a gap, anything that would loosen his grip. But there was no weakness to find. You struggled, your body twisting, your feet digging into the dirt, trying to pull away- to break free. But his hold remained unyielding. He did not tighten his grip. He did not choke you, did not crush your windpipe as he so easily could have. He simply held you there. Like a hunter inspecting his catch.

As if he did not understand why he was doing it at all.

The battlefield around you still burned, the air thick with the scent of blood and smoke, yet he paid it no mind. His focus was solely on you.

Alive. Mortal. Temporary. The words tumbled through his head like an echo. Foreign and unfamiliar, pressing into his thoughts in ways he could not explain.

You were not supposed to matter.

And yet, as you struggled, as you fought against his grip, he remained still, his gaze hidden beneath his visor, locked onto you in silent contemplation.

You were so fragile.

His armor was cold and unyielding. The heavy plating pressing lightly against your skin. He could not feel the warmth of your body beneath his grip. His gauntlets prevented that.

But he could see the rapid rise and fall of your chest. Could see the way your pulse fluttered at your throat. Could see your face, up close for the first time. Not a fleeting glimpse across the battlefield.

Not another nameless soul in the Fog.

But you.

For a single moment, you stopped struggling.

You stilled beneath his grip, your breath ragged but steadying, your body no longer thrashing against his hold.

You were watching him now.

Just as he was watching you.

A war machine and a mortal. A killer and a survivor.

Then…

The distant roar of the final generator hissed through the burning air.

A sharp stinging pain tore across his grip as you wrenched free. Your nails digging into the cracks of his armor, breaking his hold with a sudden twist of your body.

The Knight’s fingers curled into a tight fist. The memory of your form still fresh against his palm.

Your figure blurred through the smoke and ruin, your form becoming smaller, vanishing into the distance as you sprinted toward one of the exit gates. One that is now open.

He followed.

His heartbeat still thundered in his ears, still demanded answers he did not yet understand.

He would not let you go so easily.

The exit gates gleamed ahead.

With the last of your strength, you threw yourself past them, the fog consuming you whole.

The trial was over.

Tarhos came to a halt.

His armored boots pressed against the dirt. The black spikes of the Entity’s barriers protruding from the ground and keeping him from taking another step.

His blade lowered, his breath slow and controlled beneath his helmet.

His body remained still, but inside, something was not.

That unfamiliar rhythm remained, refusing to fade, a presence in his body that he could not explain.

It lingered.

He lifted his free hand, fingers uncurling, staring at the space where you had once been.

His visor tilted slightly, as if contemplating, as if searching for something invisible.

His head turned back upward, his gaze lingering on the empty horizon where you had disappeared into the Fog.

He had cut down countless warriors, cowards, fighters and survivors alike.

He had hunted many who dared to defy him.

But you?

You had stirred something inside him.

A slow, deliberate step backward. Then another. He sheathed his zweihänder with practiced ease.

The battlefield still burned around him, but his mind was elsewhere. Because you had become something more than just another survivor. Something worth seeking. Something worth keeping.

The Knight turned, stepping back into the blackened ruin of Shattered Square.

He would see you again.

The Oni

The ancient halls of the Yamaoka Estate groaned beneath the weight of time. Wind screamed through broken shoji doors, carrying whispers of the dead across splintered wood and blood-slicked floors. Once serene, the garden had become a shrine to carnage. Maple leaves soaked in crimson and stone lanterns streaked with violence.

David Tapp was running.

He had been running since the moment he saw it. A monstrous figure emerging from the fog and roaring with the fury of a thousand condemned souls.

The Oni.

Not a man. Not even a killer. A legend of wrath made manifest.

David's lungs burned as he tore through the ruined courtyard, the world spinning around him. His legs were lead, his body bruised and battered and every step scraped against the edge of collapse. The splintered and rotting torii gate loomed ahead. A gateway to nowhere.

The Oni was upon him, crashing through the mists like a force of nature. His kanabo scraped deep trenches into the ground. A grotesque extension of his rage. His veins pulsed with glowing fury and his eyes locked on the prey just within reach.

He had him. He would end it.

That was until you suddenly stepped between them.

A blur. Fragile. Human. But in that instant, you were unshakable. You weren’t a survivor. You weren’t prey. You were defiance itself. Flinging yourself between death and the man it hunted.

The Oni struck without being able to stop himself. The kanabo came down with the force of a landslide, cleaving the air with a sound that seemed to tear the very sky apart. There was no time to scream, no moment to flinch. It was too fast.

It did not hit David.

It struck you.

Your body absorbed the brunt of the blow with a sickening crunch. Bones groaning under the unimaginable weight. You were lifted off your feet and hurled across the courtyard like a broken doll. The world spun as you hit the stones, then fell still. Blood filled your mouth. Your vision blurred, mud and blood mixing into an distinguishable haze. Pain wasn't even pain anymore. It was a roaring silence that swallowed your senses whole.

But David was safe.

That was all that mattered.

And yet, the killing blow never followed.

A shadow loomed. The Oni stood over you, massive and seething, his aura flickering with scarlet fury. His breath came in ragged gusts. Fogging the space between you. The kanabo trembled in his grip.

He stared.

And in that heartbeat, he knew.

He had waited a lifetime to feel something like this again. Not rage. Not vengeance. Something else.

But you moved.

Your fingers clawed into the cold, wet earth, slipping once, then finding purchase. The taste of blood coated your tongue, metallic and thick. Your chest heaved as your breath rasped like a dying fire, but still you pulled one knee under you, then the other. You forced yourself upright, trembling, swaying… And standing.

It wasn't just pain that kept you grounded. It was purpose. A desperate, flickering will to survive.

He saw it.

The thought alone of you escaping him sent a surge of fury tearing through his soul. His veins flaring like molten rivers of crimson.

The Oni's eyes burned brighter, a mixture of surprise and rage twisting within the holes of his mask. For a moment, he hesitated, his kanabo lowering ever so slightly.

Then he surged forward, a growl tearing from his throat, muscles flexing as he lunged like a living avalanche. But mid-stride, his fury refocused. He did not want you dead.

With a swift motion, he discarded the kanabo, letting it crash into the earth behind him. From thin air, he drew his katana. Sleek, precise, restrained. It gleamed faintly. A blade not meant to kill this time, but to cut a path to capture.

He wanted you alive.

He would take you with one hand if he had to.

But he was too late.

Your body lurched forward, driven by instinct and terror, your feet dragging through leaves and broken stone as you fled through the mist.

You kept moving, despite the heavy strides that followed you from up close. Lungs on fire, every step pulled from a reserve of strength you didn’t know you had. Stones slipped beneath you. The world narrowed to the gate ahead.

And you ran through it.

Behind you, The Oni roared. But not in triumph.

He reached the edge of the open field, only to be met by the Entity’s cruel barrier. Ebony spikes erupted from the ground, halting him mid-charge. His katana struck one of them with a deafening clang, sending sparks into the eternal night.

He growled low, the sound echoing like thunder trapped in his chest. His aura pulsed around him, wild and furious, but restrained.

He would not forget this.

He had waited a lifetime to feel something other than rage. And now, it was already slipping through his fingers.

He glared into the darkness where you'd vanished, the fog already swallowing your trail. But the trial was not over. Not for him.

He would find you again. Inside the Fog. Inside one of his trials.

And next time, there would be no escape.

[fishyvamp]

“make me small”

Dead by Daylight Pairings: The Executioner X GN!killer!reader Rating: M | Mature | NSFW 18+ Word count: 1.5k+ CW: degradation, heavy consensual violence, light fingering, sub!reader, monster fuckery, choking, denial, subspace, thigh fucking Summary: You're pent up and need someone to put you in your place.

The rage feels like fire in your veins as you stalk through the dark fog, Knives along your chest feeling just a bit too heavy. The dark voice inside you purred and praised you for your good work. You felt too big, as if the space inside you wasn’t enough to contain the fire that threatened to spill out and burn everything in its path. Mindlessly you had found yourself in front of Midwich, the elementary school decrepit and falling apart even if it was in better shape out of trials. You rolled your shoulders, the realization whispering exactly what you needed, Him. 

Mind singularly focused, you stormed in growling lowly clothes still soaked in blood from the trials. You could tell He had visitors. You’ll just chase them off, tell them to find somewhere else to loiter. Someone else to waste their time with.

Pyramid head sitting down, sharpening his blade, on a chair comically small compared to his mass frame. Head tilting upwards instantly knowing why you were here. The room feels colder, his visitors bolting from the room, the legion members jumping windows and fleeing. You did wonder why they were here, but the thought vanished the moment the large man stood up jamming his blade into the floorboards before approaching you with heavy boots thumping with each step. 

Your eyes are wild as you look up feeling ready to explode. The Executioner was unphased by your posture, everything at this moment was routine. When you first arrived no one would go near you. The blood lust built up after each trial with no downtime, no way to get it out, and no real release like you had in your world, the rage lashing and attacking anything that spoke or so much as moved in your direction.

The only one who made any headway in calming you was Him. He pushed you harshly against the wall, a massive hand drifting up your throat, and pressing harshly, you gasped for air, but you didn’t fight. You never did, but the lack of oxygen brought a warm fuzzy feeling in your head that had your eyes fluttering, “Tell me what you need.” he growled, voice echoing in the steel frame.

“I’m too big,” you grunt, “make me small.” the words would almost be a plea if your face wasn’t twister anger, and rage. You can hear a huff echoing against the steel, the clock tower chimes air raid horn going off, the pound of the bell loud and clear shaking the school, echoing in your chest. ”Beg,” his voice low and breathy. Your skin prickles as a shiver overtakes you.

You close your eyes focusing on your breathing, on your heart, on the way the cold air of the destroyed classroom felt. “Please…” you speak softly, your body relaxing, he presses into you harder. It’s like he wants to crush you. “Please what?” He demands squeezing your throat tighter. “Please, use me. Fuck me. Crush me, choke me. Just please remind me of my place.” You look up desperate, eyes half-closed as you struggle to breathe. “Where is your place?” he asks, loosening his grip just ever so slightly.

“Under you,” you manage to breathe out. Your core clenches hearing him laugh, grabbing you by the throat and slamming you onto the teacher's desk. You watch as he removes his frame a black dripping shapeless void where his head should be, glowing white eyes, a long tongue flicking around wildly trapped in his mouth with teeth too sharp to be human. The large man grabs your thighs pulling them apart just so he can grind into you feeling the heat of your sex it has him throwing his head back groaning. 

“This what you want?” He growls leaning forward, elbows resting on the creaking wood, caging you to the desk. You nod your head silently, craning your neck to look at where his eyes should be. “This all you good for.” he hisses as if this very request offended him. His hips grind harder, one hand supporting your back while he rough grips the back of your skull. “Just a nasty whore.” Your eyes close softly, gasping for breath you focus on the way his clothed cock rubs against you. The way it nudges against your sex. Grinding through the very fabric that separated the two of you.

“Sinful,” Pyramid head gunts slamming your hips together. His tongue coaxed your mouth open pushing in, wet appendage filling your throat, you gag and buck. Eyes watering as you try to swallow all of him. Desperate to please him. Desperate to make today the day he finally fills you with that heavy cock.

The Executioner purs feeling you choke on his tongue, exploring deep inside you stopping before he tastes the acid of your stomach. He enjoys the way you struggle to breathe with him inside you. The tasty feeling of you fighting yourself not to try and get him off of you. He enjoyed the conflict that rooted itself inside you. He enjoyed the way that bloodthirsty monster inside you fades the more he forces you down. Forces you to take him and everything he gives you. The giant man twists and curls his tongue inside you, the appendage curling up and bulging in your throat. His gaze was intense as he glowered down at you. Watching you try to claw at him, try to breathe, everything about you desperate.

He pulls out of you softly. Chuckling at you, watching you gasp for breath tears staining the corners of your eyes. Beautiful, he thinks flipping you onto your stomach and yanking your pants down just enough to expose that pretty ass for him. His fingers dipped down to trace your hole pressing in slightly as he just shook his head. He can feel that you’re trying, that you want this, but not yet. 

You whine feeling him press a thick finger into you curling and twisting hitting your sweet spot having you arch your back mewling loudly, desperately clawing at the desk struggling to find purchase anywhere. “Quiet,” he growls, pressing your head into the desk. Large hand pressing almost painfully down, You can hear him shifting fabric before a heavy cock finds its way to the curve of your ass gliding between your cheeks. Slow and gentle, your mind focuses solely on the feeling as you try to lift it.

“Please,” you whine, face tight as you fight your body trying to not come off as pathetic as you feel. “Please,” you repeat. He leans forward pressing you down with a large hand still pinning your face harshly against the desk. “No,” you moan, feeling the way his voice rumbles against his back. 

“Not this time.” His fingers leave your hole, making you whine in discomfort from not being filled anymore. you have to bite your lip to stop the desperate sobs that threaten to escape. The beast shifted once more, pressing himself between your thighs. “Be good and squeeze for me.” he hisses thrusting slowly pre cum lubing between your thighs as he moves slowly groaning darkly as his hips move. His long tongue falls out feeling you press your thighs together tightly. Sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. You need this, you need him. You could feel your empty hole twitching desperate for more than the finger that has long left it.

Pyramid head just chuckles, his hips moving at a steady pace, the cock was easily the size of your forearm, you didn’t care if it wouldn’t fit, you still wanted it, still wanted to feel it burn as it stretched you. Still wanted to have it split you open like the needy whore you were. You just had to settle with feeling as it rubbed against your sex. Your juices leaked onto it as he continued to thigh fuck you. “Please,” you were starting to feel like a broken record. He picks your head up slamming into the desk, pain blooming from your head. “No!” he growls, moving faster, cock twitching between your thighs. 

“You listen the first time I tell you.” His words were dark, the world spinning. That actually fuckin hurt. You gasp for breath feeling him falter. He must be close, the thought all but confirmed as you are yanked off the desk and forced to the floor the cock inches from your face. A thick hand frantically stroking the cock while the other held you in place. You look up, tongue falling out as you anticipate what he wants you to do cum splashing on your face as he covers you with his spend.

It doesn't take long before he pulls against his groin, growling at you, “clean your mess up whore.” He speaks in such a dark and low tone you can feel it vibrating down your spine. You look up, eyes half-lidded as you begin to lick the softening shaft. The Executioner groans as you work your magic. This was just the start of a very long night. You were completely feral when you came in and no doubt would need a lot to silence that pesky voice in your head. He'll take his time, and you'll enjoy every second of it.

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober - Day 7 (Judgment)

Pyramid Head x Male!reader

Your heart pounds in your chest as you run as fast as you possibly can. Your chest tightens as your lungs burn, pushing back all pain to the back of your mind as you try to escape the monster that wants you dead.

A man with a pyramid for a head.

A low growl rumbles in the creature's chest as it closes in on you. Its massive strides closing the distance between you two. Each step it takes shakes the ground beneath you.

You should've gone with James. You should've stayed where you were. You should've...

A gasp leaves your mouth as you stumble on a crack in the ground, and despite regaining your balance quickly, you glance behind you to see that the beast is right behind you

It raises its great knife, preparing to strike you down like the countless souls before you. It swings its arm back, ready to slice your body into two pieces.

Screaming, you duck down and hear a loud whoosh as the blade cuts through the air above your head. Your ears ring from the force of the blade slamming against the lamppost beside you. The post creaks under the pressure before breaking apart.

You take the moment to make some distance, your heart skipping a beat as you realize how close death was to claiming you.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Your voice cracks as you shout at the top of your lungs. Fear courses through your veins like electricity, making each breath feel like daggers slicing through your throat. Your heart races faster than it ever did before. Every beat feels like a explosion in your eardrums. Sweat drips down your forehead and pools in your neck, staining your shirt.

You take a sharp turn into an alleyway, sprinting towards the end of it, but as you reach the end, you find yourself staring at a dead end. Panic sets in as you realize that there's nowhere else to run. Your pulse quickens even more as adrenaline surges through your veins.

You're trapped like a rat.

You hear its stomping as the monster catches up to you, trapping your only way out. It looms over you with its massive frame, casting a shadow over your small form.

You take one step back, then another, and then a few more until your back hits the wall.

Its 'head' tilts slightly as it studies you, as if expecting something from you.

Then again, maybe it is simply waiting for you to break down. To beg for mercy.

James.... I'm sorry. I hope you find your wife.

And with that final thought, it closes the gap swiftly, moving far quicker than you imagined a beast that size could move.

Before you can react, a large hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly against your windpipe. Your nails dig into its forearm as you attempt to pry it away from you. But it's like trying to move a mountain.

You immediately stop struggling as it presses the end of the blade's handle against your stomach, almost as if warning you. Struggling to draw in air, you and the monster stare at each other.

Minutes pass, and even though it hasn't moved or loosened its grip around your throat, it remains completely still.

Then suddenly, it pulls away slightly, raising its massive blade.

With dread settling in your stomach like lead, you squeeze your eyes shut.

...but nothing happens. No pain. No death.

Instead of feeling the searing agony of steel cutting through flesh, you hear a metallic thud followed by a low rumble. Cracking open your eyelids slightly, you notice that it had thrust its blade into the ground beside it.

It watches you closely for several tense seconds before slowly reaching out to touch you with its hand.

You instinctively try to pull away from its touch, but its grip on your throat tightens slightly, holding you in place as its fingers trace lightly across your chest.

As its hand continues to travel further down your body, you again try to struggle against his grip. It doesn't try to correct your behavior. Not that it needed to.

Your breath hitches in your throat as its hand slides under your shirt. Its burning touch sends a wave of unease through your body, threatening to engulf you fully like fire.

Maybe you'll spontaneously combust and be free from this.

Whatever it was searching for, it seemed to have found it as its hand begins tracing over the jagged scar that runs under your left breast as if trying to reopen it. You wince in pain as its rough touch irritates the sensitive tissue surrounding the old wound.

After a few moments, its hand shifts over to the matching scar under your right breast. Its touch lingers longer here compared to the last one, almost tenderly caressing the marred flesh before pulling away suddenly.

Withdrawing its blade from the ground, it turns away and starts to walk out of the alleyway. Yet instead of releasing you, it drags you along by the neck. Its coarse hands digging into your skin uncomfortably.

"Let go of me," you choke out between coughs, attempting to pry its hand loose from around your throat. Although it doesn't seem interested in releasing you anytime soon.

You frantically try to dig your heels into the ground in an attempt to slow it down, but the behemoth seemed unfazed. As you finally stop resisting, one thought throbs through your head...

Where was it taking you?

Scumtober 2024 Masterlist

[5eraphim]

Okay so this has been stuck in my head for WEEKS and I finally decided to stop bein scared and ask you to write about it lol

So as a DBD player, I got to thinking that it would be kinda cool if survivors could fight the killer even if it was just once per round and then this scenario popped into my head.

How would Killer react to Survivor!Reader biting them as a defense/distraction/etc? My favs are The Shape, The Executioner, and The Mastermind! Headcannons would be amazing but if you could maybe branch out to make one a one-shot kinda deal? Maybe NSFW if you feel spicy?

P.S your writing and fics LITERALLY give me life YOU’RE SO GOOD 😭🧡

My deepest apologies for how long this has been rotting in my inbox, I thought this prompt was a lot of fun, and again, I'm sorry it took forever for me to get around to answering this. Hope you enjoy all the same!

Characters: Michael Meyers, Albert Wesker, Pyramid Head (Dead By Daylight)

Rating: R (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, GO PLAY OUTSIDE!!)

Content Warnings: Yandere, smut, noncon, stalking, choking, violence, sacrificed to the entity, predator/prey dynamics, obsession, sadism and masochism, reader is kept gender neutral

Word Count: 1.6k

MASTER LIST

TIP JAR

The Shape

It's almost too predictable for a killer like Michael Myers to wind up in a situation like this. As the survivor he brought with him into the entity's realm made physical payback, her signature, Micheal can't help but attract the "feisty" type.

A man hiding behind a mask, Michael competes with fierce determination and an almost primal compulsion to hunt, stalk, and slaughter like no other. Of the three, Myers would be the most likely to anticipate physical retribution from a survivor, according to him, all part of the hunt. 

Myers prefers to remain hidden by shadows as long as possible, awaiting his perfect opportunity to go in for a decisive kill. But remaining hidden in the dark is a luxury you don't have at your disposal on account of being Myer's obsession.

You didn't want it to come to this. Even before the match started, you prayed to fight any killer, but Myers, your disappointment only grew as you realized minutes later that you were his obsession.

The idea of fighting back physically was a spur-of-the-moment decision; you knew you only had one chance of pulling this off, and if you missed, your fate would be sealed. You usually weren't one to opt for such a risky strategy, but you were too blinded by your fear of Myers. You would do anything to get away.

Even though you couldn't see him, you could feel Myers' eyes locked in on you, no doubt following and trailing you from behind. The paranoia was torture, but you forced yourself to stay strong and ignore Myers, to focus solely on supporting your team. 

When Myers inevitably tracked you down and caught you after getting distracted by something else, you had so much pent-up nervous aggression that you couldn't hold back your body's instinct to fight back.

Fear overtook any lingering traces of rationality as you struggled blindly against Myers, but you had just enough determination reserved to take aim and fire a single punch, aiming for his head, landing against the cheek of the mask; it was just enough to disorient him long enough for you to wriggle free.

Despite the offense, Myers didn't think you had it in you to fight back like that. It excited him! As though you were holding back on him before, and now you were starting to fight back like you really meant it!

After enduring the pressure of being his obsession and succumbing to the fear of it all, you little humanity left to hold onto, almost nothing but your primal fight or flight instincts; it was truly a beautiful sight for him to behold.

The next time he cornered you, Myers decided he ought to follow your lead, only instead of going for your head, he would go for your throat, not with the knife, but with his hand.

And for just a moment, he'd keep you there. Only needing one hand around your throat to keep your entire body pinned into place on the wall behind you. Wood planks made contact with your back at odd angles, the dull pain radiating up and down your spine as you were face to face with Myers, close enough to hear his breathing behind the mask while he observed your face- knowing you believed he was seconds away from slitting your throat. 

Likely, as Myers holds you in such a compromising position, he takes out all his own pent-up frustrations on you. Leaving bitemarks all over your neck and shoulders while he quickly shreds the clothes from your body.

Just as you gave into primal fight-or-flight instincts, he was giving into his own primal urges. He'd won the hunt, and now it was time to let his libido take charge. Half-undressed, he ruts against you, and you can hear his heartbeat racing. Maybe even feel his body warming as his blood flows rapidly, but he remains as silent as a corpse.

After having his fun, Myers will take great pleasure in sacrificing you to the entity. Even if he couldn't take down everyone on your team before this, the opportunity to sacrifice his obsession in such a thrilling bloodbath overshadowed any regular trial as a ruthless killer. 

The Mastermind

It wouldn't take more than an instance of fighting back physically against him for Wesker to decide to hunt you down right away. He would've never suspected another survivor would be bold enough to try something like this on him. Wesker wants to know what makes you think you're strong enough to try something like this.

His reaction would be determined primarily by what point in the trial you try this.

Albert might think it's insufficient enough to ignore if it's early or if he's doing well.

But given how infamous of a hothead he can be, more often than not, any time you try this, expect to be met with hostility.

Wants to see you go from physically resistant to begging him for mercy. On the outside, he pretends to see brats like you as nothing but a petty annoyance to be dealt with, but on the inside, he absolutely loves doing this; keeping the weak in check is how he stays strong.

Wesker doesn't exactly get any legitimate pleasure from being hurt, but he will tap into the pain when fighting back. He does this partly out of loyalty and obligation to the entity but equally out of a petty vengeance to hurt you back twice as hard as you hurt him.

Wesker waits patiently before fighting back, taking care of those annoying teammates first to give you his undivided attention. As well as strategically lying in wait after the confrontation before striking while your guard is down. 

The very first thing Wesker does after tracking you down is wounding you exactly where you hurt him, though he's sure not to let you go until he's drawn blood.

Don't expect him to show you any mercy from here. Might go as far as pushing you down, wiping his shoes against your back as you writhe below, trying to squirm out from under his boot.

It's good foreplay for him, seeing the foolish survivor who dared to fight back, bleeding and barely alive. He won't fuck you in the muck for his own sake, of course. Wesker will push you up against a wall face first while he is taking you from behind.

If he's feeling especially good after sweeping a trial, he might leave you with just enough life to hold onto while you crawl to the hatch. More likely, you won't live long after such a brutal session. But even if you don't die, Wesker will be sure to leave you so beaten and tormented you'll regret trying to fight him like that and won't want to try again. Even if Wesker secretly hopes you will.

The Executioner

While the others welcome the resistance, even if only to crush it, Pyramid Head would likely resent you for trying to physically challenge the killer and disrupt the natural order of things. It was an injustice, and it was imperative to punish you for this.

Imagine playing as a "Gen-Jockey" survivor, the kind of teammate who provides the bare minimum to the rest of the team, putting your own survival above the lives of your teammates, the type of survivor Pyramid Head hated the most. A coward.

All that to say, it was an extreme shock after he cornered you and felt your teeth sinking into the exposed flesh above his glove. 

While you were combative and aggressive now, Pyramid Head knew you couldn't keep this up forever. You were, to him, nothing but a coward deep down. Even if you wanted to pretend like you had any real fight of your own, it wouldn't be long before you surrendered to your own exhaustion. Perhaps he was even doing this as his way of offering you a "fair shot" to find your way out before he got his hands on you. Like he would ever let that happen.

Since you tried to bite him earlier, he'd punish you by fucking you from behind, bent over a broken desk crushing your face against the hardwood surface. He was an inescapable force while you were powerless to stop any of this from below.

Would only give into his beastial nature to hurt and fuck you if he's already managed to kill the rest of your team. It's not his style to slaughter his obsession until he's taken care of the others, and he doesn't want to let anyone pass by without judgment.

If he doesn't get this opportunity during the trial, Pyramid Head will fantasize about killing you off last while staying buried inside you, feeling your pathetic body crumbling and going limp beneath him.

Paradoxical feelings of sadism and protectiveness for you as Pyramid Head is obsessed with being the only one alloweed to hurt you, judge your soul, or torture you. But all this cruelty is undermined by his motivation to keep you from getting hurt by others.

He is most likely to let you live after making love because the instant gratification of an orgasm, as well as the satisfaction of punishing you himself, will keep him from sending you up to the entity. 

Consider this Pyramid Head's very niche kind of post-nut clarity.

[krypticcafe]

any chance for dbd killers (especially myers) reacting to a partner who wants to take the relationship real slow? how would they take it? would they push, or be respectful? patience? bonus for cuddle time 💜✨

DBD killers w/a partner who wants to take it slow

rating: teen

character(s): GN!Reader, Shape/Michael Myers, Ghostface/Danny "Jed" Olsen, The Executioner/Pyramid Head, The Cannibal/Bubba Sawyer, Legion/Frank Morrison

warning(s): suggestive themes, canon-typical violence and behavior, language

a/n: pardon the unannounced hiatus, cue the usual fanfic writer life drama, gonna be dusting off the request box :]

Michael

Thank. GOD. He's not gonna say it, but Michael's beyond relieved because he's just not comfortable jumping into things, or anything at all. He likes consistency, not change, so he really needs the time to even just adjust to the fact that he's actually letting this relationship happen (no offense). Even the first time he let you live, he felt all irritated about it because it just felt wrong. But after he saw you leave med packs for him from time to time, lurk behind him while he was off chasing others, he started to grow a little more lenient towards you, much to your pleasure.

After you see the approval in his eyes, you're relieved, too. It's not that you thought Michael wouldn't take the suggestion well, it's that it was the first time you two were seriously discussing your relationship. Neither of you put a label on yourselves, you just both knew that you liked each other a little more than you did with other people. Kind of like a silent agreement.

But now you take confidence in knowing you can be as slow as you want with him, after all, you both have all of eternity to work it out, or at least until the Entity decides to do something about it. Though seeing as they haven't stopped you so far, you're probably fine for now.

It's a long time until you guys show any actual physical affection. The closest it's been is Michael getting revenge on people who use you as bait and grabbing your wrist to pull you to a safe spot while you help clean his gear during visits in between matches and lean on him or he holds you in his lap while sitting in comfortable silence (you've caught him falling asleep on a few occasions).

Expect it to take a while more if you guys actually want to get intimate, he's just too much of a 'business first' guy.

All in all, mission success.

Danny

"Like how slow?"

You should've expected this. While Michael is relieved, Danny, well, he doesn't take it as well. He's one of the clingiest of all the killers and makes it difficult not to be paranoid all the time of someone finding out. He's a hands-on type of guy and this... is kind of torture for him.

After some insistence and some pleading on your side, he'll give in, but it's not guaranteed. He has to resist his urges like some little kid trying not to open Christmas presents a day early. All day, every day, he's just thinking about smothering you in his touch, and it gets him frustrated (in both ways), so he has to take it out somehow.

You can literally see it in real-time when he's cutting through survivors like butter, not even bothering to act playful or make quips, just snarling and hissing at them like a feral cat. You make a mental note to give him a bit of something after the match, like a kiss or some cuddle time.

Other than that, he whines. A lot. Like it's so fucking annoying please make him shut up with a kiss or something, the killers can't stand hearing him bitch incoherently and you can only take so much of it as well. Also, he's a manipulative ass to expect him to be pushy and try to pressure you here and there.

It's kinda funny though, in a way you sorta conditioned him to feel even more euphoric when you do anything romantic with him. He's asking, no, begging for extra kisses, holding you real tight when you cuddle, and you swear you can feel him melting under your touch. Heart eyes and all, he's so obsessed with you.

Whenever you let him know you're ready to move things forward, expect him to be a little overexcited about it. Like if you finally let him get in your pants, he's gonna work you like there's no tomorrow, all that pent-up energy is flooding out the door.

I'm sorry, but you're literally caging an animal by asking *the* Ghostface to take it slow. He's only gonna get more hungry over time.

Pyra

Don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think he cares. Like he's fine taking it as slow as you want, it's not a huge deal to him, and really, he has no room for judgment outside of killing people. You'll ask and he'll respond with the usual metallic grunt and boom. Problem solved.

In all honesty, it's probably good to take it slow with him if you want a nice, loving relationship with him. Because of his lack of experience, fast-paced relationships might just be too much for him to deal with, but taking your time lets him process how it even works. Dates, kissing, and anything beyond that aren't in his area of expertise, nor did he ever expect it to be, it's not his primary purpose.

This allows him to welcome something new in his life for once beyond the mundane life of Silent Hill and the matches in the realm of the Entity. He's not used to actually having personal priorities, so the adjustment period progresses along with your relationship. He's quick to find out that he really likes physical contact with you, too.

Most likely you'll be taking the initiative with him, teaching him the little things you like to do like cuddling and holding each other close. He really likes that, being able to just envelope you and keep you safe and close in such a comfortable manner.

I don't he exactly has a concept of... 'horny', it's more of a hunger I guess? A hunger to be close and in your presence, so he kinda has times when he'll stick to your side like a big old scary guard dog. If you wanna indulge him a little, go ahead.

Yeah, I can't really say much for him other than it is what it is.

Bubba

He tries his best to be patient, he really does. Bubba's more than understanding about it, because he's already elated that you love him back in the first place! Though sometimes he just really wants to pepper your face in kisses and smother you in love, pick you up and swing you around in his arms, take you to some of the nicer parts of the Entity's realm, he almost forgets they all live in some sick game.

Horrible advice, but try not to be so... cute around him. I like to think he has cuteness aggression, so it's very hard to keep his hands to himself when you look so... so... nope, no, Bubba, focus, you're supposed to be chasing Ace right now- oooo but don't wanna just eat them up and make them yours!

He wants to do so much with you but it's kind of for the best to keep him from rushing into things. Even he's a little worried that he'll tire you out from his eagerness to get things moving. Hell, he even spooked himself when he found himself daydreaming about marrying you mid-match. He can't help it though, it's the southern love in him that gets him all antsy (he thinks you'd look very nice in a suit or dress if you're wondering).

Yeah, and don't think you don't know either, not when he's humming "Here Comes the Bride" while sawing up Kate in halves in front of you.

Oh, and you thought the wedding fever was bad? Wait until the baby fever kicks up. Since day one of falling in love with you, this man has been dreaming of church bells, vows, cribs, pacifiers, and all that. He's never told you it in full detail but you just know he does. Whether you want it for your relationship or not, he still loves you nonetheless.

Despite it all, you help remind him to appreciate what's in the moment, that you both have an eternity together in damnation to get to that point. So long as time and the Entity are on your side, he's more than happy to take things slow with you and he'll be sure to enjoy every moment you have together.

Frank

"You're joking, right?"

No surprise here either, Frank doesn't take it all too well. He's an impatient bastard and mostly thinks with his dick more than his head sometimes. To be honest, he never even anticipated getting into a relationship with you. He thought most of the survivors were annoying and unlikable in their own ways, he even found you irritating at some point just not as much as the others, or so he'd claim.

You try to explain to him why and unfortunately, it does result in a back and forth between you two, the other members of Legion even chiming in on your defense. It's until you point into his face that you both literally have forever in this endless hell so "what's the big deal about us taking our time" and for him to just think about it for a bit.

And yeah he does, but it takes a while for Frank to wrap his head around it. He's used to just getting what he wants, jumping into things headfirst, and figuring out the details from there. His whole philosophy defies normalcy, defies everything he hates about Ormond and the banal, suburban society it is. He lives for the rush, the excitement, the recklessness. Time and care in a relationship remind him too much of a "normal life".

But the others remind him there's nothing normal about where they are now. Hell, they get to wreak havoc and chaos in the trials, it's everything they dreamed of. Making a statement for themselves. And frankly (no pun intended), he likes you a little too much to let it go. So instead of rushing himself into things, he finds a new thrill in testing the limits. He teases you with lingering touches and suggestive remarks, leaves you wanting, craving just a little more of that.

He clicks his tongue, "I thought we were taking it slow?"

That little bitch. He's got you wrapped around his finger and you know it. But don't think you're the only one aching, no. Call him a sadomasochist because it's practically killing him too, how much he has to hold back. Yet it's such a rush, keeping his hands to himself and itching for the day when you let him do whatever. He. Wants.

[diejager]

OMG FINALLY!! *muach muach* oh my actually I'm a bit nervous and excited now lolol. Uhm—well since your request is open can I have Pyra head and Michael Myers (separately) chasing survivor!reader in trial but they just ignore the other survivors, solely chasing reader till the end of game. Something dark and lustful lingers around those two killers and you just don't know why! By the end of the game, the other survivors manage to escape to the campfire safely, however reader got stuck alone with the killer. When they finally catch you, oh shall you know all your hopes may shatter to pieces. You think this is the end, in the hands of ruthless killer chosen by Entity. But why their face (in pyra head's case it's his helmet) getting closer to your face and what make it's more confusing something comes out of that mask (i.e. a long tendril similar to tongue). Breath kink but instead of hand choking or strangulation, you choked on their tongue 👅

Feel free to ignore this if you still don't open req for dbd fandom

☀️

You are feeding me ambrosia with this sunnie!!! I have a weak spot for both of them, but-but- the Unknown??? Any thoughts????

Cw: DARKFIC?(it’s dbd, what do you expect??), DUB-CON/NON-CON, predator/prey, implied death, obsessive behaviour, choking?, super long tongue??, size kink/difference, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.5k

You were… unlucky. The Entity seemed to rejoiced in your pain more than any other survivor, feeding on your dashed hope for an escape from the perpetual cycle death and sacrifice, the painful sting on being slashed, the horrifying fate of being killed by the killer’s weapon of choice or the terrifying agony of being hooked. It was a painful affair, being the subject of her perverse protection, locked away in her universe to feed and be fed, blood for blood —quid pro quo.

But at times, your moments in her dark world was warm and charming like the people who gathered at the campfire, sharing their skills and abilities to keep the others alive throughout the…trials. The small moments stolen within the fog to keep yourself up and going, and happy, little smiles and bubbly laughs. It made trials easier, to know that the people who were screaming and working had your back in and out of them, to know what they would do made working in teams better and reassuring. 

And yet- and yet it was all for nought, the killer had eyes for you only, stalking and following you with his arm raised despite the others coming between you two to stop him from maiming you. Unfortunately, The Shape - Micheal Myers - in all his ghostly glory and dirty suit, was a creature of obsession, of predatory possession that gave him a one track mind, tunnelling the person who he chose as his obsession; and you happened to be his choice of madness these last round, even when Laurie was with you. 

There were some pros and cons with his constant stalking, the quiet steps echoing not so far behind you while they worked on the generators, unbothered and safe fro Myers, but you were stuck kitting him, running away from him by jumping over windows and dropping palettes wherever you could stun him to give you just a few more seconds of distance. He grew so, so close on multiple occasions, you felt his breath and his dark and imposing figure behind you, but he never once struck you down with his big knife. 

It wasn’t so bad as long as he didn’t hit you, letting you run around and avoid the other three until they finished all five generators and opened the gates, the bell ringing loudly over your head, and even then, he ignored everyone for you. He, somehow, managed to corner you, to far from both gates and your teammates who you - in a desperate plea for a win - had yelled out to leave and let you find the hatch or run to a gate if things got didn’t worsen. Which had left you alone, ears ringing and head beating against your cage, cornered and afraid of the giant who stared you down with a red gleam in the dark pits of his eyes.

Every step he took backed you up further against the rugged wall of a house - his childhood home - and pressed himself against you, the rough texture of his suit irritating your skin as he dropped the knife to touch you, running over his course fingers down your shoulders. Myers was scarily touchy, pads digging into the fat of your hips, groaning and grunting as he ground against you, drinking in your whimpers and hisses, fists hitting his chest without any result. Was it so surprising? He was a monster, a devil’s spawn, who had you in hands, a uselessly struggling victim that was too weak to stop him. 

His game of cat and mouse came to an end, where you forgot what you were initially doing, choking around his thick fingers, the filthy taste hitting you harshly as his jabs. He pressed his fingers down the back of your throat, panting loudly at your gags and rutting his fattening cock on your navel. You shuddered at the feel of it, the thick bulge threatening to pop a button off his jumpsuit, and you feared, you were terrified at your wandering thoughts, the implication of it when faced with a beast like Myers. 

Ding

Then the final call rang, a long and echoing sound that called the end of the trial. It was quiet for a few seconds, and all you felt was pain, agony ripping through you as The Entity swallowed you up with her many arms. The last thing you saw was Myers bulge, pushed to your bloodied lips and filling your dying nose with a thick and heady musk, a metallic and dusty smell that would linger on your tongue. 

You had hoped that she would give you a second, let you bask in the worry and affection the other survivors gave you, her whispers summoning you elsewhere in a drowning cloud of black fog and sent into your next match, placed somewhere in Midwich Elementary School. The many winding halls and rusted metal worked to confuse the survivors and killers alike, leaving only a selected few who were familiar with this realm. You crossed path with James a few times, but you knew he wouldn’t have given an offering for this, it was a sore memory for him, a reminder of his sins and regrets. So that left a single open left: Pyramid Head, the wandering executioner in the halls of Midwich, sentient and brutal in his ways.

He was a monster everyone feared, something created from the mind of a tortured man rather than a human turned monster, he was born a nightmare and would perish as one. That’s why you hid whenever you heard the telltale sound of his rusted great sword drag across the floor, knowing he had chosen you as his obsession and was actively turning a blind eye to the other survivors. You heard a few screams here and there, but he hadn’t downed anyone, seemingly to prefer leaving them half dead and limping to the next generator or survivor to heal.

You were doing well, working with Jane on the third machine, smiling to each other and sending encouraging glances while you looked over your shoulders from time to time, but your luck had run out. Pyramid Head stumbled your way, his head bobbing over the thick cords of his shoulders and chest, sinewy muscles bulging with every move. You both ran, Jane up the stairs and you down the hall, and he followed you. It was a familiar feeling, being the chased obsession of a killer, singled out by him to be the victim of his choosing.

Unfortunately, The Executioner never truly relished in the hunt, prowling fast and hard, ready to kill whoever he crossed, yet, strangely, he hadn’t raised his great sword, chasing you down a hall and into a dead end. You were fucked. Oh so terribly fucked if your assumptions were right. You turned to face Pyramid Head, fearfully glaring at him, eyes scouring the open space around him for a small point to slip away. You felt your small star of hope extinguish when he suddenly appeared before you, moving faster than he usually would, blocking your way with his body. 

He was hard and warm under your palms, his laboured breathing resting on your shoulder in his dazed wandering, his ripped and bloody and filthy arms brushing against yours and feeling you up. You closed your eyes in terror, trying your best to snuff out your thoughts and the feeling of his touches, his fingers pinching and kneading the skin of your hips and thighs, slipping behind to occasionally feel your ass bend under his strong hands. You whimpered, raking your nails down his arms, trying and failing to stop him from going forward with his wants, turning your head away from him. 

It seemed like he didn’t like that, forcing a gasp out of you when a wet appendage lapped at your cheek, leaving a slimy trail of drool until you reacted to him, gaping and hissing at him; and he took your shock and disgust to his advantage, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You retched, throat closing around his tongue, thrusting slowly to the back of your throat and up to spread over your palate. He lathered your mouth in his drool, willing your smaller and less nimble tongue to push at him, choking down any cries or gags from the sheer disgust that filled your guts (despite the small spike of arousal in your guts). 

You wanted to scream about your situation, this fucked up situation you keep finding yourself with monsters like The Shape and The Executioner. Why you? Why you out of everyone else? You weren’t as significant or strong and determined as other survivors, so it confused and worried you, if they would force themselves onto you again and again until they either broke you or moved onto another poor survivor. But perhaps- just perhaps you could make something of it, seeing the thick pole that poked at your stomach, poking from under his loose loincloth and wetting it with a dark spot at the tip.

You loathed The Entity and her plans. 

[idkfitememate]

*keyboard smash* I LOVE YOUR AUTOMATON READER IDEA. And thank the seven (haha, get it? TWST and Genshin) you didn’t execute Furina. I would have been so sad.

Anyways-YES YES YES. WE SERVE FURINA! The execution mecha reader fits SO WELL with the death sentence oratrice (no I am NOT spelling the whole French name) myth.

🦌 anon

Mhm! This idea came right after I thought up GLaDOS!Reader (which is in the work rn!) and loved it! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

Probably gonna open up the idea to Meka/Robotic readers in Genshin, but not SAGAU. Of course unless something is specifically asked, of course! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

I just enjoy the thought of this literal murder-bot existing, leaving all of Fontaine to wonder… wtf was the last Archon doing? Hehe ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Also fun fact since I have Executioner!Reader on the brain right now: They know Neuvillette. No matter how much he may say he doesn’t know them, even if his memory fails, they know him.

And they know he remembers them.

[heartfullofleeches]

huge angst fan i am thinking of jester executioner darling who had a hidden gentle side and only revealed it to royal yan but it is what ultimately lead to their death versus reincarnated clown darling who can finally live as their kind, silly self because they are free of the royal family…(or so they think)

That's pretty much the plot!

Jester was a gift to the royal family for their newborn child. They're essentially a living doll with the prime directive of making those around them smile- It was a tragedy written in the stars they were assigned to a family and kingdom as a whole who lived and breathed for the theatrics that were public executions.

They're a product of their surrondings, but put into the proper environment Jester Executioner had the potential to bring smiles in the traditional way for their occupation.

Royal Yan was a huge crybaby and against strongly bloodshed before Jester died at their hand. Their master's passive nature broke Jester Darling out of their conditioning, but unfortunately for both of them those around them would not allow such weakness.

-

"Stay away...."

You do not understand.

The adoring faces that blur together in the crowds would tear each other in two to receive your offering.

Ichor runs from the edge of the blade in hand - making no mark to the crimson dyed into your clothing as it lands on the point of your shoes.

Why? Why does your master cower from you? Shaking like a small leaf in the wind. It's strange.... Why won't they show you that face?

The disturbance in your sleeve lures attention to itself as it wriggles from your lax position - tiny eyes zipping to face your imposing stature as a red, palm sized slips from your grasp.

You catch it without as much as a blink.

The heir to your kingdom inches ever slowly from their hiding place. You toss the ball in the air, collecting it with similar speed and agility if not quicker. Stars dance in previously fear ridden pupils as you throw the ball for a final time - seizing it by the tip of your slipper.

There's a strange tightness in your chest as laughter reverberates of the stone walls enclosing the garden - spreading throughout your body as fragile arms frightenedly yet tenderly embrace you.

[1-800-i-ship-it]

Head pat so cute

Can’t ever forget the trademark smirk

Love his dramatic ass

[aceviscontiswife]

Killers catching you crying/upset

I’ve been wanting to do some comfort type stuff for a while, so this is what my poll was for! Hope y’all enjoy!

Gn! Reader. Pre established relationship! Killers included: Danny, Pyramid Head, Wesker.

• Danny is used to seeing people cry from fear. He isn’t one to comfort, if anything, Danny’s the reason someone’s crying in the first place. He’s a murderer, not a therapist.

• However, when Danny catches you crying, it’s a different story. Why? What happened? Who did this? How the actual hell does he help you? Long story short, Danny hates seeing you upset.

• You’ve never seen Danny this concerned, or this confused. It’s clear he has no clue how to comfort you, but he tries his best. He’ll kneel down beside you and stay with you until he was sure you were alright. It was a side of Danny you’ve never seen, but not one you didn’t like.

• If it’s a survivor who’s made you cry; don’t worry, Danny will handle it. Once you’re better, Danny will teach that survivor a lesson they’ll never forget.

You had tried to last the entire trial without breaking down, but eventually you couldn’t hold back your tears any longer. You slumped against a tree, hugged your knees to your chest, and began to sob quietly. Danny was the killer this trial, you could always just find him, but you didn’t want to ruin his trial with your problems. Danny must’ve heard you, for it wasn’t long after you started crying that he kneeled down next to you and quickly removed his mask so you could see his face. “Hey… what’s wrong?” Danny asks in a tone so… soft, so concerned. It was like nothing you’ve ever head from him.

“I… it’s Nea…” You answer as more tears well up in your red, puffy eyes. Danny nods, wiping away your tears and pulling you into a tight hug, mainly so you wouldn’t see the flash of anger in his eyes at the mention of your teammate. “I’ll handle them once you’re better, okay?” You nod, and while you knew Danny was being sincere, you couldn’t help but ask “Are you sure?” To which Danny simply replies, “It’s what boyfriends are for, dollface.”

(I have never wrote for Pyramid Head before so I apologize in advance lol 😅)

• You’re… crying? That’s not something Pyramid Head likes to see, not at all. His first instinct is to make you stop crying, whatever that might take.

• While he can’t speak, Pyramid is good at telling you things through his body language. He’ll set his weapon aside and open his arms slightly—his way of saying “Come here.”

• He’ll pull you into a bone-crushing hug, his hands awkwardly rubbing your back as you cry against his chest. Pyramid will hold you until you’re done crying, and listen to any word you had to say. For something that spoke in garbled nothingness, Pyramid Head was surprisingly very well at comforting you.

• You’d tell him what had upset you, and if it just so happened to be a survivor, Pyramid Head would leave your side in an instant to go deal with them. He would return covered in blood, set his weapon aside, and allow you to melt in his arms once more.

You were somewhere in the deep, desolate forest of the entity’s realm, tears streaming down your face as you cried. You hadn’t even heard him approaching, startled when Pyramid Head suddenly appears next to you. He had laid his large weapon against a tree, his arms slightly open and waiting for your embrace. You didn’t say anything, you simply took a small step forward and wrapped your arms around him, laying your head on his chest.

Pyramid Head held you for a while, and it was only when your sobs began to lessen did he finally pull away. You knew what he wanted now; Pyramid Head wanted an explanation. “Gabriel was-“ You cut yourself off as Pyramid Head suddenly turned away, grabbed his weapon, and began making his way towards the survivors’ campfire. Was he going to-? Would the entity even allow that?! Either way, once you realized what Pyramid Head was doing, you couldn’t help but smile and wait patiently for his return.

• Unlike most of the killers, Wesker at least knows what he should say to someone who’s upset. Does he? No. Crying is a weakness, and Wesker can’t have that.

• But, much like Danny, Wesker does a complete 180 when he finds you crying. He never wanted to find you like this, and now that he has, he wants nothing more than to bring an end to your tears.

• You never would have guessed Wesker was good at comforting, but he was. He knew exactly what to say, what to do, and had you feeling better again in no time.

• If it’s a survivor who’s made you cry, you best believe Wesker will handle things. He’ll wait until he’s in a trial with them, and once he is, he’ll make sure their time with him is absolutely miserable. Wesker will teach that survivor a lesson, and it’ll work so well they’ll probably never speak to you again; out of fear of what Wesker might do if they hurt you again.

“Dearest, why are you crying?” You heard a familiar voice speak from behind you. You turn around to spot Wesker, staring up at him through teary eyes. “It’s nothing…” You lie, quickly wiping away your tears and sniffling. Wesker obviously didn’t believe you, stepping up next to you and resting his hand on your shoulder. “Don’t lie to me, y/n. What’s upsetting you?” You knew there wasn’t a point in lying again, so you tell Wesker the truth.

“Laurie was being really rude to me in my trials…” You admit, sounding more childish than you had wanted to. Wesker simply hums in response, resting his free hand on your other shoulder and beginning to rub them, easing the tension you had gathered from your earlier trials. “I’ll handle it, sweetheart.” Wesker assures you, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

[pettyprocrastination]

The Deathly Devout

Pairing: Executioner!König x Nun!Reader (Medieval au) 

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Religious themes and settings, talk of death, religious guilt, nothing much this is pretty tame. I have very little knowledge of how catholic confessionals actually go especially in a medieval setting forgive me. probably many spelling errors im sorry. 

Author’s Note: was talking to @thesadvampire about @hffhifjou fucking amazing art of the 141 as knights and now we have Executioner!König. This is mostly just a word burst from this morning but I really like this concept and wanted to share with you all 

Tagging some mutuals I think might enjoy this: @sprout-fics @humanransome-note @moondirti @fnny-bnny @yeehaw-djarin @captainsamwlsn

_______________--

     It was quite amusing to see the executioner in the confessional booth. 

     That isn’t to say that he doesn’t visit often, no. If anything it’s the exact opposite, Father Montomgery sees him more than any pious banker or self-hating gambler in the city. But the man was monstrous, broad in his shoulders with thick arms and legs to match, resulting in him having to twist and fold his body to properly fit into the little wooden booth. He could see the silhouette of the poor man’s shoulders hunched in and head tucked low. 

     It almost made up for how absolutely aggravating he was to listen to. 

     “Forgive me father for I have sinned.” 

     “May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you know your sins and trust in his mercy.” 

     König swallows. 

     “I killed a man this week.” 

     The priest, knowing this voice better than others and the hulking silhouette it belongs to, sighs. 

     “The thief, then?” He asks, voice dripping with indifference. “The little painter who was caught stealing?” 

     “Yes father.” 

     The “little thief” has been a blossoming apprentice under a most respected artist within the city, only for the truth to come out that he had been stealing funds from his mentor for months on end.  The king had suggested König simply cut off the painter’s hands and let him live out the rest of his days in poverty. “What better punishment for an artist than a life where he cannot create?” 

     But the end ruling was for the artist to lose his head in the town-square and König’s hands delivered the blade to his neck. 

     “That was simply an act of your work, my child.” 

     “But-” 

     There is a deep sigh from the opposite side of the booth and König falls silent, like a scolded child. 

     The irony isn't lost on the priest, that a man who must associate himself with the macabre so often is incredibly devout in his worship. But the humor was drowned out by how astonishingly self-loathing the poor bastard was. 

     “My child, do you believe our king is the one true king?”

     “Of course father.” 

     “And do you believe our God is the one, true, God?” 

     There’s a garbled noise that comes from the larger man, an incredulous sputtering at how the priest would ever assume he would say otherwise. 

     It makes the man chuckle. 

     “Of course father!” 

     “Then acting out the King’s law is acting out God’s law, is it not?” 

     There’s a pause, the priest can see the man shrink down into his seat even further, if that was even possible with how he contorted the bulk of his body to squeeze into the wooden booth. 

     “I’m not saying you cannot feel-” He waves his hand in the air, despite the fact that König cannot truly see him. “-conflicted, about your career. It’s not one that comes easily, I’m sure. But it is not one that makes you a monster, despite how many people would try to have you believe that.” 

     “Yes father.” 

     The man’s voice is a shred of what it should be- all but a trembling whisper that makes even the exhausted priest frown. 

     “Being an executioner isn’t an easy job. But it’s one that is needed nonetheless.” 

     König says something softly to himself, but the priest cannot be bothered to ask what. 

     “For your sins I-” 

     “Actually, father-” the wooden step creaked under his weight as he shifted on his knees. “There’s something else.” 

     “Oh?” 

     “I’ve been having impure thoughts about a woman.” 

     “Oh.” 

     The priest blinks. He had never heard the man speak of any sin aside from the violence he acted out on the King’s word. Truth be told he had begun to think the lad was so devout such a concept was all but foreign to him. 

     But this?

     “I’m listening, my child.” 

     This was far more interesting than listening to him bemoan about a town square beheading. 

     “She is-” König chews on the inside of his cheek, chipped teeth digging into the formed scars he has had since childhood from the nervous habit. “Promised to somebody else.” 

     The priest hides a snicker behind a well placed cough. 

     “Married?”

     “In a manner of speaking, yes.” 

      “I haven’t…acted upon them.” The man who has killed week after week fiddles with his hands, face turning bright red as simply speaking of his attraction toward the woman. The priest couldn't help but wonder who she was. Whether it be a kind tavern girl who ignored his gaze each day he walked by or a local prostitute that urged on his affection as long as he could afford her time. 

     It’s no secret that few women would concern themselves with the local executioner, if not even look him in the eyes. 

     “She’s a good woman of proper virtue, I would not sully her name in such a way.” 

     This poor bastard. 

     “Is she beautiful?” 

     “I’m sorry?” 

     “The woman you speak of, do you find her attractive?” 

     König swallows. “Yes, incredibly. Her smile rivals that of the sun and-” 

     “That’s more than enough.” The priest grins into his hand as the airy tone the executioner’s voice took on, like a poet reciting his latest venture. The man was properly lovesick, how charming. “I do not believe you have committed any sin in appreciating a woman’s beauty.” 

     “I haven’t?” 

     “Admiring a woman’s beauty is like admiring a piece of art, is it not?” The priest offers. “You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands, my child.” 

     Before König has a chance to respond, through the lattice he sees a flash of white through the corner of his eye. A soft voice humming a tune fills the air, echoing through the church hall like a well-respected hymn. In a panic, König begins to stand his full height before he is halted in his tracks as the top of his head slams into the confessional roof. 

     “My son?” 

     “Ah, apologies father! But I have to leave because of-” 

     The priest nods. “Yes, yes of course.You are absolved of your sins, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.” 

     The final word is drowned out by the slam of the confessional door opening the man’s thundering footsteps receding from the booth. 

     The executioner stands to his full height as he exits the church. He shields his eyes as he steps outside, suddenly overwhelmed by the burst of sunlight. 

     In his haste, he did not see the figure at his side. 

     “Good morning to you, König.”

     The man jumps, twisting around to face you where you stand at the bottom church steps, broom in hand and a smile on your face. 

     “Ah! Yes! Good morning to you as well, sister.” 

     “A lovely day, is it not?” 

     Heat creeps up the back of his neck and he struggles to find the words he wished to speak to you. But you, ever patient and kind, wait without judgment. 

     “Yes, quite lovely.” 

     As König stares down at you, his heart beating as he watches the sun shine on your figure and your smile, he finds himself thinking of the Holy Father’s words.

     “You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands”

     What beautiful art indeed. 

[fishyvamp]

I am stressed as hell right now with everything going on in the US so Imma going to write what I think some of my favorite killers are like when they're darling reader comes to them stressed as hell. Many of them are going to be readers I've already written about at least once so feel free to check the masterlist. If you want more head canons feel free to ask.

The Knight is startled when Eldritch!reader asks to just cuddle, you're smaller then usual body tense and when he touches your skin he can feel the hidden shadows trying to pull him in. "Anything for you Szeretet," he whispers picking you up and holding you against his chest. He takes you to his bed though it looks more like the nest you have in your castle then an actual bed. You smile realizing he's slowly bringing pieces of you in. He doesn't find himself worthy of you, but if you insist on asking him for comfort it would be his honor to provide it.

The Ghostface is confused as hell watching Hyde!reader pacing the room. You're killer side is usually scarily calm most of the time. However you look ready to lash out. Ready to pounce and shred the next person who so much as looks at you. You turn around seeing him there and he was bracing himself to get rushed and pinned against the wall, but it never came. Instead he watches you slowly move to him picking him up holding him in your arms as you move to the couch slumping down. You don't say anything to him, but you do hold him almost painfully tight against your chest. "Everything alright?" He asks you. Not sure how to feel about the non-committal grunt you give.

The Hillbilly doesn't think twice already wrapping you tight in the warmest knit blanket he's got, he's got popcorn, hot cocoa, and all the sweets you can gorge yourself on. Your favorite movie is on and he's just enjoying your company as you both lay on the couch, though if you don't calm down he might be inclined to help his little critter out by using other methods of getting your brain to shut down.

The Trapper doesn't react much just pulls you into bed and asks you to just speak. It doesn't matter if he understands he just wants to listen. He wants to hear everything, wants to make sure you feel heard. He smiles when you finally break your worries spilling like a faucet as he takes everything in asking questions when you pause. You seem at ease once you're done looking so peaceful tucked up under his arm. His Brat looks so sweet when they lay in bed next to him so peacefully. Burden him will you, it makes him feel less alone to hear you. Makes him feel lighter when he helps you share the emotional load.

The Executioner is use to it. You're already stressed about this and that. You aren't dating, but he does know how to get you calm down, you pinned beneath him in the bed as he humps against your ass. So fucking perfect he thinks feeling you melt against his touch. Such a needy toy, maybe he'll force you on your knees as he sharpens his knife, your face pressed against his thigh nose buried into his clothed groin. You're surrounded by his musk and for some reason that pacifies you. Not that pyramid head can complain.

The legion, they're solution to everything is horror movies and cuddle puddle. The neediest person in the center of the puddle a killer in each arm, a third holding behind while the fourth finds himself between your legs. The look smug when they finally get you to sleep. Your snoring soothing. It isn't long before they're passed out too.