#the angst and yandere potential of this man…….

[ghoulsbounty]

Hi! I wanted to request a TH/fem reader and RZMM/fem reader

Maybe like a how would they show possessiveness over someone? A little angsty bc they're big guys and they would definitely manhandle their so in the heat of the moment

How Thomas Hewitt and RZ!Michael Myers Show Possessiveness Over You

Warnings: smut (18+), aggressive sex, slight mention of dumbification, manhandling, bruising/mark making, angst, obsession, stripping, stalking, slight yandere i guess?, possessiveness, canon-typical violence, control.

Words: 2.7K

A/N: Anon, thank you so much for my first slasher request! I love these boys so much and wanted to delve into their intentions behind their protectiveness a little, cause I think it would be very different for both. This is my first time writing a headcanon, I hope I've done you proud. I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

Thomas Hewitt

→ Thomas's struggle with social norms makes his possessiveness glaringly apparent. He perceives everyone outside the family as a potential threat to his happiness, particularly when it concerns you. His demeanour shifts abruptly at the slightest hint of danger; his typically measured movements become swift and aggressive. Despite his efforts to restrain his emotions in public, such as at the Cele Community Centre where you and his mother work, Thomas often finds himself instinctively drawn to your side. His hand firmly grasps the fabric of your shirt, his protective stance evident to anyone who dares to look at you. His gaze sweeps the surroundings with a discerning eye, meticulously assessing each customer until you gently remove his grip and convince him to wait in the back.

→ Thomas's overprotectiveness occasionally acts as a double-edged sword, simultaneously shielding you from harm while subtly restricting your freedom. As a man of few words, he struggles to articulate the depth of his need to keep you safe, resulting in actions that may be misinterpreted as possessiveness rather than genuine concern or fear of losing you. He means well, but it can feel suffocating.

→ Preferring to keep you within his line of sight whenever possible, Thomas's protective instincts often clash with the demands of daily life, leading to occasional conflicts with Charlie over the use of his time. The older man's frustration with what he perceives as your bad influence over Thomas' attention to his work further exacerbates tensions within the household. 

→ Certain areas of the house are off limits to you. The basement serves as a sanctuary for Thomas's work, and he is adamant that you are shielded from the horrors that happen inside. However, he still insists on your presence nearby, perched on the steps that lead down to the space or listening to the radio in the dining room upstairs. Your proximity seems to offer him a sense of security and focus, enabling him to delve into his his task with unwavering concentration and produce some of his best work.

→ Thomas finds solace in words of affirmation and constantly seeks reassurance from you. Despite the intimacy you share and the countless times you've assured him otherwise, he harbours an unshakeable fear that if he loosens his grip even for a moment, you might slip away from him. This nagging insecurity gnaws at him, overshadowing moments of connection, leaving him perpetually haunted by the possibility of losing you.

→ Physical gestures become one your languages of reassurance. You hold his hand tightly, intertwining your fingers as a silent promise that you're there for him. Running your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you becomes a comforting ritual, soothing both him and you. Your touch on his chest, just over his heart, keeps his anxieties at bay.

→ Words also become a source of comfort for Thomas. You express your pride in him, highlighting his strengths and the ways he makes your life better. You tell him how happy you are to have him by your side, emphasizing that he's not just your protector but also your partner. Sometimes, the simplest affirmations have the greatest impact on Thomas. Hearing you call him "yours" fills him with a sense of belonging and purpose, and when you tell him that he's been good, he can't help but prove just how good he can be by filling you with his fingers, tongue or cock.

→ Thomas feels most valued when you grant him your undivided attention and allow him to reciprocate. He revels in spending hours between your legs, skilfully coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your willing body until you're left a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. Despite his efforts to maintain control in your relationship, you always seem to hold the upper hand, which is why he finds solace in reducing you to a thoroughly fucked-out state on his bed. In those moments, with your mind blissfully empty and your body consumed by a primal hunger for his touch, he feels a sense of power and satisfaction unlike any other.

→ Despite this, the mounting tensions within the household, particularly with Charlie, often leave Thomas grappling with pent-up aggression. As the demands on his time intensify, with Charlie clamouring for more of Thomas's attention and you taking on additional shifts at the community centre to assist his mother, Thomas finds it increasingly challenging to maintain his composure.

→ You've become attuned to the subtle shifts in his demeanour, recognizing the tell-tale signs when he's received a stern tongue lashing from his uncle or had a particularly taxing session in the basement. Thomas' simmering rage begins to permeate his interactions with you. His touch, once tender and reassuring, now carries an undercurrent of tension. The few words he mutters in your presence are laced with frustration and discontent, rather than devotion.

→ Despite your best efforts to sooth him, there are moments when Thomas's volatile emotions threaten to overwhelm him. In those instances, you find yourself walking on eggshells, navigating the precarious balance between offering solace and inadvertently stoking the flames of his anger. You are never fearful of Thomas, but these are the times when you remove yourself from his presence when possible. That is, until you learn that the best way to calm him during these storms is with your body.

→ Thomas's heavy-handed nature becomes even more pronounced during these moments of heightened emotion. He handles you with a forcefulness that borders on brutality, moulding and contorting your body into painful positions that elicit tears of discomfort. While he typically refrains from spanking you unless requested, in these instances, his large hand comes crashing down upon your flesh with punishing force, leaving behind welts and bruises that you carry for days. Unlike his usual attentiveness to your pleasure, Thomas's focus shifts solely towards finding an outlet for his frustration, using your body as a means to an end in his quest for release. He bites, scratches, and fucks every inch of you with an almost desperate intensity, seeking solace in the physical connection between you.

→ Yet, there are fleeting moments of clarity when the clouds in his eyes dissipate, and the gentle giant you know and love re-emerges. It's in these moments of vulnerability that you offer him comfort, reassuring him that he can take what he needs from you, and that you will still love him.

→ After the intensity of the moment subsides, Thomas retreats into the solitude of the basement, locking himself away as a form of self-imposed punishment for his mistreatment of you. Despite your efforts to coax him out, reassuring him of your well-being and offering comfort, he remains secluded until he feels ready to face you once more. When Thomas finally does emerge, you're quick to envelop him in the warmth of your affection and reassurance. With a soft kiss to his leather-clad cheek, you convey your unwavering support and understanding, letting him know that you harbour no resentment towards him.

→ In the aftermath of the encounter, Thomas's protective instincts kick into overdrive as he tends to any wounds that adorn your body, his touch gentle yet purposeful. It's in these moments that his true nature shines through—he may be heavy-handed and prone to bouts of aggression, but above all else, he possesses a deep-seated desire to care for and protect you, to make amends for any harm he may have caused.

RZ!Michael Myers

→ Michael's possessive nature over you begins with an intense and inexplicable fixation. From the moment his eyes land on you, something primal within him snaps, and he becomes singularly obsessed with making you his own.

→ He can't quite explain what draws him to the Red Rabbit Lounge that evening, but as he leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath after a harrowing escape from Smith's Grove, he is immediately captivated when you emerge from the back door. Unlike others who shrink away from him in fear, you meet his gaze with a calm demeanour, lighting your cigarette and casually pointing out his papier-mâché mask. Your nonchalant remark about liking the orange because it reminds you of your favourite holiday only adds to the intrigue, sparking something deep within Michael's psyche.

→ Following that initial encounter, Michael becomes an omnipresent presence in your life, a shadow that lingers at the edges of your awareness. You sense him in the periphery of your vision, catch glimpses of his shadow darting past windows, and hear the faintest rustle of his breath in the stillness of the night. He becomes your unseen companion, meticulously observing your every move. He studies your routines and habits, committing them to memory with an almost obsessive attention to detail. Always one step ahead, he waits patiently until the opportune moment presents itself to make his presence truly known.

→ Michael finds immense pleasure in the exhilarating pursuit of you, convinced that you share in his enjoyment of the chase. He keenly observes the subtle signs of your awareness, noticing the wry smirk that graces your lips when you sense his presence nearby. In those moments, he imagines feeling the same giddiness that surges through you when he lightly brushes your hair, a fleeting touch that leaves you yearning for more, even as it vanishes before you can turn around. The first time you called out to him, he battled against every instinct urging him to step out from the shadows and claim you as his own. Despite the overwhelming desire possess you, he restrains himself, savouring the anticipation of the inevitable moment when he would finally make his move.

→ In Michael's twisted psyche, you are more than just a person; you are a coveted prize that he will protect at all costs. He perceives himself as the sole rightful owner of your being, and he harbours an intense fixation on claiming you as his own.

→ As the regular patrons of the lounge mysteriously vanish one by one, leaving a bewildered community in their wake, Michael remains a silent observer, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon you. He knows all too well the allure of your presence, the captivating dance you perform for these men, reminiscent of the performances his late mother once gave. Yet, while others may see you as an entertainer, Michael sees something far deeper—a connection, a possession, a symbol of his ultimate dominance that he must preserve.

→ From the shadows, he watches as you bare your body to these patrons. To Michael, it doesn't matter whether you are aware of his claim over you; what matters is that he sees you as his, and he will go to any lengths to ensure that no one dares to challenge him. In his mind, you are his alone, and he will stop at nothing to secure what he believes is rightfully his.

→ When Michael finally decides to collect his prize, it's in the eerie stillness of the night. He patiently waits in the shadows of your home, a silent sentinel standing rigidly in the corner of your bedroom as he observes your every move. You can feel his presence, an unspoken acknowledgment that he has come to stake his claim on his property.

→ As you undress, acutely aware of his watchful gaze, a shiver runs down your spine. There's a palpable tension in the air, a sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. Yet, despite the unease that courses through you, there's also a strange allure, a primal instinct drawing you inexorably towards him. When you finally coax him from the shadows, he engulfs you in his arms with a ferocity that takes your breath away. The force of his embrace is suffocating, his touch demanding as he grasps and claws at every part of your body. In that moment, there's no denying the intensity of his desire, the need to make you his own consuming him entirely.

→ Michael is not gentle with you; he doesn't hold back his deep urges to possess you completely. He revels in your whimpers and the screams of his name as he stretches you open and takes what he deems rightfully his. His touch is rough, unyielding, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. Each movement is driven by a fierce need to mark you, to ensure you understand that you belong to him and no one else. Every night with Michael is filled with a mix of pain and pleasure. His eyes intense and unwavering, remain locked on you, drinking in every reaction, every cry. To him, this is the final step in owning you, the ultimate act of protecting what is his.

→  Removing the mask takes time. It's one evening, after the intensity of your shared orgasms have ebbed, and Michael lies heavy on top of you. Your fingers tentatively trace the edges of the white rubber mask, sensing his body tense beneath your touch. His hand instinctively reaches out, grasping your wrist to halt your movement, but your lips find solace in the warmth of his knuckles as you plant a gentle kiss, your breath whispering a desire to see him. For a fleeting moment, there's resistance, a hesitancy borne from years of concealing his true self, before he lets you unmask him. His long hair cascades over your face as the mask falls away, revealing the man beneath. In that vulnerable moment, you stroke his sweat-glistened cheek, your fingers tracing the contours of his features as you call him "handsome", perhaps the first time he's heard the word since his mother.

→ Despite Michael's disapproval of your continued work at the lounge, you are unwilling to relinquish your independence completely. He grumbles and fumes when things don't go his way, but deep down, he appreciates your defiance, feels a strange allure in your willingness to challenge him. Although his overly protective nature remains, he secretly enjoys the way you push back against his control, finding a strange sense of satisfaction in the game of give and take between you. A hand on his chest or a kiss along his strong jawline is all it takes for him to soften, his resolve melting under the warmth of your affection. You eventually compromise, only working certain shifts and allowing him to escort you home. As if you really have a choice on the matter. Michael finds your attempts at negotiation endearing.

→ If anyone dares to come between Michael and what is his, he reacts with violent outbursts of rage. His attacks are brutal and merciless, driven by a primal need to assert his dominance and protect you. Unfortunately, you are also not exempt from his aggression, and when he catches sight of you one night, engaged in conversation with a stranger outside the back of the lounge during your smoke break, he snaps. In a frenzy of fury, he swiftly disposes of the man, his actions marked by a sickening crunch of bones as his body is hurled against the brick wall. Then, turning his attention to you, Michael's muscles coil with tension and his chest heaves with barely-contained anger. Gripping your arms so fiercely that bruises bloom in their wake, he shoves you against the wall, once, then again, as if attempting to jolt some some sense into you.

→ With swift determination, Michael hoists you over his shoulder and retreats into the shadows, his purposeful strides carrying you home. But the journey doesn't lead to the bedroom; instead, he deposits you onto the stairs with a roughness that steals your breath. There, in the dim light, he strips away the remnants of your clothing, his actions forceful and unyielding. Again and again, he fucks into you with a ferocity that leaves you screaming his name, your pleas mingling with the echoes of both passion and pain. In those moments, as his protectiveness gives way to possession and consumes you, you find yourself uttering the words he craves to hear—that you are his, and his alone.

→ Yet, even amidst the ecstasy, a shadow of uncertainty looms. You can never be certain that Michael wouldn't cross that final line, that his compulsion wouldn't drive him to take everything from you, including your life. For Michael, protection is not just about control—it's about ownership to the point of obsession. If he can't have you, no one else can either.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Make Friends 1/4 (Word count 5.4 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: AU where König (sadly) isn't a colonel and doesn't have a t-shirt as a hood but an... actual hood. Please heed the tags lovelies 🩷

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

No one sees a cleaning lady.

Cleaners are invisible. People remember them only when their desks start to gather dust, when their floors are full of mud. No one sees her except the tallest guy in the building: the guy who everybody seems to ignore, just like they ignore her.

It doesn't take long to see why. He's different, and not just because of the mask he's wearing.

She sees him playing with knives. He throws them in the air leisurely, catches them by the handle, and never misses the catch. He flicks them from side to side, spins and whirls the blades in motions she can't even see because they're so swift.

It's pure magic. And they're not dull training knives; they're sharp as a razor, vicious, tactical – but that doesn't make them ugly. They're quite stunning, and she's caught staring more than once.

His movements are not what she'd exactly call precise and fluid. They're urgent, antsy, made to relieve stress of some sort. He's stimming with the knives. Alleviating pain or frustration. The rest of his body is still; only the ice-blue eyes flicker on the blade as he focuses all his attention on the dance. Sometimes he just stares at them, turns them around as if checking the edge, as if it wasn't evident that they're deadly and sharp. That's how she knows he takes good care of the things he loves.

He's fascinated by them, just like she is. And it's not just the knives; she's fascinated by him.

Others cast side eyes, nervous looks at him. Even some of his fellow operators look at the man like he's a lunatic. And perhaps he is, but she can't help it.

She's mesmerized.

It all changes when she accidentally walks into a meeting room while there is a briefing going on. Apparently, no one considers her a threat or a potential spy because she is summoned in before she rushes to close the door, and so she goes on about her day while the soldiers are already wrapping things up.

The hooded giant is there too, leaning back in a chair too small for him, this time playing with a butterfly knife. It's the smallest, daintiest thing she has yet seen in those hands. He always has gloves on, but that doesn't make the flashy flipping look any less dangerous.

She starts by dusting the side tables so she is not in the way. This time, she vehemently does not want to be seen. Save perhaps by the knife maniac.

The man even helps her with cleaning: he picks up some of the objects he can reach so she can wipe the surface more easily. It makes her cheeks grow hot, but she cannot bring herself to thank him. She doesn't dare to make a single sound while there is a meeting going on and their captain is still speaking, but she gives her thanks through her eyes and her smile, and the man looks at her like she's some kind of saintly sight.

The look in those blue eyes is starstruck. Almost… obsessive.

It should send ice to her stomach. But it doesn't.

He continues showing off with the knife as she moves to the other side of the room. He does it to mess with her head or entertain her, delight her, perhaps - the man already knows she’s intrigued by his vast collection of blades.

It's a bit creepy. The man as a whole is a bit creepy, but she only feels a rush, a high that turns her monotonous work day into a thrill.

"König. Would you mind?"

The sound of the flicking blade stops, and she is possibly the only one in this room who misses the noise.

"Entschuldigung."

He speaks, and the voice sends ripples across her scalp. It's twisted and amused, as if the man gets off on annoying the shit out of his workmates.

"English, please..."

"My apologies."

The blade is tucked somewhere in his pocket and the man named König leans forward on the table. Slightly hunched over like that, he looks even more intimidating than before. The playfulness is gone, and he looks fiercely professional. More shivers are sent down her spine.

König…

König is the reason she still keeps working in this odd little compound, the base of some special operations unit that requires an insane amount of security checks and secret contracts and confidentiality agreements just so she can clean the floors from their soddy footprints.

König is the reason she starts to put on some mascara in the morning, tie her hair in a high ponytail, or braid it in two little braids so she would appear cuter if she happens to pass him by in the hallway. He's the reason she opens not one but two buttons of her blouse before she starts the day. He's also the reason her underwear is soaked in the middle of a boring shift.

He appears in her break room to borrow coffee. And not once, but twice during the same week.

"You're running low again?"

"Eh… Ja."

He's shit at lying, though. She is relatively sure by now that he's here only because he wants to see her.

"I'll bring it back. I mean–I'll buy you some."

He seems a bit shy, like her, and combined with the fact that he still chooses to seek her out already gives her sleepless nights. It makes her far more confident than she has ever been with people.

His accent, his voice, are pure fire. She feels sinful for thinking about how he would behave in the bedroom, how he would talk – after all, it already sounds like he's breathless and strained, already sounds like he's working her open with whatever monster is hidden in those pants a bit too small for him. He walks with a wide lounge, and she just knows it's because he is so big down there.

"You do that," she gives him a particularly flirty smile and revels in how it makes him even more distraught. It's quite fascinating how the same man can exude barely repressed bloodlust one moment and stupefied silence the next.

He returns the very next day to bring her a package of coffee. The same brand he borrowed twice already is set on the table in front of her with tense shoulders. She has seen the man relaxed only when he’s achieved that alluring flow state with his knives.

"Hier."

"Why thank you."

He simply stands there, switches weight from one foot to the other, and shrugs.

"I'll be going then."

But he doesn’t leave. Not right away. He watches her with that icy, burning stare, and she cocks her head.

“Bye,” she chimes with a soft smile – the guy is simply too cute. His restless twitching stops; he freezes where he stands, blinks – and then turns and walks out the door like a robot.

. . . . .

She's not supposed to be here. Or, she is, but he's not.

No one’s supposed to be here when there's the sign on the door. The men's showers are supposed to be cleared once a week for good scrubbing, and she only has 30 minutes to do that. It's once a week, less than an hour, there's a sign, and still, some jerk has to walk right through it.

No one sees a cleaning lady.

No one appears to even care about the fucking sign.

But then she sees who exactly has disrespected her humble position. It's a shock to see that familiar black hood with two eye holes on it thrown on the bench. Next to that, the khaki-colored cargo pants, a black shirt, and those gloves, all in a heap – this guy is not the most orderly, perhaps.

And she takes a fucking peek inside the showers because the door is, for some unfathomable reason, transparent, see-through glass.

The first thing she sees is muscle. Just wet, powerful cords of muscle slapped on the tallest man she has ever seen or would probably ever see.

He's a vision: godly, almost. Then she notices what he's doing.

Of course he has to be fucking fapping on top of everything.

Her throat is dry and her hands are numb as she watches how he leans on the tiles with one hand and works himself with the other. The body hair on the guy is so pale that he basically looks neatly shaved, save for the short hair on the top of his head – the man's nothing but sleek, dripping muscle through and through.

He sounds weak when he's masturbating; the noise that echoes in the showers consists mainly of frail, high-pitched grunts.

She's wet in no time, and it doesn't help that he looks frantic, almost violent, while jerking off. It's a sloppy frenzy, and the sounds of wet, angry slapping make her heart beat so fast that the rush of blood in her ears nearly drowns the noise.

The man has big hands, but his cock still looks massive inside one. She knows she will copy-paste the image of that long cock, slick with water and soap, in her mind over and over again while releasing some tension herself. Of course it's big because he's big, but the length of it is simply outrageous – she cannot comprehend how he can fit himself in his pants, even when soft.

His whole upper body tenses abruptly, like a huge cord of cable; he throws his head back, his hips jerk forward and he goes catatonic – the cum shot that follows would shoot a meter away if it wasn't stopped by the wall. The spurts of his load are equally as fierce as the fap, and she feels faint.

And why the fuck is she even standing here in the first place?

And then he…

He drops his head, turns a little to the side, like he’s known she has been here the whole time.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck-

She can only see his eyes from behind the arm still leaning on the wall. That heated glare is not furious, but nor is it benevolent: it's simply pure, manic lust.

She turns and rushes from the locker room like she has just seen a monster.

. . . . .

"Hey."

If he's here for coffee or for her, she doesn't know. Or, perhaps she does, but she's also so unbelievably ashamed and embarrassed that perhaps it's no surprise that he seeks her out in the break room since she has avoided him everywhere else for two days.

"Hi."

Her weak voice is followed by silence, and she doesn't turn, even when she knows he's still behind her. Something in the air, some part of atavistic instinct tells her he's standing right behind her.

"You here for more coffee?"

He still doesn't say anything, and she begins to freak out.

"König… I'm–God, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have–"

"Did you like what you saw?"

Her heart shoots up her throat, and her stomach churns, almost starts to eat itself from the pure terror. But it's nothing compared to what he says next.

"I was thinking of you," the calm voice reaches her ears like a tall wave, making her even more woozy than she was in the men's showers.

"I'm– sorry, what?"

"Your mouth… Breasts. If you're tight."

She finally turns, doesn't even try to conceal her horror tinged with incomprehensible, strange lust.

"Jesus…"

The ice between them is broken, but at what cost – and the anxiety she had mistaken for cuteness reveals something psychotic underneath. He still looks at her with the same stare, even when she tries to make it clear that this approach makes her want to vomit. He doesn't move, only towers over her like a hulking shade, and she darts from the break room, completely soaked and on the verge of tears.

. . . . .

There's a knock on her door the next morning, so early that she wonders who the hell could be up at this hour other than staff. It's like… five-thirty. She's so sleepy that she doesn't quite think it through as she throws only a t-shirt on before strolling to the door.

What the f-

König shoves the flowers almost in her face as she opens the door, and she has to yank her head back. All the sleep is gone in an instant, and she curses in her mind that she's standing here in only a tight t-shirt and a black pair of panties.

"I'm sorry. Please, accept my apology," he says like a poorly rehearsed actor while watching her thighs and what's between them. Her nipples shoot up, and not from cold.

"Uh… sure," she tries to sound neutral while accepting the flowers, if not his apology. He takes a step back after making sure she has truly taken the gift, and she instinctively lowers the bouquet down to shield herself from his searing gaze. She knows she's a hypocrite, having masturbated at the memory of him last night. Twice.

He has his hood on, and wears the eternal black shirt, padded gloves and some cargo pants, but there’s also an overload of gear on him. Pouches and pads and wires and ammo - she even catches a grenade or two. There’s a gun strapped to his thigh, and the shoulder pads make his already broad shoulders look even more wide. He looks so… tactical, so in his element that her instincts tell her it wouldn’t do shit to slam the door in his face and retreat back to the safety of her room. This soldier would just barge through the plywood.

And where did this guy get flowers at this hour of the day? No florist can possibly be open. Then she notices they're not exactly the kind of flowers she has seen at a shop.

Has he picked them from outside…?

"I thought you liked me."

His explanation makes her heart melt a little. He's so straightforward, so utterly without any charades or roles, that it makes her feel like she's the one who has disrespected him with her games. After all, she has done nothing but flirted 24/7 with the poor man for the last week. Of course he only thought she was interested.

"I do. I do like you."

His eyes light up with uncontained hunger. "Can I come in?"

Nope. Big mistake.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Ok. I'll be going then."

He turns on his heels and is ready to go like nothing ever happened.

“Wha-… König, please, wait.”

He halts on command, turns back, looks at her solemnly. The only thing that gives his confusion away are his eyes, which flicker from her puzzled stare to her mouth, occasionally to the bouquet covering her nether areas.

"Could we just be friends?" She offers him rather desperately.

He merely shrugs.

"Never had any friends."

For some reason, this guy has already started to live rent-free inside her head. She simply can't get him out. And she's intrigued, even when the sanest option would be to stay away from a creepy lunatic like him.

"I can be your friend."

Fuck, what did I just say, what the fuck did I just–

"Sure. Why not," he says immediately. "You just want to be friends?"

She resists the urge to facepalm right then and there in front of him. The guy is not only socially awkward: he's in a state of denial.

Some of his friends – or at least, teammates – pass them by. Kyle, if she remembers correctly, and a Scottish man they call Soap. They both smile at her kindly. It's the first time these men have ever paid her any attention; actually, this is probably the only occasion anyone pays attention to König either. They are both suddenly visible.

"Hey König, don't go harassing our cleaning lady. We got a plane to catch."

König stares somewhere behind her as Soap speaks. His eyes are covered with glass, and she knows that look all too well. The tallest man in the building is dissociating while the two soldiers march by behind him with raised eyebrows and pursed lips: a mocking gesture only she can see.

She watches the scene with an odd pity. It appears they step into existence only when they're together – an unfamiliar setting and an odd couple, the object of ridicule for people who probably claim themselves to be normal.

"I think it would be best, yes," she whispers when the hall is quiet again. She has to start her day soon, and he has a plane to catch - no one else is awake except one hard-working woman and a few operators about to leave on an early mission. She feels the strangest sorrow as she realizes that he wanted to drop by with some flowers and his apology before leaving some place he might never return.

The man gives her a last once-over before taking his leave. He nods slowly, never breaking their gaze: an odd, gentlemanly move.

"Just friends, then."

. . . . .

It is the hottest day yet, and the guy walks around with his black hood even then.

Her new friend.

She's outside, trying to catch some fresh air and sunlight after spending another 8 hours inside a buzzing facility, and somehow, some way, the tall enigma of a man always finds her.

He angles his walk towards her as if he only happened to pass by at the same time she was lounging against the wall and looking at clouds drifting in the sky. In truth, she has an odd, yawning suspicion that she is being stalked nowadays. One of her underwear has gone missing, and she's wretched because her first thought upon finding it gone was the solid assumption that he had stolen them. Which further meant that the man had broken into her room.

But there's also flowers. Every morning when she opens her door, there's a single flower awaiting her. Sometimes, two or three, and not from a store, but from outside, from nature.

He's courting her, and she feels stupidly like a little princess because of those homely yet thoughtful gifts. She doesn't throw them away: they gather on her table, on her window sill, in a little water glass on her bedside table.

She's far too kind, that's what people always say, but she's also neck-deep into this goddamn creep at this point to do anything about it. The building is full of muscled men, men who are decent, and she chooses this… gift-bearing perv to crush on. In her judgment system, she's basically asking for it at this point.

"How are you?"

His accent lingers in the air between them, and she can't help it: it always brings a rush of heat on her cheeks and a rush of wetness down below when she hears him speak.

"I'm good. Just… good. How about you?"

"Sehr gut."

Perhaps the underwear has simply gone missing while washing laundry: it's not unusual when at least 20 people share one washing machine.

And they're only friends. Friends don't steal each other's underwear. Friends ask how they have been, how their day's gone.

"You look nice."

But the summer sun pales in comparison with the heat of that stare. Friends might compliment each other, but they don't look at each other like that.

She feels grungy enough while cleaning, not to mention in the bland, saggy clothes she has to wear every morning, so it can't be a surprise that she likes to put on an effort after the day is done. The citrus-yellow dress she has this afternoon catches his attention like she's a whole circus in town.

"You always look like an angel," he elaborates further, and she has to prevent herself from taking support from the wall upon hearing his compliment.

"Oh.. Thanks," she smiles, and he answers it: the faint creases around narrowing eyes are enough proof of that. "It's so hot… Do you ever take the hood off?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you take it off before bed?"

Oh god.

That sounded weird. She meant to ask if he took it off before sleeping.

Well, 'before bed', 'before sleeping'… What's the difference, really?

Still, he reads into it like a hawk for a seemingly socially graceless case.

"Depends if I'm alone or not," he says. Definitely thinks she's flirting with him again. Talk about sending mixed messages…

Friends, friends. We're just friends.

"Where are you from, by the way? Are you German?"

"No. Austrian."

"Oh. It must be beautiful there at this time of year."

"It is. I would still trade all of Austria for you," he says without any clumsiness, even though the pickup line is awful, one of the worst she has heard – and god, still, those big hands, that fire and ice stare makes her feel high as a kite. The image of him plowing her with the same pace he fucked his hand won't leave her alone.

"König… Just friends," she warns while feeling how another pair of panties is already ruined. She's so wet it's not even funny anymore; it makes her annoyed.

"Ok."

He says ok, but she knows he won't yield. She’s been far too kind for far too long and won't be losing this guy's interest anytime soon.

"How's work?" She tries to patiently show him how to be fricking friends, even if one party is constantly undressing the other with their eyes. As if she's not doing the same…

"You really want to know?"

"Sure."

"Had to scrub intestines from my shoes all night," he says casually. She can only blink and watch how completely distanced and indifferent he seems about something so sick.

"Everything's a mess when you use a knife," he explains further.

"Uh... I'm sure it is."

"Do you regret that you asked?"

"No. Well, perhaps a little."

He crosses his arms over his chest and looks proud; only seems pleased with himself for succeeding in scaring her even more.

"That's why I scrub guts and you scrub floors."

"I guess so," she agrees to his ever-authentic way of saying things how they are. He's a soldier: she can’t change that fact no matter how he or she puts it. Decent guys did the exact same things he did; they just didn't go around telling shy girls about the gory details of their work.

"Do you like knives?"

Nor did they ask things like this. They would ask if she wanted to go see a movie or have a lovely dinner that would end in a kiss and an exchange of phone numbers.

"Um. Yes, I think they're beautiful."

Her response causes a short, deafening silence, a few blinks. The wind catches his mask, but it never rises: she notices he's not only undressing her body, but also her soul with those eyes. Patient, like he knows all her secrets and loves them already.

"What would it take to be more than friends?"

His sudden change of subject is almost as shocking as the devil-may-care account of his work. She is feeling unusually wild; the warm weather and the yellow hues covering the distant horizons make her want to lie down on the grass and pull him on top of her. She thinks of him sliding up the fabric of her cutesy dress, thinks of him opening his pants to get that huge cock out and force it inside.

"Well… You could… Ask me out, for starters?"

"What if you come to my room and I'll show you something," he offers instantly.

As nice and naive as she may be, she's sure the only thing he wants to show her is his cock. Which she has already seen, technically speaking. Which she would like to see again, heaven forbid.

She is slightly breathless and wonders if the heat on her cheeks is visible, if her lips are a bit fuller than usual from her thoughts. Perhaps that's why she resorts to a counteroffer as if she's bargaining here. As if she can't say no.

"Uh.. How about you come and pick me up for dinner this eve–"

"Ok."

He nods with full-blown promise in his eyes and leaves right away, a little too content, and she realizes she has made the worst mistake of her entire life. She will never get a man of his size out of her room if she lets him in and things go awry.

In a hurried decision, she decides she will simply leave him blue-balled at the door. She simply won't go to dinner; she certainly won't let him in. She doesn't have to, even if and when she has to watch him mope for the rest of the year.

She will tell him they're not friends, they're nothing anymore, and that's just it.

She goes, determined and her mind set, to shower, only to notice that she's more soaked than the pool of soap water gathering at her feet. Her body simply betrays her at every turn. Perhaps she should masturbate, just in case, so she won't be weak-willed when he arrives at her door this evening. Yes, that's a brilliant idea, one of the rare good ones she’s had these past few days.

“Jesus–"

By the time she enters her room, wet and throbbing, he's already there.

"How did you get in?"

He shrugs his shoulders like he always does.

"You asked me to visit you."

He doesn't even answer her question about him breaking into her fucking room. He's standing right next to her dresser and a bra she had thrown on one of the open drawers, and she knows right then and there that he's the panty thief.

"Yeah, but… I thought you'd knock or something."

"Sorry."

If you shrug I swear I’m going to…

"Where do you wish to go?"

He's standing there like a contrapposto statue, narrow hips deliciously tilted and with an obvious erection in his pants. He doesn't seem to feel ashamed about it, and it makes her even more wet.

She has a murderous giant in her room, a killer who's visibly turned on by the sight of her underwear, perhaps the lingering scent of her perfume, too… and he's asking where she wishes to go eat tonight so he might have a chance to bang her afterward.

"Do you like Chinese?"

He shrugs as an answer, and she sighs.

"I need to change. Could you turn around?"

The eyes behind the hood regard her with curiosity, but the man does as he is bid. She takes out a floral dress and a more comfortable bra and walks further away to the bed to change. König faces the wall while she gets undressed with trembling hands. She’s sure the man will turn around, march to her, and simply have his way with her before she gets the dress on. Some sick part of her even yearns for it.

But he doesn't. Instead, his head tilts a little to the side, and his hand rises to gently brush the lace of her bra while she's in the most vulnerable position she's ever been with this man. It's an almost equal violation of her privacy as it would've been to turn, but her tongue is tied. And she only now notices he's not wearing gloves.

König is caressing her underwear with no fabric whatsoever between his skin and her chastity, and it makes her breath grow heavy like they're living in the 18th century.

"All set," she says, voice tight, and he lowers his hand and turns as if he has done nothing wrong.

The evening, however, goes far better than she had hoped. Or feared.

He buys them dinner, drinks one beer. They even have a perfectly healthy, civil conversation. She helps herself to a bit of wine to calm her nerves, and they discuss what their dreams used to be before they landed the jobs they currently have.

He reveals he wanted to be a sniper and that he prefers to work alone, but to her question on what went wrong with all that, he merely answers he was 'too clumsy.'

What the man is really trying to say is that he's simply too big. Detectable, loud, and tall.

He hints at being bullied at school and in the army, and she feels even more sorry for him, curses in her mind – if the guy's tactic is to get a girl by being a hot loner with a tragic tale of woe, it sure is working for him.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asks when there's still tension between them, tension that should have melted by now.

"A bit, yeah."

"Is it because of the hood?"

His voice is softer, and she realizes that he's really trying: trying to tone down whatever beast rages inside him, trying his all to be normal instead of some tormented madman.

"No, not exactly," she confesses and feels a sting in her heart when he looks defeated. She almost feels like a bully, too. She wants to take the guy in her arms and shush him to sleep so he would wake up less haunted. But that's not how this goes: she cannot fix him, and even if she could, she has no right to.

He takes her back to the base and stands at her door again. The halls have fallen silent, everyone's asleep at this hour, and her heart is still hammering in her chest.

"Are we still just friends?" He stares at her from the darkness of the hood, shoulders slightly hunched, trying to make himself appear smaller. Less intimidating.

"I…I guess so."

"You think I'm weird, don't you."

His next question is more of a statement. And all she wants to say is no, even if it's a lie. The guy is… not evil; it's just that he certainly isn't sane and sound, either.

"Um… I… Uh-"

"You're the one who watched me in the showers," he points out as if they're keeping score on who's more of a perv.

"Yeah. I guess I'm the weirdo here," she laughs nervously, then almost bites her tongue. He only cocks his head a little to the side and repeats his earlier question.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Well… yes, ok? I did. Why else would I–"

"It's ok. I understand. I don't mind."

"Well, it was still rude of me to do that." She guides her gaze to the floor, then up at his polar stare that makes her want to swoon in the hopes that he will catch her. "Didn't you notice the sign on the door?"

"I did," he said, and the corners of his eyes slowly gather a few wrinkles. Smiling again.

She shakes her head slowly, scoldingly, and notices how that smile only deepens under the hood. Then his face – or what little can be seen of it – straightens.

"Am I harassing you?"

Wow. Well, at least the poor guy is trying to self-reflect. But something tells her there's more than some new-found awareness of his late behavior at work here.

There's bitterness... Exclusion.

Loneliness.

"No," she tries to comfort him. Another facepalm moment: she is basically telling a stalker she likes being stalked. That this sort of wacko shit was approved of. So this is what it has come to… Years of being invisible apparently did things like this to people.

"Or maybe a bit," she says as a spineless afterthought.

"Do you want me to stop?"

In all honesty, she is drunk on his attention. The obsessive behavior, the relentless wooing, romantic gestures accompanied by a stare that says he wants to plow her until she is a limp heap on a bed stained with tears and cum.

"König… Are you lonely?"

He shrugs, and she wants to grab him. Shake him.

"Are you?" He says with an unusually deep voice.

"...Yes."

Her voice is as fragile as can be, but the hall echoes her confession like it's a loud song. The eyes under the hood look at her softly, longingly: she hasn't even noticed how soft they can sometimes be.

"You don't have to be."

There's simply no use in denying it: she wants this guy to fuck her, no matter how creepy or weird he is.

She grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him inside.

[tyunphoria]

🌪️it’s a scream, BABY ! — h.js

- - - - -

⚠️NSFW CONTENT⚠️

- - - - -

ghostface!han jisung x reader

SYPNOSIS: when you thought you finally escaped that psycho who calls himself ghostface . . . think again. he always finds you.

INCLUDES: AFAB reader, ex!bf han jisung, pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc.), slight angst near the end if you squint, SMUTTT, aftercare, ngl kinda rushed oops.

WARNINGS: obsessive behaviour, threatening, mentions of death and murders, han having slight yandere tendencies, DOM!han, fingering, hair pulling, dacryphilia, praise, implied voice kink, knife play, fear play, finger-sucking, rough sex ig idk, begging.

wc: 3.7k

You approach the front door with relief, the aches in your feet swelling after a long day. "I'm home," you call out wearily.

Silence responds. No clattering of dishes from the kitchen, no muffled music from upstairs. Just the low whine of machinery emanating from somewhere.

Frowning, you kick off your heels, biting your lip against the sting of fresh blisters forming at the back of your ankles. Your shoulders slump as you drop onto the couch, its faded pattern doing little to lift your spirits.

Wincing, you massage the ache from your feet, inspecting the angry skin stretched tight over your swollen heels. Exhaustion seeps into your bones as the steady hum of the fan fades into the background. You lean your head back, eyes drifting shut against the gathering gloom. Slipping off your shoes was the first victory of what promises to be a long night ahead.

Laundry, mopping the floor, cleaning out the cupboards; fuck it, that can wait till tomorrow morning.

Sliding the uniform jacket from your shoulders, you sigh with the release of tension. The cool air hits your skin as you unbutton your work blouse, revealing a tank top beneath.

You adjust your skirt, glad to be free of the restrictive waistband and back into casual clothes. Glancing at the clock, you let out a sigh. Your roommate must be still working out late again. So much for a promised and well deserved girl’s night.

For now, though, you tune out the noise and settle further into the couch. Remote in hand, you aimlessly scroll through TV options in search of a mindless distraction. Anything to pull your exhausted mind from the drudgery of the day.

2 years, you frown.

It’s been two years since you’ve moved to seoul after the ghostface attacks from your hometown. You were lucky enough to survive, but the price of your survival was steep. It entailed enduring the loss of friends and family.

Till this day, it’s still a mystery as to who the killer was. Rather, killers as some people theorize.

But you know who he is.

You knew ghostface all too well.

How could you not ? He was the man you once loved and cared for. Until he went batshit insane and claimed to only be doing what’s best for the both of you by killing anyone who came in between your relationship.

You can’t tell the police. You can’t tell anyone. If his name happens to get leaked in the public, you’re the first person he’d go for.

“Stop thinking about him,” you groan, rubbing your temples. He’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere, why stress over it ? You settle on the news channel instead as you slump further into the couch.

“We interrupt your regular programming with breaking news. This is Lee Dae-suk reporting live from the scene. Just moments ago, authorities received a distress call by a janitor from HYBE Co.” you quickly sit up from your seat as you hear these words. That’s where you worked . . .

“Upon arrival, they discovered a chilling scene that has left investigators and the community in shock,” the reporter continues on with how there were two victims from your workplace suffering from injury and were rushed to the er, and the other two were found dead. “. . . the initials G.F. were carved on their chests. Detectives suspect that this traces back to the ghostface attacks of 2021 in [hometown]. We advise all citizens of seoul to be on high alert for potential suspects. Law enforcement officials advises everyone to stay indoors no longer than nine.

We will keep our viewers informed as this case unfolds. We now return to your regular scheduled programming brought to you by—“

You grab the remote and quickly shut off the tv.

“Shit, please f/n, answer your phone,” you gnaw on your nails whilst pacing around the living room. If this is the same ghostface, he must’ve followed you. It would be all your fault for leading him here. The thought makes you sick.

You dial her number again with shaking hands, desperate for an answer.

“Hey—“

“F/n!”

“you’ve reached f/n’s voice mail ! i’ll call you back when—“

“Fuck !” You exclaimed, throwing your phone onto the couch in frustration. The worry and fear is eating you alive. You try calling again and again, each unanswered ring twisting the knot of anxiety in your stomach tighter. With a sigh of defeat, you finally slump down on the couch, cradling your head in your hands.

"She'll be fine...she has to be fine," you say quietly to yourself, taking a slow, steadying breath. But before you can fully calm your racing mind, your phone suddenly rings, the sound jolting through you. Your heart leaps into your throat as you don’t bother checking the caller ID before picking it up with trembling hands.

“Hello ? F/n ?”

- “hey, baby.”

replied a deep, gravelly, modulated voice.

- “miss me ?”

Your breath hitched as you froze. A shiver ran down your spine as your eyes flicker to the open blinds.

“Ghostface.” You acknowledge. From the other line, you could hear him click his tongue in disapproval.

- “I prefer the nickname ‘darling’.”

“What the fuck do you want, Jisung ?” You tried not to show any signs of fear but the slight tremble in your voice says so otherwise.

“What ? Aren’t you gonna go ask me what my favourite scary movie is ?” You made your way in the kitchen as your hand inched to grab a knife.

- “I have a better question. Do you like games, y/n ?”

You pass your index finger between the various knives on the rack, fingers wrapping around the biggest handle.

“Fuck you.”

Jisung can be heard chuckling. His laugh made your stomach twist. What sick bastard thinks all of this is just a game ?

- “Even with that knife in your hand, you’re still as beautiful as ever. And the look of fear in your face ? It’s fucking hot, baby . . .”

You feel your heart starting to race as you flinch and turn around, all your senses now activated.

- “Tell me, are you gonna stab poor ol’ ghostface with that knife ? You aren’t any better from me, y/n.”

He was taunting you and you knew that.

You end the call after telling him that he could go fuck himself before rushing over to the windows and locking them shut. Same goes for the door as well while you clutch the edge of the dinner table as if your body were threatening to collapse.

The phone vibrates in your hand, except this time it wasn’t a call but a notification from the unknown number.

Your hands begin to shake once again as you huff and puff to regain composure, clicking on the notification to reveal a video.

A video of f/n entering her car.

You jumped at another vibration. He’s trying to call you again. The whole situation was frustrating — not only were you scared as shit, also a bit agitated with how he wasn’t just threatening you but your loved ones as well.

You peer down the halls, silently peeking at every room. When you finally accept the call, your heart drops at his words.

- “Hang up on me again, I dare you. I’ll mail this bitch’s head at your door, don’t fucking test me, y/n.”

The violence of his threat burned your eyes but you had no choice but to swallow back your tears. You’d just have to listen, so no one else got hurt. You can’t bear losing anyone—not again . .

“Jisung,” you close your eyes as a shuddered breath escapes your lips. “I’ll listen. I’ll do anything you want, okay ? Just please, don’t hurt anyone.”

He slightly softens at your pleas. Jisung still loves you, with all his heart and he wishes for nothing more than to go back to how things used to be. But he knew better than that, he's already far too deep to return with how he used to be.

- “Such a good girl for me . . . See how easy it is to obey ?”

Despite the fear, you cursed at the way he still had an affect on you. Somewhere in him, it’s still the same Han Jisung you’ve grown to love. The feelings you’ve stored away after all these years were beginning to resurface, and you were ashamed to admit it.

- “hm, what game, what game . . . Have you ever heard of the game hot and cold ?”

You nod, clutching the phone tighter. Words were stuck in your throat and you knew he could see you though he seemed to be dissatisfied.

- “Use your words, beautiful.”

His nicknames are starting to trigger a reaction that you hadn’t expected and felt so guilty. Heat spreads through your body, and shamefully enough, between your legs.

“I have,” you stammer.

- “Alright. Here’s the deal; find me and all of this’ll be over. I’ll leave you alone. Sounds like a plan ?” It seems all too good to be true. Find him and then what ? Will you have to just trust his word and believe that you’ll be finally left alone ?

- “Better start looking, I’m getting impatient here, princess.”

After a few minutes, neither of you spoke. The silence is weighing heavily down on your shoulders. The thought of not knowing where he is and him being able to pop out and slice you at any moment now increased your degree of fear. You walk out of the living room and open your roommate’s door, switching the light on.

- “cold.”

You grumble in response and made your way to your own bed room, eyes landing on the doors of your closet. Hands inching closer to the handles, you hear his breathing become more erratic making you pause.

- “Why’d you stop, baby ? Perhaps I’m in there.”

Your hands trembled as you grab the handles of your closet and pulled it wide open with eyes closed. To your surprise, he wasn’t there.

- “keep looking, sweetheart.” He laughs tauntingly. “Remember, this isn’t some cliche horror movie. The closet, really ?”

- “What's next ? The basement ?”

“Fuck you !” You didn’t wanna play this game anymore. By the time you found him, you’d be dead from a heart attack.

You exit your room and keep walking.

- “still cold.”

Sighing in annoyance, you head for the opposite direction, about to pass the bathroom till he spoke.

- “warmer.”

Taking a deep breath, the door creaks open as you step inside, flicking the light switch on. You inch closer to the shower curtain, letting out a tiny whimper.

- “You’re getting so warm. Very good, baby.”

You never had a thing for praise till now and let me just say that shit made your knees buckle. You wish you could just tell him to stop messing with you, the whole situation itself was already confusing enough.

- “Now you’re boiling.”

You grip the shower curtain and throw it open.

Nothing.

Absolutely, nothing.

“Bastard,” you groan. “Show yourself, asshole ! I’ll beat the shit out of you !“

- “hey now, no need to get violent. Keep talking to me like that and I’ll fuck that attitude out of you,” han spat.

“I’m done with your shit. Grow a pair and come at me, why don’t you ?” You held your phone tightly in your hand you could’ve crushed it. You head to the kitchen and grab a glass of water to soothe your dry throat. You laugh in realization, “I doubt you’re even here. God, I’m so stupid. I can’t believe I fell for it. How else could you send the video if her work’s like miles and miles away ?”

- “you asked for it. No backing out, ‘kay babe ?”

You pause. “What ?”

You immediately drop the glass along with your phone as a gloved hand reaches from behind to clasp over your mouth. Letting out a muffled scream, you thrash in his grasp, reaching to grab the knife from the counter but his free hand swiftly takes hold of both of your wrists and binding them behind your back as the masked man hunches you over the counter.

“Surprise, y/n.”

Tears blur your vision with your screams and whimpers getting muffled by jisung’s glove. He lets go, giving you some time to catch your breath.

“Let go, jisung !”

He inhales audibly, bringing you tight against him. “Scared, sweetheart ? I know you want this as much as I do . . . Think I didn’t notice the way you were practically soaking wet with just my voice ?” His hips push forward and the massive shape of his hard cock makes you weak. “Such a naughty, naughty girl.”

The unwelcome throb between your legs is spreading through your abdomen. A moan threatens to leave your mouth but you manage to bite your lip. His hand inches lower, slipping through the waistband of your shorts, clenching your thighs to refrain from giving him access.

“Open those legs for me, pretty girl,” he clicks his tongue, getting impatient.

“Burn in hell.”

With that little comment, he rips off your shorts along with your lacy panties. A new complaint comes from the back of your throat and you start to squirm and thrash again, unconsciously moving your ass against his clothed cock to push him away.

He snickers, keeping you pinned on the counter. “Impatient, are we ?” He lifts his robe and tugs his sweatpants down. Han jerks you back against him, pulling you off the counter and holding you tight against his hard dick.

“I missed you,” he rips his mask off, trailing kissing along your neck while he taps the flat of the knife against your cheek. “So fucking much . . .”

“What do you want ?” You gulp, melting in his tight embrace. God, you missed this. You missed him.

“You.” He rolls his eyes, “thought it was pretty obvious, but guess i have to spell it out.”

Han lightly trails the tip of the knife down your cleavage and stomach, applying more pressure afterwards to slice your tank top open. The cold air hitting your hardened nipples and the knife lightly dragging along your breasts made you gasp and arch your back against him.

He teases your cunt with the handle, dragging the object along your folds as he circles your clit with it. “Like that, sweetheart ?”

You moan as he smiles at the cry he drew from you.

“Use your words, baby,”

You took a shaky breath, hips swaying. “Fuck you, han jisung.”

He plasters on an amused smile as he shoves the handle in your cunt.

“I really gotta fix that nasty attitude of yours.” He says, taking his glove off.

He replaces the handle with his fingers, gently curling them as he moves it in and out your sopping pussy. You draw out a long whine, legs trembling and you could barely keep yourself up. “Oh god…. Fuck, jisung….”

The cute noises you were making encourages him to keep going as he picks up the pace, thrusting his fingers harder and deeper.

His other hand reaches up and closes his fist around your throat, scissoring his fingers inside of you. You’re reaching for logic, for dignity, but everywhere there’s only him.

Your moans were getting louder and louder at each plunge of his fingers, deciding ‘fuck it’ since it felt too good to stop now. His thumb pressed your clit in a delicious way which brought a familiar sensation in your lower belly. The coil in your stomach tightens painfully.

Han grins at this, knowing you were close.

He purposely pulls his fingers out before your release, suddenly feeling empty as a long string of curses and whines spill from your lips.

“Seriously ? Literally what the fuck—“

Han silences you by pushing the two fingers into your mouth.

His fingers skillfully venture deeper into your throat. The slight pressure causes you to choke momentarily, a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration flooding your senses. Your lips form a tight seal around his fingers, tongue swirling and sucking on them as the primal desire to please him fuels your actions while you greedily lapped your tongue.

His mouth, warm and eager, delicately explored the tender flesh of your neck beneath his lips. The sensation sends shivers down your spine, breath hitching in anticipation as he lines himself up against your entrance.

Moaning, you can’t help but impatiently grind against him

“What’s wrong baby ?” Han releases his fingers from your mouth as you gasp for air. “want my cock instead ?”

You nod eagerly.

His grip on your hip tightens as he tugs your hair back, eliciting a curt hiss from your hips. “Words, y/n.”

“Yes . . Please, I want you so bad, please fuck me.”

“Good girl.” He wastes no time sheathing and snapping himself inside of you, his thrust knocking the wind out of your lungs. He swears quietly, feeling how soft your walls were pulsing around him — warm and perfect, everything he missed over the past few years. You choke on your words, eyes fogging with tears as you slur out random sentences.

He grunts, starting off slow. “Thought I stretched you out pretty good but you’re still so goddamn tight. When was the last time you fucked someone, pretty baby ?”

Han deepens his strokes but keeps a teasingly slow pace. “Pl—Please, Jisung-ah …. go faster.” You sniffle, pathetically begging for his cock at this point. It hurt too much. You needed him more than ever.

“Where's the girl who was telling me to burn in hell a couple of minutes ago ?” He laughs and grabs your jaw to turn and face him, “you look better so needy for me like that . . Now, answer my question.” A groan leaves your mouth as his grip gets tighter.

“Since you left !” You sob as he rocks his hips faster, quickly fucking into your heat. “I haven’t found anyone as good as you, jisung-ah—“

He grins, roughly pinning you down on the counter. It was the answer he exactly wanted to hear.

You gasp as he hits a particularly sensitive spot, beginning to see stars as he brings a hand around to the front, running a finger against your swollen clit.

Moving inside of you at a nearly brutal pace, as you feel your release come closer and closer. He feels it too with the way you tighten around him. “M’cumming,” you whine, but he doesn’t stop. Then you came, walls clenching around him as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your legs tremble under the intensity, tapping on his arm for him to let you breathe for a second.

His hands grab your waist and uses it as leverage to thrust into you, leaving you little to no time to at least catch your breath. You try to speak but another one of his hard thrusts trigger a loud moan.

“Doing so well for me, baby. Think you can cum a second time ?” You moan brokenly, unable to respond. Your tongue hangs from your swollen lips and your throat feels dry. You never expected being fucked silly by the one and only han jisung ever again but here we are. You feel selfish for not wanting it to end and for wanting to be with him again.

He pulls you up and flips you around, hungrily smashing his lips against yours as if he’s been waiting to finally taste and have you all to himself for decades.

- - - -

“I hate you,” you groan as he lays you down on the soft mattress of your bed. “so fucking much.” Han only ever grins in response as he wipes away the cum trickling down your inner thighs.

You can barely move. You can’t even twitch a single finger.

Your limbs were sore and it was all his fault.

Summoning the last ounce of strength within you, you deliver a knee to his abdomen, eliciting a deep grunt from his lips. A look of mild annoyance crosses his face as he settles down beside you, encircling your waist with his strong arm. He presses his face into the soft curve of your neck, his fingertips tracing soothing circles along the tender flesh of your thighs.

“I missed you,”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t respond to that.

Suddenly, your lips meet in a sweet collision, a mingling of desire and longing. The taste of anticipation linger on your tongues as Han’s kisses began soft and tender, gentle brushes of lips that convey a depth of emotion words could never capture. With each meeting of your mouths, your passion ignites, growing more fervent, more urgent.

His hand cradles your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline, while your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the ardor of your embrace. Your mouths moved in perfect synchronicity, exploring and claiming, as if they were trying to memorize every contour, every taste.

The moment is abruptly shattered by the piercing wail of police sirens echoing just outside the house. Panic grips your heart, forcing you to acknowledge the harsh reality that the person you love is still a criminal; a killer.

With a heavy sigh, he gently drapes the covers over your form, shielding you from the impending chaos. Reluctantly, he pulls himself away, but not without leaving a lingering kiss upon your trembling lips, as if to imprint his love upon you, even in the face of uncertainty.

"Y/n?!" A familiar voice calls out from outside, the voice of your roommate.

His lips press against your forehead, his touch both comforting and fleeting. Your fingers instinctively cling to his sleeve, desperately trying to hold onto the moments you have shared.

"Wait, Jisung..." you plead, your voice laced with apprehension and longing. Your thumbs nervously fiddle with each other, betraying the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

A mischievous smile plays upon his lips as he leans closer, his voice a whispered reassurance. "Will you come back?" The thought of losing him again scared you.

"It isn’t that easy to get rid of me," he smiles cheekily as he opens the window sill, "Don't miss me too much.

“Remember, whether you like it or not, I'll always find you."

a/n: the amount of times ive watched all of the scream movies (esp 1, 4, and 6) is not healthy</3

also, han jisung brain rot wkjanjanw

this was honestly supposed to be a two part with minsung but i decided against it idk kinda wanna do more ghostface aus with ateez or something

like im boutta write some ethan landry x readers cus lemme js say 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

[chaichaiiskai]

NO PICKLE X MALE READER??? I GOT YOU.

pickle x prehistoric! shot male reader who's like his most precious s/o and overprotective during the prehistoric times and then now in the future. it can be fluff with a bit of angst.

almost the same height as baki or something.

notes: okay okay okay, I'm so sorry I'm late on this but I now have the brain capacity to write somethin' worth readin'...

yandere-ish! possessive! pickle x prehistoric! male! reader

warnings: violence, blood, body horror (not to reader), pickle is a lil' yandere ngl—, possessive and protective behavior, angst, kidnapoing, mention of smut but no explicit descriptions, male reader, amab reader, mxm, mlm, homophobes dni, mdni, 3.7k+ words (I went a lil' ham ngl)

Unexpectedly, the Jurassic research team had never expected to have a primitive man at their fingers, suspended in time and saline— not just one, but two. However, strangely enough, they both looked distinctively different, one was much taller and muscular than the other, causing the researchers to question the periods in time in which both had existed. That was quickly disproven despite this, seeing how the two of the men were encased in the very same saline rock, back to back as if they'd been frozen in time in the middle of protecting each other from an outside threat. On the outside looking in, it was quite poetic in a way, a clear display of humanity in its ideal form, hardened in resin. It was almost a shame that they would be carefully melting away the rock to get a better view of the two men encased in the saline.

The biggest theory amongst the researchers was that the two men could potentially be siblings, the taller one being the oldest brother while the younger was the shorter one; even if they didn't explicitly look alike. There was also the theory about them being father and son, there was no definitive answer— yet.

And so, with as much excitement as most scientists who were ready to discover something new, the thawing process had begun on the saline rock that held two great mysteries.

It took a bit of time for the researchers to thaw the rock with pure caution, wanting to keep the two beings intact as much as possible and so, they'd decided to thaw one side at a time— starting with the smaller man first. About two days later, they had managed to thaw him out completely and get him onto a gurney that surprisingly creaked and squeaked under his weight. They hooked the man up to monitors and machines, eager to see what exactly was going on with him, and to their shock— there was a faint heartbeat which required more close surveillance from them. The man looked almost as if he was stuck in a peaceful sleep, seemingly unable to wake up.

Half of the research team found themselves debating on whether or not they would apply modern technology to this man, wanting to reanimate him while the other focused on melting away the rest of the saline and getting a better look at the beast of a man while keeping the smaller man under surveillance.

And to their astonishment (and horror) the beast woke as they had managed to melt the saline away, stopping about halfway past his torso. One could only imagine the look of terror on the faces of the small, everyone was small compared to this creature, scientists as they stared up at him. He simply stared back, unmoving, but blinking, glancing around briefly at his confusing new surroundings that looked nothing like what he knew when he was younger.

Project Pickle was a success, but could the same be said about Project Cucumber?

Despite the looming and watchful eyes of the eight foot tall man who watched each and every one of them as they worked, the scientist continued to melt away the saline while Pickle remained still. Based on instinct alone, he did not sense any imminent danger, therefore, he saw none of the people in the room as immediate threats.

That did not last long, when he was completely free, he began to look around more, almost as if he was looking for something specific, tendrils of dark locks swinging as he looked rather perplexed. Then, he briefly sniffed the air, pupils dilating as his gaze zeroed in on the high security door that kept him tucked away in a metal box he didn't care to think about. And he began to walk towards the door, unknowing of what he was doing exactly, and stared at it, sniffing the air once again.

Surprisingly, the military personnel that worked as security on the premises didn't even bother to move, not even when the beast of a man snatched the door clean off it's securely bolted in to get a peek inside. He then crouched under the doorway to walk through it, almost like he was walking into a cave and made his way towards the gurney that held Cucumber's sleeping form. The scientist in the room all audibly gasped, shuddering in fear as he took some steps forward, standing at the foot of the gurney that still held your body.

The silence in the facility was deafening, even a single needle would be heard if it were to hit the cold tile floor.

And that's when Pickle moved, grabbing a hold of your calf to give it a squeeze that would have surely shattered the bones of a modern hero. Coincidentally, it had only caused your eyes to shoot open, a sound of anger coming from your mouth that was accustomed to a growl as you sat up, grabbing at the hand of the being who'd rudely woken you from your sleep. Only then when you were awake did Pickle loosen his grip and your eyes met for the first time in over hundreds of millions of years. The moment was wholesome to the two of you, but somewhat eerie to those looking on the outside in.

From then on, Pickle and Cucumber were given their own special area where they spent all their time together. There was one thing that was quite noticeable about the pair, Pickle did not like it when people got too close to Cucumber, often growling and baring his teeth at anyone who came too close. On the other hand, he would let the scientist get close to him so long as they kept their distance from you. Their interactions were simple enough, no words were exchanged but there was the occasional grunt and groan as they seemed to speak to each other in their own silent way. The original theories of the scientist believing that you were siblings was proving stronger and stronger with each day.

That— however, would soon change upon witnessing an... interaction between the two of you.

One late evening, the scientists were simply busying themselves with their research, not even paying much attention to the two men in their makeshift habitat. That was until the sound of growling, hissing, and other wild, animalistic noises coming from one of the monitors that was watching over the Projects. Curiously, the several scientists turned to look at the screen, mostly with mystified looks on their faces.

It looked like Pickle and Cucumber were battling, roughhousing in the dirt of the carefully constructed enclosure, biting and scratching at one another. Almost immediately, the scientists were ready to jump into action to find some way to subdue the two of them before something horrible happened and ruined their research, but nothing could have prepared them for what came next.

The winner of the wrestling match was Pickle, and he was eager to claim his prize. The scene that played out on the monitor was enough to make every single personnel who was watching blush like roses in a garden.

Welp, there goes their family theory... The last thing they had ever expected was that these two primitive men would be engaging in a romantic partnership, yet here they were— the sounds the two of them were making was proof. And surely, they should have all looked away, but they couldn't seem to look away, only doing so when the two men had both tired each other and decided to fall asleep, cuddling together as if they hadn't just violated each other in the most criminal and animalistic way. The two of them looked almost innocent in a way, Pickle easily dwarfed Cucumber in the spooning embrace but at least the two of them seemed comfortable.

From then on, the researchers that watched you both seemed to look at your interactions under a new light, noticing the romantic undertones with everything the two of you did together.

Pickle had a refusal to eat things that he did not actively hunt and seeing how there were no animals in the enclosure, he did not eat. And fortunately, considering the differences in biology, the primitive man was able to withstand being without food for a much longer period of time than what modern day people could do now.

A few weeks after being thawed from your saline sanctuaries, and constantly being observed by the weirdly skinny people with their weird furs, you were beginning to become more and more curious yourself. So much so that while Pickle was sleeping and one of the massive walls moved, your eyes immediately flew towards it and watched as one of the skinny people came into the room cautious and careful, holding something in their hands that seemed to be carrying other things. In interest, you stared at them, watching their every move, staying completely alert as they set the thing with things down and scurried away behind the moving wall.

Pickle was still slumbering deeply as you stared at the new thing in your enclosure before slowly approaching, sniffing around so that you could safely close the distance. As you got closer, familiar scents filled your nose and a sound of approval, similar to the sound of a chirp, was heard before you picked up a familiar fruit, peeling it off its skin and beginning to happily indulge in the fruity flavor. You sat beside the thing of things, the bowl of fruit, and happily ate the delicious treat, crossing your legs in a comfortable manner.

The eyes of your lover soon fluttered and he felt around on the ground, using his touch to try and find you, and when he is unable to, an angry growl is the only sound he makes before getting onto all fours, glancing around like a predator on a hunt. That was until he felt your presence and smelled you again, along with some strangely familiar scents and so he crawled in the direction of whether the scent was strongest.

If there was one thing to give credit on, it was the enclosure that the scientist has carefully constructed for the two of you looked like a forest, filled with trees and dirt and patches of grass, but there was an area where you often would relax— a clearing where the trees were a bit more sparse and the dirt was more abundant. That was also where Pickle and Cucumber were able to see the wall move and keep a close eye on the scientists and researchers who entered the enclosure.

The man crawled his way towards where he could smell where your scent was strongest and soon stumbled upon you hunched over, back facing him, and shoving things in your mouth, stuffing your cheeks with your newfound feast. Be that as it may, upon sensing Pickle's presence, you paused and in your squatting position, you shuffled your feet around, pivoting so that you could face Pickle. Soon enough, you flashed him a grin, mouth drenched in sweet juices as you beckoned him over with a hand.

He trusted you completely, but the same couldn't be said about what you were consuming, his eyes peeking between you and the fruit as he slowly crawled towards you. As soon as Pickle was within reach, you were quick to pluck one of the grapes from its stem and shove into his mouth, almost as if you were nonverbally saying 'try this!'

Caught off guard by the strange thing shoved in his mouth, he nearly spit it out but you quickly gave him a pleading look, puppy eyes causing his shoulders to slump, holding the grape in his mouth rather awkwardly. Huffing in frustration at him, you pointed a clawed nail towards your mouth and pretended to chew before pointing at Pickle, a look of concentration on your face as you nodded at him, hoping he'd get the message— he did.

At first, you couldn't tell how he'd felt about the grapes based on his facial expressions alone but that soon changed when his eyes widened, and then an approving sound followed.

"Hm!"

You couldn't agree more, grinning as you plucked a few more grapes, making a sound similar to a laugh when Pickle basically unhinged his jaw as you threw grapes in his mouth, one by one like a childish game.

This was another thing that the researchers had noticed, the two of you were easily amused by the simplest things, acting rather childishly despite both being full-grown adults. It was almost endearing in a way, watching the two of you, mostly you, feed each other fruits, enjoying yourselves with no active threats of danger in your lives. It was almost something to be jealous of... And that was when the researchers' curiosity seemed to spark, and perhaps an experiment would lead to some interesting results, as dangerous as they may be, but it would take an intricate amount of planning for every possible outcome.

Weeks pass.

At the exact same time every day, more bowls of fruit are brought for the two of you, the amount of fruit only seeming to double in sizes each and every time. The two of you actively seem to enjoy the fruit, the grapes being an especially popular fruit between the two of you. You were often feeding Pickle and yourself the fruit, happily enjoying them each and every time.

And just as usual, one of the skinny people brought in more bowls of fruit, with even more fruit than you could ever imagine. And naturally, you both dug right in, enjoying the sweet flavors wholeheartedly. That was until the world began to spin around you and Pickle, your vision growing spotty and blurred. Before either you or Pickle can register, your body's hit the ground and the last thing you see is Pickle attempting to crawl over you, wishing to protectively drape himself over your body but you lose consciousness before seeing if he's made it.

Much to the surprise of the researchers, the tranquilizers they'd injected into the fruit had finally worked! And now they could perform their experiment in peace— a great number of security personnel piled into the enclosure and grabbed a hold of your body, carrying you out of the enclosure and shutting the door behind themselves, carrying you to somewhere else within the facility.

The door was then properly amped up with the greatest technology the facility could offer, mostly looking to measure the strength of Pickle and his partnership with you.

When the next day came, Pickle awoke, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the enclosure he was entrapped in. He slowly sat up once his senses were back at their full use, though his body was still a bit drowsy and tiredly glanced around. Naturally, he was wondering where you were, causing him to click his teeth together in a particular way, calling out for you in his own special call.

And when he got no response, usually an excitable chirp, he got on all fours and began to crawl around the enclosure, sniffing and looking for where you could be hiding. Having been in the enclosure for so long, your scent was still lingering and he knew that you liked to play games— hiding from him, but with each passing second of him calling you and climbing up a few trees to find your usual hiding places, his panic was becoming more and more apparent. And before anyone could register the true terror of Pickle, the man stood on his two feet and roared at the fake sky, the power from it was enough to shake the entire enclosure.

The pure, unfiltered rage could be felt even through the security cameras currently being observed.

Perhaps this was a mistake.

Another growl followed before Pickle could be seen barreling towards the moving wall // enforced door with great speed and animosity, almost as if he knew that they were withholding his beloved from him. A line of personnel were on the other side of the door, prepared for what was to come next, and when he came in contact with the door, slamming his head into the metal, a noticeable dent from the outside was created but the door did not immediately give out. Another roar of anger came from him as reared back and began to repeatedly pound his fists into the door, dent after dent being put into the door that would not budge like the one he'd destroyed after waking up.

On the other side of the facility, you weren't doing any better, having woken up about an hour after Pickle, you were surprised to see the new enclosure, confused on where you were and most importantly— where Pickle was. Nothing smelt or felt familiar and you couldn't sense him. And unlike Pickle, you didn't immediately react with rage, instead, you reacted in a rather panicked way, climbing up the nearest tree for a better vantage point. When you saw no sight of Pickle, the anxiety began to set in, not even considering the possibility that he was still somewhat close by and that you'd been forcibly separated from him by the researchers who were still observing you both with keen eyes, notebooks and pens in hand.

They keep you separated for days, watching as Pickle's rage only grows and your anxiety seems to be eating away at you, almost deteriorating you at a rapid pace. Watching your differing reactions was proving to be even more interesting than they'd originally hypothesized. And while doing this experiment, the scientist had not revealed themselves to either primitive men, but about four days after the experiment started, one of the researchers had offered that they go back to sending in the bowls of fruit to see how they'd react.

Naturally, they chose to give you the fruit first.

And when the wall opened, your gaze immediately snapped up and you moved faster than they'd anticipated, hurriedly approaching the person with the bowl of fruit on all fours. The scientist is horrified at first, watching as you stare at him with pleading, puppy-like eyes. And then, you open your mouth before closing it, almost as if you were trying to say something but were hesitating.

Every scientist was on the edge of their seats, not expecting your reaction in the slightest.

Your mouth opens and closes a few more times before you finally speak, though the words are a bit broken, syllables are a bit hard to comprehend for you at the moment.

"Hmm...hm...hi—him." You move your hands above your head and begin to mess with the air, almost as if you were playing with long hair, obviously talking about Pickle.

"Wh...wha...wha...here..? Whe—whe...where?"

You did not get the reaction you wanted, watching as the scientist dropped the bowl of fruit and ran away, the wall shutting quickly behind him. As soon as the door fully closed, you lunged at it and slammed your fists onto it, broken words soon following as you pleaded, eyes beginning to water.

"Plee...plea— plea..? Please?!"

The sight of you whimpering and pounding your fists on the door is nearly enough to make the scientists sympathetic, watching as you crumble in on yourself, clearly suffering from some kind of abandonment issue. So much so that you were willing to speak their language to try and communicate. They wondered if you could learn more words and perhaps even sentences in the future. Perhaps they should have separated the two of you since the very beginning.

On the fifth day, Pickle had stopped pounding on the door, the amount of dents he'd left in the door was a concerning amount and the personnel had even grown fearful that he'd end up breaking through it soon, but they were fortunate that it seemed he'd given up. And instead, he simply sat down in front of the door, crossing his legs and his arms over his chest, waiting for the wall to open, almost as if he was expecting it.

It never opened.

Not that day.

Not the next day.

And not the next day.

The doors would open often for you, the scientists would bring you fruit and strange things while they spoke to you, trying to get you to talk to them again but your eyes were always wandering behind them, looking for Pickle in hopes of seeing him again. You do not remember the last time you'd been with him for such a long period of time, your anxiety seemed to build with each day.

"If you can just say one word— we'll bring you back to your mate, okay?"

The scientist said, waving their hands around as if that was going to help you understand what they were getting at. You simply furrowed your brows at them, trying to understand the weird noises they were saying to you. The language barrier was obvious.

As one would expect, the scientists were frustrated by the progress, trying to express to you their desires and what they wanted. They were getting nowhere.

Pickle had remained seated like a statue in front of the door, unmoving and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He had to find you, and he wasn't going to let this strange thing stop him from doing so.

Though he may not be the smartest, he knew that his fists had worn down this strange stone wall and just a few more shoves would soon bend to his will. And so, suddenly, he stood up and got into a fighting position, bringing his fist back before shooting it forward at the speed of a bullet that breaks the sound barrier with a clap and the door goes flying, crushing the line of personnel on the other side against the nearest wall, turning them into mush.

He steps out, a blank, uninterested stare on his face. An alarm soon goes off at this, seeing how he'd just brutally murdered some of security, but that didn't stop Pickle from continuing to walk, eager to find where you are, wanting nothing more than to have you back safe in his arms. And if that means crushing the skulls of small people, he wouldn't mind, so long as he got back to you.

[vanilladove]

❤︎ ₊ ⊹ get free (bonus)

based off of an anonymous request to see what would happen if reader tried to escape because trust was lost🫣 this is also the 'bad ending' reposted bc 'read more' wasn't working the first time.

pic creds luvpngs | gif creds akashi-tetsuki

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: asylum patient!nikolai x asylum attendant!fem!reader; slight fydor x fem!reader🤫

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre: angst + fluff? w/ dark elements; one suggestive scene with nikolai🙈read at your own discretion!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ content warnings: feelings of guilt, manipulation + violence, unhealthy relationships, slightly yandere nikolai, this is lowkey sad...😔

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ summary: you've become an accomplice to the doa. however, you've started to grow some doubts about your situation. are you really free or just in another man's cage? not to mention the demon lurking from a distance... ˚₊‧꒰ა read pt 1 & pt 2 & pt3 (good ending)໒꒱ ‧₊˚

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ word count: 4.7k

"So, what's your husband like?" Your coworker Juliette asked, sitting in a circle with your other colleague Anaïs, passing around a box of assorted chocolates.

It had been three months. You and Nikolai had successfully infiltrated Mersault, getting more information about the space-creating ability and honing in on potential ability users. Now you were alone, working for the government's IT department--your goal was to create a breach in their database for Fyodor to get into, so he could narrow down the Decay of Angel's targets and get their information.

Anaïs scowled and gave you the chocolates, muttering a word about how she was "low-sugar" before she primped her hair, preparing to brag, "Well, y'know, Louis takes me shopping and buys me new jewelry whenever I want. He just got me a new puppy, too, and he's the cutest little pomeranian!" You giggled a bit as Juliet pouted in envy, "Oh--and he's taking this weekend off, so we can go to the islands together!" You popped a caramel-filled square in your mouth as Juliet rolled her eyes playfully.

"You spoiled princess...Antoine spends all his money on the kids--plus he only gets one weekend off a month and always brings them to our romantic date nights..." Your coworker sighed dramatically, pretending like she wasn't equally as doting over her children, whose pictures and handmade gifts were all around her cubicle.

Ah, children, families, frequent romantic dates, marriage...those were all traditional things you gave up after running away with Nikolai.

You were lost in your thoughts as you popped another rich candy into your mouth--this one being filled with a creamy pistachio ganache that tasted a bit too artificial and made you cringe. Juliette called your name to snap you out of your daze.

"Well, what about you? What's your husband like?" She leaned forward and stared curiously at you, waiting for you to share your little gossip. You chewed slowly, trying to process the question as Anaïs nudged her friend's side lightly.

"Juliette, are you blind?! The girl doesn't have a ring on her finger--certainly she must have a man though--I mean look at her--she's a stunner." Your eyes widened at that as you twirled your wig hair and fixed your fake disguise glasses.

"Oh, well, Anaïs is right, I do have a...lover." Lover...you and Nikolai had never really put an official label on your relationship. You described Nikolai--dubbed as "Nikolas"--to the two other women, trying to stay as true as possible while not revealing his true identity.

Juliet winked at you, "Do you guys have sex? Is he rough, soft, kinky?" She giggled as Anaïs side-eyed her for her childish behavior.

You blushed, well, at least you could answer this question in earnest, "Yeah...he's good...really good." You covered your face briefly, feeling heat in your cheeks when you remembered your little Mersault moments. "But we haven't done anything in a while since he's away on a...work trip." You smiled sadly at that, despite missions being the new norm, you couldn't deny feeling lonely and missing Nikolai constantly.

"Ohhhhh?" Juliette and Anaïs exchanged coy looks, "You need that man to marry you before he leaves you...trust me, darling, I would know." Anaïs said, touching up her lipstick, "You wouldn't want to get knocked up and left alone, would you? Men are too unfaithful these days..."

Yeah, you knew all about that first hand.

You were about to interject until you supervisor knocked on the wall of the space you three were having lunch in. "Lunch break's over. Get back to work, ladies." You all got up slowly, and you held onto the box of chocolates, offering some pieces to Juliette before taking it back to your work desk and putting your headset on.

"You shouldn't eat so many chocolates, ptichka, you'll get a sugar crash." You straightened your back suddenly upon hearing the sultry, russian man's voice in your headset. Fyodor. He usually gave you instructions privately to hack into the system, but he normally only talked to you for mission purposes.

Rolling your eyes, you popped a sweet milk chocolate heart into your mouth, "Hush, I'm stressed. And how did you know? Are you watching me or something?" You looked up by the ceilings to glare into the nearby security cameras.

Fyodor only laughed on the other side. "Oh, milaya, I'm always watching you." Shivers ran down your spine as his voice faded out and you were back to staring at your log-in screen.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You waved goodbye to your coworkers as greeted Ivan--your personal chauffeur--and stepped into the backseat of the car, staring out the tinted window. The car was stopped at a red light when you noticed an animated billboard broadcasting a clip of the news. It was your parents and your in-laws begging for any information about you or your husband's disappearances and the award for either of your safe returns. While that didn't bother you at first--after all, your parents just saw you as a pawn they could marry away for a sound investment, and your in-laws didn't treat you much better either--you couldn't help but feel some remorse from their desperate pleas.

You knew what had happened to your husband--you and Nikolai had killed him. As much as you didn't want to admit it, his death was starting to haunt you. The eerie silence after you'd pulled the trigger and the horrible state he was in before replayed in your dreams, and it didn't help that your lover wasn't there to comfort you anymore. Especially now that Sigma was busy managing the Sky Casino, and you had to work your 9-5 office job, you really had no one to talk to openly. No one...except for Fyodor.

"Welcome back, milashka." Fyodor greeted you as you slipped off your heels upon entering the base. You smiled awkwardly at him, freeing your hair from the wig and slipping your glasses back into your purse. "How was work today?"

"Good...as always...you would know that, though since you're always watching me." You teased, still a bit shaken by what he'd said.

Despite how cold and reluctant he was towards you at first, you'd somehow gotten closer since it was basically just you two at the base. He'd held up his promise and gave you plenty of books to read, so you often talked about literature, which usually lead to deeper conversations. Additionally, although he never addressed you by your name like Sigma, he started giving you russian pet names--some of which were uncannily similar to the ones Nikolai would call you. You tried not to pay it much mind--it was probably some weird power dynamic thing--but you couldn't help but notice how he hid the nicknames and subtle flirting around Nikolai.

Fyodor motioned towards the small table by the fireplace, "I made some tea. Would you care to join me, ptichka? He smirked as you sighed and sat down next to him--you swore the chairs were closer than usual. You pulled the box of chocolates out of your purse and set them down next to a blue and white porcelain tea cup. You poured yourself some black tea before taking another chocolate, this one being filled with strawberry cream. You sulked after seeing a drawing of a happy family on the box, drawing Fyodor's attention. "Is anything on your mind, milaya? You seem bothered."

You eyed him curiously, surprised that he cared to listen to you. You figured you needed to get it off your chest, though, so you opened up, "Well...it's just that I've been alone lately with Nikolai gone, and I've been feeling like maybe this life isn't exactly for me..." You trailed off, a bit panicked when you saw a blank, stoic look on Fyodor's face. You put your hands up defensively, "N-not like I don't want to be a part of the Decay of Angels anymore, but just that I want more out of my life in the future."

Fyodor crossed his legs and rested his chin on his hand, gazing down at you, intrigued, "Go on."

You gulped, "I get so jealous when my coworkers talk about their families and settling down, going on fun vacations, or having daily board game nights...How they can speak so freely about their lives, while I have to live a lie and walk past my missing posters every day...I-I don't have anyone to come home to anymore, either..." You could feel tears start to cloud your vision as you looked down, never speaking this passionately before. You were sure you looked pathetic.

Your eyes widened as you felt Fyodor's frail fingers come up to wipe away your tears and brush across your cheek before landing on top of your hands. They were cold, not as warm as Nikolai's but at least somewhat comforting.

"Perhaps it isn't a different lifestyle you crave, but a sense of belonging and security." Fyodor started, bringing his face a bit closer to yours. "Your heart desires a deeper connection with those around you. After all, you abandoned everyone you knew before and suddenly went into an entirely different life. It's only normal that you would feel distressed after a while. You need comfort--and I'm sure that some part of you wants to give your parents some closure about your disappearance."

Fyodor was being...sympathetic? It was almost scary how well he could describe what you were feeling, along with how surprisingly empathetic he acted. You had quickly learned that he had little regard for others or for defective subordinates.

You looked up at him, "It's not just that, though. Even though it's selfish, I want Nikolai to marry me--or at least make things more serious and clear between us..." You didn't notice Fyodor slightly frowning at that as you continued, "He's just been away for so long, and it's not like I don't trust him, but he really has no obligation to stay loyal to me, and I've already been cheated on before...There's no way I can fall in love with another man being a double agent, so I need to know if he plans on us being long-term or not..." Rambling out the rest of your feelings, Fyodor stroked your hand slowly, his smug smile returning on his face.

"You should tell him that, then. If you speak from your heart and tell him the truth, I'm sure he'll listen to you. After all, he'd fulfill your desires if he really loved you." You pouted.

"But it's Nikolai...at the end of the day, he lives by his own convictions and philosophy."

Fyodor clicked his tongue, "If he loved you, he'd compromise." You weren't quite convinced, but you flinched when he brought your hand up and placed a soft kiss to the back of your hand. "Good luck, milashka." As soon as it happened, he was gone as he dismissed himself and left you alone at the table. You didn't know how to think or process the conversation as you lightly slapped away the faint blush across your cheeks.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Another long day of work had concluded as you wished your coworkers a good weekend and walked out the door. It had been two weeks since your conversation with Fyodor, but it was all that was on your mind. You really needed to talk to Nikolai soon.

Wait. Was that Ivan...holding a bouquet of flowers? Not just any flowers either--they were the same lavender roses you'd been gifted by your ex-patient in the asylum courtyard.

Ivan only gave you his usual twisted smile and laughter before handing you the bouquet as you shot him a questioning look. You muttered a quiet "thank you" as you got into the backseat and stared out the window again, smelling the fragrant roses and replaying Fyodor's words in your head.

It didn't hit you that the road you were traveling on was unfamiliar until the car suddenly came to a stop, and you realized you were in an abandoned alleyway. Uneasiness started to settle in as your driver exited his seat, shutting the car door behind him. "Iv--"

You were interrupted when the door to the backseat flung open and closed as Ivan crawled on top of you, pushing the flowers out of your hands as he pushed his body against yours and cradled into your neck, hysterically giggling. "I-Ivan--" You struggled to shove him off you, but he was too strong, "W-what are you---"

A familiar scent stopped you from speaking as your heartbeat increased. Wait, was that--?

Ivan pulled away from your neck before tugging off his bandages, his whole appearance suddenly fading away before being replaced by...

"K-Kolya! I-It's you!" Relief washed over your face as you looked up to see your lover staring back at you, clearly satisfied from whatever prank he'd just played on you. He kissed away the tears that had formed instinctively from your fear while laughing maniacally.

"Hehe~ Did you miss me, dove? I wanted to surprise you since I just came back. Your reactions were a nice little treat~" You pouted as you looked away, embarrassed that you'd lost yet another one of Nikolai's mini games. His features softened, "I'm afraid I may have gone a bit too far though. I really missed you, myla." His warm, gloved fingers traced over your bottom lip slowly.

"M-missed you too, Kolya. So much..." You sniffled as you pulled his head down to yours, tangling your fingers into his fluffy white hair and capturing his lips in a deep kiss. Your back pushed into the car cushions as Nikolai's hands roamed your body, needy to touch you again after so long--especially since he couldn't contact you. He fumbled with the buttons on your thick coat, hands working fast to get you out of all of your layers.

He groaned into the kiss as you tugged on his locks and wrapped your legs around his waist to press him further against you. By now, he had unbuttoned your light blue blouse to reveal your pretty skin. Nikolai pulled away from the kiss gently to take you in--the sight of you all flustered in just a thin lacy bra was turning him on, evident from his growing arousal that was pushing against your tights.

"Fuck, dove, you're so beautiful..." He dipped back to leave messy hickeys on your neck, whispering in your ear before slowly working his way down, "Your skin's so soft...were you touching yourself while I was away, pryntsesa?" You moaned at that, whining when his hand starting rubbing circles from your hips to your inner thigh, getting dangerously close. The trail of wet kisses traveled down your collarbone and your breasts to your stomach and eventually stopping where the waistband of your black skirt and tights laid. He was panting lightly at this point, devoid of air from worshipping your body. "It wasn't enough, though, was it? You need me to feel good, myla~" He heaved, his face pink and strands of hair falling over his eyes. His fingers hooked around your clothes and he resumed his trail of kisses, about to strip you.

"If he loved you, he'd compromise."

Fyodor's words hit you as you stopped Nikolai, lightly pushing yourself up again. "W-wait, Nikolai, I want to talk to you about something." He grunted, annoyed like a little kid, his bulge still pressing against you.

"Can it wait? I didn't bring you to this abandoned, sketchy alley for nothing, ptashka." You pulled away further, to his disappointment, and pulled your knees up against your body, pouting sadly.

"I know, but it's something that's been on my mind since you've been gone", Nikolai only sighed impatiently as you pleaded, "I promise it won't take too long..." You put your hand over Nikolai's, and he obliged reluctantly, sitting up a small distance away from you.

"Cockblocker...make it quick." He muttered, and you tried not to be immature and giggle. This was supposed to be a serious conversation.

You cleared your throat, "Well, I was just wondering about us...and our relationship..." You flinched when you saw Nikolai's eyes bore into you, "I-It's not what you think---I love you and want to stay with you, but, are we..." You trailed off, suddenly feeling embarrassed and unsure about what to say next. You looked down, mind a muddled mess, but you tried to remember Fyodor's advice.

"A-are we ever going to get married? Settle down and maybe start a family? Move somewhere nice and peaceful, where we can just enjoy each other's company?" Your mind went back to Anaïs and her husband, as you slowly started to look back up, "Go on a vacation together to the islands? Or your home coun--"

"No." Nikolai's dark gaze cut into you, stopping you from speaking any further. "Why would you want that, dove?"

You could feel your heart shattering. This wasn't how you thought he would respond. He was supposed to understand you, to listen to you, to compromise.

"I want a future with you, Kolya, that's why..." You started sadly, throat feeling constricted.

"But we're already together right now, myla. Isn't that enough for you?" Nikolai replied apathetically, his expression stoic and unreadable.

"It's--but my husband cheated on me, so I have to know if you're serious about us. I don't want to be in an unstable relationship anymore." Tears pricked your eyes, threatening to spill out as you could feel your heart breaking, "Anyways, you could just cheat on me, too. You're barely even around anymore, and I'm sure that you're always surrounded by beautiful women...All my coworkers are already married and in a happy relationship, so I feel so behind..."

"Oh, so that's why? Because society's telling you to live that way? Because you want to be accepted and imitate everyone else? That's the exact life I was trying to escape from, dove." Nikolai butted back, smiling cruelly.

"N-no! That's not--" You cried out, not being able to hold in the tears. Nikolai frowned and looked up from your face, reaching up towards your head.

"That hat? When did you get that?" He glared up at the white ushanka on your head. It resembled a certain someone's too closely.

You sniffled, "T-this? It's a gift from Fyodor. 'Cause it's getting cold out." Nikolai furrowed his brows in jealously upon hearing that name.

"From Dos...he's the one who planted those ideas in your head, didn't he?" His fists tightened at the thought of Fyodor wrapping you around his finger; it was his specialty, after all.

You wiped your tears sadly as you lowly shook your head no. At this point, Fyodor seemed to be the only one who understood you. He was the one who'd told you that Nikolai would compromise if he loved you. But he didn't. Did that mean...?

"Tch. Look, myla, stay away from that man. Dos may be my friend, but I don't trust him." Seeing your sad face and lack of response angered him more and he raised his voice a bit, "Stop talking to him, dove. I'm warning you--don't you dare even look in his direction."

Your sobbing resumed as you pulled your head back into your knees, hearing the backdoor shut as Nikolai left and started driving back to the base. You heard the sound of rain in the background as you clutched the white ushanka in your arms, the fluffy hat offering you some comfort.

The ride back was silent.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Fyodor awaited you both when you finally arrived back at the base, the same sly smile on his face. "Welcome back, you two." Nikolai only glared back, holding your hand tightly. He let go suddenly and walked past Fyodor into his stone room, implying for him to follow suit.

Once Nikolai's back was turned away, Fyodor gave you a soft, concerned glance. Your nose and eyes were swollen and red from all the crying. "I'm guessing it didn't go well, milashka?" You shook your head softly, and he whispered about leaving some cookies and tea in your room. He tried to approach you, but a strong voice cut him off.

"Dos, let's talk." Nikolai menacingly called out, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. You'd never seen him this stern or angry before. He never took anything seriously, certainly you weren't an exception, right?

Fyodor shot you one last empathetic look and went into his room. You shuddered as the sound of Nikolai slamming the door and immediately yelling loudly bounced off the walls. As much as you wanted to eavesdrop, you were worn out and tired.

You retreated to your and Nikolai's shared room slowly, too exhausted to even try the tea and cookies Fyodor had thoughtfully left for you. You barely stripped off your disguise before crashing onto the bed, just wanting the day to be over.

Things with Nikolai could never go back to normal again. You wished you'd just kept your mouth shut, but you also wished Nikolai had been more open to your desires. What were you to him, anyways? And you didn't understand why he was so mad at Fyodor. He'd kept you company while Nikolai was gone, and he'd been nothing but respectful and attentive.

You groaned and tried to shut your eyes to drown out the conflicting thoughts in your head. Everything was way too complicated now. You wished things could be peaceful again. You wished you could escape.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"You want to go back home, ptichka?" Fyodor asked. You nodded in response. The next day, Nikolai was gone on another mission, never coming to your shared bed the night before or saying goodbye to you before leaving.

The russian man sighed, "That's a bad idea. You'll get caught before you know it, and once the press gets a hold of you, it'll be hard to rescue you. Plus you still have your job that could arouse suspicion."

"I know..." You started. "I just...have some amends to make...and I'll only be gone for a day or two...and stay in disguise." Liar. You didn't know why you wanted to go back, and if you were homesick or just trying to self-sabotage yourself. Either way, you knew you couldn't stay here and look at Fyodor or Nikolai any longer. Things were too tense, and you didn't know who was genuinely there for you or just manipulating you.

You couldn't trust either of them. Your plan was to either go back and get caught for your crimes or retreat to the Sky Casino for as long as possible. You bet that Sigma didn't like or trust the two men either.

Not to mention, you'd already left Nikolai a parting text, writing,

"I'm sorry. I'll always love you, Kolya. Thank you."

Not that you even knew if he'd see it, but you still wanted to say something.

"I'll help you." Fyodor finally said, making your eyes widen in surprise. "But I want to tell you something first." He took your hands and held them, running his thumb over your fingers. His touch was cold. "I admire you for wanting to confront your feelings and follow your heart. The rest of us have forgotten such feelings of humanity." He continued, "To see such a lovely, well-read woman like you leave pains me. I'll truly miss you and our intellectual conversations, milaya. So much so that I'll be awaiting your safe return."

You blushed as he kissed your gentle hands, "T-thank you, Fyodor, I'm flattered." Lying again, but you figured you would have to use your 'feminine charm' a bit to fully convince him.

He smirked subtly, "Escaping from another man's cage of lofty ideals and freedom into the outside world...Would you care to do me one last favor, milashka?" You nodded with doe eyes as he leaned into your ear.

"Give me a goodbye kiss." Shocked and flustered, you pulled away and broke contact.

Fyodor only stepped forward and held your face, his soft smile seeming more sinister now, "What's wrong, dove, you just have to kiss me, and I'll help you escape. Not a bad deal, no?" He got dangerously close to you, his hot breath fanning over your glossy lips.

You froze for a second, "I-I can't--" Fyodor only traced your lips ominously, like he was taunting you and asking you why.

"I'm still in love with Niko--"

"Dove? Dos?" Your heartbeat stopped when you heard your lover's voice behind you. Why was he here, and how'd he get here so fast?

You turned around, hoping he would save you, until you saw him holding a gun--the same one he used on your husband.

"Kolya, w-wait, this isn't..." You stopped talking when you heard the gun cock. There was no way you could explain your way out of this. You and Fyodor were just about to kiss, and you were trying to escape indefinitely.

Nikolai narrowed his eyes and pointed the gun at Fyodor, "This was your doing, wasn't it?" Fyodor only remained calm, however, and twirled a strand of your hair while smirking.

"No, quite the opposite actually. Our little dove here was just about to escape and go back home to 'make amends'. It seems like she may still be grieving over her husband and their traditional life together..." Nikolai's grip on his gun tightened, still pointed at his friend. "Actually, she was just seducing me to help her escape. A goodbye kiss, that's what you wanted, right, ptichka?" Your ex-patient's eyes narrowed after hearing the similar pet name.

He turned to you, "Is he telling the truth, dove?" You were shaking, still trying to process the situation in front of you.

"N-no! I was trying to escape with Fyodor's help, but that's it! I swear, I still love you--please believe me, Kolya!" You pleaded, practically begging for your life. Nikolai looked at you regrettably before removing the card over his right eye and laughing bitterly.

"And here I was, rushing back to see you once I saw your text because I was worried about you and wanted to talk things out properly. I'm quite the fool aren't I, dove?" He started laughing maniacally, scaring you. He then stopped suddenly and pointed the gun at you, "But I guess this decision was from your own free will. I was wrong for thinking you were the same as me..."

Anxiety settling in, you couldn't react. What was Nikolai going on about? Had Fyodor said something to or manipulated him, too?

"We got rid of your husband, but now you want Dos, too? You're aren't really mine, are you, dove?" He walked closer to you and pressed the cold metal barrel to your hip. "I'll be nice and let you play one last game, though~" He had a crazy look in his eyes--one dark and emotionless, and the other streaming tears; you were sure every feeling was spiraling through his brain.

Nikolai giggled as he pushed you out of the door onto the floor. You were about to get up in fear when you heard a shot in the background. Did he shoot Fyodor?

Deranged laughter was heard behind you as Nikolai peeked his head out the door, "Better start running, dove. Otherwise the next shot might hit you~" You backed up in terror, standing up and stumbling over to Nikolai, wrapping your arms around him and crying hysterically.

"K-Kolya, you're s-scaring me. I-I love you, s-so let's go back t-to n-normal." Nikolai paused against your shaky body and lifted your face up to his. Tears were falling out both of his eyes now, contrasting the wicked grin contorting his lips. You gasped as he wiped your eyes and licked away your tears.

"You look so pretty when you cry, angel. I'll give you an extra ten seconds for that. Ten...nine...eight..." Realizing you had no way to convince Nikolai to spare your life, you ran, not daring to look back behind you. The man you loved was gone, driven mad by his obsession over you. Your skin crawled as you heard his voice reverberating through the hallways.

"I thought you loved me, dove, but it seems I wasn't what you wanted. I got too attached to you, though, and you know too much, so it seems I can't just let you go or give you to another man. You won't escape my cage."

[deathbxnny]

🎉🎉🎉

Nice job on the 1,000 followers

May I please request Yanqing with his S/O who was kidnapped by a Yandere?

Like, Yanqing and his partner aren’t the Yanderes. But someone else was Yandere for s/o and kidnapped them when Yanqing was busy with something.

Sorry this took eons Anon, life and final exams are out for blood lmao. Anyways, I hope you'll like this and thank you for the request!!<33

Content: kidnapping, kidnapper is a Yandere, Yanqing going feral, Jing Yuan being done, slight angst, hurt/comfort, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

Oh boy... the yandere is not coming out of this one alive unless Jing Yuan holds Yanqing back.

With that said, he was definitely either sent on a mission or a special errand to even be apart from you long enough to get kidnapped. He doesn't usually stray far from you, so that's the most plausible way for you to get taken away in the first place.

Now, depending on who the yandere in question is, he'll go about saving you in different ways. If it is a mutual friend, then he'll have a much easier time tracking them down alone, as he most likely already suspected them to have a crush on you a while ago. If it is a stranger or even a member of the sanctus medicus, he'll be nice enough to notify the general ahead of time that he'll need potential backup... after he is done with the person. He doesn't wait on the reinforcements or even Jing Yuan for that matter, before he heads off to look for you.

Yanqing was taught to be patient and level-headed, and yet it all melts away in panic for your safety. He'd go crazy if you got hurt and certainly would stop at nothing to get you back home. It was a matter of honor as a lieutenant at that point.

So when he finds you and deals with whoever kidnapped you in whatever way he sees fit, he'll try comforting you the best he can. Seeing you afraid and in tears makes his temper heighten again, but thankfully, the generals appearance is enough to calm the situation.

He'll definitely get scolded for being so awfully reckless and potentially putting you in danger anymore... but Yanqing has no regrets, much to the older man's dismay.

[senseichaos]

Howdy howdy! I ADORED "You Can't Run. Hell. You Can't Even Hide" The balance between absolute fear, dizzy hypnotic confusion, and wide eyed admiration that the reader character holds for Vox is immaculate! Also them calling him Mister Vox is just Chef's kiss (it is WAY too hard to find xReader fics or even just fics in general where the honorific is Mister (C/N) and I love every one I find). The clothing change moment was probably my favorite, I'll always be a sucker for the representation of being broken and rebuilt in someone's image combined with the gift of pretty clothes. I keep going back to reread the whole story.

I know it's a oneshot, but since your requests are open, I figured I'd shoot my shot and ask if you would make a part two where Mister Vox just wrecks us, preferably sexually. We did leave off on him finding us trying to run away, do we not deserve to be punished for such an offense after all he's done for us? I also would love to see if/how much Vox has to push us to slowly become happy to be his, if that's something he wants (I could imagine having a rowdy unwilling runaway as his possession would get frustrating after awhile and be terrible for his image). There's honestly so much potential for what could happen next, and even though I could stew in my imagination, I would very much love to be at the mercy of your interpretation of the funky TV man a little longer.

That said, take your time, I know you've gotten a huge influx of Hazbin requests, hell I wouldn't be surprised if someone else already requested something similar to what I requested. I also understand if you can't/don't want to fulfill this request for any reason, that's what makes it a request. No matter what, you're an amazing writer and I hope you have a wonderful day!

💙✨

AAAAAAH!! I love you sm! When I saw this request I knew I had to do it at some point! I'm giving you the name 💙 anon from now on so if you request again I know it's you!

_______

Forever and always

(part 2 to: You can't run. Hell, you can't hide either)

Summary: After that day you attempted to escape from Vox, you had become somewhat accustomed to this new life you are forced to be living. Or you were until Vox gives you your first day off, causing you to find something out that would change how you live forever.

Genre: Smut, Angst, Horror (?)

Warnings: Non-Con, Yandere behavior, Possessive behavior, Sadism, Masochism, Electric shocks, Mind control, Drugging, Love potion, Vox is an asshole, Hurtful language, forced, gilded cage, soul contracts, unprotected sex (DONT), Vox owns reader, dacryphilia, let me know if I missed any!!

(not proof read)

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That day you attempted to escape from your gilded cage you wished to escape again, though vox had managed to continue his control. Even when he tugged you back by your electric leash you felt that horrid sinking feeling. This was it. For the rest of eternity as you know it Vox has you. He owns you, your soul, your body, your life; or well, lack thereof. You couldn't run from him no matter what you did, he practically controls the pride ring, keeping you tethered there like a puppy on a leash is simple to him. He has eyes everywhere. You cannot hide anywhere.

Recently Mister Vox has become a lot more... Touchy. Those fleeting touches of his fingers against your back, poking against your chin, pressing into your neck, swiping against your bottom, touching against your bosom. There is an odd burning feeling to it, you don't want to enjoy Mister Vox touching you in such ways, you don't want to enjoy it when he sucks his teeth at you or licks his tongue against his gums. But you do. You can't quench that desire. Especially when he'd moved you into his room from your apartment building. He hadn't made you share a bed with him, thank Lucifer, but he had made you sleep near enough to him that you can tell when he's.. pleasuring himself. Almost as if he wants you to hear him.

You and Mister Vox have never been better, besides from such hurdles. You stay obedient no matter how badly you wish to escape his arms. To cut all of his tight bounds on your body and run away. You'd figure out how, one day, you would.

"Good morning my dear! Did you have a gratifying sleep?" This is how most mornings go, Mister Vox will wake you with a poke if your side and a coffee in hand, already fully dressed and done up. You've always considered yourself a light sleeper, so you never know how he manages to make you a coffee every morning without so much as stirring you awake. You smile, nodding softly as you pry your eyes from his two dimensional face.

"Thank you Mister Vox, uhm.. did you have a good sleep as well?" You ask, taking a sip of the perfectly made coffee. Vox smiles, nodding as he takes a seat on the side of your bed.

"Of course, my dear. So, I know you have been working very hard recently... So I've decided to give you the day off!" Mister Vox declares, outstretching his hands as he gives you a manic smile. A day off? Why? This has to be a test. he's just going to leave you.. alone? For a whole day? This has to be fake, a joke, a flook.

"Oh my dear don't look so surprised! You've been a very good girl recently so I thought you deserved a day off," Mister Vox pauses, looking up at the roof for a second before peering back at you. "Now don't think this means we don't have rules, you are to stay in here for the day. If you want to go shopping I have to accompany you, alright? But I do have an appointment in an hour so it won't be for long,"

"Remember, I have eyes everywhere.."

You laugh awkwardly, shrinking into your own figure.

"I know Mister Vox.. I wouldn't forget," You can't stop that sorrow from entering your voice, but quickly you put on that mask of a smile once again. Mister Vox clasps his hands together, that red dripping from his maw again. "Great! Now I'll see you soon, be a good girl for me, hm?" He says, ruffling your hair atop your head with a condescending gaze.

"Yes Mister Vox," you reply simply, watching as he disappears in Into a blue line of electricity, shooting into the camera.

Fuck. Now what?

You can't remember the last time you were given this type of freedom, even if it wasn't a lot of freedom. Often you were tethered to Vox's side. Everyone in the building knows that you belong to Vox. Everyone outside of the building probably knows this, too.

There's this odd feeling in your stomach, this odd feeling as if you were floating. It happened every time you drank your morning coffee, but you'd always assumed it was just that feeling of awakening from slumber. But today, oh today it is stronger than ever before. It's as if you can feel every nerve in your body be rewired, every single hair on your body stand on end. Every sensation is doubled.

What the fuck was in this coffee? What is this euphoria? What is this yearning.. this yearning for Vox? You suddenly wish he was here, with you, holding you, calling you his good girl.. m

Shaking your head to rid yourself of such thoughts, you stand from your bed, fixing the large blue shirt you wear (that vox often asks you to wear when you sleep) as you walk to the kitchen.

The kitchen in Mister Vox's room is a large area just off to the side of his desk space, lined with many kitchen appliances and red cabinets. You are determined to figure out what he's putting in your coffee, what's making you feel so emotional. Needy. Awful. You scan the room, finding the coffee machine in the corner of the room with a couple bags next to it. Coffee, sugar, creamer... Nothing suspicious yet, it seems. Crouching down, you look open the cabinets beneath the coffee machine. Looking through the half full area.

Then you saw it, a small vial hidden behind a spare bag of creamer labeled 'Valentino and Velvette: Love potion'.

Terror shoots through you, causing you to drop the vial to the floor. It shatters everywhere, leaving the pink liquid to seep into the tiles below. He's drugging you. All this time, you feeling this want for him, burning at his touch, listening to him as he jerks himself off late at night. You wanting him to do things to you. It's all part of his plan to make you his, completely. To make you want to be his.

Burning tears fall down your cheeks, humoring you as you stand on shaky legs from the tile. What do you do? Now more than ever you want an out, a loophole, a way to take your soul back from his greedy claws. Anxiety, terror, hurt, worry, pain.

You want to prevent yourself from doing anything drastic, you really do. But all you can feel is this pain, this pain as you run on your feet to the balcony door. Trying your hardest to pry open the doors as they rattle loudly, shaking them, pulling them, pushing them. This evil man can't keep you here for any longer. You'd do anything to leave, ruin yourself for him, do something awful, make yourself less attractive to him.

Nausea. Headache. Your knees buckle as an electric blue overtakes your vision. What is this? You can't breathe, Vox. Vox. Help. Your head clouds, words fill your brain and you feel yourself being wrapped up by sharp claws. You can't scream. Help me. Please.

"You really think it's that easy?" Mister Vox.

"I can't believe I trusted you alone, even for a minute. After all I've done for you, as well. After I gave you a life some would dream for. Stupid girl." He sounds mad, horridly mad. Regretful. Throbbing takes over your body as sound waves film your ears. You can feel him lift you into his arms, placing you down onto a soft surface harshly.

"How am I supposed to make you understand this? You're mine,"

Your vision slowly comes back, until all you can see is him as he stares at you from above. His eyes are dark, domineering, needing. He's ready to take. What is he doing? All you can feel is his claw as it travels up your middle, between the valley of your breasts, stopping at the middle of your neck.

"Now, my dear? Are you going to let me teach you a lesson? For being such a brat?" You gasp, feeling his hand as it circles around your neck, effectively taking some air from your lungs. You shake your head, attempting to move your heavy legs from him with wet teary eyes.

"Nonono! Get off, please, get off!" You cry, writhing in his grasp. He sighs, rolling his eyes as he clicks his fingers. Suddenly a pulse of electricity goes through you, causing a shock to blur your eyes and pull a scream from you.

"Every time you try anything I'm shocking you, Dove. Don't try to escape from me, it's not going to work," he grins, laughing at your frightened teary eyes. "I can do whatever I want to you, my dear! I fucking own you!!" He growls, using his hand that isn't around your neck to push your thighs to your chest, revealing your bare pussy from beneath your oversized shirt.

"No please.. I'll do anything..?"

"Oh I'm sorry dear, but this is what I want more than anything right now.. maybe you should have thought of this before making such a racket and alerting everyone in the building, hm?" He says, dragging his clawed finger through your building wetness. He finally takes his hand from your neck, instead using it to keep your thighs in place as he pinches your clit between his sharp claws.

"Ah! Mister Vox.. hurts..!" You wail, wiping your tears from your eyes as he continues to abuse your sensitive bud between his fingers. He chuckles looking up at you as you gasp in pain.

"Hah! Wail all you want, dear, no one can save you." Vox guffaws, finally taking his claws from your clit. Only to plunge them into your aching hole without warning. You moan out, feeling the sharpness of them inside of you as he curls his fingers into your g-spot.

Mister Vox revels in your wails of pain and pleasure, fucking you with his clawed fingers harsh and fast. His claws are surely are scratching you from the Inside, he can tell by the way your hands tremble and clasp over your lips.

You can't help but feel good. This masochism of yours that forces it's way into you. Every scratch of his fingers inside of you just makes you want to cum. You can't give him that satisfaction, you can't let him know that you are enjoying every second of his claws thrusting inside of you. This is awful. You hate it. You hate that you love it.

"Is my little dove enjoying this? Awe.. to scared to admit you fucking love this?" Vox laughs sadistically, giving you an extremely harsh thrust of his fingers into your g-spot. You squeal, vision going white for a moment as his fingers go at this manic speed. You feel your orgasm build, wishing to break through the walls and release. But you can't let it, you won't let him have that. You'll never let him have that feeling knowing he's won.

"If you don't cum I'll fucking ruin you, dove."

You gasp and choke on saliva, clawing on the bedsheets below as he forces you to orgasm. There's no getting out. He knows that you are trying not to cum. And he won't let it happen.

"Yes.. Mister Vox.." you say softly, hole clenching around his fingers as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Vox makes sure to drag it out, giving you slow rhythmic thrusts of his fingers to watch your body contract and writhe with pleasure.

"Good dove, listening to commands for me," He says softly, stroking the side of your cheek as he kneels between your legs. You want to pull away, but once again that burning and yearning feeling fills you. That stupid potion had an effect, and you can tell. From the way you feel a dizzy want when he looks at you to the wetness that continues to build between your thighs.

"Now, I'm going to fuck you so hard.." He laughs so himself, smiling crazily as he presses his hand to his face. "I'm gonna fuck you SO FUCKING hard, you won't even remember who I am anymore! How does that sound, my little slut?" Your lower lip wobbles as more tears threaten to fall from your eyes.

"Awful.." you whisper.

Another strong electric shock goes through you, causing you to scream out Mister Vox's name in pain as your body is left shaking and aching.

From the corner of your eye, you see Vox unzipping his fly.

"Wrong answer! Haha! Wrong fucking answer stupid slut," He growls, pressing the tip of his cock to your hole without a care. There something wrong with him, he's acting more crazy than ever before. He's getting off on your fear, getting off on your pain, getting off on knowing you can't do anything but be his.

With a loud slap, Vox sinks his entire length into you. You scream, clutching onto the bedsheets for dear life as he looms over you. He doesn't even give you a moment to let you rest, immediately setting a ruthless pace with his hips into yours. Every thrust causes your vision to go spotty with the pure force he drives his hips with, groaning with every thrust as he stares completely into your face as it scrunches in a pleasurable pain.

"S'too much! M-Mister vox It hurts!" You cry, reaching out to press your hands against his shoulders, clawing into his coat. You don't even care anymore, you want at least a small bit of comfort from these strong unforgiving thrusts. Vox chuckles at this, leaning down closer so he can capture your lips in a (forced) yet passionate kiss.

His long electric blue tongue immediately finds its way into your gob, passionately fornicating it against your own as his thrusts send you into a sort of floaty state. Vox maps the entirety of your mouth, tasting every crevice of you from your lips to the back of your throat. He thrusts almost ravenously like a dog, tip of his cock sometimes painfully pressing against your cervix.

Pulling away, Mister Vox looks Into your eyes, revelling in the way you claw at his back. You whimper and moan loudly, eyes fluttering closed as a tear falls down your cheek. He kisses it away, looking up at your closed eyes with a grin.

"Open your eyes, dove. Look at me while I fuck you." You cry out, opening your eyes for him so you can see him look at you with pleasure.

"Y-yes Mister- Ah! Vox.."

He chuckles, thrusting into you extremely hard. You can see the bulge of his cock in your stomach, poking against your skin in such a way you almost want to touch it.

"I'd fucking breed you if I could, fill your filthy cunt with all my little babies so then you can't even dream of leaving.. but I can imagine," Vox rambles, taking your cheek into his hand so he can look at you longingly- and almost affectionately. If it weren't for the position you're in you'd almost be enjoying this moment.

"Mister Vox!" You cry, back arching as your orgasm begins to prod at your stomach.

"Hm?" He asks, grunting as he thrusts into you.

"Can I cum? Please! Please please please.." You beg, legs quivering wildly. Vox chuckles, giving you an adoring look as you bite your lower lip.

"Awe look at you! Asking Mister Vox to cum and everything.." Vox begins, biting his lip as you sputter on a moan. "Of course you can, dove. Let go so I can fuck my cum into you.."

You scream his name when you cum, digging your nails so hard into his back you're sure his coat has tears in it.

You'd given up. Well and truly. You wouldn't admit it. But you've finally accepted it. You belong to Mister Vox. Forever and always.

Forever and Always.

Vox gives you one last thrust, emptying his cum into you with a moan from his own lips. Eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, Vox drags out his orgasm by serving you a few more small quick thrusts, making sure every last drop is inside of you.

But when he has, he doesn't pull out.

"Mister Vox.. pull out.." you whimper, wiggling your hips against him.

"Haha! As if. I said i'd fuck my cum into you, didn't I? I haven't done that yet.. okay?" He asks, stroking a hand through your hair.

"Yes Mister Vox."

[meo-eiru]

I just wanted to say I love the mixture of existential dread and cute yandereness in all your characters! (Especially Elias. The sheer horror of being that man omg. And yet you make him sound so gorgeous) Idk how you managed to balance it but it's just *chef's kiss*

Thank you! I love fully silly characters as well but adding some spice can really elevate their funness

I love angst and writing about dark romance but also enjoy having some potential for comedy so they end up being the way they are

[lustlovehart]

Summary: [Angst] The balladeer watches as you receive an electro vision right in front of his eyes.

A/n: I love him, but felt like he should be sad on his birthday tbh <3. (The bonus is a bit happier though so enjoy that all you want.)

Warnings: Mostly pure angst, but some possessiveness in him, not to the point of being yandere though.

---

Your fingers tremble as you look at the man in front of you, his face typically adorning an expression of scorn a vast majority of the time. You’ve gotten use to the look, others feared it, you used to as well, but eventually time passed on and you’d grown accustomed to all sides of him, perhaps not all, only the ones he was willing to show you. However as you look at him now, the mask he wears on his breathtaking features, make you loose your breath.

He had no emotion, none that could be seen at least.

Your hands griped tighter onto the purple glass ball that had floated in front of you. You tried your best to stay composed but the stiffness of your joints had made it obvious.

"Kuni-"

He turns away, something he never does. You’ve never witnessed him not look at you, to the point of growing accustomed to his watching eyes. His body continues to get smaller and smaller as he walks further and further away from you. Unbeknownst to you, the puppet had turned his figure away in order for your eyes to not gaze upon his crumbling composure, the exact thing that led him to not be worthy in the eyes of god, no… the eyes of his mother.

No matter how hard he himself tried to deny it, he understood his feelings for you were the wretched thing called ‘love’, which is why he lets himself gaze at you with such an emotion in his hollowed chest. In fact, thats all he can feel when he’s around you. Yet as of this moment, he no longer knows how he should feel.

The scene of you, would typically make his heart race in way that seemed unhealthy for the regular being, yet, the image of you, holding the vision his mother had ruling over, struck a chord with him. He feels, grief. If he was still the way he was before he met you, he’s sure he would’ve ended you right where you stood, jealousy filling his veins full of unfiltered anguish at the thought of a mere mortal being chosen by Celestia as an potential candidate to ascending like his mother.

But, this is you, not some random stranger, not a random mortal beneath him. It was you who was chosen by a higher power.

You walk closer behind, even through his fake skin, he can feel the warmth of your very human body, transferring to his puppet one. But even with the fluttering feeling you gave him, he could not help the words dripping with venom spill from his lips.

"Give it up. Do you believe your grandiose belief of ambition reached the heavens? Do not forget, I am the only one you truly need in this cruel world."

In your eyes he can clearly tell the shock you held for his sudden change in deamonur. A complete 180 to the way he was just prior moments ago.

"What...?"

"Did you not hear me the first time? You dont need that so called 'blessing', for you already have me, its foolish to believe you need anything other than me. Am I not capable enough? Am I...." his words seem to catch themself in his throat, like he was holding back as to not further embarrass himself, yet the words make it out in the end.

"Am I not enough for you too...?" His hues dont make contact with, almost as if he was the young puppet he once was again.

You only stare at him, not understanding the underlying message of his words. The silence was deafening, yet as it continued, he could only sigh before walking away.

"At least be with me, [Name], even if you were the one who's worthiness was recognized, I want you to still care for me the way no one else had stayed." His words faded away with the wind though quiet, they were still there.

[Bonus]

In the dead of night, your eyes are trained on the dim candlelight in the room. Despite its unsure flame, it still stayed lit as it wavered. Similar to the man who laid beside you.

You couldnt remember his words anymore, but even then you doubt youd understand the context. His arms are tightly wrapped around you waist as you laid still, despite his unique trait of not needing to breathe, it still felt as if he was inhaling you as much as he could.

"Kuni, just what did you mean by 'too'...?" Despite your words being barely a whisper, it seems his mechanical ears still heard what you had said.

"That doesnt really matter anymore. All that matters is that you dont become the forth of it all."

"What does that even mean... I swear you need to start making sense for once..."

---

This was made while I was like half asleep during class, so if it isnt too good please dont blame me you guys.

[fortune-fool02]

A False Belief

Las Plagas Luis Serra x female reader

Summary: Despite what Luis believed, he was not purged of the infection. And all that borrowed time had reached its limit. 

Warning: Spoilers for RE 4 Remake. Light angst. Blood. Rough-kissing. Plagas Luis being dark. Emotional manipulation. Potential yandere-themes? Oral-pleasure, reader receiving. 

This came to my mind and I don’t know why but I need to see this precious man become a monster. I haven’t seen any content even hinting to Luis being dark so I decided to do it myself. 

Please enjoy.

One, two, three, in. One, two, three, out. One, two, three, in. One, two, three, out. This sequence repeated in her head slowly, methodically, as she inhaled and exhaled to its instruction, trying to calm her rushing nerves. A coldness coiled along her bones, tightening her veins like springs, making everything feel so ridged and tense. 

The only sound that could be heard was the metal clinking of that lighter, flickering and spinning between his fingers with ease. A flame sparking every now and again before being snuffed out and returning to the spinning rotation. Fingers that held such a loving touch before, a soothing warmth that seemed to steal away pain and worries, filling their space with a comfort. A silent promise that no harm would come to her. Now, those fingers were cold, hard and hollow. Their mere touch enough to make her skin crawl and try to recoil back, only to earn a tight grip, keeping her in place. 

Wherever Leon was, [Name] prayed both he and Ashley were safe, that they were able to find some form of cure for themselves. For Luis. It was something none of them expected, not even the Spaniard himself. Having believed to have purged himself of the Las Plagas parasite, Luis had offered to aid them to find Ashley and rid themselves of the parasite. Though, that plan turned South once he began to act strangely. The signs were there but they were too busy with other priorities. Perhaps if they noticed it sooner, they could have helped him? 

That image was still burned into her mind. That small, brief moment of fear in Luis’ eyes when the blood spilled past his lips and he looked at her, splinters of crimson red piercing his smoke grey eyes. Those thin, black veins breaking across his face. In that moment, the Luis she knew died, and this..., this thing was what remained in place. 

“Oh querida.” He called out, pushing himself up from his spot on the worn couch, moving over to her lightly trembling form on the floor, an almost pitiful look on his face as his red eyes glanced at the bear trap latched onto her leg. The blood had started to dry and coagulate on her leg, the small puddle that had gathered beneath staining the wooden flooring. Luis knelt in front of her, one arm propped onto his knee to hold his chin up as he looked at her. Amusement swirled in those eyes and it sickened her. 

“What am I going to do with you, eh?” He hummed, his thumb and finger gently grabbing her chin but she pulled away, leaning away from his touch entirely. Something flashed in those eyes and a sharp, stinging pain blossomed in her cheek, her head snapping to the side. “Don’t you dare-!” His own words were cut off as his voice softened, his expression twisting into something apologetic as he gently stroked her stinging cheek. 

“I’m sorry, [Name]. Lo lamento.” Those words fell from his lips so softly that he almost seemed genuine. As much as she wanted to believe that, hold onto that hope that her Luis was still in there somewhere, fighting to try and get out. 

“No, you’re not.” She spoke quietly, her eyes refusing to meet his own. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him like this. With a roll of his eyes, that mask slipped off entirely, leaving a bored expression in its place. 

“It’s not my fault you thought it was a funny idea to run away, [Name].” He pulled a cigarette from his packet and lit it, the smoke seeping out from his lips towards her. [Name] held her breath, trying to fight to urge to cough. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of that. 

“You could’ve unlocked the damn bear-trap.” The snap wasn’t intentional but the throbbing pain that pulsed in her leg was hard to ignore. His hand gripped her chin again, this time tighter, his nail digging into the skin on her chin, breaking it lightly and drawing little specks of blood. 

“And let you run away again? Don’t be so silly.” His face was so close to hers, the scent of nicotine and his cologne filling her nose along with the underlying smell of blood. His lips brushed against hers, the smoke seeping into her lips and forcing her to pull away and cough, a dark smirk lifting his lips as he watched. Taking another deep inhale of his cigarette, Luis grabbed her hair tightly and forced his lips upon hers, pushing every bit of smoke from his mouth into hers. 

The sharp, dryness spread all inside her mouth, scratching down her throat with rugged pricks, ripping hard coughs that burned slightly. A chuckle rumbled deep inside his chest at this, that smirk ever present. Pulling his hand back, he brought it up to his lips, his tongue lightly dragging along his thumb, lapping up the little specks of blood on his nail, a pleased moan spilling his lips as delight crossed his face. 

“Oh Dios, you tasted delicious, my love.” He all but purred, a shiver running down his spine. [Name] tore her eyes away from him, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest at such words. The way that delighted look sparked something in her that she didn’t want. His tongue slowly moved along his lips, savouring her taste before he finished the cigarette and slowly pushed the end of it down on her leg, his eyes pinning her in place as he did so. 

A pained cry left her lips, her leg trying to pull up and away from the searing pain piercing her leg. Burnt skin filling the air and Luis sighed at the smell, a dreamy smile on his face. 

“I love that smell, querida. I love you. Every bit of you.” [Name] yanked her leg back and tried to kick at Luis’ face, the first strike landing its mark, a pained grunt heard from Luis. She reared her leg back again to kick once more only for him to catch her by the ankle, blood trickling down his nose as the broken feature began to heal itself, the forming bruise vanishing before it had a chance to even fully develop. His eyes darkened as he pulled her leg up and over his shoulder, 

“Now that wasn’t nice of you.” He tutted, his grip on her leg tight as he moved himself between her legs, his eyes roaming her body from the new angle. A spark igniting in his eyes as his hands moved down towards her belt, unbuckling it quickly. 

“No, Luis! No, please! I’m sorry!” Panic had set in, rushing through her system as she squirmed under his grip. As much as she loved Luis, she couldn’t let herself be touched by him like this. 

“Don’t fret, cariño. I’m not going to do anything like that. Yet.” It took a few moments before he slid off her pants, letting them bundle at the bottom of the trapped leg, his gaze turning back to her as he placed her leg back over his shoulder again. His lips lightly brushing up along her skin, a soft hum sending goosebumps along her flesh. Warmth shimmered in her body, threatening to spill down into her gut at his careful movement. Little kisses were placed on her thigh, his teeth finding a spot and biting down, suckling at the tender flesh. 

Soft gasps escaped her, despite her best efforts to keep them back. The light scratchy sensation of his stubble only added to the feeling, sending a tingling warmth through her body, arousal threatening to seep in. 

“L-Luis...” His name spilled past along with another gasps as he pulled back and moved along her thigh more, leaving more little marks and nips in his wake. 

“See? I can make you feel good, [Name].” His voice was lower, huskier, almost a hushed, teasing whisper as she felt him move closer and closer to her core. Her eyes locked on the ceiling, unable to look down at him, knowing doing so wouldn’t help in anyway. “Say you’re mine~” 

The feeling of her underwear slowly sliding down her thighs brought a shiver raking down her spine, a light chill brushing past her followed by the warm feeling of his tongue gently moving along her core, pulling a moan from her. She could hear Luis moan as he pushed himself closer to her, his tongue exploring slowly, savouring every second of her, as his hands on her thighs slowly tightened their grip. 

“Who else can make you feel this good?” He purred between breaths, each little movement of his tongue spending a shard of arousal up through her, her body wanting more, wanting him. “Surely not that Yaqui. No, he couldn’t come close to how good I can make you feel, [Name]~” His lips pressed against her clit, kissing it lightly then slowly circled his tongue around it, making her arch her back and moan in pleasure. Her thighs shook lightly, pressing together against the sides of Luis’ head, earning a pleased groan from the man as he pulled his tongue back. 

“Good girl~” 

[merbear25]

A still beating heart

Dread and turmoil mix into a deadly elixir which is drunk by the masses. Whilst two wandering souls seek out refuge in this unforgiving world, finding each other by chance feels too good to be true. You’ve started crumbling at the feet of your health complications, and although you are in need of his support, distrust deludes the gift of his companionship.

a/n: This is heavily inspired by the movie Repo! The Genetic Opera because it’s a masterpiece and Caesar would thrive in this world. Divider made by me.

CW: Repo man AU, gn!reader, angst, horror themes (mentions of gore, murder), yandere undertones (kidnapping, possessiveness, Stockholm Syndrome), reader has health conditions, some romance and fluff, no sexual themes.

The city bathed in the moonlight, but even still there were crevices that remained absent from its rays. Having been traced and hunted down, the shadows were the only things to bear witness to the woman’s pleas. Choked cries painted the cold bricks, now weeping for her when no one else would, for the hands that played as judge doubled as her executioner. The predetermined verdict being brought on by a lack of funds had sealed her fate after contracting her life in the hopes that something more would come of it.

Others shared the same lack of foresight: choosing to turn a blind eye to the repercussions if they failed to keep their end of the bargain. Even so, they all willingly gave these cosmetic corporations an ungodly amount of power, which in turn had these lost souls collapsing like dominos—each spreading the word of such wonders being gifted to them all while deluding the dangers which came with it.

As the sprouted weeds in the pavement drank the spilled life, the blood would only stain the hands of the reaper who’d slain and even then, the deed would bear little weight on his conscience. With the sobs of the recently departed fading into the late hours of the night, they received no pity as the man’s hands collected the organ for bounty money.

With such negligence making these companies swell to the brim in cash, it was no wonder why they relied on repo men such as him; casting down on them swiftly while also being morally numb to the horrors they were unleashing were qualities scarcely coupled. However, once found, they would be cherished, perhaps flourishing under the watchful corporal eye.

Trudging through the bleak city, even the sun peeking over the buildings did nothing to relieve this world of the melancholy plaguing it. With such a tarnished reputation, there were few other prospects residing outside this one, whether career wise or personal.

Finding yourself in an elongated hallway, the lights above were dim, just barely giving you leverage to see what lurked beyond. Calling out, there was no answer—there never was, and yet you kept trying to connect with someone, anyone.

The chill pricked at your exposed flesh, making you wince. As you wandered down the hall, you noticed the walls were bare—stripped of the potential portals you could’ve unlocked. With only being given two possible directions, the gravity of the decision was weighing you down, sinking you into the floor. The further you sank, the dimmer the lights were. Isn’t there anyone there? Despite all your might, your words fell silent.

Couldn’t there be a reason for this? Why were you given the short end of things time and time again? The self-loathing only pulled you down deeper into the floorboards, making you gasp for air as you dipped below them.

Drifting in the void of your own dismay, you made one last attempt to cry out, “Who am I meant to be?” The doubt of being able to live in this world without acquiring the essential brutality cascaded on you, further forcing you into the depths of your awaited despair. In a shrill voice, you shrieked, “Isn’t there anyone who can tell me who I am?” Although faint, your desperation made its way to the surface.

A beacon of light lifted your head, enticing you to follow, but the closer you got, the top remained out of reach. With your arms tiring and your will running on fumes, you debated whether or not to push forward. Before being given the choice, your eyes shot open.

Parting your curtains, you were met with thick clouds of smog obstructing your view of the park, albeit the grass and flowers had browned and wilted long ago. Despite promptly reclosing them, it didn’t change the dread that awaited you. No matter how many times you shielded yourself from the reality you were born into, the cruelty of the world persistently seeped through the paned glass with doubts of it ever changing poisoning your already rocky optimism.

In spite of the climbing bills regarding your medication, it was still better than opting out for a heart transplant. After all, going without your medication could be risky, but it paled in comparison to the organ being ripped from your chest. With that in mind, today of all days when the smog seemed to be the thickest it’d been all month, venturing to the pharmacy to retrieve your medication was a necessity.

Even with taking precautions, the polluted air restricted your breathing, tightening your chest as your heart struggled to fight against the harsh conditions. Pushing forward, you kept reminding yourself that the pharmacy wasn’t far, meaning you’d be able to regain your composure once entering. However, upon reaching the door of your temporary sanctuary, the bolt was fastened and no one was inside.

Panic at the unforeseen turn of events set in, looking around in a frenzy made matters worse, as your breathing grew more shallow. Clenching helplessly at the fabric around your form only further drilled hopelessness into you. Staggering along the walls, you stumbled to your knees. Tears beaded at the corners of your eyes as you huddled in a ball on the pavement. As you laid there clutching at your chest, a robed figure came into view before the bleak city surroundings dimmed into a haze.

A barely audible voice crept in as you came to. “What to do, what to do…” Shuffling could be heard in the distance which was then followed by clinking glass. When your eyes fluttered open, the light shining down on you was unpleasantly bright. Squinting from the abrasion, you caught sight of a tall figure in the shadows.

Scanning the surroundings of which the light touched, the understanding that someone had dragged you back to their home jumped out at you. With such a conclusion, other more frightening ones followed suit. Kept for ransom, sold on the black market or forced into slavery: all seemed plausible given the hard times everyone was continuously finding themselves in.

Even when gingerly shifting yourself, creaks of old springs sounded under your subtle movement. Although the figure blended into the dark, the outline was still jagged enough to separate itself from the still backdrop.

As the stranger’s hand eased its way onto the counter top, their head shifted and even though your vision was obstructed by the fluorescent bulb, the dreadful feeling of eyes being on you was unmistakable.

Restraining yourself from shouting for help, demanding answers, and bursting into tears was whirling within you, pulling you in too many directions to focus on one tactic to break free. Instead the trembling dread was kept bottled up, making you shake from the building pressure.

“Don’t get so worked up,” his voice alluded to a disinterest in your wandering thoughts.

“Who are you? Where am I?” Your assertiveness prevailed over quivering lips.

Tilting his head back and forth as if contemplating whether or not to answer, he remained silent.

When you failed to coerce an answer from him, your chest heaved from the burdening assumption that you’d found your eternal resting place. Putting your trust in a higher power that would somehow pull you out of this was like grasping at straws. Such powerful beings had never casted their grace on you before, but they appeared to be the only ones in whom you could place your faith.

Closing your eyes to the terror surrounding you, you said a quick prayer, mumbling your pleas in hope that they’d reach the ears of some pure entity. “Please,” you begged to yourself, “Is this really how I’ll die, Lord?”

A curious smile stretched his lips at your increasingly labored breathing. Turning slightly towards you, he couldn’t help but chuckle at your feeble attempt at appealing to the heavens. “Do you honestly think anyone is listening?”

Refusing to acknowledge his obvious attempt at getting under your skin, you irked him. However, it led him into thinking of your tenacity as a challenge. Inching out of the shadows, his unconcealed contempt burrowed into you.

Leaning down, his words dripped with anticipation of you admitting your lack of faith. He spoke just above a whisper, “Tell me, what kind of God would bestow such hardships onto one as frail as yourself?”

With contorted lips, you failed to stop the tears from streaming down your face. Pressing your forehead against your laced fingers, you were tempted to fall victim to the seeds of doubt he was planting. “There must be someone out there who cares.”

Furrowing his brow, he huffed a bit at your self-pity. “The sooner you realize there isn’t, the happier you’ll be.”

Wiping the stinging sorrow from your eyes, you cautiously asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

Looking down his nose at you, he wondered that himself. “Why indeed.”

Risking a glance, you hastily averted your eyes. His golden orbs were burning into you with searing intensity. His sudden reach made you flinch. He paused briefly before fully extending his arm to the end table. With a soft clink, he retracted from you, yet his eyes held on, studying each subtlety you exuded.

“Drink it,” he commanded. However, his tone shifted slightly when your eyes held distrust. ‘It will help you feel better.”

Seeing as he wasn’t going anywhere until you downed the liquid he gave you, gulping it down left your tongue coated in bitterness. Pleased with your compliance, he allowed you time to rest, giving you some much needed solitude. 

Once he left the room, your ears followed his footsteps through the wooden corridor. He hadn’t locked the door, though taking it upon yourself to leave felt more like bait if anything. Instead, you held tight, looking about the room you found yourself in.

With the muffled sounds echoing throughout the house, your curiosity got the better of you. The walls were cool to the touch, leading you to believe you were in the basement and although the room was seemingly empty, there were drawers in the disheveled desk.

Poking around, you dared to uncover any shred of who this man was. Stumbling upon a collection of documents, you unfastened the folder securing them. Thumbing through them carefully, the names of their faceless owners were becoming overwhelming. “Why would he have such papers within his home?” you muttered to yourself.

There were papers containing medical information, addresses, places they frequented, all of which were filling your head with the glaring truth as to who this man was.

Thuds traveled down the hall, alarming you that they were marching your way. Fumbling with the evidence stacked against him, you shoved them into the folder and quietly shut the drawer. Jumping on the sofa, you were just able to control your racing heartbeat in time for him to enter your dwellings.

Closing the door behind him, his gaze was fixated on you as he approached. Before he could get a word in, you spoke out against him holding you there. “When can I leave?”

Stopping in his tracks, he was less than pleased to be greeted with such an ungrateful attitude. “If you want to leave, there’s the door.”

“I can just go? You won’t stop me?” Your questions held your disbelief. When he nodded, something about the situation chilled you to your core.

Smirking at your hesitation, he asked, “What’s wrong?” Watching your eyes dart between the exit and him, he informed you, “There’s no trick, no trap.”

Smiling down at you - as unsettling as it was given the circumstances - gave you an ounce of courage to motion off the sofa.

“If you’re sure in your abilities to find your way back without any help or medication, then by all means, you have my word to let you go.”

The fact of the matter was you were in no position to go anywhere, and he wanted you to understand that. Pulling your knees to your chest, you rested your forehead against them.

With triumph wafting off of him, he glided towards you, requesting you to tilt your head up. He patted your knees, signaling you to put them down to allow him an easier time checking your vitals. Checking your eyes and pulse, his hands then wandered over the sides of your ribcage.

Inhaling sharply, he asked if the pressure hurt. Truth be told you weren’t quite sure if the gasp was brought on by pain or the sudden touch. Letting him know that there was a slight pain issued for more probing: his fingers pressed at the front and back of you in an attempt to find any other pockets of discomfort. When none were left, he leaned back to fully take in the marvel you were presenting yourself as.

With a slight nod, he whispered, “Good.” Getting up, he looked back at you. “If you’re in no hurry to leave, you can either spend the rest of your time down here or I can show you where the spare bedroom is.” 

Despite his gracious offer to extend more of his home to you, the aura emitting from him gave you reason to proceed with caution.

When you absentmindedly bit your lower lip, he shrugged off your doubt. “Stay in this room, don’t stay in this room, it makes no difference to me.”

“No!” Your own burst of enthusiasm made you recoil. “I-I’d be grateful for a room.”

Ushering you to follow him, his chuckles trailed alongside the both of you. Reaching the top of the stairs, the lavish style all but took your breath away. The embroidery along the ceiling and the fine details on the furniture had you awe-struck.

“Who’d you have to kill to be able to afford all of this?”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is. Well, so long as you know how to play your cards right.”

Leading you to the door you’d be calling yours for the time being, he followed on your heels as you aimlessly sauntered into the room. A sense of pride swelled within him, while he watched you stand there mouth agape. 

The ivory window sills complimented by the forest green curtains suited the cream-colored carpet and speckled bits of gold across the wallpaper. Sitting yourself down on the bed, comfort and serenity dispersed around you, having you pondering if you ever wanted to go back to your decrepit apartment.

Folding your hands in your lap, you looked at him with a sincere smile. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

The gentleness to your demeanor pierced his once thought to be dead heart, reigniting the life lying dormant within it. In a meek attempt at hiding his contentment from your appreciation, a short nod was all you were issued as he swiftly left you alone with your thoughts.

Grinning, you threw yourself back on the clouds surrounding you. Being under the crushing weight of the world for as long as you had, there’d been little to dream about. However, this was the first moment in perhaps a decade or more when fresh air was allowed into your life, soothing your woes.

Such ease washed over you, their waves carrying you out to sea. Although the tide started out calm, the storm clouds on the horizon were cause for concern. The rough water crashed into your boat, forcing you to brace yourself against the oncoming malice.

Pouring rain blinded you to the tidal wave gaining speed in the distance. The full weight of it submerged you deep beneath sea level, forcing the air out of you on impact. As you thrashed your way towards the surface, your body gave out, going limp in the storm ridden waters.

Lifting your eyelids, you stirred under the covers. The streetlamps were shining through the crack between the curtains. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you looked around for a clock. Carefully making your way down the steps, there appeared to be no sign of your host anywhere.

Stumbling around to the front windows, headlights bathed the parlor. Thinking it must be him, peeking out came instinctively. A long black latex trench coat was cloaked over him, his long hair partly matted to it after having fallen out of the ponytail it was thrown up in.

There was no denying who those uniforms belonged to—the repo men who stalked the streets.  The nail in your coffin was being hammered in as he stepped across that threshold.

For a moment, he hadn’t even noticed you standing there. Taking his coat off gingerly so as not to loosen any missed droplets of blood onto the floor, your trembling form caught his attention.

“What are you doing awake?”

“I was just…I couldn’t sleep is all.”

Folding his coat over his arm, he sauntered across the arch way, keeping his eyes on you. “Shouldn’t you know it’s bad manners to snoop in your host’s home?”

“I wasn’t snooping, I promise!”

Him disappearing around the corner caused the hair on the back of your neck to rise. His footsteps were no longer audible and the still of the night was deafening.

“What are you most afraid of at this moment?” His voice seemed to be everywhere at once, leaving you feeling completely surrounded.

“I’m afraid of dying,” you choked out. With the room closing in on you, you were backed into the corner. 

“And what is it that you want most of all?”

The tightening in your chest was making you dry heave from the stampede of terror trampling you. While you struggled to control your breath, you sank down to the floor. His stoic form stepped into the night’s rays peeking through, his golden eyes being illuminated by the cross light.

“I don’t want to think about the pain I’m feeling anymore.”

“Then why not let me lighten your load?” You showed a shred of reluctance, which invited him to kneel down by your side. “You can either accept my help and my conditions, or you can become another forgotten name lost to time.”

Offering you his hand, you saw no better option waiting for you, even if placing your faith in this man was contractual.

“Why did you help me?”

“It was a lapse in judgment.”

“But why do you continue to do so?” 

He did not answer, only letting the air between you grow stale. You were being given the opportunity to interpret the nonsensical ways of his generosity, although this wouldn’t go without pitfalls of suspicion.

Looking at the hand he was still offering you, you threw caution to the wind and placed your hand in his. When your eyes met, a somewhat genuine smile stretched upon his face while he gently eased you up from the floor.

With the days and nights spent with him on seamless rotation, the unknown reason of him permitting you to stay with him burdened you. There were times that you wondered that perhaps the logic behind it was lost even to him. But the longer you remained with him, the more uneasy you got. Not understanding why, you were there left questions to build up in the darkest corners of your mind: “When could he lose interest?”, “What could make him lose interest?” and the grave reality of “What will happen to me if he loses interest?”

Dark clouds swirled above from the lack of clarity of where you stood with him. As bleak of motivation as it was, it made you contribute around the house, trying to add to whatever worth he originally saw in you, eventually leading him to taking you under his wing of professional guidance. 

Despite the unwavering gratitude you had for him, being in his debt had hooked into your immortal soul. With the metal having sunk into your flesh, you were being brought down to the brimstone lined caverns where he was.

Through the anguish you kept secret from him, you persevered, allowing an unwanted yet natural talent you held to unearth itself.

As your lack-luster eyes fell on the fading life sprawled at your feet, he sensed you pulling away from the life you were building together on the backs of those who closely resembled yourself.

“Do not pity those who knew the risks, yet did nothing to prevent them. Time eats all his children in the end, my dear.” His words, albeit cruel, rang true. With each moment shared together, his disdain for the world and those in it wore off on you more and more.

Self-loathing emitted off of you and was misplaced onto him, souring the air. “I cannot help it, but when I look at you, I grow distasteful. The ruthlessness you cast is only seen as mercy to yourself.”

Taken aback by you bearing such a festering grudge against him - the man who’d shown you the utmost kindness - made him grind his teeth. Frowning at you, he spoke without having first collected his thoughts. “And yet here you are by my side. Here you are soaked in the blood of the less fortunate, and you have the gall to throw blame onto me?”

Closing the gap between you, his breath was hot against your ear. “You’ve willingly shredded any ounce of innocence you held over me long ago. Tread lightly, for you’re beginning to reek of self righteousness.” His warning lingered in your ears.

Maneuvering through this minefield was wearing on you. Caught up in your own self-indulgent pity party, you nearly missed glimmers of him being heavily affected by such barriers separating the two of you. Even if his demeanor was rigid and his stare cold, there was a sense of feeling isolated emanating around him.

He sat in his armchair, while he mulled over the precarious justification of having dragged you here all those months ago. Following your descent down the stairs, he drummed his fingers on his pursed lips, leading himself to believe this was to be your farewell to him.

Ignoring the daggers behind his eyes, you kept in mind that he was just as damaged by this world as you were. “I’ve come to apologize.”

Cautiously lowering his guard, you’d piqued his interest. “I see how my behavior has been unjustifiably disgraceful towards you and the second chance you gave me.” 

Seeing his eyes wandering over you, you proceeded. “You’ve helped me understand that in this world, one must take center stage and you can either steal the spotlight or fade into the background.”

Choking back the rising emotion, you divulged your soul to him, “I don’t want to fade with the others.”

“You won’t have to.” Easing out of his chair, he opened his arms to you. Holding each other tightly, it dawned on you that this was the first embrace you ever shared.

While his hands caressed your emotionally drained form, your frets were plucked out of you, leaving behind tranquility. “This feels nice,” you admitted in a hushed tone.

Humming at the comfort you found in his touch, such affection was surreal for the life he led. As your arms wrapped around him, he smirked at the resolution to the issues you shared. Looking up at him, his thumb stroked your cheek. His words carried such delicacy, “I trust this means you have no intention of leaving me?”

“I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Two souls deemed undesirable by society.” Leaning down, his lips briefly ghosted yours. “What better match could I have asked for?” Sealing your union with a long-overdue kiss, any lingering doubts of who you thought you were supposed to be dissipated. The ash of your former self, along with your prior morals, circled you as your kiss deepened. Collecting at your feet, you paid them no mind. 

The man who’d brought forth a new perspective on this dreary world captivated you. Together you would stay in the spotlight, sharing it as you danced under its beam. Your devotion to each other would keep the shadows at bay, for your adoration would outlast their persistent attempts at tearing you down with the others who were being forgotten to time.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Escape the Friendzone 2/4 (Word count 5.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Massive arms go about her as she's pulled against a lean chest. It's an awkward, tense hug. He smells of open air and coppice, with a whiff of acrid sweat on top as she lays her head somewhere between the bumps of muscle of a warm chest.

Not even the body heat makes him appear more human: his heart is not pounding as fast as she thought it would after making it clear he would score some tonight.

She fears she's dealing with a sociopath. Might even be a psychopath.

"Are you still afraid?"

"I don't know." Her breaths are everything but steady as she inhales the intoxicating scent of a madman.

"Don't be scared. I will only hurt those who wish to hurt you."

His pledge renders her weak; it makes her legs shake. She gets far more than she bargained for when pulling him in to give her a little late-night comfort.

Friends with benefits is a situation bad enough, but this is not okay. The guy's fixation seems boundless, and if she tries to wriggle out of this… relationship and starts seeing someone else, it might end up in König scrubbing the potential future love interest's guts off his shoes.

And something in the idea isn't even wholly appalling.

Good God…

"I don't want you to hurt anyone," she whispers like it isn't his day-to-day job – to hurt and kill people. She is on the verge of collapsing to the floor and stays upright only because he holds her in authoritarian embrace.

"Little angel, it's what I do." He releases her only enough to bow his head and look into her eyes. His stare betrays slight distaste. Those eyes are calm mirrors of how can someone be so naive.

"You come to me if someone is mean to you," he orders in a stern voice that makes her feel faint.

"Alright," she breathes a fluent little lie. He's satisfied with her answer, however, and presses her head back against him with effortless control.

She imagines him knifing someone with a listless stare from sparing a glance her way; she fantasizes him strangling some chauvinistic moron in the darkness after they have been "mean" to her. Quickening breaths betray her sick thoughts to him because he pulls her even closer. She can feel the enormous cock pressing against her body with a promise of violence.

"Angel… I wish you would stop teasing me."

"Yeah?" Her laugh is restrained, and her heart is racing inside her chest – like it's some kind of a good idea to have a heart attack while a murderous psycho turning into a boyfriend is in the same room with her. "Where's the fun in that…?"

"Do you always tease men like this?"

"No," she swallows a mouthful of woodland and musk. "Just you."

"Hm."

"König… Can I see your face?"

The man finally seems to find his reserve again. He detaches from her, and she can hear the audible gulp inside the hood.

"Maybe later."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other like he usually does when he's a bit nervous. Probably to ease the discomfort from still being forced into those pants with such an astoundingly large, swelling erection, too.

She can't come up with anything that might explain why the man is so uncomfortable with showing his face. From the small glimpse she saw in the showers, everything looked completely normal. There is some other reason why he wants to wear the mask, most likely some mental block, and she would simply have to wait until he's ready and willing to take it off.

"How about a kiss?"

He doesn't shake his head or escape her as she hesitantly steps toward him and raises a hand to the hem of his hood.

"If I just…"

He does nothing as she starts to raise the mask. The look in his eyes is somewhat haunted, though.

She lifts it just enough to reveal a clean-shaven chin and a pair of thin, tightly shut lips. She briefly notices that there's a scar on his jaw before his mouth opens to call her in. They're polar opposites of each other: she feels breathless and limp when their lips meet while he's a statue of rigid power. Even his mouth is tense as she catches his bottom lip between hers and tries to soften that immortal stiffness. Distant notes of hops catch her tongue just before he pulls her back into a crushing hug.

The guy is not the most perfect kisser. He's very avid, though. In fact, his eagerness is what makes it a scary experience, what makes the kiss clumsy. He smashes his lips on hers with force, then opens his mouth so wide she fears he will devour half her face.

The ungloved hands slide down her back and cup her ass. He's gentle, but she still feels like she's levitating, half an inch above the ground from his groping. He moans like they are already having sex, but before she can disconnect herself from the violent kiss, he does it for her.

"I want to fuck you," he pants across her lips, eyes half-lidded and drunk. "Can I fuck you?"

The man has no conception of how to dance these dances. He simply declares his wish to shove his junk inside her and kill those who might do her harm. She feels dizzy in his arms, like dew that will evaporate under too much heat.

"Yeah, yes," she tries to sound sane, although there's nothing sane about this.

So much for being just friends or being nothing at all…

Her heart is beating faster and faster; it wants to rend itself out of her chest. She feels ample sweat between her thighs, then realizes it's only her own wetness that has broken through the cotton of her underwear. The dress is so tight in the middle that she can't simply try and throw it over her head, and the buttons at the front seem to have suddenly become too big to slip through the holes.

He doesn't take any of his clothes off while watching her undress. The instant she opens her whimsical veil of blooms, he moves close and shoves the fabric down her shoulders so that it drops sadly on the floor. Then he flicks a knife out.

Shit… Shit what the fuck–

"No–Don't–!"

The blade is forced with a flat surface under the middle of her bra. He pulls the fabric away, turns the blade - it's a miracle she's not bleeding by the time he cuts through the center front like it's butter. Her breasts fall free, and the destroyed lingerie hangs cheaply on the side before it gets dragged away too. She looks at his work, her exposed tits and the crude, fat knife he swiftly returns to its sheath.

"That was my favorite br–ah…"

The man is terrifying, even when he sinks to his knees. He dives for her breasts, licks the undersides and sucks her nipples like he's famished. Her head rolls back, and she feels fainter still as he gropes her like she's his toy, chews a nipple until she shudders and cries in pain. Then he goes down, down, panting hot breaths on her skin as he goes, the hood grazing and tickling her skin.

His hands shake slightly as he tears down the last piece of covering fabric from between her legs. She can't even step out of the briefs before a blazing tongue is pushed to her clit, all but delicately.

Perhaps he's not a virgin, but he's not a veteran, either – still, it draws a filthy moan out of her.

She has to take support from his head to prevent herself from falling when the tongue simply forces its way between her legs. It curls to meet her folds, slick with her wet. She knows she's practically leaking at this point, and hears how he licks his lips.

"Of course the angel tastes like heaven too," he rasps in her mound, sounding rather… bitter. Almost annoyed.

She thinks it's only the beginning, but he suddenly rises like a Kraken from the sea, like a Godzilla about to destroy an entire city.

"Get on the bed. All fours."

She chokes the whimper that tries to escape her, then turns and crawls onto the bed as if they are running out of time. His urgency is hers now, and she presents herself to him, waiting for the man to thrust in without remorse, but it's his mouth she feels first.

"Uh–Oh my god…"

He licks her with a flat tongue, torturously slow while she's on display. They're long, profound sweeps, as if he wants to sample her rather than give her pleasure. Although he does give her an immense amount of it.

She falls on her elbows, face down on the bed, exposing more of herself to him in the process. Her pussy has been neglected for so long that the feel of his hot tongue on her is absolutely breathtaking, thigh-shaking. She pushes herself back a little, lets him taste his own medicine for once.

And of course it only makes him more unhinged.

"You're wet like a…" he laughs a short, dry laugh straight into her folds, and she finally whimpers at the sound. "You want it so bad?"

"Yes…?"

It's a sad little confession but more than enough for him. He freezes behind her, and something in the way the air shifts tells her he has risen and is now standing high above her as she's in this crudely vulnerable position.

"I've made you wet this whole time?"

She snivels, opens her eyes, closes them…

"Yes," she sobs in the bed, nearly topples, but he grabs her ass and keeps her in place.

"Ach du lieber Himmel…"

She pants and cries in the sheets, but the sobering silence lasts only for so long.

The sound of a belt being opened shoots her skin full of goosebumps. Only a few seconds later, the fat tip of his cock is swept across her folds: it probes for a second, then slides in.

"A-ah–"

"Scheiße… So tight…"

He hisses and goes all the way in – the journey is long and torturous as he stretches her wide. The thickness only grows at the base, his balls are already tight as they arrive to press against her.

And mercy is not at the top of his list as he realizes she has denied her need and therefore, his. He starts to sail inside her, back and forth, in and out, like it's his job, too. It's total torture. She might just pass out before this is over.

"You little tease…" He seizes control of her hips while using her as his own personal fleshlight. The noise of wet, slick fucking is deafening. The pace is upped soon, and he has to use strength to hold her in place while ramming her from standing while she tries to hold on for her dear life and hold onto the sheets.

"Not so fast, König," she whimpers into her pillow, but he won't listen. The pace is frantic, and his thrusts are deep; he fucks her with despair, with anguish-driven, starved thrusts born from greed.

Nothing has ever felt so good, nothing.

"Just friends, eh?"

She has a hard time deciphering whether he is happy or mad. His voice is pitchy, and she knows, she just knows that he sounds equally as unglued on his missions. Perhaps that's why people rarely talk to him.

"Don't–don't be angry…"

"No? Say that you want me," he commands somewhere behind her, desperation coating the air with pungent sweat and musky arousal. "Say it–say it–"

"I want you," she finally cries, and it feels like an absolution. An amnesty. Remission of sin.

There's panting and frantic sound of slaps of flesh against flesh behind her. The air all around is pure electricity. It makes her quiver and throb and squeeze: him, the sheets, anything and everything.

"I will bring you flowers every morning and fuck you every night. Ja?"

His length is the only thing she can focus on; all else dissolves into a hazy mist. The cock glides in her like he's oiling a gun part, and he could ask her to kill someone and she would only say–

"Yes, yes."

He slides in and out with less and less control, moans and grunts with every thrust now. She's already past the point of no return, even though the orgasm keeps hovering right beyond her reach. She only needs a few more minutes. Or maybe just one...

"König… Not...so–fast…"

He answers something in German, an annoyed string of words she has no clue what they mean. He's probably just swearing profoundly.

"Get...what you deserve..."

That's the only thing she can flesh out from the English that follows. He finally finds some mercy with a choked groan and tries to slow down a little. It's even worse when he does that. He pulls almost completely out, then sinks back in, agonizingly lazy, and that does it: the full length of his giant cock slipping inside her without effort makes her walls clench.

"Oh God…" Her back is arching, her toes are curling, a tight cry disappears somewhere in the pillow, and he won't stop with the – "Oh–fuck–!"

"Yeah," he cheers her on as she screams, cries in the sheets while his cock swims in her. His hands dig into her hips, and she barely has brains left to think it might leave bruises. The orgasm comes in waves, shakes, and he won't let go even when she's only a heap of throbbing, soaking flesh and rapture.

And it's not the end; quite the contrary. He continues to fuck her with abandon: balls slap against her with every jab; they must be covered in her juice at this point, making the sound of sloppy thrusts utterly obscene. She's able to stay in a face-down, ass-up position only because he's holding her there for his cock.

The grunts turn into a wide, thick groan as he approaches the edge as well. The pace slows down almost to a halt before he comes.

"Jetzt…kommt–" he groans through gritted teeth, voice all taut while he grinds through his release. It's a multitude of deep, oddly paced thrusts, a sad attempt to get everything he can, and she's still like a wet gulf sucking him in.

The last throes are sluggish, the madness starts to pass, and she feels like every bone has left her body. There is nothing solid left when the man slowly relents and settles somewhere deep inside her. She can hear how he pants with his mouth open, and it sounds painful, wet, almost drooly. Then he swallows with a breathless gulp, slips out, and lets her go.

She immediately falls forward - topples, crashes, crawls on the bed, tries to rearrange what's left.

Just friends...

Yep.

He crashes somewhere beside her, spent and out of breath. The front of his shirt is covered in sweat; the air is filled with the stale scent of musk and saline sweat and pure, mad sex. She can barely catch a glimpse of the slick, glistening length of him. It feels like a miracle that this thing has been inside her. It’s not that it’s monstrously thick: it’s simply long, curving a little to the side, lean and aggressive even when growing soft.

"You play with fire, Engel. Why did you make me wait so long?"

The masked killer beside her is panting but satisfied for now, and turns his head to look at her. She has to muster all her courage to look back.

"I'm…a bit shy."

"You're perfect," he declares while watching her in her sex daze and ruin. So, at least he's not angry. He finally looks… normal, even with that absurd hood still on, with that intoxicated, admiring stare in his eyes. The ice in his blues has turned into melting snow.

"I noticed you the minute I arrived here."

She can't prevent a hand from reaching out at that, from splaying fingers over his chest.

"I noticed you too," she whispers back before moving closer to snuggle him. His heart is finally thumping in his chest, right under her cheek – from the late exercise or their closeness, she can't tell. A heavy arm goes around her, pressing her further into the nook of his armpit.

"You remind me of one of my knives," he says while holding her close.

Oh good God…

"You are a butterfly knife girl."

"Oh?"

"Ja. Small and cute and a lot of fun. And I can't get enough of you."

So much for getting rid of the man after getting some d. God, what was wrong with her? Any other woman would have put up some boundaries, perhaps gotten a restraining order by now.

"Is it… a good knife?" Her voice comes out as an annoying squeal, and he pulls her closer, ever closer.

"I mainly use it for playing."

She wets her lips in an attempt to calm herself, to comfort herself. She’s just another plaything for a murderer whose hunger seems endless, even if he’s more civil now. Still, she fears this man is only after sex and violence. Her little dresses and petite lingerie won't stand a chance against such brutality.

"What knife are you…?"

"Classic Glock field knife. Tall and ugly."

Behind the thin veil of indifference, there's pride. It borders on arrogance. She catches a dash of bitterness, too: field knives don't pair well with butterflies, perhaps.

"König, you're not ugly," she breaks their odd cuddle to look at him. "This sounds like a trustworthy knife to me."

He looks back at her with an even warmer tinge to the glacier of his eyes.

"It is. You cannot hope for a more loyal blade."

Her gaze drops somewhere in the darkness of his shirt. He's pledging himself for the second time to her, and it causes another storm inside her head. There's warmth on her cheeks, too.

"You are cute when you blush," he observes with pleased tranquility.

Perhaps... Perhaps he doesn't want to hurt things he finds cute.

Perhaps he will take care of them, like he takes care of his knives.

It still takes some getting used to that he allows his hood to be lifted just enough to push his tongue inside her mouth or pussy but taking it off to show his face is too much. She is lying there with him in an odd post-coital dream, thoroughly naked while he's still fully dressed. But she doesn't feel cold, not when pressed against his blazing form like this.

"Did you nick my underwear?" She asks out of the blue, and the hand stroking her waist stops in the middle of an idle caress.

"I might have," he admits without a single ounce of remorse in his voice.

"König… That's not cool," she says, knowing he can hear the lack of scolding in her voice.

"You want them back?"

"I… Gosh. Yes, that would be nice."

What a pervert.

"Or... Nevermind. Keep them," she sighs, trying to brush off the fact that the underwear in question wasn't even clean. "Do you steal women's underwear often?"

"No. Just yours."

A laugh meant to convey her shock is far too laced with joy to make it clear that she finds his deeds preposterous. She simply fails at every turn in trying to express that she's a decent woman. He knows it now, probably saw it long ago; that she's the perfect cheval glass to his perversions.

The hand on her hips moves to caress her thigh, and the drowsy stare observes her with growing mischief.

"Ready to go again?"

"Whuh–Again…?"

He takes her hand and moves it right over his cock. It's lean and demanding, and pulses under her palm.

Tall and ugly, she thinks while her walls dare to throb with hunger.

"You make me hard," he says, almost as a whisper, "all the time."

Jesus… There was definitely no rulebook when it came to this guy.

She gets to watch from the bed how he gives her a show as the man finally decides it's time to take his clothes off. The shirt is the first one to go: it flies somewhere on the floor while he holds on to his hood. The sculpted muscle looks even bigger up close, and the plates are covered with thin hair. It runs thicker below the navel, and his thighs are pure power: they surround the sleek length of his cock like trunks of strength when he finally gets himself out of those pants.

The v-shape of his upper body is something she will never get over. Broad shoulders shrink and curve into narrow hips which in turn swell into powerful thighs, and while perhaps this guy wouldn't win the gold medal at a fitness competition – judged by the way he's lean and athletic but not low fat ripped – he certainly is the most beautiful man she has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. He's a demigod with his herculean strength, a titan who's too big for the world of mortals. A tormented Samson who will never be tamed with treachery or tricks.

The bed sags as he crawls back to her like the gentlest predator. Her legs open wide to receive him – a classic missionary feels like the most intimate choice after the faceless pounding she received earlier. He gathers her legs as he proceeds: forces them up, up, almost next to her arms until he's hovering over her exposed pussy.

She should've known that some boring missionary wouldn't satisfy this man at all.

Her eyes drop to her legs and what's between them: she's in no position to do much of anything, but as the tip of his cock – smooth, pristine velvet – slides across her wet folds once more, she rather helplessly tries to drive her hips up to meet him.

It's like she's drunk or in a dream. The scene is wild and filthy: she's plump and spread open, ready for the taking, thighs almost in her ears as he draws his hips back and finds her opening.

"Please be gentle," she begs with a whisper. He halts for a while to lock gazes with her rabbit stare.

"You are pretty when you beg, little one. But I would never hurt you."

She swallows, and her lips part – his gaze instantly falls on her mouth, then raises back to her eyes, gentle and painstakingly ardent. He's close, so terribly close – and not just physically. Her thighs quiver with anticipation as the thick velvet slides in.

Holy fuck–

She savors the spread, and he's gentle, like he promised. The groan that erupts from inside the hood above makes her walls ache. He's so merciful this time, and she wishes to lift the black veil that still keeps them apart, to see his face as he takes her, to see that scar on his jaw and how his mouth hangs open with hunger, just like hers…

His cock comes out all wet – she can hear it – before plunging right back in, and it makes her mewl.

"Oh God…" Her eyes shut tight from the sensation of being so filled. She's even more starved than she thought. It's scary, far scarier than the mass murderer above and inside her.

"You like that?"

He's breathing heavy, and she knows he's looking at her, the distorting face of pleasure, the way she's biting her lip. Tears try to force themselves out from the passionate, featherbrained proximity, from being so tightly knitted together, like a bunch of happy, overstimulated nerves.

"Look at me," he orders, and she opens her eyes like they're under his command and not hers.

"You like it like this?"

She nods with tears in her eyes, and he won't stop looking at her like she's his most prized possession.

"Gut. I will make you scream again."

The man's dreamy stare follows every twitch of a lip, every bat of an eyelash. She looks down briefly to escape that love – the sight of the long thickness disappearing in her while she is so crudely open for him makes her feel dizzy, even when she's lying down.

Some pillow princess…

"Sehr schön," he comments while watching her face which must look like that of a dumb, anesthetized doll. His cock has that effect, and now that he's hovering over her, staring into her soul while filling her, it makes everything even more painful because it's sweet. She's under lazy waves, and decent men seem the most boring thing on earth right now.

"You like my knives?"

"Ah–what…?"

"You stared when I played with my knife."

She knows he has caught her staring more than once and bites her lip again not to blurt out how she had stared when he had played with... other things as well.

"Mh, yeah… It was beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

The sudden waves of intimacy leave her fragile and weak. His stare is nothing short of a caress. She is open and helpless for him to pound to his heart's content, but he's gentle, bordering on loving...

"I can teach you how to play with them."

Jesus Christ, this dude is just crazy.

"Uh-huh," she agrees to it with her mouth hanging open from the overload of sensation. The lewd sound of his cum pushing out of her with every thrust is an obscene background music for this – or any – conversation.

"I have a collection."

Why the hell would he be talking about his knife collection in the middle of–

"I own at least fifty knives. I can show you all of them if you come to my room."

His gaze is at least as piercing as his cock, and she realizes how serious this is: knives are his life. He finds them beautiful too, he collects them and cares for them. They're a profession, but they're also the most important thing in his world.

Knives are his essence.

And he had likened her to a butterfly knife...

"S-sure."

The sound from where they are joined rises to a sluggish crescendo: drowsy, filthy claps of flesh on soaked flesh. He makes her sick and well at the same time: he drags her to hell and raises her to heaven. He's the remedy and the curse. He plays with her like he plays with his knives: ravenous, entranced, obsessed.

She tries to concentrate on too many things at once: that intoxicating voice, the memory of him playing with death, the cock plunging inside her over and over again, making warmth pool below. She imagines him killing people with his collection, picking his tool for the day. He's not the only lunatic here because even the very thought makes her tight around him.

"You are close?"

"König… Just–" she whispers on the cusp of a deeper, soul-rending orgasm.

"You like it when I talk about knives?"

She breathes laboriously and tries to hang onto the last bits of her sanity, but he knows her, knows her already. He weighs down on her until her thighs come to rest right next to her breasts. He's plowing her in a crude angle, indecent and deep. It's vulgar, and she loves it; loves the way he stares at her, all helpless under him.

"Please, I'm gonna–"

"I can show you my guns too."

Ohmygod–

"I'm gonn–ah–!"

She shatters, her walls clench; her pussy sucks him like he's hard candy.

“Sieh dir das an… You were made for me.”

"Nh– Please…"

Her head tosses on the pillow as if in a dream. She's fathomless, and going to pass out, the cock inside her makes her eyes roll back in her head until she sees white, the color of saints.

"Shy girl… Beg for it."

The voice that answers his command is not that of a shy girl; it's not hers at all. She hears it from underwater, and her reality consists solely of the man filling her, spreading her, transforming her from an angel into something deliciously wicked.

Please, just–

It's not her voice, and yet it does sound everything like her. It begs, mewls a plea after the other in a string of helpless little whimpers.

Don't stop, please pleaseplease…

"Besser als jedes Messer…" he rasps, more darkly now. "You drive me crazy, Engel."

A chant arises in her head: she has sinned and there's no turning back. He feels far better than any promise of heaven. She could never have guessed that being cast out would feel so good.

His release comes with a tight rip, he goes taut like in that shower, only ten times more desperate. The hiss under the hood turns into a pained, strained roar of a grunt. The first time was foreplay, a quick one: this is true release. She almost hopes she would faint as the whole body of the Austrian titan goes hard as a rock. She couldn't be more spent and used, and still, her pussy answers his godly essence by clenching around him, pulling him in like he's the best man there is.

The man of her dreams, the man from her worst nightmares...

His eyes are liquid, the waterline twitches. She sees behind the walls, a millisecond's worth of fragility before his head drops, and the muscles are released from the violent trance. Broad shoulders cage her in like she's suddenly deep inside a mountain pass. Spent and dead and gone, there's no hurry any longer: he is buried deep inside and throbs whatever leftovers he has to give her.

She's filled to the brim, crushed under his weight, banished: and it's only delicious, the feeling of her body disappearing somewhere in the depths of the bed he has plowed her into. She waits dutifully as the man gathers himself, even gets brave enough to touch him. The masked face is buried somewhere in her neck, and his stomach ripples with a few shivers as her hand runs down his spine.

"I want to do this every day," he declares softly while panting through the thick fabric of his self-made shield. She feels pure horror and thrill in her chest.

To do this every day… She will eventually break, like a toy that has been used too much. She's not made of steel like those butterfly knives used mainly for playing.

"König, this is crazy… We're crazy," she tries to put into words the unholy mess raging inside her. He snorts before releasing her from the absurd position. The weight of him leaves her empty as he pulls out, then drags his way beside her to gather her back into his arms.

"Don't be ashamed, little one," he coos through the mask. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Two rounds of intense sex have liberated him, the manic terror has turned into a strange compassion. The look in his eyes is magnanimous and tender, almost droopy. She feels weightless and timid, an angel once more.

"We belong together, you and I," he states with conviction that sends sweet dread inside her heart. "Don't worry. You will never be lonely again."

Her fate is sealed, and she fears a big, fat knife will cut her heartstrings too if she tries to escape his protection. Her jaw trembles at the prospect of him returning to her every day to fuck her bare after an adrenaline high on the field. She sees a future of tears and sweat and cum, a beast lulled into sleep amidst a withering sea of flowers and torn lace.

She tries to find the right words, hopes he will be swift and merciful in his execution.

König, please…

It's not the hood, it's–

"Everyone fears me," he sighs beside her. "I'm glad you don't."

[pennyellee]

preview of chapter VI

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of God, mentions of alcohol, manhandling, mentions of murder, gun use, abduction, attempted non-con, gaslighting, vomiting, anxiety, choking, decapitation, strong language, smut, loss of virginity

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 844

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI

“Do we?-” She interrupted, praying for a change of his mind, though fully aware of the inevitability. He needed to ensure no loopholes in their marriage for others to exploit or for her to negotiate over. She knows this is mandatory.

“Yes, we do,” he acknowledged after some thought. Knowing what she had been through that day, he recognised the potential impact, but he also saw it as a way to fully claim her. It was a selfish desire, perhaps, but one he had long awaited. 

Yoongi longed to feel her skin to skin. It was indeed selfish, he knew that much. Some would say it is careless of him to demand such an intimate act to happen after all she has been through. But he wanted to show her that this is a part of their marriage she can truly enjoy. Yoongi wanted to give a final full stop to their relationship by solidifying the union rightfully, as the tradition goes.

The flickering flames of the fireplace danced in the dimly lit room, casting a warm glow upon Y/N and Yoongi. Consummating the marriage was a private but necessary measure.

His selfishness had not gone unnoticed by the syndicate elders, who questioned his insistence on not just any hotel room but the house where generations of memories had been created. He deliberately wanted to spend the night in the house he grew up in, where his father started a family, and his grandfather, and his grandfather and so on down the history line.

Yoongi, having lost his parents at a young age, yearned to start his own family. He wanted to witness the growth of his children, their marriages, and their own families.

Y/N knew this day would come, sooner or later, and as a young woman, she had learnt to protect herself from unplanned consequences. She understood his desire for a child, though he never explicitly discussed it with her. But she was far from being ready to surrender to the life fate had planned for her, not just yet.

Heaven had given her a sign, a slight hope when she found a particular herb in the garden before the first snow fell. Y/N had kept it discreet, asking the maid to dry the flowers and serve them as tea in the morning. Tonight, she was calm, knowing it could not happen, even if he wished otherwise.

Yoongi observed her hesitance, her eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and resilience. The room, with its walls that held generations of memories, seemed to echo with the weight of tradition and expectation. But as he reached out to touch her cheek gently, his eyes softened.

The sharp sound of a loud whistle from the tea kettle startled them both, tearing them out of the cocoon of their thoughts. The iron kettle hung gracefully over the open flame, steam rising in wisps as if trying to escape the weight of the night. Yoongi carefully prepared the tea, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The aroma of freshly brewed leaves filled the air. The porcelain teapot, an heirloom passed down through generations, sat patiently on the wooden small table that was next to them. As he poured the tea into delicate cups, he eyed her small physique yet again, searching for any signs.

She accepted the cup he offered her, the warmth seeping through the delicate porcelain. Her mind briefly paused when she recognised the familiar scent. She chuckled and Yoongi raised his eyebrows in surprise, awaiting her words. Y/N took a few careful sips from the cup, accepting what it offered.

“Are you afraid, Kkangpae?” She asked, taking another sip. Yoongi put his cup on the wooden table and looked directly in her eyes.

“Me? No,” he pointed at himself, hiding a smile.

“So why did you choose to make tea from Valerian root?” Her studies that surely included herbalism had escaped Yoongi’s mind.

“I knew this night would be difficult for you, and I — I wanted to ensure it went as smoothly as possible,” he confessed.

“Considerate,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. Yoongi’s gaze faltered, and he looked away momentarily.

“I want you to enjoy it—”

“Then make me enjoy it,” she interrupted him yet again, gulping down the contents of her cup, setting it down with a gentle clink next to his almost full one.

“I intend to,” he said. The complexities of tradition, the weight of the syndicate expectations, seemed to press down on them like the heavy beams of the hanok. Yet, he was thrilled at the prospect of laying her down and making love to her, while she tried to make peace with the path ahead.

A mixture of emotions played across Y/N’s face, the tension in the air made her anxious. The tea flowed in her system, calming her. The steps were set, and she cannot back down now.

His hands cradled her face, a gesture that held both tenderness and an unspoken understanding. But Y/N knows he will never understand. And thus, the night unfolded.

.

.

.

.

01.12.23 23:00/11 PM CEST - 01.12.23 17:00/5 PM EDT

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love, 𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @chaoticpuff17 - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife

[specialgradefckr]

hey, plz can u write yandere satosugo x y/n where she feel left out and insecure in the relationship ( basically like a 3rd wheel) with lots of angst and yandere vibes.

Soooo.... you sent this like. WAYYYY back near the end of JUNE.

I actually didn't think the Heatwave series would take as long as it did. I have three more to go, and honestly, I'm not sure how long each one will take.

I want to finish the Heatwave series before I start on anything else. I've actually got a few things drafted up that I'm not posting because I feel guilty about not working on the Heatwave stuff lol... it's SO HARD to finish things.

But not only did I get an idea for this, I've drafted it out, and written a considerable amount. I'm unreasonably excited about it now even though I can't post anything until the Heatwave series is done sdfjhkgslhdfg.

In this fic though, you won't be a part of the relationship exactly. You're all friends and Satoru and Suguru have gotten together.

Here's, like, a micro-preview:

This must be what dying feels like. Seeing the man you love and the man you lust for so painfully, peacefully, blissfully in love with each other. If this is dying, you're surely going to hell for thinking something so awful about a feeling so beautiful. It’s the sort of thing you think to yourself, bury deep – deep – inside the depths of your mind. Dredging it out in the late hours of the night when you can’t sleep. Wallowing in your unrequited love, feeling sorry for yourself, while also comforting yourself with the thought that at least now you didn’t have to do anything. You would never have to approach your longtime crush, Suguru Geto, and potentially ruin your friendship with him. It was something you’d struggled with for years, and after Gojo showed up – you didn’t have to struggle anymore. It was already lost. And the insane twists your fantasies would play out for you, all white hair and long slender limbs, in those lonely nights in bed – you could be free of those, too. You could completely dismiss the insane idea of propositioning the man-whore menace of a human being who made your heart race, Satoru Gojo. Gojo and Geto loved each other, and it would be wrong to get in the way of that. At this point, even saying anything to either of them would be a trespass on your friendship, with both of them.

[lupunsus]

i want to write fluff. i (you people) need to remember the good sides of this au (non-existent) because yanderes can be nice (questionable)

Anyway, amputated mouse reader with Al-Haitham and Kaveh bc i finished the story quest, and they're literally fucking each other every other day istg

based on genshin hybrid au idea by @cinnamonest

while writing this, it was pure fluff... but my demons whispered in my ear, so there's nsfw in it. im sorry, but my resolve is weak against poly relationship with Kaveh and Al-Haitham.

warning: masturbation, the hybrid is actually the pervert in this one, a bit of angst bc hybrid thinks they aren't good enough to be sandwiched between two hot men despite being loved lots but they want their pp even though they know nothing about having sex with a human

Kaveh is too kind, really.

If it wasn't for him, you wouldn't have had such a warm and loving home that cared deeply for you. Having the part of your leg below the knee taken away by bad people with awful traps was sad, but Kaveh and his partner, Al-Haitham, made sure to make you forget about that problem!

Of course, sometimes they argued about things relating to you.

"You claim to be so smart, but what's smart about giving them a pegleg?!" Kaveh glared at Al-Haitham while holding you in his arm. The other held out the object, dropping it in front of the gray-haired man. It was cute to see you hobble around at first. But then you fell over, and tears started to form in your eyes. You were so adorable!! But also, you should never be in pain while under the care of Kaveh and Al-Haitham!! You were fine, just a small bruise, but being the overreacting person he is, Kaveh had to make a big deal out of it.

To others, it would seem like he was making the situation sound worse than it is, but Al-Haitham is just like him. He's just a quiet worrier.

"I suppose I should readjust some things. If I were to buy some parts–"

"Peglegs are unnecessary when we can just carry [Name] around!"

"But then they'd have to crawl around the house if we aren't home."

"We'll put soft rugs down!!"

It's a good thing Dori resides in Sumeru. Her nose can smell potential customers all the way to the desert, but the biggest spenders are always Akademiya students. So when it comes to needing supplies for hybrids, Dori's the one to go to!

But that's a lot of soft rugs. What are you raising? A baby? It's okay. Dori won't ask, just hand over the mora. Thank you~

If anyone were to see Al-Haitham and Kaveh while they lugged a load of rugs to their place, they'd assume Kaveh was getting help with a new project. Nobody knows about the lucky little mouse waiting inside, as the rugs are for them. "Thank you masters! [Name] likes a lot!!" The texture was indeed fluffy and soft. One could wrap themselves up and sleep inside of one. That's how cozy it felt.

It's a shame that the pegleg would sit in storage to collect dust. Maybe one day it'll have its use.

Days when Kaveh is out and Al-Haitham is home are the best days. Why? The two of you do absolutely nothing. You make yourself comfy on top of him and take a nice long nap. Sometimes Al-Haitham will read to you, teaching you some words and whatnot. His voice is nice, however, so most of the time, he looks down to see you drooling all over his chest while deep in slumber. It's the main reason why he stopped wearing shirts during those times. Too much of a hassle to wash them. Kaveh doesn't complain, even doing the same.

Both of their chests make for good pillows, and their skin is always so warm. You definitely start drooling more when you're sleeping on them.

Kaveh is fun to be around, too!

He's made some toys for you to play with, but he doesn't mention how Al-Haitham helped. You didn't ask, so technically, he isn't lying to you. Do you know those cat wheels? Kind of big, enough for a human, maybe if they were to crouch down. Anyway, Kaveh made that for you! A nice little wheel to run to your little heart's content. It's super cute seeing you use it, especially when you get tired.

You just lay there in a puddle of exhaustion, and he takes the opportunity to scratch and nuzzle his face in your tummy. If you're ticklish, you try to push him off, but you're too tired to do so. Kaveh rewards you with treats and stuff to chew on, so it balances itself out. Plus, his belly rubs feel good.

Honestly, living with them makes you forget that you're missing half of your leg.

Almost.

You're a bit clumsy, especially when both of them are busy. During those times, they tend to leave a lot of things laying about. Books, well mainly stacks of books, but there's also occasionally some other stuff. And with how often Kaveh and Al-Haitham redecorate the place, things that are usually in a position you're used to are inevitably moved, and objects put in hard to reach places.

So when you trip or hurt yourself because of it, it's hard not to let a few tears fall. Would it be easier if you had two healthy legs? Of course, it'd be easier to balance yourself with two legs instead of one and a half. These negative thoughts start to spiral until you think about how useless you are to your masters.

All hybrids in shelters know that their purpose is to serve and please their masters. You weren't a stranger to the knowledge, even hearing of how if the hybrid is good, they'll be treated the same and even receive assistance during their... spring season.

But you're damaged goods! Unused, but still damaged! You require more care than the average hybrid, needing special attention and accommodations because of your small size. Neither of the men touched you in that way. Instead, they gave you space and sometimes left the house.

You could smell their scents on each other.

Why were you even here if they had each other to pleasure? You were grateful to even have such a nice home, but what were you to them? A pet? Or worse... an experiment? You've heard stories of fellow rodents being used for tests and experiments. They weren't harmed, but they weren't as loved as other hybrids in homes.

Ah, maybe you were a charity case.

A poor little mouse with half a leg missing. Nobody would want them as caring for them is so expensive, and you'd need to rearrange furniture and make the entire place practically baby proof. Perhaps you were a child to them. But you're definitely past that age! And what will happen to you if they do manage to conceive one? It's unheard-of for a male hybrid to get pregnant, but there are rare cases of it happening. Some can happen with the intervention of researchers, but only psychopaths (Dottore) would experiment with that.

Well, whatever. You're exhausted after overthinking and making yourself insecure and depressed.

The two men you loved with your entire being said they would be out late, but were they just having fun without you? Ah, you already told yourself to stop assuming things and thinking negatively, but it was hard. You wanted to be with them, too! Even during those times... There was only one thing that could help clear away these negative thoughts.

That's right. Stealing.

Borrowing would be a better word. You always put their clothes back! ...With the dirty clothes. Kaveh would be confused, not recalling wearing some of them, but blamed it on the alcohol. Al-Haitham made Kaveh do laundry, so he never spoke about it. He did express his impatience at how Kaveh takes forever to wash clothes, but that was it. They wouldn't think that their precious little mouse was to blame for the misunderstanding and confusion.

You'll never know it, but they think you're incapable of doing anything without them. Of course, you get exercise from your wheel, but they still feed, bathe, and clothe you (you're mainly naked unless they have guests over) with their own hands. The only things you should be doing without them are running on the wheel and chewing on your toys.

Going back to your session of "borrowing," it was usually something you did during the day when they were out, but since they're out late, you figured stealing more clothes of theirs again wouldn't get you caught. If they were doing what you thought they were doing, the two of them would get back home when the sun started rising.

So, you had plenty of time to make a nest in your hidden corner and masturbate while being surrounded by their scent.

It was really well hidden! Plus, you still had some clothes from earlier today, so the nest would just be cozier, and the smell of them would be even stronger. There really was nothing better than burying your face in their clothes while getting yourself off. It only helped to fuel your dirty desires.

Would they take you at the same time? You were confident that you stretched yourself to take both of them (you are definitely not), even using 3 fingers instead of 2! Surely, they'll both fit. But would they take turns instead? Impossible. They bicker so often that you think one of them will get impatient. And then there comes with that thing humans do. Kissing? You've only ever received forehead kisses from Kaveh, but you wanted more than that. Both men thought they were secret in kissing each other, and even if they weren't, they explained it as a way to share energy even if they both were out of breath afterward.

That was what you wanted. You wanted to give all your energy to them. To be drained until there was nothing left to give, even if they were insistent and shared with you their energy just so they could take it back.

"M-Masters...!" It was a relief that you came before your arm became weak. For some reason, you could only bring yourself to cum twice before your wrist felt numb. Maybe you needed to exercise more, you didn't know. You were still sensitive, so you opted to grind against their clothes to reach another high.

On any other day, you'd feel horrible for getting the clothes of your Masters dirty with your essence (or, as you like to call it, your love for them), but you were upset for always being left out! And they'd always tease you too. Going around the house topless. You have to hold back from pouncing on them and rubbing your nipples against theirs. You've done it before when sleeping on Al-Haitham's chest, but that time was an accident. It felt really good, though...

And the material of their clothes rubbing against them now felt incredible, but you really wanted to feel their hands and bodies against them. To have them pinched and squeezed even though no milk would come out. You heard hybrids can lactate if their nipples are squeezed and sucked periodically, so maybe if you play with them every day, you can give them a nice surprise.

Milk is delicious, after all!

Bringing yourself to the edge for the sixth time, you collasped onto the nest, exhausted from grinding against clothes. At most, you could only last three rounds, but this is an improvement! Humans generally go for seven rounds, so you are really close! But you're so tired... do humans really do it so many times? Their stamina sure is amazing.

You had time before your masters came back, so a nap wouldn't hurt. Plus, you were very hidden in this corner! Even if you overslept, they wouldn't be able to find you. You even threw a blanket over pillows on the couch just in case :) You've seen Kaveh do it, so it'll definitely trick them into thinking you're asleep.

It truly is unfortunate that you think you could outsmart two Akademiya graduates.

Al-Haitham is used to Kaveh's tricks, so he immediately knows you're hiding. You haven't figured out how to unlock the door, and there's even another few locks that you can't reach even if you manage to figure it out. Windows are too complicated to unlock for you, too. It's while he's narrowing down possibilities that Kaveh is calling out for you, thinking you were playing hide and seek, but fell asleep while waiting for them.

Kaveh thinks it's adorable and fun to look for the obvious tail sticking out from behind something. It isn't until Al-Haitham notices some of their clothes sticking out from underneath a table in the corner that he knows where you are and what you've been doing. How could he not? You practically begged them and threw a fit just to keep the table in its spot. It wasn't really hidden, but nobody would notice if someone or something were under it.

Calling over his partner, they looked to see you slumbering on top of their clothes, using their shirts as blankets. It would've been a cutely innocent sight if not for the fact you hadn't cleaned yourself up. "They've used more clothes than usual, but their heat is 3 weeks away.." Al-Haitham gently rubbed the inside of your thigh, causing your body to shift. Kaveh moved some of the shirts aside to see your reddened nipples perked up. He wanted to pinch them, but he settled on flicking one, smiling when you mumbled incoherently and squirmed a bit in your sleep. "Maybe they missed us~ We were out longer this time."

"Because someone can't play cards."

"I'd like to see you beat Cyno in less than 7 rounds!"

Realizing his mistake, both men looked towards you as you shifted. "Masters...." Nuzzling your face into their clothes, you let out a content sigh as their comforting smell seemed to be stronger than usual as if they were beside you.

"My skill is not provoking him. You'd have lost in 4 rounds if you had drank alcohol." This time, Kaveh chose to glare at Al-Haitham. The reason he didn't drink tonight was so that he'd be sober enough to remember being welcomed home by someone much cuter and nicer than the Acting Grand Scribe. But seeing you curled up in a nest of their clothes is definitely better.

Al-Haitham only sighed at the sight. "They took the pants I was going to wear tomorrow this time. I'll have to start hiding clothes I need."

"Wait, you knew they were the reason our clothes ended up in the laundry so often?" Al-Haitham only gave Kaveh a look that screamed, "Was it not obvious?" before rearranging the clothes to cover your entire body so you wouldn't get cold. If you weren't peacefully sleeping right in front of them, Kaveh would have yelled some very mean things at Al-Haitham. But that could wait for another day.

After all, they've left their cute little mouse waiting too long.

[the-travelling-witch]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ But I Still Love You ﾟ☾. ࿐

summary: your relationship was all you could have wished for but what if it turned out it was just a little more?

pairing: scaramouche x gn!reader

prompts: 8. "you're a monster", 19. "i can't do this anymore", 23. "what's wrong with me?"

warnings: [heavy angst] murder, somewhat graphic depiction of violence, emotional abuse+ manipulation, toxic relationship, gaslighting, mentions of suicide, yandere (?) themes, you know i normally love scara but he’s a totally messed up asshole in this, i do not condone this type of behaviour; do not engage with this fic if any of these could potentially jeopardise your health!!

a/n: i can happily announce that this is my first collab fic ever and i’m very excited!! i just had to join after reading the prompts in @versadies’s “farewell, love” collab, my brain was running wild with ideas and settled on the darkest one, don’t ask what possessed me that day; thank you to @mari-on-dragonspine and @yaesnovels for reading this ahead of time and boosting my confidence about it, couldn’t have done it without you; now… soft scara stans, look away, this is not your man

happy halloween🍁

genshin impact masterlist

It was a dream come true.

Every time you’d meet him, the butterflies in your stomach would create a whirlwind of emotion and your heart would soar higher than any bird ever could. That fact that he’d chosen you out of everyone still didn't feel real to you.

Always bright-smiling and elated to see you, he had your heart wrapped around his finger but you didn't mind, you'd gladly given it to him. Taking you out for dinner, escorting you home from work, planning weekend trips with your interests in mind…

He was perfect.

But he was also the Balladeer, who could make anyone dance to his tune. Your friends were wary of his flawless performance from the start. Something that seemed too good to be true was usually just that; a short-lived dream at best, an intricately woven tapestry of lies and illusions at worst. But you ignored all their warnings as your rose-coloured glasses blended every possible red flag with the bouquet of dendrobiums he had gifted you on your date.

As time passed, you saw your friends less and less and eventually they stopped reaching out to you; there were no more letters in your mailbox, you didn't run into them on your trips to the market and their excited knocks on the door faded away into memories. Besides your colleagues at work, you spent most of your time with Scaramouche, whose role in your life was growing more significantly with each passing day.

From helping you with everyday chores to helping you secure better business deals with his position as the Sixth Fatui Harbinger to even going so far as lending you money or straight-up buying whatever you needed or wanted, you were starting to wonder how you managed to navigate life before he waltzed into yours.

Then, Scaramouche asked you if you wanted to move in with him. Considering how evolved he already was and how often you saw each other, you thought living together would make everything easier. Besides, waking up next to him and coming home to him every evening did sound rather enticing, so you agreed.

Relocating all your belongings from where you had grown up to the far side of Inazuma was quite the challenge but of course, Scaramouche came to your rescue, lending a hand in sorting through your stuff and leaving behind what you didn't need anymore.

It was hard to find a new job. Every interview you attended ended up in you being turned down without a specific reason given, even though you more than met the required qualifications. After continuously being rejected you couldn't take it anymore as the venomous fangs of failure sank their teeth into you. Luckily, Scaramouche was there to catch you when you broke down.

“Shh, it's okay, little dove. Why don't you rest for a while and let me take care of you? Can't you see how all this stress is weighing you down? Let me handle everything while you recover, I promise I'll cover whatever you need, so don’t worry. Take all the time you need and then you can start looking again.” As he pressed his cold lips against your temple, you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine. Somewhere in the back of your mind, the notion of Death marking its next victim had taken root while he securely held you in his arms, letting your falling tears stain the shirt clutched in between your hands. “You’re doing so well for me, I'm very proud of you, my love.”

Grasping the fact that you were unemployed and solely relying on your boyfriend’s, admittedly generous, income took a while. Up until now, you’d always stood on your own two feet, a philosophy your parents had instilled into you from a young age and something you had prided yourself on. 

At first, it was hard facing yourself in the mirror, too ashamed of yourself and too afraid your mind would zero in on your every flaw to tear your confidence down even further. But whenever your eyes averted from your figure, two hands would wrap around your middle from behind, Scaramouche’s face appearing next to yours to whisper sweet words into your ear, saving you from shattering completely.

And frankly, your income couldn’t compare to his anyway, so you working would only be worth a drop in the bucket, if at all. 

To keep yourself busy with all your new free time gained, you started working around the house, doing chores just to pass the time and distract you from your feelings of uselessness.

One of your greatest joys was going grocery shopping at the local market. With no new coworkers to speak of, it had been increasingly difficult finding a connection to the people. With the title of being a Harbinger’s partner, they were wary and kept their distance, a precautionary measure you couldn’t fault them for.

As you stopped by more often, however, their behaviour changed. The elderly lady selling vegetables started sharing recipes with you, the young pair from the flower shop were waving you over to catch up and the guy from the herb stand handed you free samples to try around with.

Finally, for the first time since moving here, you felt like you could become part of the community, so naturally you told Scara about it. What you didn’t notice was how his smile strained the more excited you grew. 

"How long has this been going on for?” Even he couldn’t hide the venom lacing  his words. “Remember, you have to tell me. Not telling me is just as bad as lying.”

“Wait, Scara, you aren’t upset with me, right? I just wanted to help out, you know.“

“Am I upset? Why? Should I be?“ The hairs in the back of your neck rose and your skin tingled as if someone had shot a bolt of electricity through you. It was like the ground around you broke away at his tone and you knew you had to tread carefully if you wanted to make it out of this safely.

“No, don’t be.“ You gingerly extend your arm as if not to scare a cautious animal and cupped his cheek. “I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else, you know that right?“

Leaning into your touch and trapping your hand under his own, his purple eyes zeroed in on you. “So you knew after all?“

You froze. “What?“ It was barely more than an exhale as your gut seemed to plummet. His grip on you tightened as you started squirming.

“Oh come on, you’re smarter than this. You knew I‘d get jealous and you told me anyway. Or maybe that is why you told me in the first place?“ Apparently your appalled face gave away how impossible the thought was to you because he merely sighed deeply before dropping your arm and turning to leave. “Whatever. It’s not like I care anyway.“

The silence he left behind that day left you stunned, weighing down on your chest and pressing the air out of your lungs only to be shattered by the sound of a plate smashing against the wall a few rooms over. Yet, despite flinching and despite the acidic sting in your eyes, the tears wouldn't fall.

In the wake of that incident, you desperately scrambled to make it up to him. There was no need to go to the market for groceries anymore, instead you found a basket with produce in the kitchen with no trace of the Fatui Agent who brought it. So, you devoted your time to cooking homemade meals and cleaning the house. Only to have your heart broken when Scaramouche picked at his plate with disinterest or had someone clear the decorations you had put up in careful consideration.

But he still loved you, he always reminded you. From showering you in expensive fabrics and jewellery to treating you to fancy dinners in high-class restaurants to sweet words of praise dripping from his lips like honey, making it hard for you to taste anything but their saccharine flavour. Of course he still loved you when he responded to your gratitude with “I would do anything to make you happy. I just want you to do the same for me.”

Maybe you were the one who wasn’t showing their affection enough. Otherwise, why would you feel this sharp stab of guilt piercing your heart whenever you refused him? How could you stay unmoved when his glassy violet eyes drooped as he mumbled “I guess you just don’t love me enough after all.”

And when you brought up an issue you wanted to discuss with him, his cold “I could just leave, you know” didn’t mean he actually would, he still loved you after all. Surely, he just had a bad day at work and needed some space. Your theory was cemented when Scaramouche sat you down one evening, expression unreadable as he took hold of your hands.

“Listen, little dove, something at work happened that I need you to know about. I’m telling you this for your own safety, okay?” You silently nodded at his genuinely concerned voice. Normally, he never told you anything about his work and completely shut you out if you asked about it, so you figured it must be pretty serious. “You understand that my job is dangerous, right? That shouldn't be news to you. And while I’m always very cautious to keep any kind of information about my personal life away from the Fatui, it seems that recently some of that information trickled down to our enemies through a mole.”

You didn't need to voice it, the anxiety sparked within you at his words apparent in your expression and Scaramouche gave your hands a reassuring squeeze as he continued with a softened tone.

“I'm sure you already figured out what kind of information has been leaked if I need to tell you. Yes, the enemy knows the location of this estate. It's unclear, however, if they know about you.” At that you couldn't help but clench your fingers into fists; enemies of the Fatui weren't to be taken lightly. “Don’t worry, I already made sure that traitor got what he deserved. Despite all of that, he wouldn't talk about the reason for giving up this particular intel, the working theory being that someone is after my life. Personally, I don't think you are their target; all the same…”

Pulling out a silver dagger, he handed the razor sharp weapon to you. Its handle felt like an icicle against the warmth of your palm and the weight of it seemed to sink into your gut rather than your arm. Certainly he wasn't asking you to…

“I want you to have this. If the situation calls for it, you need to be prepared to use it.”

“Scara, what is it that you want from me? I’m not like you, I can't just…” Lost for words, your currently empty hand was waving through the air trying to grasp the meaning of all of this. 

Your lover reached forward and clasped his hands tightly around your shoulders, his stern gaze glued to your shaky one. “Your life or my life might depend on this, (Y/N), do you understand? If you really cared about me, you'd do what I'm asking.”

For the first time in a long time, you cried. Bitter tears seeping out of the corners of your eyes before starting to fall faster and faster and broken hiccups echoed around the room. The knife clattered noisily onto the floorboards as Scaramouche pulled you into his arms as you clutched onto his robes, gasping for air. 

“Shh, shh, I understand, little dove. It's scary,” he soothed. “But you have to see my side of things too. If something happened to you, what would I do? You’re the most precious thing in the whole world to me, I can't lose you, ever. I promise you, we’ll be together forever, so don’t cry.”

You didn’t sleep well that night. Or any of the following for that matter. It was even worse when Scaramouche had to stay out on Fatui business, leaving you all alone in the estate. Even the agents you knew where stationed somewhere in the vicinity didn’t help quell your fears.

Had this really become your life? Waking up in cold sweat, thinking you heard a noise? Flinching at the curtains blowing in the night’s breeze? The dagger didn’t pacify your worries either. Instead, the wretched blade seemed to follow you into your dreams, cutting through the pleasantries to reveal subconscious terrors slumbering under your quiet surface.

It was one of those nights where you were startled awake by your own hammering heart and the sweat rolling off your temple, the other half the bed cold and empty. Just as you slid your legs from under the blanket in hopes that a glass of water would help you calm down, you heard a thud. 

You wanted to play it off as your mind playing tricks on you, like every other night; that it was just the blood thumping through your ears that made you hear things. But then it was there again. 

There was someone else in the house with you.

It couldn’t be the Fatui nor Scaramouche. They were better trained than this, stealthier than to make a sound twice. In the moonlit room, you groped for the cool metal under your pillow, shaky fingers wrapping around the handle. There was no way you could win against an enemy who’d go after a Harbinger in one-to-one combat, much less if you were outnumbered, so you hid in the shadows of your room.

The creaking of the floorboard grew closer and you tried to stifle your ragged breathing. Even when you wrapped both hands around the hilt, they were still trembling as you recalled what Scaramouche had drummed into your head… “Go for the throat”

You didn't dare inhale or exhale as the door slowly slid open and a shadowy figure stepped into the room. The person was wearing a straw kasa shielding most of their head from your view but, from what you could make out, it was a young man. 

There was no time to think. In the few seconds he took to advance to the middle of the room, you lunged forward, driven mad by fear alone. Just before the sharp blade made contact with his skin, the man whirled around, startled by the noise. And then, merely a fraction later, the dagger was lodged to the hilt in his throat. 

When he tried to speak, nothing but a gruesome gurgling sound left his mouth. From the proximity, you could finally see under the hat, just to meet familiar eyes. You staggered back, mortified. It was as if someone had punched out all the air from your lungs as realisation struck you.

How didn't you recognise him? You had seen him so often. If you had just taken a second longer to properly look at him, he wouldn't…

The person burbling unintelligible noises sounding too similar to the letters of your name was certainly not an enemy of the Fatui. No, he was a simple herb farmer, selling his products on the local market. And you…

…just killed an innocent man.

The dull thud of the knife hitting the floor barely registered as your knees gave out and you sacked downwards. Two cold hands wrapped under your arms and stopped you from joining the blood-slicked blade. You didn’t put up any resistance as you were pulled against an all too familiar chest, your body limp like a puppet with its strings cut as he lowered both of you to the ground slowly.

“Look at you. You’re a monster,” he cooed and you could feel his grin curl against the top of your  head as he placed a frosty kiss there. “You just murdered an unarmed farmer, just like that. But it’s okay. I still love you.”

“No, I– I didn’t… I cant–” Guilt crushed your chest and wrangled your airways. You might as well have been the one with the slit vocal chords, judging by the lack of sound coming from you.

“Mhh, but you did, little dove.” Scaramouche’s soft hands were caressing the side of your face as he softly spoke to you. It took a few caresses for you to realise that his fingers were sticky and you forced yourself to focus on the scene in front of you. There was a pool of dark liquid slowly expanding from where the man's neck would be, the metallic smell filling the room, making you nauseous. You saw the knife lying next to the slumped over body. As in trance, you reached for it, anything to make the pain go away…

But Scaramouche was faster in pinning your arms back to your side “None of that, don’t be dumb. It wouldn't remedy what you already did.” When you sagged back against him and he was sure you wouldn't try taking the knife again, he let go of your arm. “Did you know? He was here to ‘save you’, isn't that funny?”

“...what?”

“I know, right? It's ridiculous,” he chuckled. “Apparently, the townsfolk were concerned about you when you stopped showing up at the market, so they waited for an opportunity where I wouldn't be home, those fools. But you made nice work of this idiot without my help. You did so well for me, love.”

“You… you knew about this?” You couldn't prevent the way your voice cracked from lack of energy. “But… the enemies of the Fatui… and the information that was… you said that… I thought..”

“Hm? Oh, that? I told you, didn’t I? We took care of them a couple of days ago. I definitely told you, little dove; you were so relieved when you heard the news. You didn't forget, did you?”

Did he tell you? You couldn’t remember; surely you would, if he had told you something so important. The Fatui, however, were notorious for dealing with their problems quickly, so it was possible this had been resolved so swiftly. No, you'd definitely remember…

You were ripped out of your thoughts when something warm touched your bare foot. Violently jerking your leg towards yourself as vermillion smeared across the wooden floor. Suddenly, it wasn’t just your lungs caving into themselves but also your stomach being compressed into a fraction of its size. Flopping onto your side you pulled yourself up onto shaky arms and knees as acid burned your throat and your body tried to rid itself of nonexistent content. 

Throughout all of it, Scaramouche lovingly ran his hand up and down the length of your spine, cooing at you to soothe your nerves, all the while praising you for doing so well. When you stopped throwing up for the moment, he gently lifted you up and brought you to the bathroom and helped you wash up. Frankly, he did most of the work, whereas you merely stood there, watching your reflection in the mirror. 

This was the baseline behaviour for the next few weeks as you processed what you had done. Naturally, by the time you exited the bathroom that night, there was no body or crimson trace left of what had transpired there. Nobody would know, except you, Scaramouche and the Fatui agents under his command. Although, the guilt and shame within you remained, most possibly until the day you died. He was right, you were a monster.

But underneath all the easily-accepted self-loathing, another sensation reared its ugly head. Denial spilled into the numbness and slowly warped into scepticism. And it culminated the morning you looked at yourself in the mirror. What had your life become? When did it all go wrong? 

Quietly, meant for nobody but the reflection on the polished surface but with the force to shake you awake, you mumbled a long overdue question: “What's wrong with me?”

However as you turned the situation over and over in your mind, there was only one answer. It was him, it all started with him. Your life was good before him. You weren't the problem here; you weren't the monster in this house. And there was only one solution to your problems.

“I can't do this anymore.”

“What?!” It was pure fury, the way he sliced the air with that single word. “You’re kidding, right? Well, it's not funny, so cut the crap, (Y/n).”

“I’m not. We’re done, Scaramouche.” It took every ounce of willpower for your voice to remain composed and unwavering. But you had made your decision and you wouldn't let him charm you into your downfall again. “I'm leaving. Don't follow me.”

“Have you completely lost your mind? You killed a person, remember? You should be grateful I’m willing to stick by your side; who else would love a freak like you? And that’s given the chance you’re even allowed to walk free.” The sneer was contorting his face into an ugly grimace and in the back of your head you wondered if those were the true colours you were just too blind to see all of this time. “You do realise, my position is the only thing keeping you from prison and poverty and homelessness. You need me. You owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything for ruining my life,“ you spat, thoroughly done with him manipulating the narrative. It felt good to finally stand your ground and argue with your own agency in mind, no matter how terrifying it might be. Turning on your heel you marched straight to the front door, belongings in hand. Before you could make it there, however, a hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, spinning you around forcibly.

“You don't want to do this, little dove, trust me. You don’t know what I'll do if you dare leave me,” he gritted out. “I told you, we will be together forever.”

Merely raising an eyebrow as you held his stare you noted, “What you do no longer concerns me.” And so, you took the first steps to your regained freedom.

It had taken months of gentle caring to nurture the wilted shell in your chest back into a living sapling, hopefully strong enough to fill the empty void where your heart had been carved out.

It had taken years of genuine reassurance for your friends, who readily took you in again, to finally be fully let back into your life as you slowly broke down the high walls you had erected to keep the tiny sprout safe. 

Finally, the lively breeze that had carried you from adventure to adventure before had returned to ruffle your rusty wings once more and you were ready to rejoin the path you used to walk on.

So when you were waiting for your friend to pick you up and you excitedly answered the knock on your door, the dreaded amethyst staring back at you made you stagger back, the bouquet of crimson dendrobiums tearing open scars you thought had healed.

“Hello, little dove. You seem surprised to see me.” Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to run, far far away, put as much distance between you and the person you had once called your lover. But the weight in your stomach was dragging you down and you could only stare with wide eyes as you were once again pulled under and into your own demise.

“I came back for you. I promised I would.”

tag list: @mccnstruck @silentmoths @teyvattales @ainescribe