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westeroslive · 2 months

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𝘈𝘙𝘊 𝘐𝘐, 𝖶𝖠𝖱 𝖥𝖮𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖣𝖠𝖶𝖭 : 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼.

the hour of the wolf has passed, darkest shades of the night stain paler as the city still sleeps peacefully beneath luminous moon — only servants and common folk have halted slumber for duty. the torches in the tower of the hand flicker ever so often, never dimming as the small council members appear to be the only nobles still awake in the red keep ⸻ obsequiously serving her majesty. hour upon hour filled with discussion - to elect their new leader, the next hand of the queen ... but who is worthy of such prestigious position ⸺ there is no unanimity, midnight exists of strained colloquy and biting emphasis on covert self - interest disguised as wishes of the realm's greater good. it's a tale as old as time, from the day aegon conquered the kingdoms until the end of the targaryen dynasty - one only has own interests at heart. strong currents pick up across blackwater bay, mighty winds roar harshly above the waters as it nears the city ⸺ a storm in spring brings unrest, a bad omen for the rest of the year. if only the council members could pick up the faint sounds growing louder with each passing minute, their voices drowning out the tempest.

reunion between siblings - unexpected yet with bare bones of recent events carried over, message shared changes the course of diplomacy between two kingdoms. letter by raven revealed new development, crimson - hued flames grazed city - states of the empire as damage was done by breath of dragon, not a final kiss of death but wounded by fearsome attacks. all politeness and rigidity in statecraft gone as the emperor only has one goal: sail back to essos and unite his lands during these dire times of war, he must go back to pentoshi soil and lead the empire from his seat in imperial castle - to be a united front against the enemy. dagareon royals leave the quarters as servants are dispatched to gather all essosi nobility, they must set sail quickly. freshly - lit fire warms the room with sullen orange glow as dawn slowly paints the outside sky in lighter tints of deep blue, the emperor stands tall in the midst of his people - dragon mosaic in black and red underneath his feet. they will overcome the challenge of the three - headed dragon, victory shall taste bitter iron. in all his glory, he commands the essosi to leave the soil of king's landing in exchange for the lands of their upbringing. it becomes a clandestine mission, operation incomplete as not all enter the ship on time - some will forcefully stay behind in the capital. in safety according to the emperor's brother - danger has not reached the shores of westeros and even if they would, they are weaponed against the worst. a dance of dragons will protect their own nobility and leave the targaryens vulnerable, creating a power vacuum ⸺ for the best, for the greater good of the empire. heartfelt letters written by quick brushstrokes explain the path chosen as they are scattered amongst the quarters of the essosi, their kin leaving on the ship cloaked in the dark as dawn begins to break - like fugitives they leave and tear apart diplomatic relations. too caught up in everything to notice the faint lights on blackwater bay as they go deeper into the narrow sea facing the heavy gusts of wind in the storm. the rumble of thunder is deafening as it intertwines with dragon roars ⸻ their loved ones safer in king's landing than the damaged lands of essos, to be brought back when all turmoil has been eradicated.

gusting winds have picked up above the waters, thunderous claps of dragon wings flying low near the waves - limbs with sharp claws touching traitorous sea ⸻ it starts all over again, at the mouth of the blackwater rush with three dragons, as they conquer. magic is strongest with dragons around, long fruitful summers with short winters lightly dusted by snow. it is not any different now, something in the air shifts - thickly coated with prophecies and the fiery iron taste of fire and blood. loud roars fill the empyrean atmosphere - familiar cries of dragons that do not wake commonfolk, but to the trained ear it is foreign ⸺ not the dragons housed in the pit. finally, the three dragons in shades of black, silver and copper fly over the city - wings large enough to bring entire city in darkness of the night yet again. loud uproar shocks the castle dragons that remain unclaimed ⸺ apprehension of the unknown causes their panic as limbs push them away from the dragonpit toward the dome, breaking free as they leave their home. wings carry them across the skies toward safety - castamere and dragonstone within their reach if they're fast enough. king's landing knights, gold cloaks of the east barracks, watch the escape of dragons with mouths wide open - rare phenomenon before they are brought back into reality. the word spreads across the city that all must stay inside - enough warning of their fellow lowborn as they run toward the nearest outpost of the red keep.

⸻ ring the bell.

the bond between a dragon and their rider strong, together against the world even when all odds are not in their favor ⸺ no one to stand in between, till death do them part. the dragonriders wake up drenched in sweat as they sense the fear instilled in their dragon — it was clear that something was wrong. but what was it ? heart pounding fast, the blood rushes to the head as everything around becomes dark and fuzzy ⸺ too many sensations all at once, connection with dragon overwhelming as the world spins out of control.

the city begins to wake up under pale orange and grapefruit tinted heavens, the soft epilogue that all deserve - dreamscapes painting homes. the terror of the nightfall, haunted by the heat of dragons, reappears in the heavens as three dragons enter the battle scene. gruesome near reincarnations of balerion the black dread, vhagar and meraxes as they curse king's landing into absolute darkness. together they set the capital ablaze with dragonflames escaping mouths, not as powerful as the fires from trueborn grown dragons but still a devastating blow ⸺ alleys and houses burned to the ground, charred to coal. their sights now turned to red keep after the city parallels the field of fire, a relic from aegon's war of conquest - only the targaryen reign has fallen victim now.

heat of licking flames scorches the royal gardens into a wasteland of ashes, now a palace of bruised flowers - unable to grow in tarnished ground. while castle dragons have escaped dragonpit before it becomes their mausoleum, bonded dragons arrive on torched down territory at the foot of the red keep. dragons are fire made flesh ⸻ immunity against fire as the royal dragons wait on their riders - cannot be separated as their roaring cries warn the queen's children of the imminent danger they are in.

the raging inferno is strong - waft of smoke fills every corner of the castle, every breath taken corrupts lungs with sulfur, the smell intense that nobles of court rouse ⸻ realization dawns upon them, trapped in the keep. visibility at all - time low, last vision is dark soot as flesh is burning with the heat. it is impossible to escape - screams of anguish and tears of despair only weaken bodies before they succumb to eternal sleep. the royal palace now their grave if only they knew they are the lucky ones. heat becomes stronger, melting the structure of the last resting place of many - large blocks of pale red stone fall as it burns down to rubble. some casualties of the morning are caught under the weight of the walls, suffocation as it becomes harder to respirate - gasping for air as they try to survive, but deep down they know, their cries for help will not be heard ⸺ death welcomes them as the sweltering heat of dragonflames no longer burns skin.

the outcries of the three serpentine dragons is loud, it nearly engulfs the connection between dragonrider and dragon. however, it is the prince commander who feels the pull strongest, he gathers his siblings as he analyzes the situation ⸺ the spare of the spare knows what must be done. with quick words and a natural commandeering presence, the youngest princess, little viserra, is tasked with seeking out nobles and fly them out to dragonstone toward safety while prince daeron secures the red keep before doing the same. three other targaryen royals, with dragons made for the task, are entrusted with defeating the foreign reptiles ⸺ and so prince aelyx, princess daenaera, and prince calyx climb into their saddle and prepare for war. they must be defeated at all costs, even death of their own.

imposing and fearsome, prince commander makes the first move as he scares the holy trinity of dragons away from the red keep ⸺ with great speed tyraxes challenges them toward the mouth of blackwater rush, far away from the commoners and the fleeing court that refuse to be entombed for eternity in the ashen debris. as the oldest dragon of the royal children scares the trio away, it allows zeokas, calaellis and balerion to follow and each claim their own adversary. it becomes a battle of serpentine creatures - a dance of dragons above blackwater bay ⸺ a century old tragedy, as they burn across the sky with claws intertwined and biting jaws filled with sharp teeth. it draws the danger further away from the city while the few volantene ships watch on - scions of old blood have signed the death warrant of the targaryens, all is well. the acrid smoky air envelops the city, bright fires near the gates and markets while the royal castle is swallowed alive by the dragonfire coming from purgatory. the distressed screams of westerosi aristocracy and queen rhaena's welcomed guests will be the key melody in the ballads immortalizing the victory of volantis and the true valyrian descendants. the perfect backdrop as the dragons fight high in the skies - the sunrise matching the bloodshed in the capital, the sea of flames as times of peace are officially over. it is with grotesque surprise that the essosi delegation realizes what fate they narrowly escaped - the images engraved into psyche. but bombshell only builds on as they realize some of their loved ones are still in the city - sleeping peacefully in their quarters, their deaths imminent. inconsolable grief finds roots on the ship but there is no turning back ...

one can only go forward and pray to their gods.

through speed and endurance, tyraxes and iridessa bring most nobles to safety ⸺ a reconnaissance mission happens to find the missing aristocrats but a mournful aura paints the castle of dragonstone in even more somber colors, unremovable mist of gloom. the entirety of the small council gathered at the highest floor of the stone drum with eyes on the carved map of westeros - dreams of revenge ... and for once the queen shall agree without help of her precious hand, there is no more liege hand. but how does one rage war against an invisible enemy ⸺ what is a noble to a dragon. nothing. the queensguard protects her majesty as she overlooks the battle happening over blackway bay ⸺ three of her blood risking their life - she may lose another one, grief that nearly killed her last time. is this another punishment from the gods ?

the crown prince seeks out frantically for the dagareon royals in the hallways of his own keep - impulsive decision made as he flies away from the sanctuary that is dragonstone to the tomb of king's landing. his duty forsaken to find more survivors but the palace is nothing more than a pile of ashes and melted stones - harrenhal was nothing compared to this ravage - the targaryen ancestral castle no longer stands tall, brought to the ruins by dragons similar to their ancestors. dragons do not burn, but he weeps at the fallen nobles in the midst of the cinders ⸻ too many faces he recognizes. purple gaze is drawn to the body of a sibling of the ruling lord stark - figure bloodied and bruised, halo of crimson surrounding head as fire still licks at the stones around. he pulls the noble away from the slowly - dimming flames and continues the quest. near the gardens the ground is scorched and the sulfur scent is strong, another member of a great house fallen, this time a young rose plucked away from highgarden too soon ⸺ young with a future ahead. the path ahead is dark - howls of highborn in pain are everywhere and nowhere at once, it never stops like they are in the walls and beneath his feet. the dragons roar on - rumbling and loud enough to shake king's landing to the core with ground moving and stones falling all around. he sees the first sword of braavos in the distance, pushing against heavy structure to save the lives - and yet another loud cry from the reptiles causes rocks to topple down on top of him. hard, painful and heavy enough to break through the ground straight into the secret tunnels ⸻ the sword joins the ones he tried to save in death. finally, eyes meet the dead stare of the imperial crown prince, nighttime robes kissed by dragon fire with valyrian steel sword melted to his hand. foolishly brave to fight the dragons on his own, a noble mission that became his death as flames scorched his flesh - swallowing him alive in heat, but it is the fall from great height that was his end. perhaps the enemy did not win when it came to prince kusa, the final blow not serpentine blazes but a freefall from the highest tower with broken neck and eyes wide open.

the confrontation between dragons rages on above the waves of the bay, dragonlords holding onto tightly to their reins as they steer toward fatal clashes. with careful glances, prince calyx notices the barely - there lights on the water as he redirects balerion toward the volantene ships watching the burning city ⸻ oh how they go up in flames with practiced ease, what a tragedy. calaellis and princess daenaera go after the smallest dragon of the enemy, brutally strong jaw biting into other's neck until their limbs no longer move ⸺ after a long battle the copper dragon is no more, crashing into the water to have a sealord's funeral. the shyest royal of them all, the prince of summerhall, with zeokas made for combat, fights the two largest dragons at once. narrowly avoiding death until the claws of the silver dragon and his own copper intertwine into a tango ⸻ allowing the black dread to escape. a slight turn of his head to find the black monster again - easily found, but then he watches him dive. with horror, prince aelyx watches the balerion - reincarnate bite maegor in half as his brother, prince rhaeys, sits on top of the crimson reptile. and like magic, onyx serpent disappears into thin air ⸻ like he never existed before, gone with the wind. nonetheless, there was an operation to be fulfilled, he was not going to abandon the ship and together with calyx and his beloved balerion - the two siblings defeat the silver moonlight beast.

𝘈𝘙𝘊 𝘐𝘐, 𝖶𝖠𝖱 𝖥𝖮𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖣𝖠𝖶𝖭 : 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿.

and with this final part of the plot drop we conclude our time in king's landing and move toward a new location as constructions are underway in the capital. as soon as the three dragons were defeated, court was allowed to go back home - since then three months have passed, making it currently mid to late summer.

the ruling lord tyrell has opened the doors of highgarden and welcomes court inside his home ⸺ some may wonder if it is a bid to push his heir as hand of the queen since the spot is yet to be filled. her majesty has accepted this arrangement to push forward the betrothal proceedings between her second - born and the lady tyrell.

there is no immediate celebration upon the arrival of the guests, so threads may be written in and around the grounds since is the first time court meets again after three months filled with raven - sent letters and mourning of the deceased.

after the events in king's landing, with the fresh realization that a strong alliance with the dragonlords is of utmost importance, the emperor has decided to send a small delegation of essosi nobles to westeros as ambassadors - official envoys of the essosi empire. therefore, all existing essosi muses will be diplomats for the kingdom while the open positions are back in their respective lands unless they are deceased.

if our current members wish to drop any muses and pick up new ones, you are welcomed to create a ticket in the server for easy back - and - forths.

we will be posting the full list of the deceased as soon as we have most of the character drops confirmed in the server.

moreover, members have until the next activity check to post at least once in - character on all their muses. there is an exception for members on hiatus, for those, we kindly request to confirm if you wish to stay with us within 48 hours and with which muses.

there is a lot of information in the plot drop, so please ask us any questions you may have in the server or on the main - we will happily clarify the situation.

#asoiaf rp #got rp #period rp #westeros.drop #tw violence #tw burning #tw death #semi graphic description be warned #cw fire #cw burning #cw blood #war for the dawn.

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depravitycentral · 1 month

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Yandere! Douma General Profile

Yandere! Douma x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, gore, breaking and entering, allusions to cannibalism/unknowing cannibalism, semi-graphic descriptions of an innocent animal being killed so fuck you Douma, mentions of physical and sexual harassment, physical violence towards reader, choking, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Stubborn

In general, Douma needs a darling who isn’t a pushover. He’s used to his followers blindly following his orders, nodding eagerly at his words and allowing him to do whatever he pleases with them. He’s used to lesser demons being petrified of his power, either entirely avoiding him or pleading for him to spare them, something that admittedly strokes his ego but grows boring at a certain point.

And so, while Douma is pleased that the people and creatures surrounding him so obviously understand his superiority, he yearns for something different – for something new, exciting, challenging. A darling that’s more stubborn and doesn’t blindly obey him would pique his interest, his mind reeling with all the possible ways he can get them to submit to him.

He’s giddy at the prospect of breaking down his darling, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet because oh, they’re just so very contrary to what he’s used to. He likes the idea of a darling who’s easy to fluster and embarrass, and a darling that will cling onto their beliefs and opinions presents Douma with an irresistible opportunity to slowly mold his darling into the perfect, responsive, sweet little human that he can tease and study, someone he can keep by his side like some sort of loyal pet.

(Though, as Douma’s obsession festers and only grows stronger and harder to control, he finds that he no longer thinks of his darling as some sort of glorified pet – they’re his, a possession, someone he feels strangely connected to, the barest hint of emotions dancing at the edge of his subconscious. The feeling is addictive, and with every denial of his charms and scoffed, irritated roll of their eyes, he only finds himself growing more desperate to be around them, fascination and intrigue and desire in more than a carnal way spurring him to spend every waking moment with them.)

Opinionated

Similarly, Douma enjoys a darling who has strong feelings. He understands the allure of a meeker woman – they’re easy to control and even easier to manipulate, making them the perfect follower and food supply. But for his darling, the woman he thinks he feels some sort of love for, they need to be someone with a little more backbone.

It excites him when his darling stands up to him – the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his shoulders tensing up and his breathing getting a bit heavy because yes, tell him again why he’s wrong – tell him again, now that he’s merely a foot away from you, close enough that you can feel his breath against the shell of your ear and his body – much stronger than you remember – is mere inches from yours.

He finds his darling to be an endless source of entertainment, and so they need to have strong opinions covering a wide variety of topics.

He likes surprising his darling with random questions: what are their thoughts on the afterlife and death? Should the weak have any sort of rights, and do they believe in nature’s power structure that puts demons unequivocally at the top?

Do they enjoy traditional human romantic customs, like kissing or holding hands?

Or do they prefer more intense displays of passion and devotion – would his darling enjoy it if he returned to them with the severed head of a man who’d spared them a passing glance, just as a show of how much he cares for them?

He wants to know the answers to each and every question, and one of the biggest aspects of him obsessing over his darling is the non-stop talking – always prompting them with a new question that’s almost as insane as the last, his eyes glittering and sparkling as he asks them what they think the most painful way to die is.

(If they were to answer being eaten alive, Douma would merely cock his head, blinking widely at them, before bursting into laughter, his eyes holding a glimmer of something that makes his darling freeze up in fear, a primitive instinct in them screaming to run away from this monster. Ah yes, I’d imagine it would be quite painful indeed, he’ll tell them, curling a sharp fingernail around their chin.)

Paranoid

This trait is less of a necessity and more of a perk – in general, Douma will absolutely destroy his darling. He cares for them in some twisted, strange way, but he’s not afraid to completely break his darling before rebuilding them just as he so desires.

Of course, he still wants the basic bones of their personality to remain intact, but having a darling with a propensity for anxiety and paranoia would make that job much, much simpler. He can instead divert his time and attention towards effectively corrupting them and slowly breaking them down rather than bothering with the initial stages of forcing them to doubt themselves.

The combination of his darling’s kidnapping and being held captive by a man-eating demon would force this character trait to become even more heightened, putting them in a position intensifying Douma’s poking and prodding and overwhelming them. And so, he can spend his time carefully choosing how he wants to approach them – which new insecurity should he prod at today?

He knows they’re a bit sensitive about their weight – something he doesn’t understand, really, because he absolutely loves their figure.

He’ll lightly comment about their weight, making some remark with sugar-coated words and watching as his darling tenses up, their face twisting into that wonderful expression of hurt and sadness, the mere sight of their face changing because of him making a small, high sigh slip past his lips.

Once he thinks his darling has had enough, he’ll end the conversation with a small compliment, telling them that they’re too sensitive, we’re just having a bit of fun, aren’t we?

And really, watching the way his darling just shakily nods and tries to compose themselves leaves him feeling vindictive, satisfied, seen.

It’s selfish and horrible, but Douma is a selfish and horrible creature – so really, a paranoid darling would be absolutely perfect.

Talkative

However, despite Douma’s hobby of irritating his darling and embarrassing them, he still wants a darling who will actively engage with him. Of course, it’s very easy to force his darling into speaking with him, as just a flash of those nails, fangs, or a dismembered limb will often get them blubbering and frantically rambling and doing absolutely anything Douma requests of them.

But it’s different when his darling actively chooses to speak with him – perhaps it’s still out of fear, but at least this way Douma can indulge himself in the idea that they want to speak with him.

He can pretend that they actually enjoy hearing his voice, that they like the long, drawn-out conversations he frequently holds with them, that they actually like him – a concept that simultaneously displeases him and leaves something warm and scratchy and good settle in his chest.

Because really, while Douma’s feelings for his darling are questionable at best, he really does truly want them to like him – he craves a kind of connection that isn’t superficial and one-sided, and although it’s entirely new territory he wants them to fulfill this desire.

And so, while he annoys his darling and forces them into conversations because he likes to interact with them and study their reactions, there’s a deeper sense of desperation and neediness underlying his words and actions. A darling that is naturally more talkative will give him this desired connection, making it easier for him to feel wanted, needed, liked in a way that’s entirely foreign to him.

It’s just attractive, really, because while shy, quiet humans have their purposes, a life partner (as Douma thinks of his darling) needs to be someone who won’t shy away from his words, who will retain their voice around him. It’s just attractive, really – so please keep talking to him.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy

In general, Douma is overwhelming. He’s chatty, touchy, and has absolutely no respect for your boundaries.

You’re his sweet little human – weak and naïve and perfect to play with, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t enjoy having you around. And enjoying you means teasing you, pushing your buttons, irritating you until your face twists up into that scowl or grimace that he absolutely loves to see.

He’s always doing things just to see your reaction – he’ll place things on shelves you can’t reach just to watch you bite your lip and contemplate whether you want to ask him for help, internally swooning because aw, aren’t you just the cutest when you’re embarrassed?

He’ll make you say ‘please’ in order to eat the food he’s offering you, a smirk sitting on his lips as he tells that he didn’t quite hear that, could you say that again please?

(Of course, the food isn’t the food you think it is – it’s edible, sure, and it’s high quality, but as time passes Douma finds himself toying with the idea of turning you into a demon, knowing he could probably persuade Muzan into doing this because it makes the Upper Rank Two more productive. And so, while he’d fed you mostly animal meat when he’d initially stolen you away, he very slowly begins integrating less common meats, opting to mix the smallest amount of human flesh in with the beef he serves you, just a hair of a finger or a small bit of thigh. Just to get you familiar with the taste – and to watch your face freeze up and hear you gag as he tells that you’d just eaten the man who brought you afternoon tea yesterday. He loves the way you look at him with your eyes wide and your jaw dropped, shock and disgust and fear swimming in those pretty eyes of yours and making shivers erupt over his whole body, the sight absolutely delicious.)

He’ll lay his hand on your shoulder at random times, seeing your whole body jerk and jump as you whip your head back, surprise written all over your face because you hadn’t heard him enter the room.

(Silently, he’ll marvel at the warmth of your skin through your clothing – you feel soft, too, and Douma idly wonders if the rest of you is this warm and soft. If everything is this lovely, or if certain parts of you are warmer, more sensitive, wetter -)

His favorite way to bug you, however, is to fluster you. Douma is aware that by human standards he’s very attractive – perfectly clear skin, wavy and thick hair, a sharp jawline and a smile that makes most human women – and men – crumble instantly. And while you seem to be largely immune to his charms (much to his delight and chagrin), Douma makes it his mission to get you flustered at nearly every opportunity he can. There’s something about the way your face crinkles up, your brows growing taut and your eyes looking everywhere except him that makes him only want to push further, to say more provocative things, to get closer, to hear your sharp intake of breath again and again.

He’ll have you sit near him, your thighs just barely brushing, his inhuman hearing able to pick up your slightly increased heartbeat, his own heart racing in his chest as it does every time you get so close to him. He’ll be telling you something inconsequential, narrating what he’d done that day, and nonchalantly let his hand rest on the expanse of your thigh, not even pausing his words to acknowledge his action.

And hearing your heart begin beating even faster and smell the distinct smell of fear and even just the slightest, smallest twinge of arousal gets his nostrils flaring, excitement bleeding into his voice because oh, you like this, do you?

And he’ll capitalize on your well-hidden attraction – scotting closer to you so that you can smell him better (he’d tried a new cologne that morning – one he’d seen you eyeing in a shop many months before), increasing the pressure of his fingers so that he’s gripping your thigh (and trying not to lose his composure at just how squishy you are, your human flesh so pliable and pretty and the perfect thing to feel under the pads of his fingers), and asking you with the same tease in his voice (though it’s just a tad huskier, not even intentionally) if you’re enjoying yourself, hmm? If you tell me you like this I can give you more, you know.

He’ll lean in closely to your ear, tongue lolling out to lick up the shell while he finishes with a whispered I’m no stranger to the human female body…

He’ll listen for your breath to hitch, feeling your muscles tense underneath his grip, the audible rush of blood through your veins, letting the tension build and build before laughing and leaning back. He’ll take his hand off your thigh and shoot you that same smile that his followers gush over, telling you that you’re so cute when you’re flustered, bunny, you should’ve seen your face! He likes how you try to hide your face, your fists clenched as embarrassment eats you alive because god, he’s infuriating, and god, you hate that you’d almost wanted to take him up on his offer.

And really, that’s the way Douma will slowly break you down – he’s fascinated with you, like you’re some sort of pet project of his that he wants to study and understand, and as a result he needs to spend as much time around you as possible. You’ll hardly ever get a moment to yourself as his darling – he’s always lurking, invading your personal space and inserting himself into situations where he’s not wanted.

He’ll slip under the covers of the futon right beside you, those strangely colored eyes wide and bright as he tells you that you just looked too cute for him to not want to join you – and of course he has to be laying close enough to be sharing breaths. The futon’s not that big, so what did you expect? He’ll trail behind you as you walk into the restroom, smiling brightly at you as you ask him to leave so you can bathe in peace. He has the audacity to tilt his head to the side, that same smile on his face but seeming a little wider now as he asks you why should I do that? You can shower just fine with me right here, can’t you?

(He often joins you on your trips to relieve yourself, too, standing beside you and holding full conversations with you as you hesitantly seat yourself onto the toilet, trying to avoid the eye contact he’s very, very eager to maintain. It’s quality time, he says when you bring up how uncomfortable it makes you, and you’re really just too weak and irresponsible to be trusted alone in the bathroom – what if you slip and fall? What if you accidentally rub your skin raw with your towel? Douma wouldn’t want you to be hurt, now would he? The condescending tone of his voice will often leave you angry enough to not further the conversation, making Douma smug and giddy because oh, aren’t you adorable when you’re angry!)

He’s just needy, really, because the sick, twisted version of love that he feels for you is rooted in fascination, in wanting to see how you react to the things he does to you. He wants to see every emotion you’re capable of, and he wants to be the reason for all of them. Really, he just wants you to be looking at him, paying him attention, reacting to him and the things he does – just keep your eyes on him, and let him bother you every moment of every day.

Eventually you’ll grow to tolerate the sound of his voice, the feel of his hands on your body, the embarrassment that eats you alive nearly every time you interact with him. It’ll get easier, really – or perhaps you’ll just grow more complacent, and Douma will seem less like a thorn in your side and more like the only other person you ever interact with.

Just how he wants it.

Dependent

Douma is a creature that has lived for a very long time and has known only total and utter control – serving Muzan and letting everyone else serve him. He’s used to being the one in control, needing to feel the power and sense of total dominance over others in order to function correctly, to feel good.

And in most ways this applies to his obsession with you, too – he’s very aware that he’s stronger than you. He’s both physically and mentally stronger, smarter, faster, more capable, more powerful, just generally more. And in the beginning of his obsession, noticing this obvious difference in your strength and having you blatantly ignore it was enough to pique his interest.

Too many decades had passed by with humans cowering in fear and kneeling before him (as it should be), but it’s left him bored, aching for more, wanting something new and entertaining. And so once he meets you and sees that you aren’t one to submit quite as easily, Douma is immediately hooked, wanting to push you as far as he can just to see how much you can take before you crack.

And really, this is how the majority of his infatuation is presented to you – he’s an annoying, terrifying creature who metaphorically clings onto your every word and action, those colorful eyes of his always watching and staring and wanting.

You think he wants to kill you, really, and you’ll be left constantly on edge around him, terrified that he’ll hurt you or your loved ones for even a single step out of line. And in the beginning, Douma does nothing to dissolve this perception you have of him simply because it’s true. He doesn’t know if he wants to hurt you or not, if he wants to kill you, what he wants with you. You’re an enigma to him, and he’d kept you around because you intrigued him.

With every passing day, this interest and intrigue only seems to grow deeper, stronger, more difficult to disentangle himself out of. But his pride and staunch view that he’s better than all humans bars him from really realizing this early into his infatuation, firmly telling himself that it’s just curiosity that compels him to not sink his teeth into the fleshy expanse of your thigh. It’s just innocent fun that’s stopping him from ripping you apart limb by limb, feasting on what he’s absolutely sure is soft, supple flesh that would have the sweetest taste.

Though, as time passes, even Douma must admit that his feelings for his darling begin venturing into unknown, dangerous territory – no longer is it simply amusement, entertainment, and mild physical attraction that draws him to you. Instead, there’s something more – he’s desperate to see you at all times, growing addicted to having your attention, his body yearning for you in a way that simply fucking another female follower can’t satisfy.

He needs you – he’s grown too charmed by your stubbornness, your continued resistance to simply appeasing him making him more desperate to crush you and have you under his thumb. No longer is his obsession simply a desire to have you around to mess with and satisfy his boredom – no, now it’s about you and your place at his side. You’re certainly not his equal, but he sees you as a companion, a partner not in equalness but in terms of needing you.

Because really, as soon as Douma realizes that he’s toeing the line between mild interest and honest desperation, he panics a bit. This is totally new – something unknown and scary and something he can’t control, so he tries to pull back, forcing himself to give you distance because he simply can’t be allowing you to have such control over him.

You plague his every thought – when you’re apart, he’s imagining what you’re doing. Are you relaxing, enjoying the serenity that being away from your kidnapper brings you?

Are you lonely, wishing he was there to keep you company, even if the way he touches you makes your skin crawl?

Are you sleeping, hopefully dreaming about people with his face and eyes and hair?

Or perhaps you’re eating, maybe even finding yourself wishing that Douma was there to sit beside you, that sick grin on his face while he lifts the chopsticks, tells you to say ‘ah’ and places the sushi delicately on your tongue, something dark in his expression as he tells you to chew and swallow, don’t let it go to waste.

He’d only fed you once, and you’d fought it the whole time, trying to squirm away from him and being thoroughly difficult. It’d entertained Douma in the moment, the way you were so desperate to get away from him, but now, thinking back on it as he patiently waits for Gyokko to get to the meeting site for the joint mission Muzan had assigned them, he’s starting to wonder if perhaps the experience would be even more enjoyable if you obediently let him feed you, looking at him with those pretty eyes of yours and even thanking him, telling him how delicious the food is, how nice his company is, how you’re so very glad that he’s returned to you…

It’s sappy and stupid and ridiculous, and it makes Douma scowl to know that you’ve managed to snag such a hold on him, but every time he considers killing you, something sharp wedges its way into his heart and he finds himself dismissing the thought.

Because really, as pathetic as being obsessed with a weak human female like you is, the alternative is worse – returning to a life of monotony and apathy, seeking his thrills through the momentary high of a slaughter, desperately chasing after more power and more entertainment, trying to fill in the empty void in his chest where his heart should be.

You fix all of that – and so he decides to embrace these new feelings, deciding that if he feels so strongly for you, then he must keep you by his side. You aren’t allowed to ever leave – he would be a shell of a demon if you did, every ounce of joy and happiness stolen from him, and he’s simply too selfish to allow that to happen.

So you’d better prepare for Douma’s constant attention, the frantic way he looks to you, the way his fingers always grip onto you, his voice ringing in your ears over and over and over. He’s overwhelming you, his presence and the constant demands of your attention draining you and leaving you attached to him in a way that makes him sick, but Douma frankly doesn’t care.

How can he? Every moment he spends with you not only quells the constant ache to be around you and feel your eyes on him, but it also deepens your dependence on him, too. Because really, Douma is the only person you ever see with any real consistency – he’s incredibly strict on allowing his followers to come into contact with you, only allowing a small handful of his most devoted servants to drop off meals or change your bath water when he can’t be there to do it himself.

(Both of these activities he loathes missing, if only because you’re so cute when you’re eating, and bathing you? God, Douma likes to think he has decent self-control, but the way he pounces at you and bares his teeth, his eyes darkening and his voice getting noticeably deeper makes it obvious that his hold on himself is slipping, the sight of your nude body with water only barely covering your nipples and below your torso making him genuinely feral.)

It’s in moments like these that Douma can only laugh at himself, embarrassed for having allowed himself to fall so strongly for a weak, pathetic thing like you. And yet, as time passes he finds himself not caring – after all, when he forces you to turn into a demon, some of that self-loathing will disappear, and then he can be as rough as he wants with you – an idea that makes him literally tremble with anticipation.

Possessive

Unlike his fellow demons, Douma is actually a bit sneaky with this aspect of his obsession – at least, in the beginning.

He’s not obviously possessive or territorial of you, or at least not more so than you’d expect. Frankly, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s kidnapped you and flirts with you just to fluster you, you’d have no idea that Douma is interested in you romantically. He’s touchy and pushy, sure, but he never showcases any traits of the traditional jealous partner. He doesn’t rant and rave about how you’re his, nor does he leave possessive bites or marks along your body to physically mark you as his.

He’s not that uncivilized – at least, he likes to think so. He’s not that terribly obsessed with you, he likes to believe, and by not being verbally territorial over your time, space, and attention, he feels that he’s maintaining this boundary between you where you can’t see just how truly dependent on you he’s become.

But the issue, really, is that while Douma thinks he isn’t easily jealous or possessive over you, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Really, he absolutely needs you to be looking at him and only him – he’s used to being revered and worshipped, both by his followers and many of his fellow demons, but there’s just something different about your attention.

There’s something warmer, something better, something that makes his fingers twitch and his neck feel hot because god, you look good when you’re looking at him, and when you say his name with that slight tremble of fear in your voice he wants to press you so tightly against him that you can’t breath.

You’re just different, really, and so Douma struggles with this internal dilemma. Particularly in the beginning of his obsession and your captivity, he doesn’t allow any signs of his true feelings to be seen – sure he’s flirting with you and teasing you just to see you squirm and get all embarrassed, but it’s just for fun. It’s all a big game, of course – you’re just so weak and endearing and strangely cute that Douma can’t help but belittle you and see that flustered, embarrassed expression on that pretty face of yours.

But then he notices you smiling and laughing at something else one day – something small, something stupid.

A small squirrel had managed to weasel its through the high window into the room he keeps you locked away in, the little brown animal curiously staring at you. On its hind legs, dark, beady eyes fixed on you while you lightly giggle and marvel at the bushiness of its tail, the liveliness of its presence – suddenly not feeling so horribly, horribly lonely.

And Douma’s immediately seeing red – your pretty face is all twisted up in a smile and your eyes are fucking sparkling – why the hell don’t you look like that when he’s talking to you? You’ve never looked this happy with him even once – you flustered and embarrassed is great, but this?

His hands are shaking, an ugly snarl ripping across his face, blond hair bristling as he sprints to grab the squirrel. Everything happens too fast for you to really comprehend – the squirrel is a few feet away from you one second, squeezed between his pale finger the next, something maniacal and scary and horrifying flicking through those rainbow eyes of his as he stares down at the small creature.

You’re immediately scrambling to your feet, begging him to not hurt the animal, and his head snaps to yours almost robotically, that look morphing into some deranged excuse of a smile as he tells you that you’re not allowed to be making friends, remember? I told you what would happen if you did. Do you remember what I told you?

And as you start sobbing, begging him to not kill the animal, Douma will only sigh wistfully, deciding that although he wants to see you smiling and laughing and loving him like the way you loved this squirrel, this is nice too. You, with tears streaming down your cheeks, snot dribbling from your nose, your eyes all glassy and red – you’re cute like this, really, and it makes him smile gleefully, squeezing at the squirrel just a hair tighter and oh god –

You’re still crying when he has the follower on their hands and knees scrubbing the blood from the pretty white flooring, your body wrapped in Douma’s arms while he coos at you and plays with your hair.

It’s only then that you’ll really begin to see just how truly devoted Douma is to you – his hands are all over you, those eyes staring holes through you, arms tugging you closer and closer to him, not leaving an inch of space between your bodies. He’ll grab your chin and force you to look at him, that same sick smile on his face while he tells you that you’re very pretty, you know, I like when you look like this. Now won’t you smile for me? C’mon, I deserve a smile, don’t I?

If you don’t, his grip tightens, surely leaving bruises against your dainty skin, pressing tighter until you shakily quirk up your lips, the smile pained and strained and absolutely divine in his eyes. It’s then that the possessiveness will start to rear its ugly head – he’s telling you in that same sing-song, fake voice that you’re so much better when you’re smiling… Hey, you know to only smile at me, right? You know what’ll happen to anyone or anything else you smile at and talk to. I’m the only one you need to look at – I’ll slaughter anything that dares to steal your attention from me, do you understand?

Meanwhile, he’s stroking your cheek, unblinking as he stares, his breath ice cold and making you shiver. After that incident, Douma doesn’t hold back on making it absolutely clear that you are not to speak with anyone else in the compound – you’d already been studiously avoided by all his followers, only coming into contact with someone when they were forced to bring you food or attend to your washroom needs. But now, everyone was actively afraid of you – running at the sight of you, one poor girl even shaking and breathing so heavily as she heated your bathwater that it hurt just to look at her.

And you know it’s all Douma’s doing, too – you’ve heard him telling his followers that you’re strictly off-limits, that you’re something that isn’t to be touched or looked at, that you’re a sin, that to interact with you without just cause would be an irrevocable offense worthy of death. And there’s something about his voice when he says it that makes you bite your lip, fear dancing through your chest because you’ve never heard him be so serious before, the rumble of his words and the way you can practically see the dead-eyed, apathetic face making something in your gut twist.

From then on, he’s even more clingy – constantly demanding your attention, touching you seemingly without restraint, his voice constantly ringing in your head as he bothers you day and night, never letting you go more than a few minutes without his presence at your side and rudely commanding your attention and time.

Really, he’s just awfully needy – you’re his. His favorite human, toy, thing, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone – or any thing – take that away from him. He’s a powerful demon, and you’re nothing compared to him. So just accept your place as his personal whore, really – because there’s nothing you can do about it. He’s needy and jealous and will become the only person you’ll see with any sort of remote consistency, and it’s all by design.

You’re not to speak with, look at, or think of anyone else – you really, really wouldn’t to see anyone get hurt over that rule, now would you?

Because as much as he likes your positive attention, seeing you scream and cry and hate him is almost as good – delicious in a way that makes him lick his teeth and giggle because ah, you’re just so adorable.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Quite honestly, despite Douma’s more possessive feelings over you, he doesn’t get jealous that often.

This is mostly due to the fact that he severely limits who he allows to interact with you – all your attendants must be female, and ideally rather weak-willed and soft-spoken. He wants you to be interacting with the most mild people he can, just so that you don’t grow too attached to anyone.

He’ll keep the attendants rotating, just so that you don’t develop any sort of comradery with anyone, and so that no one becomes hopelessly enthralled by you or becomes inspired to set you free from your obvious captivity. It’s all selfish and very, very purposefully orchestrated, because while Douma may be occasionally relaxed and not as rigid with his followers, anything involving you is meticulously thought out, planned with such a degree of obsessiveness that it nearly drives him crazy.

And so, you hardly ever get the chance to interact with a man, much less glance at him – which is very, very good news for the people of the compound, because otherwise all of their blood would be spilled and he’d be touching your sweet body over their corpses.

Douma simply doesn’t get the opportunity to become jealous often – and even before all of his obsession has fully festered and established itself, this stands true. He kidnaps you very early on, and fully with the intention of killing you once his interest in you dries up.

As a result, there’s simply not much time between the formation of his obsession and your eventual relocation to his temple, seriously limiting his opportunities to grow jealous over you. And this pleases Douma – once he decides that he wants to keep you, the thought of you being unable to interact with anyone significant aside from himself is calming, a sense of possessiveness and ownership over you swimming through him that makes his smile almost real.

And so, for the first few weeks of your captivity, you’ll genuinely think that Douma won’t grow jealous over you, simply because the very, very few people you meet are nearly silent, only interacting with you when absolutely necessary and practically running out of the room before you even finish talking.

But of course, not everything goes to plan – it only takes a single encounter for you to realize that your previous assumptions about him not growing jealous were painfully mistaken.

The new attendant is more talkative than the previous one. The last one had been mousy, a quiet little creature of a girl who couldn’t be older than fourteen, setting down your meal tray and immediately darting out of the room, the lock clicking loudly behind her. You hadn’t gotten much of a chance to speak with her, let alone ask her name or details about your location.

But this newer girl was a little bolder. Her gaze, while still averted, would occasionally dart back to you. And while the pity in her eyes made something ugly simmer in your chest, the acknowledgement of your poor situation by anyone other than him was still welcome.

She was still rather quiet, but you noticed that she stayed just a hair longer, and would even manage to crack the smallest of smiles in your presence.

But during one sunny afternoon, while Douma longues on your bed with an arm propped under his head and those eyes of his stuck on your figure, she comes by to drop off the food.

It’s a familiar knock at your door, and you perk up at the sound, something that Douma notices with a slight twitch of his eyebrow.

Come in, you call, watching as the locks click and the wooden door creaks open. The girl is there, and you watch as her eyes meet yours and she gives you a small nod of recognition. You smile ever so slightly back, on edge with Douma’s hawk eyes monitoring the entire interaction.

The girl sets the tray onto the ground before shuffling away, glancing up one more time only to suddenly notice Douma’s presence on the bed. She gasps, eyes blowing wide, before bowing her head against the ground, stuttering out a M-Master Douma!

He’s quiet, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly, before an easy smile settles onto his lips. Slowly he gets up, steps light and airy as he approaches the doorway. You’re still standing on the other side of the room, watching the interaction with every hair on your body standing at attention. There’s something about the way he feels, the predatory sense of dread hanging in the air that makes your every muscle desperate to run away, to get out before something terrible happens.

He squats down to her kneeling height once he reaches her, his eyes closing as he keeps up that smile. Do you know her?

The girl shakes her head quickly, her voice merely a whisper as she tells him no, I only serve her meals occasionally.

He nods, humming. So why are you looking at her then?

The girl parts her lips slightly, gaze wide as she stares at him. I – um, I don’t what you mean, Master. I’m sorry.

His eyes open, lids closing half-way and pupils fixed on her. Why are you staring at her so familiarly? Did I not explicitly tell you to avoid looking at what’s mine?

She gulps, her hands starting to shake. I – I’m terribly sorry, I did not mean to –

Douma sighs, but his shoulders stay tight and tensed, the muscles in his arm visibly flexing underneath his shirt as he clenches his fist. Ah-ah-ah, don’t you know? I don’t care what you have to say. No one is to look at or speak to her. You knew this. And yet you went and did it anyways. Do you know what that makes you?

She’s crying now, tears slipping down her cheeks and her lip wobbling. You’re too frozen with fear to move, but you can hardly breath.

Douma smiles, tilting her chin up ever so slightly. He leans in closer, bunch hunched in a way that doesn’t look human.

Dead. He breathes out.

It happens too quickly for you to follow – his fist is plunging into her chest, her scream cut short by him ripping his hand back out, something red and wet and moving clutched in his palm. The sight makes you sick, bile rising up in the back of your throat and making you heave, forcing you to the ground.

Her body goes limp and slumps to the side, blood pouring around her body and leaving the pretty, wooden floors stained red.

Douma’s giggling, you hear, as he squeezes at her dismembered heart, clutching down tighter and tighter and tighter – until it explodes in a spray of red, getting all over his face and chest, staining the floor even more and making a fresh wave of nausea pass through you.

Your entire body is shaking, gaze unable to stop staring at her lifeless body, terror coursing through you and making it impossible to breath, to move, to think.

All too soon Douma’s standing up, wiping the blood staining his hand onto the already ruined white fabric of his pants, gaze settling on you and sighing once more. What a mess, he laments, but your gaze is still stuck on the girl.

He pouts at that, moving forward and physically blocking your view, getting close enough to you that you can smell the blood on him, see the little bits of tissue and muscle decorating the tight fabric of his shirt.

He’s smiling again, and you flinch as he clasps a strand of your hair between two fingers, rubbing it between them and smearing red all over.

Did you like that? His question makes your lips part, your gaze slowly moving to meet his, something in your gut screaming at you to hurt him, to hurt this creature that so cruelly ruins and steals the lives of others.

But as Douma presses in further, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as his eyes get wider, his voice a bit higher, excitement oozing off of him in waves, he only asks again did you like seeing that? Doesn’t it feel good to see her get what she deserves?

You have nothing to say to that, so you only stare, your own tears pooling down your cheeks.

Douma’s eyes sparkle at that, and he leans forward, tongue lolling out and licking a long strike up your cheek, the salty taste making him shiver.

He rests his forehead against yours, licking his lips and pressing wet, bloody hands against your arms. Hey, let’s go to bed. You’ll be good for me, right? You wouldn’t want to anger me, you know.

And really, what other choice do you have but to say yes, to let him drag you to the mattress and hold you, all the while you stare at the girl’s body? There’s blood staining every inch of your skin and smearing across the sheets, but you try to ignore the now cold, viscous feeling.

And does it make you a bad person for being grateful that it’s not you laying lifeless on the cold, hard ground?

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

It’s inevitable, and it happens fast. Douma is simply a stranger to you at first – a friend of yours had been converted into the Paradise Cult, and at Douma’s urging, each follower had been required to drag in a new member.

You weren’t especially receptive to the idea, but your friend had tricked you into visiting the compound by telling you it was simply an alternative living community, leaving you unsure and suspicious but not wanting to doubt the friend who’d suddenly re-emerged into your life.

And after stepping foot into the compound, you immediately had a sense of what was happening – something was very, very wrong, and your friend seemed entirely dismissive and unaware of it. You’d stayed out of politeness (and your friend’s very thinly veiled threats of what would happen if you were to run), promising to meet the Master as your friend had begged, and upon meeting Douma (alongside a large group of people who seemed to be in varying states of fear and confusion, like yourself), you’d immediately wanted to turn-tail and leave.

He’d gone through each individual recruit, shaking their hand and whispering sweet words to them, and when he’d approached you, expecting the same kindness and reverence that all the other recruits were told to exhibit, he was sorely mistaken. After grabbing your hands (his hands were ice cold, freezing, and perfectly smooth), you’d smiled at him, trying to mirror the expression on his face.

Welcome to Paradise, won’t you join us? His voice had been smooth, calming, and layered with a sense of confidence that had your smile turning sour.

No, thank you, I’ll be leaving now. You’d ripped your hands out of his grasp and promptly turned on your heel, not sparing Douma a glance as he gaped at you, genuinely too stunned to make a move and follow you.

He’d meant to follow after you, anger at your disrespect making his eye twitch, but the other recruits had to be brought in before he could bother with a single disgruntled woman. You’d managed to leave the compound, ignoring your friend’s hysteria and desperate pleas to apologize to the Master, instead storming all the way back to your own home and vowing to never set foot on that property again. There was just something unnerving about the place, and that man – he’d made some primal sense of fear edge up into your throat, your body feeling feather light and your reflexes heightened.

But as you tried to adjust back into your life and essentially mourn the loss of your friend, Douma hadn’t forgotten about you. He’d tried to – you were inconsequential, a dirty, lowly human woman, utterly nothing. And yet, the days began to blend together, images of your naively brave face dancing behind his eyelids, thinking of the absolute gall you had to blatantly disrespect what your body could clearly sense was an apex predator.

(He’d been able to smell the fear wafting off of you in waves, hear the rapid pounding of your heart, see the tremor of your hands. You’d been petrified, truly, and yet you’d still been stupid enough to run away. It would be impressive, if it didn’t leave such a sour taste in his mouth.)

The anger prompted him to call in your friend, asking with a sickly sweet smile what your name was, where you lived, and to tell him a bit about you. Your friend was more than happy to oblige his request, apologizing profusely on your behalf and spilling every detail about you that they could. Douma had nodded at the end, flashing them one last smile before slicing their head off, licking a bloody finger afterwards and humming.

Immediately heading off towards the location of your home, Douma ran through all the possible ways he could punish you for your blatant disrespect – perhaps rip your toes and fingers off one by one, then devour you, or maybe even slice open your belly and let you suffer before death?

Deeply pondering, he’d stopped outside your home, staring into the windows and feeling his eyes brighten at the sight of you simply seated in your living area, reading out of a book. You were nothing special, truly – no particularly beautiful features, nothing that would catch his eye out of the hundreds of humans he’s met and devoured. You were utterly unremarkable, and weak, too; unable to fight, unable to defend yourself, just utterly, utterly pathetic.

And as he slips into your home, internally scoffing at how you don’t even notice his presence, Douma suddenly stops. You’re looking at him now, panic eating away at your features as you cling to the wall behind you, your voice shaking and rather thin as you scream at him that you’ll hurt you, don’t – don’t come any closer!

And really, it almost makes him laugh when you grab at the candlestick on the nearby table, pointing the stubby, wax bar at him with eyes wide enough to make him giggle.

It’s quiet for a long moment, before Douma’s lips quirk up into something vaguely resembling a smile, something in his eyes growing brighter as he realizes that oh, you might be a bit of fun.

And as he moves forward and has a hand striking against the pressure point in your neck before you can even blink, Douma finds himself nonchalantly leaning down to smell along the curve of your jaw.

You’re not wholly unappealing, now that he looks at you up close. You smell nice enough – a bit floral, a bit earthy, and he can hear the beating of your heart from this close. That same twisted smile sits on his lips as he brings you back to the compound, rainbow eyes dull as he unceremoniously drops you onto the rackety, spare mattress of a fellow cult member, ignoring their questions as he slices at their throat and hums.

You could be entertaining enough, at least for a day or two – it’s not often that people resist him, and he wants to know how long it’ll take before you break.

Despite Douma’s rather spontaneous kidnapping of you, it doesn’t take him long to fall into a rhythm with you. What he feels for you at first is slow-going and barely even there, but it’s something – and as time passes and he becomes aware that you’re inspiring an unknown emotion – any emotion, aside from a dull pleasure in seeing others suffering - inside of his chest, he becomes more and more attached.

And this is obvious in the way that he treats you – he’s absolutely suffocating, choosing to take up your every moment of the day because absolutely nothing compares to the sight of you scowling at him, or the way you flinch and scramble to get away from him every time he reaches out to touch you. It’s cute, even, the way you ardently try to escape him when you’re both painfully aware that it isn’t possible. It’s endearing, but even with your stubborn nature, you’ll eventually grow complacent in the lifestyle he’s forced upon you.

You’re kept in a set of bedchambers that very clearly belonged to another person before you – the bed is larger than you’d expected, with crisp white sheets and red silks hanging from the frame on all sides. The dark, mahogany wood is engraved with all sorts of geometric and floral patterns, and during the rare stretches of solitude that you’re afforded, you find yourself running your fingers over the shapes and committing them to memory.

The bed had actually not belonged to the room’s previous occupant – instead, the bed had been the one Douma designated as his own, before your arrival. It’d been the bed he’d lounge about in during the day, bedding nearly every woman and man in the compound between those very sheets. He’d had it moved into the room he keeps you in a week or so after your arrival, deciding that if he was to spend so much time in your space, he might as well be comfortable while doing so.

(And though it hadn’t been his intention, there’s something oddly pleasing about seeing the way you visibly sink into the mattress most evenings, your constant fearful expression and scowl slowly melting away at the sheer luxury of the bed. Pleasing, and satisfying, really, because something that almost resembles pride eats away at him when he thinks of how he’s the one providing you with such comforts, and is thus the reason for your joy.)

The room itself is rather small, with four plain white walls and a few decorations and trinkets left behind by the previous occupant. A select few photographs and letters had been left behind, and you’d placed them all in a small corner of the room, taking care to not damage them but unable to look at them without feeling ill.

You hardly ever leave the room – Douma doesn’t allow you to freely roam the compound, and you are strictly forbidden from having any visitors aside from himself and a select few trust cultists that he keeps very, very careful tabs on.

(There’s the small, ever-present sense of worry that you’ll find comradery or friendship among one of the attendees, so he’s careful to keep them uncomfortably aware of their purpose, of how they aren’t to speak to you unless absolutely necessary, how they aren’t to spend any time at all in your space unless ordered by Douma himself, how your life is much, much more precious than theirs.)

But truth be told, you’ll be grateful for any and every attendant that spends even a few seconds with you – because Douma will be an always present, unwavering presence in your life once you’re stolen away. He finds you fascinating, and there’s something addicting about the responses you give to him. It’s addictive enough that he finds himself by your side every moment he can spare, always staring at you with that odd, small smile that never seems to reach his eyes, his voice always chipper and cheery even as he tells you the most gut-wrenching, revolting things.

And as time passes, Douma becomes not only clingy, but touchy. His hands are freezing cold when they touch you, skin like ice as he cups your cheek or grasps your wrist or places his hand on the small of your back.

He has no concept of personal space; his breath (cold just like his fingers) fans against your skin as he stands behind you, your back pressed snugly against his chest as he murmurs in your ear that you’re shaking, are you afraid? Probably a good choice, considering how weak you are.

He’s making you sit in his lap as he forces you to tell him about your old life, listening to the shaky intake and exhale of your breath and tut-tutting at you, telling you to stop lying, pretty thing, I can hear your heartbeat soaring. We wouldn’t want poor Mimiko outside to pay for your deceptions, would we?

And once he begins getting truly needy for your time and attention, Douma is absolutely not afraid to escalate your relationship to something more physical, something more intimate. He absolutely will force himself onto you, that same devoid smile on his lips while his eyes shine with something that you can’t – and won’t – put a finger on.

He views you as his personal play thing, his personal human, and his clinginess and inability to leave you alone for more than an hour at a time is proof of it. And as he grows more and more attached, the desperation to be around you starting to cloud his mind and make him angry, irritable, enraged when something keeps him away from you, he’ll only become more suffocating, more desperate for your every thought, look, and feeling to revolve solely around him him him.

It’s the least you could do, really, considering he’s been kind enough to spare you.

(Though there’s always the lingering question of how sweet your blood tastes, if you’re as soft and tender as he expects, if when he sinks those teeth of his down into the sensitive flesh of your thigh you’d squeal his name like he hopes you would…)

PUNISHMENTS:

If you don’t count his constant, overwhelming presence, Douma doesn’t really punish you. He’s actually fairly lenient – he certainly doesn’t allow you to roam around the compound on your own, nor does he allow you to speak with anyone aside from himself, but you’re allowed to choose what clothing you wear, how you style your hair, when you wake up and when you go to bed.

And really, Douma likes to point out just how much freedom he gives you – when you’ve got an attitude, anger and irritation welling up in your chest and bubbling over, Douma will simply pout at you, telling you that you don’t get to be mean, you got breakfast this morning. And while he doesn’t explicitly say it, the tone of his voice and the way he’s looking at you are reminders that yes, he’s keeping you here against your wall, but he’s oh so generous and feeding you well. He’s giving you food, shelter, and attention from a being much superior to yourself – and frankly, you’re a spoiled little brat for not realizing exactly what a gift he’s giving you.

He’s not the biggest fan of actually saying those words to you though, if only because he likes to keep up the charade of being a happy-go-lucky man, wanting you to feel and acknowledge that yes, he's powerful, but he also treats you with kindness and a level of care and adoration that you should really be beyond grateful to be receiving.

It’s a matter of pride, more than anything else – and your ‘punishments’ are also a matter of pride. It takes quite a bit to anger Douma. This is because he lives for your responses – he’s teasing you and pushing you right to the edge on a constant basis, loving the way you grit your teeth or yell at him or try to ignore him. Though, he admittedly likes that last option significantly less. It’s entertaining for the first few minutes watching you clench your jaw and pretend like he’s not poking your stomach or kissing over the shell of your ear or threatening your family members, but if you hold out and remain silent and unresponsive, he’ll eventually just pout and give up, sighing dramatically and telling you fine, have it your way.

You won’t ever actually get your way, of course, but Douma will manage to finagle some variation of your request with his own touch to it.

You’re asking for your freedom? Absolutely not, but he will get you a pretty pair of binoculars so you can see outside the laughably small, iron-barred window in your room!

You want supplies for your hobbies because you’re going insane with boredom? A bit harsh considering he’s always keeping you company, but he’ll buy you whatever your little heart desires, no matter how expensive or difficult to find. You just have to teach him how to use them, okay? You’ll do your little hobbies with him, or not at all.

And so, Douma doesn’t automatically see you lashing out or being rude as a negative. Instead, it often only endears him more to you, enjoying the way you’re so very human in your inability to control your emotions.

But while he doesn’t respond negatively to your bad behavior, there are two things which truly do upset him.

The first upset is predictable – your attempts at escape. You talking about running away is one thing; lofty plans and ideals you talk about in front of him while he nods along and coos at you, pointing out each and every flaw in your thinking and explaining in detail the many ways he could stop you.

It’s mildly amusing when you’re just putting on a face and acting like you want to leave, but the moment you actually attempt it, that amusement is shifting to irritation, his eye twitching slightly because oh, how stupid could you really be? You obviously don’t realize that you’re stuck square in the center of a rather large compound filled with people who would absolutely kill for Douma, and would do anything he so desired even if it meant ignoring your screams and cries to return you back to their leader.

It’s frustrating to him, if only because it’s a mess he has to clean up, and there’s always the repercussions of having to figure out who helped you orchestrate the whole endeavor, because he knows you can’t escape out of this room on your own. And while killing the sympathizer is fun and leaves him stained in blood and shivering in delight, it’s precious time that he could be spending with you.

But really, the one thing that truly upsets him is when you hurt yourself. He can hurt you – he can drag his nails down your pretty skin and leave beads of blood in their wake. He can pull at your hair until you’re tearing up, the look on your face pained and sending blood directly between his legs, your expression delicious and oh so arousing. He can even bend you over and smack his hand against the smell of your ass over and over and over until your bruised, welts decorating the pretty skin and your eyes barely open.

He can do all that, but why the fuck do you think you can? You’re his toy – his. You aren’t your own person anymore; you’re his plaything, and as a result your body belongs to him. Injuring yourself is equivalent to damaging his personal property, and if there’s one thing Douma can’t stand, it’s others taking what’s his.

And so, to truly see him mad, you must purposefully injure yourself in some capacity – though you have to get creative, considering how little time you have for yourself.

It's late at night when you decide to do it. It’s one of the rare evenings where Douma isn’t caging you in his arms while he commands you to sleep, eyes wide open and staring straight at you as he patiently waits for you to fall into unconsciousness. He’d said he had business to attend to tonight – whatever that meant, though you had a good feeling you’d rather not know.

It’s strange without him, even as loathed as you are to admit it. The room – not your room, never your room – is oddly quiet without him, missing the ominous, overwhelming presence that he brings with him with every visit. Some part of you almost finds it lonely, though you can’t exactly say that you miss him. Just the contact with another person – if you can even call him that.

Shaking your head from the thoughts, you stand up and slowly pad your way over to the window. It’s high, too high for you to reach just on your own. Grabbing the chair sitting at the small, never-used desk in the corner of the room, you’re quick to place it under the window and climb up.

The view isn’t anything particularly special – just looking out onto the courtyard in what you’re guessing is the center of the complex, the array of traditional style houses sitting in even, neat rows along the sides. It’s pretty, in a suburban, monotonous way, and it makes you frown. This place feels like death, and the sight only resolves your desire to escape.

Sitting outside the hole cut into the wall as the window are iron bars, surely placed there to limit anything from coming inside. And, of course, to limit anything from going outside, too. With a small breath, you reached up and carefully clasped your fingers around the bar second from the right.

You’d noticed the last time you’d done this that the metal was incredibly loose – wiggling in its joint easily, and likely unsecure enough to complete pull off of its hinges. Biting your lip, you slowly increased shaking the metal, trying to dislodge it and create a space large enough for you to squeeze through.

You paused every so often, worried that the slight clanging noise would draw attention to your room and alert anyone outside of what you were doing. That wouldn’t do – this escape plan hinged entirely on your ability to get out undetected, as you had no doubts every follower would immediately report to Douma and you could kiss your chances of escape goodbye.

It’s difficult to hold back the small exclamation of relief when you finally feel the iron break free, the weight of it in your hand making you swallow thickly. Okay, now to just push myself through…

The opening looked just big enough, but it would still be a tight fit.

Pushing off with one leg, you manage to get your knee on the sill. Scrunching your brows, you shift your weight to push off the back leg, wobbling slightly as you find your balance on both knees. Now, for the difficult part.

Come on, you murmur as you inch forward, gingerly pushing your head through the opening and glancing around, eyes squinting in the darkness but not seeing anyone outside. With a deep breath, you pushed further, one hand coming up to reach through the railing, managing to get your shoulder outside, pushing yourself forward and letting the smallest smile grace your lips because oh god, you might actually make it-

You barely feel the cold hand wrapping around your ankle until it’s yanking you back. Harshly.

You fly backwards with a small scream, the iron of the next bar over scratching at your arm and warm, wet blood immediately trickling down your forearm. Your back hits the mattress and knocks the air out of you, making your vision dizzy for a moment before you see it. Him.

Normally Douma sports a small, rather nonchalant smile around you. It’s chilling because there’s so little emotion in his eyes, almost looking like two pretty voids in the center of his face. It’s disturbing, but if you don’t look at it it’s not too terrible.

This, though? The way he’s looking at you right now? It’s enough to have you scrambling to the back of the mattress, your lips parting and closing like a fish, fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins so quickly that it hurts.

He’s not smiling. No, instead his lips are completely, utterly flat – a straight line that has tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He doesn’t even look angry, really – just utterly emotionless, not a shred of anything on his face for you to read.

What are you doing? Even his voice is eerily neutral, completely monotone.

I-I was just – I – um, you can’t even think of a plausible excuse, the situation and Douma’s reaction leaving you too fried and afraid to form a coherent thought.

He’s not having that, though. He walks closer to the bed, each step sounding like a clap of thunder. His expression is still that same flat line, even as he crawls onto the bed, that hand once again wrapping around your ankle.

What are you doing? Say it, or I’ll slit your throat.

And you believe him – enough to start stuttering out apologies and slurred, panicked admissions of trying to escape. Your voice is raising an octave, fear palpable in the air, but it doesn’t slow Douma down as he drags your body closer to him by the ankle, seeming to have absolutely no difficult even as you claw at the sheets and writhe in his grasp.

Please, ‘m sorry, I just want to go home, I can’t – You’re scaring me Douma, please stop – You’re babbling, and apparently he’s decided he’s had enough as his grip moves from your ankle to your neck faster than you can see.

You’re pressed against the wall before you know it, strong, cold fingers pressing against your windpipe as he stares at you. He’s uncomfortably close, his body only an inch or so away from yours, those damn eyes of his the only thing you can see. He’s still expressionless, even as you gasp for air and claw at his fingers. He doesn’t budge though, seeming to not even notice your attempts at escape.

You must think I’m stupid, he starts, those eyes never looking away from yours. They don’t even seem to blink, even as you wheeze out his name.

You must think I’m an imbecile if you think you can escape me. I’m insulted.

His grip tightens.

You will never escape me. There is nowhere that you can go that I cannot follow.

His grip moves higher up, cutting off even more air.

There is nowhere that you can hide that I cannot find you.

Now the left side of his lip quirks up, ever so slightly.

There is no one who can help you that I cannot kill.

Suddenly he’s leaning in, head traveling down to your right arm, his inhale audible even though you can’t see his face.

Something wet and cold pokes at the still fresh scratch on your arm, and it makes you wince. You can’t feel much of anything now, though, as small dark spots in your vision form, desperation truly starting to take over.

Something akin to a groan fills your ears as Douma’s lips latch onto your skin, tongue poking and prodding at the cut, nudging its way inside and making the last bit of your air rush out of your throat as a scream, the pain starting to register even as the dots fill your entire vision, unconsciousness taking a hold of you as you go limp under his hand.

Douma pauses at the feeling of you passing out, eyes slowly looking up to your face, before removing his hand and letting you fall to the hard floor. Your body hits the ground with a deciding slump, and Douma pokes at your shin with the tip of his shoe.

Humming, he licks the remaining blood off of your lips. You’d been stupid, really, to think that he didn’t know about this escape plan of yours. You’re not nearly as good at pretending as you think you are, nor are you as subtle at glancing at the window as you seem to think. All those nights spent with you on his chest or spooned against him, the smell of your hair filling his nostrils again and again as he rutted against your ass, his breath tickling your neck, and you still thought he couldn’t tell that you kept glancing to the window, obviously wishing to crawl out and never return.

His fists clench, and he kicks, hard. Narrowly avoiding your leg and instead decimating the wooden nightstand next to it.

Stupid human, he growls out, swallowing the last bit of your blood.

And the next morning, when you awake with a splitting headache and bruises blossoming along your neck, Douma will be right there waiting for you. That fake, plastered-on smile sits on his lips again, and the hand he rests of your arm grows tighter.

Good morning, he starts, voice the usual chipper, overly saccharine tone. Thank me for not killing you. Go on.

And as you look towards the window – with fresh, gridlocking bars newly placed on both the inside and outside, you can only feel your eyes water, lips parting into the shape of thank you.

Douma’s smile grows for just a moment, something dancing behind his eyes.

Ah, there you go.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

As Douma’s darling, your biggest concern is really to keep Douma entertained and appeased. His obsession hinges on his amusement surrounding you, and although something that resembles the closest thing to love he can manage does form for you, there’s something deeply wrong with him.

He views you as an object – something he can possess and own, and the idea of having you all completely to himself is something that makes him giddy, eyes closing and something settling in the base of his gut because god, he wants you.

Your time with him will be characterized by his constant presence, those eyes of his always locked on you and you only. He can’t be away from you for long periods of time – he grows restless, his knee bouncing and his fingers fidgeting as he idly thinks of seeing you, missing the way you always look so sour when he pulls on your hair, how your eyes get all big and wide when he compliments you, the bashfulness obvious on your face even as you try to hide it. You’re endearing, really, a pet project of his that he slowly begins to feel more for, a creature that he finds himself holding in disturbingly high regard, despite your lowly status as a mere human.

But really, what makes Douma so dangerous is the fact that he is so detached from normal love and affection. This leads to him having no qualms about kidnapping you, isolating you, toying with you, and even hurting you when he sees fit.

Your existence becomes solely dictated by his whims – you’ll be what he wants you to be, and if you don’t, he doesn’t mind pushes and molding you into what he wants. Even if it means breaking a few bones, biting off a few chunks of flesh, or even turning you into a blood-thirsty demon, if he so desires.

Your life is no longer yours – it’s his, and the sooner you learn that, the better. After all, Douma can be almost sweet when he’s trying – so really, just let yourself be deluded into believing that this is what’s best for you.

It’ll be better for you that way, and who knows – maybe one day you’ll even find yourself grateful for his company, just as he so ardently reminds you. Just as he so frequently demands you to be.

#yandere kny #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere demon slayer #yandere ds #_kny #_douma #_lee's profiles #yandere douma

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allur1ngs · 10 months

Text

✮ bloody knuckles ✮

TW: angst to fluff!! i know the summary seems like pure angst but i swear its not! semi-graphic violence? , guns, kidnapping, bada and reader get into an argument, reader acts naively and a bit selfishly (but it’s okay, she’s young and makes up for it in the end), bada still having beef w your bodyguard, protective!bada, cold!bada (this time to you too…), violent & frusterated!bada, brief mentions of sexual activity (inc…toys, ass, boobs… sorry), use of the word unnie (about six or so times) brief mentions of drugs, a creepy woman, and a surprise character from the previous installment!

SUMMARY: breaking bada’s three rules for a night of partying backfires in ways you could’ve never imagined. now, you have to deal with the consequences of your lies

part iv. succumb (to me)

WC: 12.5k… get some popcorn y’all this is a long one

A/N: read this and this for more background on this au. i’m sure there are a ton of mistakes sprinkled throughout this fic so please ignore them, this took me so long to write and i just want to put it out on time… i promise i’ll edit it once i get the chance😭

DISCLAIMER: all characteristics portrayed are purely speculation and fiction, they are not meant to reflect bada or team bebe’s actual character, values, or attitudes. please keep this in mind!!

On an inconspicuous Thursday night, when a heat wave had just hit Seoul, you lounged in your lavish bed—free from sheets—scrolling through social media.

Pictures of cute animals and food fill your feed, making you smile down at your screen. You are about to like a particularly cute picture of a cat when a notification banner stops you midway. Your eyes flicker to the top of the screen, finding a message from your best friend, Jae Hwang.

Clicking on the notification, you're transferred into your messages app, and Jae’s text fills your screen. “Unnie, I haven’t seen you in so long!! Please come to the party I’m throwing tomorrow so we can catch up and have some fun~!"

Your lips fall open in mild surprise as you instinctively sit up. A party? You text Jae back quickly, asking the reason for the party and where it will be held.

“At my house, of course! We’re all gathering to celebrate your engagement!”

Your engagement… so your parents really hadn’t wasted any time spreading the good news. You’d barely been living with Bada for a month, and they’d already informed your friends. You shake your head and sigh rather loudly. Bada would greatly disapprove of your parents' loose lips. She preferred her privacy, not only for protection but also because she liked people staying out of her business. That much you could tell from the little time you’d had to get to know her.

Shifting your focus back to Jae’s unanswered text, you contemplate attending the party or skipping out. Though they were technically throwing it in your honor, they should have let you know beforehand instead of asking you the night before the party. You felt well within your rights to refuse, but a nagging thought holds you back.

What would you do instead? Technically, you had no plans on Friday night—or Friday at all for that matter. Saturday neither… nor Sunday. Really, you never had plans anymore. Since staying with Bada, you mostly remained inside the Lee mansion, either lounging by the large infinity pool, taking a dip in your personal Jacuzzi, or perhaps enjoying a film in the theater room on the second floor.

Or, if you wanted to leave home, you would be escorted by your bodyguard to certain malls, grocery stores, or establishments. All of which were either managed by Bada or by one of her partners. She made it clear to you from the start that going places not protected by one of her subordinates would be dangerous.

"I have connections to half the establishments in Seoul," she had muttered to you. It's incredible that despite the implications of the words falling from her mouth, Bada had a way of saying things so humbly. She didn't sound like she was boasting—though you wouldn't fault her if she was. "I bet some of the markets you entered when you were a child were run by my family, and you'd never have known."

You’d try your best to conceal your amazement at her confession, but the glow in your eyes was as clear as day to Bada. “And what about the rest?”

She let out a quiet breath, saying, "The rest are mostly run by rival gangs. Almost no stores or establishments are free of mafia influence. Not anymore, at least." Seeing the way your eyes shifted from bright to slightly apprehensive, she pushed her chair back and rose, walking around her desk before leaning on it and clutching onto its edges. "There's no need to worry about them. As long as you stay in areas where my people are, you are safe." Her hand came down to rest politely on your thigh, patting it in a comforting manner.

Her words made your stomach flutter with butterflies, and a giddy smile instinctively formed on your lips. For someone who claimed to want to avoid fostering romantic affection between you both, Bada seemed to be doing the exact opposite.

Before you could lose yourself in the tenderness of the memory, you climb out of bed, having made your decision. Because you barely left home as it is, what harm is there in going to a party? A party organized in your honor, no less. It’s a rare occasion, and truthfully, you miss Jae and the rest of your girlfriends. You haven’t seen them in over a month and texted them sparingly during that time. To be fair, it was mostly your fault—you were much too focused on getting to know Bada and adjusting to your new way of life to strike up conversations with them.

You nod your head firmly as if the action will help build your confidence before you grab onto the handle of your bedroom door and slowly open it. Standing to your right, the figure of your bodyguard, Hyo Kim, immediately greets you on the other side. She turns to face you, her black-tinted sunglasses obstructing your view of her eagle eyes.

“What are you doing up so late?” She says lightheartedly.

“Do you know if Bada is still awake?” You ask. “I wanted to ask her something.”

Hyo lifts her arm up, pushing aside the fabric of her suit to reveal a golden watch. She gazes down at it, pretending to think long and hard. “The Boss should be awake for about…” she trails off playfully, “another four hours.”

You chuckle under your breath, “I didn’t even need to ask, did I?”

“Not at all.” Hyo shakes her head while smirking.

“Alright then,” you clasp your hands together tightly, “I’m going to go see Bada.”

Hyo gestures ahead of you with her hand. “I’ll follow your lead.”

You nod quickly before advancing forward, her trailing close behind. You can’t lie; it was strange to have someone following after you almost every second of the day in the beginning. You remember that at the beginning of your stay at Lee mansion, you kept forgetting that Hyo was following you—she has the tendency to be extremely quiet when focused—and were jump-scared by her multiple times. You’d round corners and suddenly hear one of her heavier footsteps behind you, making you jump and your heart practically leap out of your chest.

At some point, you swear she started doing it on purpose, enjoying the look of fear you gave her when you jumped. Eventually, though, you started to grow used to her constantly lingering presence and even grew comfortable around her. Somewhere along the way, you’d both gotten to know each other more, and a slow but harmonious friendship grew.

“So, what are you going to ask the Boss about?” Hyo’s low and blithe voice cuts through the silence.

“Oh,” you begin, “my friend asked me to meet her and some of my other friends tomorrow night.”

“Really?” Hyo comments, her voice dripping with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

“Yes,” you affirm. “I wanted to ask Bada if it’s okay for me to visit her.”

Hyo hums under her breath in acknowledgment. “She’ll appreciate that.”

“I hope so.” You smile lightly to yourself. “I just thought that since you follow me wherever I go, she’d find out either way, and I might as well get her thoughts on it.”

“Not to crush your hopes and dreams, kid, but I doubt she’ll say yes.” Hyo remarks.

“Really?” You pause and turn around to face her, a frown forming on your lips.

“The Boss values your safety more than anything else,” Hyo shrugs. “Meeting people she isn’t familiar with puts you at risk.”

“But they’re my friends.” You push back lightly.

“I get that, but like I said, the Boss only cares about keeping you safe.” Hyo raises her hands up in defeat.

You deflate at her words, acknowledging that she’s most likely right. After all the events that’d taken place in the span of a single month, you honestly wouldn’t hold it against Bada to be cautious of where you go. But at the same time, you can’t help but feel mild resentment at the fact that you aren’t even allowed to see your friends.

“Hey,” Hyo frowns at you like a scolding sister. “Don’t be discouraged. You haven’t even asked her yet. You never know; she just might say yes.”

You pick your head up at her words, slowly but surely nodding back. “Yeah, you’re right.” And with that, you continue walking down the corridor to Bada’s office until you reach the dark mahogany wood of her door. Lightly rapping on it, there’s a period of silence before you hear the low tenor of her voice speak up.

“Lusher, if you’re coming to ask me if I’ve finished the paperwork for POSCO’s deal, for the millionth time the answer is no, I haven’t.” Bada’s disgruntled voice makes you laugh to yourself, and you immediately bring your hand up to cover your mouth as you grin widely.

“Is now a bad time to see you, then?” You answer back cheekily.

You receive no response for a solid minute before the sound of papers rustling loudly and approaching footsteps reaches your ears. The door to Bada’s office opens, and there she stands in all her glory, looking rather flustered. “Sorry. I thought you were Lusher.”

You smile at Bada while shaking your head. “It’s alright. Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She steps aside, making room for you to walk into her office while she holds the door open for you. You say a quick thank you as pass through the threshold, missing how Bada lets the door swing closed behind her and shuts out Hyo. “So, is there a reason why you’re visiting me? It’s very late into the night; I expected you to be asleep already.”

“Well, I was about to go to sleep, but I got a text from Jae—” you pause upon seeing her frown. “my best friend.”

Bada nods in acknowledgment, moving toward a chair and pushing it back, gesturing for you to sit down. You do so, trying to ignore the nervous tension building in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah, she invited—” you pause, choosing your next words carefully. Phrasing Jae’s invitation as a party would most likely mean Bada wouldn't let you go. So, if you just tweaked your wording a bit to make the party seem less extreme… it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? “she invited me to a get-together between friends.”

“A get-together?” Bada questions, folding her hands across her lap as she leans on the edge of her office table. “For what purpose?”

“Just to catch up and… celebrate our engagement.” You gesture between you both, immediately noticing how Bada’s expression shifts, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“They know of our engagement?” She asks.

“Yes,” you sigh. “I guess my parents couldn’t keep their excitement in check.”

“Your parents.” Bada shakes her head, pinching her nose-bridge tiredly. ��I’ll have to have a word with them about that.”

“Please do.” You nod rapidly. “But aside from that, what I wanted to ask you was if I could be escorted to the get-together tomorrow night?”

Bada moves her gaze from the floor to your eyes, removes her hand from her face, and gives you a hesitant expression. “I don’t know… after all the incidents recently…” she trails off, a faraway look finding her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to feel like you’re a prisoner in your own home, or that you can’t see your friends, I just want you to be safe.”

“I get that, I really do, Bada, but this is just a small get-together.” You lie between your teeth.

Bada stays quiet, looking to be considering your words. “And you trust your friends, right?”

“I do.”

Bada lets out a light breath, while a small smile finds her lips. “All right then, you can go.”

“Really?” You give her a shocked look before you snap out of it and practically squeal, jumping up from your chair and instinctively wrapping your arms around Bada’s shoulders in a hug. “Thank you so much!”

Bada freezes in her spot, surprised by your affection. Slowly, a warm, sappy feeling builds at the bottom of her stomach, and her hands, which had been propped up in the air stiffly, gently come down to rest against your back, patting it tenderly. “You’re welcome.” She tries not to think about how lovely you feel against her or the allure of your natural scent.

You spend all Friday preparing for the party, choosing your makeup beforehand, your jewelry, shoes, and of course, your dress—a beautiful wine-red ensemble that you’d picked up on your shopping trip with Bada. She’d chosen it for you—claiming, “This dress would look beautiful on you.” The meaning behind her words, that it wasn’t the dress that was beautiful, but instead your figure that would make it look divine, had struck you in that moment.

If Bada wanted you to wear the dress, you’d buy it in a heartbeat.

For the little hours left you have in the day, you try not to get too giddy thinking of the party or how magnificent you’ll look in the dress, instead trying to busy yourself by catching up on one of your favorite TV shows. But when the milky raven sky begins to take over the horizon, you jump off of the couch, rushing to your room, leaving Hyo to scramble after you.

In your bedroom, you sit down at your antique-styled vanity, your makeup laid out in front of you. You begin prepping your skin before beginning your usual routine. It takes you a slightly longer time for you to finish because you’re being incredibly meticulous, but by the end of it, you look amazing. Before you can get distracted, you quickly dress yourself.

As your fingers curl around the clasp of your teardrop diamond earrings and secure them in place, you take a step back to gaze at yourself in your floor-length mirror.

The win-red dress hugs your body, accentuating every favorable feature of it. A similar dark rouge to your dress is blended across your eyelids in a smoky eye, making the color of your eyes pop in contrast. Your lips, fixed into a slight pout, are glossy and soft, tinted with a color of your choice. Taking your look all together, all you can say is that Bada was right—the dress does look beautiful on you.

A knock on your bedroom door startles you, your hand instinctively flying to your chest. "Hello?" You respond, a bit on edge.

"It's me. Can I come in?" Bada's voice, muffled behind the door, reaches you.

"Yes," you reply, hastily adjusting your dress and double-checking your appearance.

Bada enters just as your hands fall to your sides, her gaze immediately scanning your figure. She appraises you, from collarbones to legs, before fixing her eyes on your chest for a lingering moment.

Suppressing a nervous giggle, you greet her, "Hi, Bada."

Her eyes quickly snap up to meet yours, a sheepish cough escaping her mouth. "Hello."

Standing awkwardly by the door, Bada stares at you for a solid minute before you give a lighthearted smile. "Is there something you needed?"

"Uhh, no. Well, actually..." Bada stumbles over her words, closing her eyes in embarrassment. "Sorry, yes. I wanted to see you before you left."

You release a small breath of understanding before a cheeky thought crosses your mind. Walking closer to Bada, you do a little twirl when you reach her. "So, what do you think?"

Bada exhales while chuckling, her nervousness leaving her. "I think you are the most beautiful woman I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon."

Out of shock, you remain still, surprised by how unabashedly Bada expressed her thoughts. You expected a simple compliment, but she exceeded your expectations. "Really?" You ask quietly, sensing a shift in the room's atmosphere. An air of intimacy and something more sensual makes your skin prickle and breath hitch.

"Of course. There's no one I could think of that could make that dress look so stunning." Bada looks back at you with a serious and genuine expression.

"Bada..." you trail off, immediately thinking of countless other women who could wear the dress better. Supermodels, actresses—

"I think there's just one simple thing that would finish off the look." Bada's voice brings you back, and you give her a questioning stare. She smiles, her hand digging into her pocket before presenting you a sleek black box. Your confusion deepens as she opens it, revealing the most elegant necklace you've ever seen. Matching teardrop diamonds, akin to those on your earrings circle the chain, glittering against the low bedroom light. At the center, a silver locket shaped like a dainty heart ties it all together.

You stare at the necklace in awe, alternating between Bada's eyes and the exquisite piece of jewelry. "Bada, it's beautiful."

She watches you marvel at it, sparkles dancing in your eyes. Giving you a fond look, she nudges the box closer. "Take it."

Hesitating for a brief second, you gently retrieve the necklace. "Wow," you breathe out, fully admiring its beauty now that it’s free from the box.

"You should put it on," Bada encourages you softly.

“Oh, I shouldn’t—” you protest.

“I insist,” she cuts you off, tucking the box back into her pocket. She steps forward, taking the necklace from your hands and moving behind you. “Here, let me.” She places it across your collarbones and brings the clasp together, her long fingers brushing across your skin.

Her touch ignites a spark, but as quickly as it appeared, her fingers are gone. She steps back, placing her hands on your waist to move you back so that you’re facing your mirror again. But this time, Bada's at your side, admiring how exquisite you look.

“Absolutely perfect,” she whispers into your ear.

The warmth from her touch lingers as you stare at Bada through the mirror. “Thank you.” You bask in the comfortable silence in the room for a moment before speaking up again. “Can I ask, did you buy this?”

Bada places her hands atop your shoulders, a soft, wistful look finding her irises. “It was my mother’s.”

Immediately, you whip around to face her, your mouth wide open in mortification, and your eyes the size of saucers. “Bada, why didn’t you tell me?” Your hands frantically try to find the clasp of the necklace, wanting to take it off. “Here—”

“No.” Bada’s hands find yours, holding them and stopping you from removing the jewelry. “Don’t take it off.”

“But Bada, this was your mom’s—”

“And I want you to have it,” Bada states firmly.

“I can’t—”

“Are you rejecting my gift?” Although her words sound accusatory, when you look into her eyes, there’s a glint of amusement in them.

You let out a huff of defeat. “Fine.”

Bada smirks proudly, removing her hands from yours. “Good.”

After bidding farewell to Bada, Hyo swiftly whisks you away to a black Jeep, one that, according to her, is "much more secure than a sports car." Seated in the front, she drives and engages in casual conversation while you relax in the back. You take the opportunity to share stories about each of your best friends—Jae, the liveliest, Da-Eun, the second oldest, Min-Ji, the oldest, and Ryung, the youngest and most timid. Hyo listens attentively, interjecting with comments or laughter at your anecdotes.

“You all seem to be very close,” she remarks, steering the wheel to the left.

“Yeah, we are. We’ve known each other since childhood, and our parents are all friends,” you reply.

“Those types of friends… you should hold onto them,” Hyo advises. “In this line of business, it’s hard to find someone you can trust as much as you four trust each other.”

You gaze at your bodygaurd through the rear-view mirror, sensing the weight behind her words. "Hyo?" You inquire.

"Yeah?"

"Does Bada find it hard to trust other people?"

Her lips tighten, an audible exhale leaving her nose. "She hasn't fully placed her trust in anyone since the day Mrs. Lee died."

A somber atmosphere envelops the car, akin to a bucket of ice-cold water. You shift in your seat uncomfortably, your heart aching at the thought of the pain Bada must have endured when her mother was killed. "Bada was still young when she passed, wasn’t she?"

"Fifteen," Hyo nods. "Barely beginning her climb towards adulthood."

A stark silence follows after, and the rest of the car ride is silent, filled only with the quiet hum of the Jeep’s engine and the sounds of passersby. It's not uncomfortable, but rather solemn, as if you and Hyo are silently mourning Mrs. Lee's memory.

Fifteen minutes later, Hyo's driving slows as she turns into a large house—though noticeably smaller than your shared one with Bada, of course. The GPS on the tablet beeps, signaling your arrival at the destination. "We’re here," her voice rings through the background noise.

You turn away from the window you’d been gazing out of, a smile forming on your lips at the sight of Jae’s house. Out of your group, Jae always had the most luxurious home, because though all of you came from affluent families, Jae's parents were the wealthiest. Well, it seemed like now the dynamic had changed. Once you and Bada are officially wed, your combined wealth will likely rival all of theirs combined.

"How long do you think you’ll be staying?" Hyo asks.

"I'd like to say it won't take that long, but knowing my friends, I might be here all night," you admit.

"Alright." Hyo parks the Jeep in the driveway, exits, then moves to open your door. You offer a quiet thank you as she helps you step out, mindful of the relatively short length of your dress.

Leading the way to Jae's house, you pause before knocking. Judging by the time, it seems you arrived slightly early, which in party terms means very early. Fortunately, that likely means no other partygoers are here yet, as evidenced by the absence of parked cars in the driveway.

"Actually, Hyo?" you turn back to face her, a sheepish look on your face. "Could you maybe… wait outside?"

Your bodyguard raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms across her chest. "I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you."

"I know that, but I think the girls will be thrown off by the fact that you’ll just be standing there… watching us the entire night." Though your reasoning is somewhat woven with lies, it's also partly true.

Hyo remains silent, giving you an unimpressed look. "I have a job to do."

"Technically, you can do it from out here," you weakly argue. "Please, I want to feel like a normal person again. Like my life isn’t constantly at risk, and I always need to be monitored."

Although you can’t see the look Hyo’s giving you behind her sunglasses, you notice her posture deflating, and her shoulders falling. She releases a defeatist breath, "Fine, I’ll keep an eye out from here."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You express with a grateful smile.

"Yeah, yeah, never say I haven’t done anything for you," Hyo grumbles. "Oh, and don’t forget I have your location on my phone, so don’t even think about sneaking out because I’ll know."

"I wouldn’t dare," you joke.

"Right…" your bodyguard trails off. "I’ll be waiting in the car. If you need anything, just call or text me, and I’ll be out in an instant."

"Yup, thanks!" You give Hyo a thumbs up, and with that, she retreats back to the Jeep. You watch her go, a sudden wave of guilt crashing over you.

She'd probably be much more comfortable in Jae’s house, sitting down or enjoying the air conditioning, rather than waiting for countless hours in the Jeep while you gossip and talk to your friends. But you're in too deep now. You can’t tell her the truth or let her in, or she’ll whisk you away back to the mansion, and all your white lies will have been for naught.

Biting your lip, you cast one last look at Hyo before knocking on the front door. Silence greets you for a few minutes before you hear shuffling approach the door, and it opens. Jae’s face greets you on the other side, her eyes immediately sparkling at the sight of you.

"Oh my god!" She squeals, bringing you into a hug and squeezing you tight. "I’m so glad you’re here!" She rocks back and forth in the hug, making you laugh giddily. "I missed you so much!" When she pulls back, she’s wearing a pout across her red-tinted lips. "Don’t ghost me for a month again, okay? Or I’ll steal you away from your wife!"

"I missed you too," you say fondly. "But we’re not married yet—"

"Oh, come on, you’re engaged to Bada Lee! You’re married in every sense except legally." Jae rolls her eyes playfully, though they stray a bit before landing on something—or rather, someone—behind you. "Who’s that?" She points at the Jeep, where Hyo is sitting in the front seat, trying not to look like she's watching you.

"That’s Hyo Kim, my bodyguard."

"Your bodyguard?" Jae awes before pouting. "Why am I even surprised? Of course, Bada Lee would have her fiancée under lock and key." Jae grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze before her expression shifts, a sly smile curving her lips. "So tell me, have you two done it yet? Is she dominant? Is she more of a boobs girl or an ass girl—"

"Jae!" You shout, eyes wide and voice full of mortification. "Are you serious right now?"

"Come on, tell me! I want to know all the stuff you haven’t told me over the past month. You owe it to me!" She whines.

You let out a long sigh. You suppose this is your karma for unintentionally ignoring your best friend for so long. "At least invite me in first, Jae. Don’t you have any manners?" You lightly scold her.

"Oh, right." She looks behind her, realizing that while she’s inside her home, you’re still outside the threshold, waiting for her to invite you in. She looks like she’s about to take a step back so you can enter before she pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing her features. "Wait, does she use toys—"

"Alright, that’s enough!" You push Jae further into her house and step inside, swinging the door shut rather loudly behind you.

Once inside, you scold her for a solid five minutes straight about manners before the two of you properly greet each other and begin a normal, casual conversation—thankfully with no mention of your and Bada’s sexual activity, or lack thereof. Instead, you're practically interrogated by Jae about every aspect of your life with Bada while you help her finish setting up for the party.

You stack up red solo cups, place beers into multiple coolers, and set out chasers. Thankfully, it doesn’t take much for the two of you to finish, and once you do, you simply lounge around a bit. Jae takes the break as an opportunity to compliment how amazing you look in your dress.

"Is that Chanel?" She asks, motioning for you to do a spin.

"Yes." You nod, doing as she wishes. "Bada picked it out for me."

"I bet she’s regretting her decision right now." Your friend giggles. "No one’s going to be able to resist you tonight!"

"Jae, stop exaggerating." You laugh.

Your lighthearted conversation continues until slowly but surely, party guests begin to arrive. They come in small waves, all dressed much more elegantly than the average partygoer. You assume they must be some of Jae’s rich friends that you’ve heard about only in passing because you don’t recognize some of them. The thought sends a small prickle of worry to the back of your mind, but you choose to ignore it for now. Instead, you greet each guest kindly, albeit rather awkwardly.

As the dark sky deepens in color, the living room starts to get more and more crowded, the rest of your friends arriving along with other guests. Min-Ji gets there first, wearing a classy black cocktail dress. She greets you with the same enthusiasm as Jae, but her demeanor is slightly more controlled, her older age shining through.

Next, Da-Eun arrives, dressed in green, and lastly, Ryung. By the time she settles in, the party is in full swing, music leaking out of speakers, and beers being passed around. You’re fully immersed in the atmosphere, happy to be surrounded by your girls and other somewhat familiar faces. You can’t lie, partying with your friends really puts into perspective the loneliness you hid behind your home’s mansion walls.

But in contrast to your free spirit, Hyo is struggling. Multiple cars have begun to pull into the driveway, groups of people entering the house and giving her a peek inside. The home has many more people than it should for a "small gathering."

Her first instinct was to exit the Jeep and head toward the door to end your night prematurely, as well as tell you off for not only lying to her but also to Bada. However, through one of the windows, your silhouette peaks through, the light in the living room shining against your features and displaying your expression of pure joy as you dance with your friends and sip beer.

She stops mid-stride, conflict brewing in the confines of her mind. Deep down, she knows you deserve to enjoy yourself. Being stuck in a mansion—while large and full of entertainment—is nothing compared to the comfort of being with friends, partying, and drinking. “Fuck.” Hyo mutters under her breath, passing a hand through her hair in frustration. She takes another look at your smiling figure through the window, then turns back. “The Boss is going to kill me if she finds out about this.”

She stays back in the Jeep for another hour or so, listening to the music coming from inside the house and the loud chatter, keeping an eye out while checking her phone every other minute. Your location never moves, thankfully. It seems that you have the foresight not to take it as far as sneaking away from her for some fun.

But, of course, there’s no need for you to do so because the party is practically buzzing with energy. Couples and friends dance together, grinding and touching each other playfully, while some are playing cup pong or various other party games in corners of the room. You, on the other hand, have moved away from dancing, instead cooling off with another beer as your friends chatter amongst each other.

“You’ll never guess what happens next!” Jae grabs onto Min-Ji, tugging on her hands with poorly concealed excitement.

“What?” Min-Ji indulges her younger friend.

“Bada stops him right before he leaves the store just by saying, ‘And where do you think you're going?’” Jae lowers her voice and puts on a serious expression when imitating your fiancée.

“Really?” Min-Ji's eyes find your figure, a small smile curving her lips upward.

You smile back at her shyly, nodding.

“And then, she makes the asshole pick up her clothes from the ground!” Jae divulges.

“Does he do it?” Da-Eun cuts in, smirking widely.

“Of course he does! Like a little worm, he picks up all the clothes and gives them to her.” Jae points at you, letting go of Min-Ji’s hands.

“Bada must have a very strong presence,” Ryung comments quietly.

“More like everyone in the store was on Bada’s payroll,” Jae snorts. “Right Unnie, didn’t you say Bada has ties to half the population of Seoul?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “I think everyone in that store had guns on them.”

“How do you know?” Min-Ji asks.

“Well, they were all putting their hands in their pockets like they were going to pull out a firearm,” you reminisce. “And they were all staring between the man and Bada like they were waiting for her word to dispose of him.”

“It’s so crazy hearing about it.” Jae whines. “I wish I was there!”

“Don’t say that.” Min-Ji scolds her. “It must have been scary at the time, wasn’t it?” She looks back at you, posing the question.

“I wasn’t really scared for myself.” You shake your head. “I was more scared for the man. You should have seen the way Bada was looking at him.”

“I can imagine it now.” Jae tries to imitate a hardened and scary glare but ends up failing.

“You just look like you’re constipated.” Da-Eun laughs loudly, pointing at a now offended Jae. The younger girl hits Da-Eun, whining about how she was really trying to look serious.

You join in laughing with Da-Eun and Min-Ji at Jae, when you suddenly feel a tug on your right hand. Your laughter dies down as you turn to face Ryung, who’s looking between you and another corner of the room. You give her a confused look, trying to find what she’s gazing at. “Ryung? Is something wrong?”

“A woman's been staring at you since she got here.” Ryung whispers, casting her eyes to the other corner of the room.

You follow her line of sight to an unfamiliar, relatively attractive woman dressed in a loose white dress shirt and slacks. She has fiery red hair and a boyish look. She’s already watching you, her eyes unabashedly trailing up and down your figure, completely unbothered by the fact that you caught her staring. In fact, she smirks back at you.

You turn away from her quickly, a prickle of anxiety running up your spine. Though most would be excited at being ogled by an attractive woman, there’s something about her gaze that unnerves you. It's like she knows something you don’t.

“Do you know her?” Ryung asks, a worried look crossing her features.

“No.” You shake your head, a trembling breath leaving your lips. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

Da-Eun, Min-Ji, and Jae stop laughing at the sound of your nervous voice, turning to face you with questioning looks.

“What’s going on?” Min-Ji asks, noticing your rigid posture and Ryung’s grim expression.

Jae mutters your name, her voice becoming uncharacteristically quiet.

“There’s this woman that’s been staring at Unnie the entire night.” Ryung secretly motions towards you, then looks back at the woman with red hair. All of your friends' eyes follow, seeing how the woman gazes at you darkly; even with all their eyes on her, she doesn’t cower. Instead, she continues to watch you.

“Alright.” Da-Eun rubs her hands together, her expression dripping with anger. “Let me go have a word with her—”

“Not so fast.” Min-Ji grabs onto Da-Eun’s arm, pulling her back and keeping her from advancing toward the woman. “Jae, do you know her?”

Jae bites her lip, shaking her head. “I don’t remember inviting anyone that looks like that.”

“Then let me—” Da-Eun tries to wiggle out of Min-Ji’s hold but is unsuccessful.

“Don’t be so rash.” Min-Ji asserts. “Let’s just ignore her. If she decides to bother you directly, we’ll be here, okay?” She looks back at you with a caring expression, placing her hand on your shoulder.

“Okay.” You agree shakily, turning your back toward the woman’s direction.

For the rest of the night, you constantly feel her eyes on you. Though you try to act normal, a spike of fear runs up your body when you see someone approach you or accidentally brush up against you while you dance with your friends. You consider asking Hyo to come get you, but you don’t want to sour the mood of your friends. So you deal with her predatory gaze, and do your best to ignore her overwhelming presence.

Hyo’s eyes scan the neighborhood leisurely when a notification banner pops up at the top of her screen. Her eyes snap toward it, finding a text message from none other than her boss light up the screen. She takes in a deep breath as she presses it, her screen being moved to the message app.

Bada’s text reads, “How’s it going?”

Hyo lets out a sigh of relief, quickly texting back, “Good, she’s having fun.” She watches Bada’s text bubble show up soon after indicating she was writing, but it disappears a few seconds later. Hyo takes the opportunity to add, “Her friends are very lively.”

Bada’s text bubble appears again, but this time she sends a message saying, “Focus on doing your job.” Hyo huffs under her breath, exiting out of the messaging app and switching back to managing your location.

Her brief distraction keeps her from noticing a new group of men heading toward the house. Most slip in, it’s only until the last is about to cross inside that Hyo looks up, her eyes catching a baggy of white powder one of the men is carrying.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She hisses. Immediately she exits the car, dialing Bada’s personal phone as she races up the driveway and slips into the house behind the man.

Inside, you’re slowly becoming more and more unnerved by the red-haired woman. Your friends try to take you around the living room, using the other partygoer’s bodies as a shield between you two, but she doesn’t allow them to. She moves through the crowd until she has a clear view of you again, then just stands there, her gaze unwavering.

“She really doesn’t give up, huh?” Min-Ji curses under her breath.

“What a creep,” Da-Eun adds.

“Are you okay?” Ryung asks you.

“I don’t know.” You admit, rubbing your arm uncomfortably.

“Hold on,” Jae cuts in. “I think she’s coming this way.”

Four pairs of eyes snap in the direction Jae is looking, finding the woman weaving through the crowd of partygoers in an attempt to reach you.

This time your entire body goes rigid, intense fear running through your veins as your friends rally around you, muttering comforting words. Their voices and the loud bass of the music in the background fade away, all you’re able to focus on is the woman with red hair only a few feet away from you now.

She’s just about to reach you when a firm grip grabs onto your arm, pulling you away from your friends. You jump at the person’s touch, instinctively trying to recoil away before you turn to see a familiar face.

“Hyo.” You breathe out in relief.

“We’re leaving right now.” She says firmly, pulling you through the crowd of people.

“Hey!” Da-Eun surges forward at the sight of Hyo taking you away. “Who are you–?”

“No, it’s okay, that’s her bodyguard,” Jae informs your friends.

Your friends share resounding noises of astoundment before Hyo starts to firmly push you toward the exit. You say a hurried goodbye to them, catching out of the corner of your eye the red-haired woman. She’s now wearing a frown as she quickly retreats into the crowd of dancing bodies, hiding away from your gaze, as well as Hyo’s.

The entirety of the drive back home is dead silent, but this time it’s not comfortable. Hyo’s lips are set into thin and firm lines, her expression unchanging as she switches lanes and drives through the jet-black night. You try to will your voice to work and make idle conversation, but the words get stuck in your throat, a deep feeling of regret pooling at the depths of your stomach.

The car ride back unfortunately felt much shorter than the ride to Jae’s house had. One minute you're just barely pulling out of her driveway, and the next you're passing the gates into your mansion's driveway.

Hyo parks the car, exiting quickly and opening the door for you like she always does. You still say thank you, but this time she doesn’t acknowledge it, she simply lets you take the lead as you begin the walk of shame into your home.

Walking through the front door, the first floor is eerily quiet, missing the sounds of Bebe walking around or talking amongst themselves. You hesitate before walking up the right spiral staircase to the second floor, then move to your right toward the direction of your bedroom.

“We’re going this way.” Hyo breaks her silence, motioning with her thumb behind her, toward the corridor that leads to Bada’s office. You gulp but say nothing in response, instead choosing to listen to her and head toward your fiancée.

The sound of both your and Hyo’s footsteps echoing against the cold marble floor causes even more unease in your mind, the feeling all but tripling when you see a dark mahogany door come into view. You stop right in front of it, your legs starting to feel weak and your hands sweating. You try to build up your courage to knock on the door, but Hyo’s already a step ahead of you.

She doesn’t bother to knock, she simply grabs ahold of the door handle and pushes it open. She gestures for you to head inside which you do timidly, the door closing right behind you.

Inside the office, your eyes immediately find Bada’s figure. She’s sitting in her chair like she always is, looking incredibly tired. And instead of wearing a soft expression at the sight of you, her face is blank, not a single wisp of emotion to be seen.

“Sit down.” Her voice cuts through the tension in the air.

You do as she says, noting that she doesn’t get up to pull your chair back for you like she normally does. “Bada,” you begin, voice quiet and full of remorse.

“I heard you had fun tonight.” She cuts you off, her tone harsh. “A party, was it?”

You close your eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry–”

“Are you?” She interrupts you again. “Truthfully, are you?”

“Yes.” You say frantically, trying to convince her. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“You had multiple opportunities to tell me the truth.” Bada asserts, her hands coming in front of her to clasp together tightly. “The night before when I asked you about your so-called ‘get-together.’" She lists, "You could have told me anytime today, or Hyo when she was driving you. Instead, you unabashedly lied to my face and deceived me.”

You swear the wind is knocked out of your chest at her words. Her dark brown, almost grey eyes are cutting into yours, wounding your heart as you will something, anything out of your mute vocal cords. “Please believe me.”

“I can’t.” Bada shakes her head. “All I asked of you was three things.” Much like she had when you first arrived at the Lee mansion, she holds up three corresponding fingers. “Tell me the truth, remain loyal, and never put yourself in unnecessary danger.” She places all three fingers down. “Somehow you managed to disobey all of them in the span of a single night.”

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, and heaving breaths start to build in your windpipe. You can deal with Bada being upset with you, but there’s something about her calm disappointment that hurts you more than you could have ever imagined.

“What would have happened if someone at that party brought a gun, hm? What if they knew who you are to me? What if they wanted to hurt me by hurting you?” Her voice slowly rises in volume but never reaches a full yell. “More than anything, you put yourself in danger. All for the sake of a good time.”

You hang your head in shame, acknowledging that she’s right.

“I can’t trust you anymore.” She states plainly.

Your head snaps up from its hunched position, your eyes widening at the implication of her words. “What? Bada, what does that mean?”

Your fiancée remains quiet for a moment, her blank look doing nothing to soothe your heightening fear. Then, she speaks up. “It’s late, you should go to sleep.”

“Go to sleep?” You cry. “Bada–”

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She tears her eyes away from yours, staring to her right. “I can’t look at you right now.”

Her words are the final blow to your breaking heart. You stand up from your chair loudly, attempting to hide your devastated expression as tears fall from your eyes in steady streams. You race over to the door, pull it open, and run out of the office, accidentally bumping into Hyo on your way out. You don’t say anything to her, simply wanting to get as far away as possible.

Lusher, who’d been rounding the corner about to head into Bada’s office catches sight of your teary eyes and sighs. She makes eye contact with Hyo, sharing a knowing look with her before entering the office.

“I’m not in the mood, Lusher,” Bada mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“Don’t you think you were a little too hard on her?” Lusher contends.

“She put her life at risk,” Bada states firmly.

“She went to a party, so what? She’s at the age where she’s supposed to be having fun with her friends, clubbing and drinking.”

“She lied to me,” Bada argues.

“Listen, I know that–” before Lusher can finish her sentence, the door to Bada’s office opens again, this time much more violently. Hyo stands in the doorway, a worried look encompassing her features.

“What now?” Bada snaps at her.

“Boss,” Hyo huffs. “the keys to the Jeep are gone.”

“What?” Bada stands up with urgency, her blank expression morphing into nothing but unrivaled anger. “Where did you put them?”

“I had them in my pocket–” Hyo freezes, a look of realization glinting in her eyes before she stops and runs a hand down her face in frustration. “Your fiancée pickpocketed me.”

“She pickpocketed you?” Lusher says incredulously. “So she just left? But it’s dangerous to be out this late, and in that dress–”

“Lusher, gather all of Bebe.” Bada interrupts her, voice loud and commanding. “You,” she points at Hyo. “find her. Now.”

“Yes, boss.” Lusher and Hyo say in unison, scrambling to do what their superior asked of them.

Meanwhile, Bada remains standing behind her desk, a mix of fear and unadulterated anger building in her. She feels immediate regret for the way she’d treated and spoken to you. She never should have let you leave in such a vulnerable, and most likely intoxicated state.

She could never forgive herself if something happened to you because of your argument. She slams her hands down on her desk, almost breaking it with the amount of force she uses.

Bada storms out of her office, heading down the corridor toward her bedroom, pushing the door open before heading toward her bedside table. She opens the first drawer, revealing a black pistol. She grabs it, about to exit her bedroom when her eyes catch the portrait of her mother hanging just above her bedside table. She takes a moment to face it, her face morphing into a grim expression.

“I won’t fail you, mother.”

Lusher, Tatter, Kyma, Minah, Chehe, and Soweon, otherwise known as Bebe are all gathered in the armory room, guns in their hands. Lusher dons a sniper, Tatter a pump shotgun, Kyma a handgun, Minah a rifle, Cheche a break action, and Soweon a pistol.

“She managed to pickpocket Hyo?” Soweon exclaims, loading her pistol with bullets. “How is that possible?”

“She must not be as innocent as we thought.” Cheche comments. “Out of all of us, Hyo is the most alert and aware of her surroundings. She has some skill.”

“Enough talking.” Lusher cuts in, clicking a magazine into her sniper. “We’re wasting time. Boss wants us to find her as soon as possible.”

Bebe falls into line, following their second-in-command to the first level of the Lee mansion where Hyo is, tapping her foot against the marbled floor impatiently.

“Do you know where she is?” Bada’s booming voice causes all her subordinates to freeze. It’s brimming with urgency, and full of poison.

Hyo looks up at where her boss is standing at the top of the spiral staircase, her aura demonstrating absolute authority. “I think she’s lost her phone.”

“What do you mean?” Tatter speaks up.

“The location stopped moving right in front of her friend, Jae’s house. But it’s not inside, it’s farther down the road.”

The room becomes astoundingly quiet, so silent you could most certainly hear a pin drop. Although no one has the heart to say it, they all know the truth. You’ve been taken.

But then, Bada’s heavy footsteps begin descending the stairs, her eyes alit with a fiery passion and her eyes fixed into a firm glare.

“We’re finding my fiancée.” She demands. “And if she’s not home by the end of the night, it’ll be your head on a pike.” She points at Hyo, her pistol held firmly in her other hand.

“Yes, Boss,” Hyo says fearlessly. Truthfully, she felt partially at fault for what had happened. If she had only brought you home the second she realized you were throwing a party, or if she paid more attention when you bumped into her, you would be here, safe.

Before they can all head out, Bada’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She stops, pulling it out and observing the caller ID. Her eyes widen when she sees it, immediately pressing the answer button and holding the phone up to her ear. She mutters your name into the speaker, causing all of Bebe to freeze and look at her in shock.

“Where are you?” Bada says, voice soft and full of worry.

“Hello?” A voice that is most certainly not yours greets her ears.

Bada’s expression shifts immediately, her eyes narrowing to slits and her voice dropping. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Are you Bada Lee?” The voice says hurriedly.

“Yes. How did you get this phone? Where is my fiancée?” Bada demands.

“This is Jae, Unnie’s best friend.”

“Jae?” Bada says, her tone calming the slightest bit. “Where is she?”

“Bada, you need to come here quick.” She cries. “Unnie called me a few minutes ago saying she wanted to stay the night with me, but right when I saw her pulling into the driveway, another car parked beside her, and I think they took her!”

Bada’s hands form fists as she motions with her head for Bebe to go into the garage full of cars. They do so immediately, piling into a modified and armored SUV with a sunroof. Lusher sits behind the wheel while Hyo takes the passenger’s seat. The rest of the girls sit in the back, guns positioned in their laps, Minah poking out of the sunroof with her rifle propped up in front of her.

Bada follows after them, getting into her personal, fortified sports car as the door to the garage slowly begins to open. She puts Jae on speaker, “Did you see who took her?”

“It was dark, but I recognized one person,” Jae confirms. “It was this woman who was at the party I threw for Unnie. She was staring at her the entire night like a creep.”

“What does she look like?” Bada asks through her teeth.

“She’s wearing a white dress shirt, a pair of black pants… oh, and she has very vibrant, red hair!”

Bada pulls up next to Bebe’s car, her eyes meeting Lusher’s, a new type of rage building in her irises. “Seong.”

When you awake from your slumber there’s a pounding ache at the back of your head, and your eyes are blurry. You blink as you try to gather your bearings and sit up, but your arms are held behind your back by something. You start to panic, your head whipping around as you begin to remember what had happened just before you lost consciousness.

You’d been driving the Jeep toward Jae’s house whilst sobbing uncontrollably, realizing that your selfishness would most likely cost you your engagement to Bada.

When you were a few minutes away from Jae, you called her with trembling hands, breathing heavily into your phone.

Your friend muttered your name into the phone, sounding like she’d just woken up.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice shook with emotions. “Is it okay if I stay with you for the night?”

“Of course,” Jae answered immediately. “But what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

“Bada and I got into a fight.” You admitted. “I think she’s going to call off the engagement.”

“What?” Jae’s incredulous voice rang out of the phone.

“I’ll tell you everything in a second, I’m right next to your house.” You made a left into Jae’s neighborhood, finding the lights in her house on. You parked a little further down the street, seeing stray liquor bottles and red solo cups littering her lawn, most likely thrown away by her drunk party guests. “Okay, I’m here.”

“Where?” Jae’s figure approached the window that oversaw her driveway, her eyes squinting as she tried to discern your body from the pitch-darkness of the night. “I don’t see you.”

You sniffled into the microphone, switching hands as you climbed out of the Jeep and waved your hands to get Jae’s attention. “To your right.”

Jae’s eyes shifted in your direction, and after searching for a few minutes her eyes shone with recognition. “Oh, I see you!” She waved back at you, the interaction distracting you to the point where you didn’t hear a car pull up next to you until people were clambering out of it, their heavy footfalls approaching you.

You jumped when you felt an arm grab you, gasping and struggling against their grip. “Let me go!”

Jae’s voice came out of your phone, saying your name, but before you could answer her or call out for help, something hard hit you in the back of your head and caused you to fall limp into your kidnapper's arms. But before you fully lost consciousness, you caught a brief glint of red hair from the corner of your eye.

“No.” You whisper, reality finally settling in. “No, no, no.” You try to move your hands, but your eyes find them secured behind your back with handcuffs. You struggle against them, trying to wiggle your hands out but they’re closed tight against your flesh, making the steel rub your skin raw. You hiss in pain but continue trying until your wrists are red. You try to move toward the wall behind you, leaning on it to help you stand up.

Once on your feet, you stomp on the floor, trying to break the heel of your platform heels. You repeat your action a few times on each foot until part of the heel breaks off, leaving you with shoes that are easier to run in. You huff out in exhaustion, but you’re not done yet. Using the wall once again, you attempt to get your arms in front of you by jumping and pulling your arms under you. Thankfully, you’re successful, and let out a breathy laugh of victory.

You slide down the wall, taking a small break when you suddenly hear footsteps coming close to the room you’re trapped in. Your eyes widen in fear as you try to back away further from the door.

“Look who’s awake.” The woman with red hair enters the room, her voice coming out in a sing-song.

“Who are you?” You rasp, sitting up tall. Although you’re terrified out of your mind, you know better than to show it.

“The name’s Seong, sweetheart.” She smirks, one of her lackeys trailing after her. “And you have something I want.” You stare back at her as she gets closer to you, bending down so you’re at eye level. “Not going to ask me what it is?”

You say nothing, instead just keep eye contact with her, never once wavering under her unnerving gaze.

“Ah, we have a strong one here.” Seong laughs heartily. “I can see why Bada keeps you around.”

Mentally, you curse at yourself. Of course you’d been kidnapped as some sort of leverage piece between this woman and Bada. She’s most likely one of the rival gangs that’d been waiting for the chance to pounce at an opening to get through to Bada. And you’d stupidly given her the perfect opportunity.

“Well…” Seong’s voice drops, chills running down your spine as her eyes lower to your figure. “I’m guessing she doesn’t just appreciate your banter, huh?” She reaches out to touch you, her cold hands dragging across your collarbones. “So pretty…”

“Don’t touch me.” You spit, tone dripping with disgust as you recoil away from her.

“So lively too.” Seong chuckles.

“Bada’s going to come get me.” You cut in, glaring at the woman with fiery hair.

“Oh yes, I’m counting on that.” Seong smiles. “You know, she owes me a lot of money.” She stands up and begins to pace around the room. “My father and her father used to work together back in the day. But once Lee died and your little wife took over his business, she cut ties with him. Apparently, selling drugs is too ‘corrupt’ for her.” She scoffs loudly, the sound full of resentment and anger. “My father lost all his connections. He had to start selling to junkies on the streets, and now he’s running out of money.”

She stops in front of you again, a twisted smile stretching across her face.

“Bring him in,” Seong says to the lackey behind her. He follows her orders, trailing out of the room before he returns minutes later, a man shuffling behind him. When the man steps into the low light of the room, you audibly gasp and your eyes widen. “Remember him?” Seong stands next to the man–the same man from the mall. The man that’d harassed you, and had been humiliated by Bada.

Here he stands, the right side of his face swollen and colored in grotesque combinations of yellow and purple bruises.

“You.” The man rasps, his eyes shining with a crazy glint.

“This man right here was beaten half to death by Bada when I found him lying on the street.” Seong pats his shoulder. “Imagine my surprise when he told me how he’d accidentally hit on the Bada Lee’s fiancée, and almost gotten himself killed because of it.” She circles around the man. “Finding you after that didn’t take much. And look at you now…”

“Lying on the floor like some pathetic bitch.” The man spits. “How does it feel?”

“Go to hell.” You snap at him, eyes set in a glare.

“You should be careful how you speak to me.” The man warns you, walking closer before he bends down in front of you. “You’re the one who’s restrained, and at our mercy.”

“And yet despite that, it’ll be your blood that stains this floor when Bada finds me.” You retaliate.

The man’s face screws up in anger, and in a flash, he grabs onto your necklace, using it to tug you forward painfully. “You bitch–”

Your eyes go wide as you watch your necklace–Bada’s mother’s necklace–stretch in his hold. “No–” you choke out, using what little control you have of your hands to slug them against his face, taking his hands off the necklace. But unfortunately, his strength ends up ripping it off your neck, the broken jewelry falling onto the ground. “No!” You cry, scrambling over to the necklace, trying to grab it with your hands.

The man turns to face you, wearing a look of anger you’d never seen before in your life. He raises his fist, about to punch you when a hand stops him from doing so.

“Now, now, let’s not get too caught up in our anger.” Seong pulls the man away from you and pushes him toward the door. “We’ll have our fun once Bada arrives, believe me. You can do the honors of killing her if you really want to.”

Seong follows the man out of the room, her lackey trailing behind her before she stops to give you one final look, and closes the door to your room, leaving you trembling and in almost complete darkness.

In the raven black of the night, Bada, Tatter, Chehe, Hyo, Kyma, Minah, and Soweon stand at the door to Seong’s hideout, guns held tightly in their hands. Bada turns to look at a building across the street, holding a thumbs up in the air. Atop the building is Lusher, her sniper propped up against the ledge of the roof, her scope focused on Bada’s signal. She traces the red dot coming from her sniper around Bada’s thumb, indicating she’s ready.

“Lusher’s in position.” Bada turns back to face Bebe, nodding at them. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

“Yes, Boss.” They all parrot in response.

Bada turns to face the doorknob, pointing her gun at it before shooting. Tatter steps up first, shouldering the door open with intense force, making it swing open and reveal Seong’s hideout. Some lackeys that had been standing around jump at the sudden intrusion, their hands instinctively reaching for their guns. But all of Bebe’s members are twice as fast and skilled. Tatter shoots down one man with her shotgun while the rest of Bebe pile in, backing her up and mulling down the waves of oncoming men like they’re bugs.

Bada steps in last, shooting a man who was running in as backup, then shooting another who almost managed to get a shot in on Minah. She charges forward without fear, cutting through the mess of flying bullets and punching one of Seong’s men in the gut, then shooting him between the eyes. His blood splatters against the side of her suit as she kicks his body away, continuing her advance until she makes it out of the entrance of the hideout, and into a split hallway.

Bada keeps her pistol trained up and ears keen as she hears Lusher’s sniper bullets break through glass windows and hit some of the men still flocking to the entrance. An emergency alarm begins to blare in the hideout, red lights bathing Bada’s figure as she studies both paths ahead of her.

Suddenly to her right, she hears loud footsteps approaching and whips around to face a man running down the hallway. Thinking quickly, she shoots him in the foot before he has the chance to reach for his gun. He falls to the floor, screaming in pain whilst clutching his wounded foot. Bada walks over to him, kicking his gun away then aiming her pistol at his head.

“Where is she?” She yells over the loud, blaring alarm.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” The lackey wails.

“Yes you do. Tell me or I’ll kill you!” Bada places her pistol on the man’s forehead, making his pathetic wailing increase.

“Okay, okay, just please don’t shoot me!” He begs.

Bada grabs the man by his clothes, hoisting him up and pushing him forward, causing him to stumble and almost fall onto the floor again. “Show me the way, now!”

The man cries as he hobbles forward, leading her in your direction.

“Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven…” your voice mutters amidst the silence, keeping track of the minutes passing by since Seong left. You stare at the steel door separating you from your freedom, hoping with every minute you count, Bada gets closer to finding and rescuing you.

It’s at minute forty-two when bright, red lights flood your room, blinding you and throwing you off your count as loud alarms sound outside. You sit up, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“Bada…” you sigh in relief. She came for you.

Another five minutes pass before you hear movement coming towards your room, making you scramble towards the door. But when it opens, you’re not greeted by the sight of your fiancée. No, instead, Seong rushes inside, her red hair ruffled and her breaths uneven as she closes the door behind her.

“Fucking–” She mutters, her eyes finding you instantly.

“I told you.” You smirk. “You’re all dead.”

Seong stares back at you silently before charging up to you and slapping you across the face. You shriek and recoil back as she breaks into manic laughter, pulling out a gun from her pocket. “Maybe, but if I die, you’re coming with me, sweetheart.” She clicks the safety off, her finger in position to press against the trigger when three loud bangs come from outside your prison, making you scramble back in shock, and Seong turn to face the door.

A long moment of tense silence follows before the door to your prison slowly creeks open, Seong gulping as the hand holding her gun starts to tremble. Right before the door fully swings open, a shot is fired from the person outside, grazing Seong’s cheek and making her cower away.

She runs over to you, picks you up from the floor and holds onto you by your throat, her gun pressed up against your temple. "Don't get any closer, Bada Lee,” Seong yells, digging her fingers into your throat. “or I’ll kill her!”

Bada side-steps away from the door, revealing one of Seong’s men dead behind her, blood leaking from his foot and his forehead. “Let her go, Seong,” Bada demands. “Your problem is with me, not with her.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? When you hurt one person, the people you care about suffer!” Seong laughs maniacally. “You had no mercy for my family, so why should I have any for yours?”

“You did all of this because I refused to sell your drugs?” Bada spits, her voice dripping with venom. “You’re pathetic, just like your father.”

Seong’s face reflects sheer anger in response to Bada’s words. She’s about to pull the trigger of her gun when Bada shoots first. She hits Seong in the knee, causing her to collapse and shoot the ceiling instead of you. You scramble away as Bada lunges forward, tackling Seong and knocking the gun out of her hand before she can try to shoot at you again.

Unfortunately, Seong is strong as well and fights back against Bada for her gun, both trading blows with each other until Seong manages to get Bada’s gun from her grasp. She pistol whips Bada in the face, giving her a cut across the nose as Bada falls to the floor, blood falling from her wound.

“Not so tough now, huh, Lee?” Seong screams as she points Bada’s very own gun at her.

“You should know that even if you kill me,” Bada says through heaving breaths, “you’ll still never make it out of this building alive.”

Seong bares her teeth at Bada, pushing her gun closer to her temple. “You’ll still be dead.”

“Don’t!” You scream, emerging from behind Seong, holding her gun. “Put the gun down or I’ll shoot.”

Seong clicks her tongue, laughing condescendingly as she turns to face you. “You don’t have the guts to kill me.”

“But I do.” Bada jabs her fist into Seong’s stomach, knocking the woman off of her and the air out of her lungs. Bada takes her gun back and places it in her pocket as the woman with red hair heaves against the floor, her eyes the size of saucers.

Bada walks over to your trembling figure, her gaze soft as her hands come up to grab yours that are still holding onto Seong’s gun.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” She whispers tenderly into your ear, bringing you against her chest as she quietly soothes your shaky breaths.

“I thought you were–” You begin, the words falling from your mouth through gasps.

“I know, I know.” She shushes you. “Everything’s all right now. Give me the gun, honey.” You let go of Seong’s gun, allowing Bada to take it into her hands as she faces the red-haired woman who’s writhing on the floor. “You should have known better than to touch the people I care about, Seong.” Bada’s voice is cold, and more charged with rage than you’ve ever heard her carry before. “You’ll always be your father’s waste of a daughter.”

Through Seong’s choking breaths, you hear a sob wrack her voice, tears falling from her eyes and running down the sides of her face.

Before Bada pulls the trigger, her unoccupied hand comes down to shield your eyes. “Don’t look,” She whispers softly, “and cover your ears.” With tears streaming down your face, you plug your ears and shut your eyes, a deafening shot following soon after. A few minutes pass before you feel Bada move you around, hugging you close to her chest as she breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s over.”

It’s like the floodgates open at the sound of Bada’s soothing voice because you start to sob violently into her chest, wishing you could cling onto her, but you can’t your hands still restrained by handcuffs. “Bada.” You cry, burying your face into her warm body heat.

“I know, I’m so sorry.” She whispers. “I came as fast as I could.”

“I thought she was going to shoot you.” You sob. “I was so scared–”

“Shh, it’s all right honey, I promise. I’m okay.” She pats the back of your head before pulling away to gaze into your eyes. They’re wide and filled with tears, but so infinitely beautiful to her. Bada wipes your tears away with her thumb, smiling softly at you. She takes a step back, taking off her suit jacket before placing it onto your shoulders and rubbing up and down your arms. “Let’s go home, okay?”

Bada’s room is warm, the atmosphere a far cry from the prison you’d been held in. You sit on Bada’s fluffy bed, staring into the distance with a faraway expression while waiting for her to return.

Thankfully she does as soon as the thought crosses your mind. She makes her presence known by knocking gently on the wood of her bedroom door. “Can I come in?”

“Yes.” You croak.

Bada enters the room with a mug of piping tea in one hand, and uses her unoccupied one to close the door behind her. She sits next to you on the bed, handing you the mug while muttering a soft warning about how hot it is.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, taking the drink and blowing on it.

Bada places her big hand on your thigh, rubbing it gently as she looks into your downcast eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here.” You admit, staring at the ripples in the tea caused by your breath.

“I’m glad.” Bada’s eyes move from yours to your hands, noticing how red and raw your wrists are. She removes her hand from your thigh, gently touching your wrist so she can turn it over to get a better look at it. “Should I get you some pain medicine?”

“No.” You answer quickly, your eyes shooting up from your tea and meeting hers. “Stay with me, please.”

Bada nods silently, rubbing the skin just above your wrist. “I’m sorry.” She whispers grimly. “You got hurt because of me.”

You stare at Bada with an incredulous look, shaking your head rapidly. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t lied to you and went to that party, Seong would have never been able to get to me–”

“You went to that party because you missed your friends,” Bada argues back lightly. “I deprived you of a social life in my obsession with keeping you safe, and look at where it got us.”

“Bada Lee, this is not your fault.” You say firmly. “You saved my life.”

Bada looks like she wants to argue more, but holds herself back. The silence between you two allows your still-racing mind to catch up, and you suddenly sit up, eyes wide and full of sorrow.

"What is it?" Bada questions, noticing your expression.

"Bada..." you trail off, turning to the side to grab something you'd hidden. Facing her again, her mother's broken necklace is in the palm of you hand. "I'm so sorry. I tried to keep it safe..."

Bada takes the necklace out of your hand and holds it up in front of you both. "I don't care."

"What?" You breathe incredulously. "But Bada, it was your mother's–"

"And it can be fixed." She says softly. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Your look of shock melts into a sappy smile. “Me too.” You agree, placing your mug-free hand on top of Bada’s. She moves her hand around, weaving your fingers together tenderly as her thumb swipes across the skin of your hand.

“Did Seong hurt you anywhere else?” Bada asks, scanning your face for injuries.

You turn your face to your right, showing her your left cheek, which is now slightly bruised. “She slapped me.”

Bada’s eyes take in your injured cheek, a storm of emotions flashing in her irises for nothing more than a split second before she masks it with a caring expression. She brings up your arm so that it’s in front of her, places her lips on your hurt wrist, then she brings it back down and brushes her other hand across your left cheek. She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to each of the growing bruises.

When she’s done she leans back, nothing but pure care in her eyes as she gazes at you.

“Can I ask you something?” You mumble, butterflies dancing in the pit of your stomach.

“You can ask me anything, honey,” Bada whispers, tracing shapes onto your hands.

“You always kiss my injuries.” You point out, careful to keep your voice sweet so she knows you like her display of affection. “Is there a reason why?”

Bada’s eyes leave yours for a brief moment, finding something above your head and gazing there before her eyes move back to you. “My mother, she used to…” she trails off, “she used to do that when I was younger. It always made me feel better.”

You smile softly at Bada, warmth flooding your veins. “That’s beautiful.”

She smiles back at you, muttering a soft thank you. You both allow a comfortable silence to fill the room until an idea pops into your head.

You quickly place your mug of tea on Bada’s beside table, then turn to face her. She gives you a confused expression when you take both of her hands and lift them up. Bada’s long fingers curl against yours, displaying her bloody and bruised knuckles. You lean down, placing a soft kiss next to each of them, unable to see how Bada’s eyes widen at your actions until you pull away.

When you look back at her, she’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You smile at her, then lean up, placing one final kiss on her nose, right below the cut Seong made.

Pulling away for the final time, Bada brings you closer to her, missing your warmth as she touches her forehead to yours and closes her eyes.

“Please never leave me again.”

❝ should my hands be stained with blood, let them be so, solely for you. ❞

#bada lee x reader #bada x reader #bada lee #bada #street woman fighter 2 x reader #swf2 x reader

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ang3l0fde4th4ndd0gs · 3 months

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Moonwater Microfic:

TW: Some violence and semi graphic descriptions

Words: 532

Remus ran down the hallway to find his best friend’s younger brother, Regulus sitting on the floor of the hallway, covered in fresh bruises and cuts. Remus had been watching the map all night, it had become a habit. It was summer break but Dumbledore had been nice enough to let him stay for those few months due to his condition.

“Where’s Sirius?”Remus asked as he crouched down in front of Regulus and used the sleeve of his sweater to wipe the drop of blood running down Regulus’ lip from his chin.

“He went to the Potters’. He begged me to come with but I knew it’d be a shitty idea. So I came here.”

“Castle’s empty and I can’t do-”

“Remus, the shit’ll heal on it’s own.”

“Then why’d you come here instead?”

Instead of responding out loud, Regulus leaned forward and kissed the taller boy. Remus blushed and grabbed Regulus’ torn jacket in his hands for dear life as he kissed back. Regulus sat back against the wall a moment later, clutching his broken ribs sighing in pain.

“Oh…”Remus muttered. “C’mon. You should at least get some rest.”

“Rem-”

“We’ll talk about this later. You’ll bleed out.”

“Alright, alright.”

Remus got up and picked Regulus up bridal-style as gently as he could. Regulus rested his head against the werewolf boy’s chest.

“So you only came back to school because you wanted to see me? Other than the injuries, of course.”Remus asked as he carried Regulus to the Gryffindor dorms.

“I just thought… Well… Things are better when you’re around, okay?”

“How so?”

“For some reason when you’re in my general vicinity I feel less like everything could just fall apart.”

“And the kiss was for?”

“You overthink everything and I guarantee that for those few seconds, you didn’t.”

Remus flushed. “Well, you’re hurt. I really can’t help it.”

Regulus laughed at that. Remus blushed harder as he carried Regulus into the Marauders’ dorm and laid the younger Slytherin on his bed.

“Get some rest, Reg. You’re delirious and you’ve clearly lost a lot of blood.”Remus said as he sat down in the windowsill across from the end of his bed and picked up a book.

“Because my mom’s an ass. I’m fine, I promise.”

“What’d she even get after you for?”

“Pretending to be… ugh… you’ll hate me too, nevermind.”

“Because you ARE trans and gay?”

“You know?”

“I mean, we hang out a lot. So after a while I noticed a lot of things.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s… I was just sure you would.”

Remus shook his head and got up from his seat. Regulus sat up and rested against the pillows. Remus leaned down and kissed Regulus.

“I can’t hate you, I care too much for that. Please get some rest though.”Remus whispered.

“I can’t hate you either, Lupin. Can you lay down? Might help me sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

Remus laid down beside the other boy and rested his head on the pillows. Regulus turned over and rested his head on the brunette’s chest. Remus held the boy gently, being sure not to hurt him.

#moonwater #hp marauders #marauders #dead gay wizards #marauders era #marauders fandom #the marauders #the marauders era #remus lupin #regulus black

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askthe-littlepoet · 2 months

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Hey, this is gonna be really unprofessional, but this is my ask-blog! I've never made/run one before, and I thought it'd be fun. If it wasn't evident, this is still a work in progress. You (probably) know the drill, no NSFW asks, (like ERP.) suggestive is fine, I guess. No discrimination, duh. (thanks anon.)

(TW Tags I use (when I remember to): #tw suggestive, #tw violence, #tw descriptions of violence, #tw descriptions of gore)

(Warning, some asks/roleplays are a bit more suggestive/graphic than others, and I don't always remember to tag. Viewer discretion is advised)

(Roleplay etiquette here!) (by mod coffee!)

[Mod]

"Speaking"

(Actions)

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

Affiliated Blogs

Deities

@ask-theredcrown as The One Who Waits

@ask-thegreencrown as Leshy, He of Havoc

@askthe-yellowcrown as Heket, She of Hunger

@ask-thebluecrown as Kallamar, He of Blight

@ask-thepurplecrown as Shamura, They of Might

@the-sleepydragon as Imora, She of Slumber

Crownbearers

@askacultleader and @ask-the-shepard as The Lamb

@ask-thepurplecrownbearer and @cult-of-the-goat as The Goat

@very-adjective-lizard as The Lizard

@tomb-the-god as Tomb

"Alternative" Lifeforms

@ask-afoxesshadow as The Shadow

@themysticseller as ??? (The Mystic Seller)

Mortals(?)

@follower-of-the-old-faith as Ratau, Former Bearer of the Red Crown a.k.a. dilf supreme

@the-followers-of-them as The Flock (like, most of them)

@disciplesofthelamb as The Disciples

@ask-thefox as The Fox

(uncanon)

@marko-the-yellow-cat as Marko

@charliebughug as Charlie the Catterpillar

@anchordeeps-forgotten as Ransom

@the-spider-of-darkness as Hentric

@trejulty-the-reporter as Trejulty, Local Informant

@ask-tom-and-simon as Tom and Simon, the Reporters. (ran by me)

@pbamoney as Sean

@bloodthirstyanon as BTA

@kali-lamb as Kali

@yarnor-the-timid-raccoon as Yarnor

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[More info below!]

[Mod here! I'm still shocked that I've gotten this far, and I am happy it happened. I'm impressed that I was humored, let alone given a tag!? Glad to be allowed to be 'in the lore' so to speak. Thank all of the other mods for being semi-okay with this, and I appreciate it greatly! Sorry to @ you guys, y'know how it is!]

[ @mod-poet for my mod account ]

#pinned post #ask me anything #pinned intro #ask blog #pinned info #ask the little poet #blog intro #cotl heket #ask the poet #cult of the lamb #cotl kallamar #cotl narinder #cotl shamura #cotl leshy #HIII IM REALLY HAPPY FOR YOU GUYS BEING ACCEPTING TSYM!!!!

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firstdragonlady · 2 months

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Chapter 46

“Your doubt is insulting,” Beetee quipped. “The technology before I came along was shit. The Sponsors were practically salivating when they saw what I could do.”

Haymitch raised an eyebrow. “And Effs implied you were modest.”

Beetee shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Sometimes it’s nice to hear a compliment that isn’t meant to seduce me. Effie’s praise is genuine.”

Haymitch couldn’t help but laugh. “You play modest so you can fish for compliments from the princess?”

Beetee cracked a half-smile. “I consider it my payment for the amount of favors she has me do.”

Happy Fine Line Tuesday! This chapter is a heavy one. I'm going to list all the TWs below. PLEASE be cognizant of them. This chapter was hard to write. It's going to be tough to read.

TW: This chapter details the following.

-Frank/clinical (but not graphic) details of a session in this universe's human trafficking ring -Semi-graphic violence in self-defense during a session -PTSD from SA -Self-unaliving -Aftermath of self-unaliving

Please read responsibly. This chapter is the heaviest in the fic so far. Please be mindful as you read.

#hayffie #haymitch x effie #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #thg #lullabyfineline #the hunger games #ao3

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best-underrated-anime · 3 months

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Best Underrated Anime Group D Round 4: God Troubles Me (Hanhua Riji) vs Happy Sugar Life

#D2: God Troubles Me (Hanhua Riji)

Prophecy girlie, hyper cellphone, and gamer cat get silly

#D3: Happy Sugar Life

Lots of traumatized minors messing each other up bad

Details and poll under the cut!

#D2: God Troubles Me (Hanhua Riji)

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Summary:

Su Moting, the daughter of a god and a monster, is the supposed Chosen One set to fix the balance of the universe, but unfortunately, she’s just barely living as it is. Only just told of her great fate, Su Moting couldn’t care less as she juggles her social life, work, and her new duties (which she doesn’t take seriously). Alongside Moting are Star Tianji and Star Dikui, a god and a monster out to help our protagonist with her grand mission. They, too, are also struggling to figure out life on Earth, as Tianji is an immortal who doubles as the god of Su Moting’s personal cellphone and Dikui is a cat monster immortal more concerned with lazing about. Somehow, they make things work as the best worst roommates of all time.

Propaganda:

Four-season donghua (Chinese anime) that’s so recent and seeped in American pop-culture that I needed to do a double take when a literal cockroach said “Run, Forrest, run,” in English with a heavy Chinese accent. There’s a cat who plays video games (he’s very good at it), a phone who’s the worst kind of hype man, a sentient air conditioner, a guy who can shapeshift into any vehicle, off-brand Super-Man but jerky, a high-ranking god that collects anime figures, and the mega ultra cool protagonist who is a normal human girl fresh out of college and always low on money. It’s great

Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty or Death, Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Flashing Lights, Racism, Self-Harm, Suicide.

All the TW’s above are done for comedic effect, but they come in fast and hard with the humor. Better safe than sorry! The biggest things I remember are one or two “blink and you’ll miss it” racist jokes, characters joking about killing themselves out of embarrassment (no one goes through with it), and there’s a LOT of self-harm via stupid decisions. Stupid things like tying a loose tooth to the back end of a sports car sort of stupid. The protagonists have 3 brain cells collectively.

#D3: Happy Sugar Life

youtube

Summary:

Satou Matsuzaka is a beautiful high schooler who has a reputation for being permissive with men. However, a chance encounter with a young girl named Shio Koube makes Satou realize that this is her first and only true feeling of love.

Telling others that she lives with her aunt, Satou secretly shares an apartment with Shio. Despite her innocent appearance, Satou is willing to do anything to protect her beloved, resorting to desperate measures to ensure that their “happy sugar life” remains intact.

Propaganda:

It is questionable, but in the way that the anime is meant to make you uncomfortable. It’s an uneasy psychological horror. You’re meant to dislike almost the entire cast, so you don’t know who to root for. Yes, the characters are fucked up, but it isn’t glorified as far as I can see.

It made my stomach churn, and I was sobbing at the end because that’s what it was trying to do.

I said it’s not good, meaning it’s not comfortable, and none of the characters are good. But it’s well-written and it’s interesting.

Trigger Warnings:

Child Abuse, Pedophilia (not graphic)

Murder/Violence (one brief scene is semi-violent, but most isn’t shown)

Kidnapping

Rape/Non-Con (not shown, but it’s obvious that it happened/explicitly stated)

Suicide

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form with your revisions, and I’ll consider adapting those changes.

New: Starting round 5, screenshots will be included in the poll post. You can submit screenshots through the form linked above, or through here, via ask or dm.

Guidelines in submitting screenshots:

No NSFW or spoilery images.

Pick some good images please. Don’t send any blurry or pixelated ones.

You may send up to 9 screenshots, but not all may be used.

#anime #donghua #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #group stage #group stage round 4 #tournament polls #god troubles me #hanhua riji #汉化日记 #happy sugar life #group d

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honeyleclerc · 9 months

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hi Katie can i request a 9/11 themed fanfic with daniel Ricciardo pleaseee

I was apprehensive about this but I have ultimately decided to fulfill your request with sincerity and respect as I don't know your intention behind it and it may be a way of you coping through a strategy or experience of your own. This is in no way meant to romanticise the tragedy which occurred in 2001, and I semi-based this off of a real relationship that blossomed during the horrific event to once again try and ensure this was as respectful as possible. I really hope you like it, I was scared to write this.

TW: 9/11, mentions of the rubble and aftermath, alluding to violence and terror attacks (I tried to avoid graphic language or anything insensitive or triggering)

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of your NYC apartment and put your earphones in to play your comfort album as you walk to the world trade center. You had been living in New York as an exchange student for three months now and had finally landed an interview for your dream job, and you’d been preparing for the interview for weeks. Looking down briefly at the notes you had prepared you could only hope you’d done enough to secure the position.

As you got closer to your destination your body began to fill with an overwhelming feeling of dread, watching as people scurried past you in the opposite direction. Taking out your earphones you prepare to ask someone to explain what's going on, but before you have the chance you feel your body being pushed through the door of the cafe next to you, followed by the earth rumbling and your ears filled with loud banging and screams. You look up in shock and confusion at the man who tackled you to the ground; he’s handsome and has a camera round his neck, before you can say anything he asks, “are you alright?” in an Australian accent.

Overwhelmed at the situation you decide to make a joke “aren’t you supposed to be the one who’s ‘down under’?”, the man blushed as he stood up from where he was lying on top of you, reaching his arm out to help you off of the ground as well, “I’m Daniel, I’m glad you're not hurt” he laughs. Before either of you can say anything else, the building began to shake once again with the familiar noises following, Daniel wraps his arms around you, holding your body close to his tight as he brings you both under a table to shield you from the shards of glass flying round the room. When the room around them felt more settled they stood once again, y/n walking to the front of the cafe, looking at the shattered store front and the shrapnel which covered the space she stood in outside in the street just moments again.

Observing the tragedy surrounding you, you couldn’t believe it, “you saved my life” she whispered, not looking at anything in particular. Daniel came to stand by your side, also looking around. “You saved my life” you say gently, facing him. As tears begin to well in your eyes you reach both hands up to his shoulders and clasp them together behind his neck, pulling him tightly into a hug as you sob, “you saved me, thank you, thank you”.

You stood like that for at least five minutes, neither saying a word but both appreciating the human connection and comfort during this time. You only pull apart when approached by emergency service workers who were flooding the building, checking for casualties and evacuating the building, assuring you it was safe to leave now. You thanked the workers and stood together in the street simply trying to process everything happening around them. Things could have been drastically different, you were meant to be in that building, if you had taken five minutes fewer in the shower you could have been lying amongst the rubble where the towers once stood. Your thoughts are cut off by the sound of a camera shutter, you look up to see Daniel taking photographs, noticing you’re in his shot you apologize “Sorry, I can get out of your way”, you take a step to the left and dust your hands off on your trousers.

Daniel shakes his head, “no that’s alright, I wanted to capture the beauty amongst the tragedy” he looks down at his camera “I think I got it” he smiles looking back at you. Slowly walking forward closing the space between you, Daniel places his camera in your hands, showing you the photograph, he’d taken of you, you blush and hand him it back, pointing to the camera that is once again round his neck “you’re very talented” you both smile at one another “and, thanks again for saving my life- twice!” you stutter before turning back to look at the rubble surrounding you both, shaking your head you tell him “I was actually on my way to an interview at the world trade center today, I can’t believe this is actually happening”.

Daniel wraps an arm round your waist as you stand next to one another, “I’m really sorry, I’m glad we’re safe though, that's the main thing”. You look up at him and nod “I guess you’re right”, you pause for a moment, watching as people around you run to their loved ones and cry, “I guess I should go call my mum and let her know I’m safe and wasn’t in the building, will you be okay, do you have somewhere to go?” Daniel assures you he’ll be alright, and you nod at him, thinking before saying “listen, I’m sorry if this is inappropriate, but it’s not every day you meet an angel; can I take you to dinner? As you know, thank you for saving my life?”.

Daniel chuckles lightly and replies “an angel? I like that” He smiles at you and says “Here, I’ll give you my number and we’ll work something out” he holds his hand out as you give him your phone where he puts in his number. He hands back your phone and you say, “Thank you so much for everything today, I’ll call you tonight, please stay safe, okay?”.

You hug once more and Daniel winks at you as you begin to walk away, “I’ll be waiting for that call”, you blush and wave goodbye as you walk home, calling your mum on the way.

#daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo

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thetapirsarehyperfixating · 21 days

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hi! first time making an original post in like years. anyways

this is my canon timeline for dragon age, written out in prep for veilguard's release :> larger versions of the busts, plus assorted rambling, below the cut.

eventually, i am probably going to cave and post some stuff about these bastards on ao3 - if you are interested, this is where to look: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tapir_boy/works

SARRELAN TABRIS: as im writing this post my partner looked over, saw sarrelan, and went "thats my fuckign WIFE". so shes highly reviewed

Sarrelan is the Warden-Commander and Hero of Ferelden, the woman who killed the Archdemon, ended the Fifth Blight, Arlessa of Amaranthine, and winner of Vigil's Keep's Biggest Bitch award twenty-two years and counting. she is full to the brim with autism, which is part of the reason she looks so. mad. all of the time. she doesn't mean to, she just does not Emote well and so comes off as being more aggressive than she actually is. now don't get her wrong, she is also full of rage and kind of jumps to violence as a first resort, but she is capable of listening to people and generally does like people, like she thinks good people deserve things and wants to give them good things. she just never looks like she does.

she's got kind of an immediate bond with Alistair, something to be said about him being basically the first human man who's ever treated her with respect and actually listened to her when she takes control of a situation. ive seen interesting commentary out there about how alistair immediately turns control of the situation over to the HoF and how that can be really disorienting/frustrating/upsetting for some characters, but its kind of the opposite for sarrelan. shes had almost two decades of experience getting into shit with her cousins, shes used to taking charge and she likes having that control, and its a relief that alistair doesn't try to fight her on it.

zevran is a little more rough-going to start as they're both very different people - zevran is used to reading more into people's body language, and sarrelan's body language is very disassociated from her actual emotions, so he does spend a good while thinking he's in like Imminent Danger while sarrelan's in the corner trying to figure out if she actually Likes this guy flirting with her. (she does).

zevran semi-accidentially insinuates himself in alistair and sarrelan's relationship right after it starts, half-jokingly offering to have a threesome to help them both get over their nerves of losing their virginity, and then oops oh no they all caught feelings and no one knows how to deal with it. they only figure their shit out a few days before the battle of denerim and it's as sarrelan is On Top of the archdemon, getting ready to kill it, still unsure if Morrigan's ritual will work and if she'll even survive this, that she's able to tell them she loves them.

zevran's earring is the only piercing she has, and she treasures it greatly. she's a two handed warrior and has a sword bigger than herself. shes also gone 1v1 with an orge alpha and survived. canonically. id say i have video proof but i dont. just trust me bro

(TW FOR SA, NOT GRAPHICALLY DESCRIBED)

CONNOR HAWKE: local man made of 20 different types of trauma in a cool chestplate

connor is actually adopted into the hawke family! long story short, he was born in kirkwall and was taken to the circle there, and only left because his enchanters conspired to smuggle him out after one of the templars assaulted him. he fled to ferelden where he came across the hawke family, who took him and his daughter in and helped him fake a new identity with them. he's not happy to be back in kirkwall, but the city is a part of him whether he likes it or not - it's eating him alive but without it, he doesn't feel like himself. he's a very dedicated and loyal person, usually to his detriment, but he feels like he can't keep running from the threat of the templars anymore, he has to do something to fix this makerdamned city now.

(TW IS OVER)

he's got Something going on with the whole kirkwall crew, it just never really expands into anything for years because he's basically married to the job. but his life has been intertwined with these people's since he met them, and at a certain point all of those feelings mesh together and he's sitting there at wicked grace night and realizes he might be In Love with all of them, and then he has to make a hasty exit before he has a complete and total breakdown over it. during the timespan of DA2, anders is really the only person he has a romantic relationship with, because justice is getting tired of anders holding himself back from maybe the one other man in kirkwall who would support him no matter what, and kisses connor like the day before he has to leave on a longer quest to the sundermount. connor makes them discuss their feelings afterwards and they end up figuring it out, although the rest of the kirkcule are like. still fucking each other and are by no means exclusive at this point. the rest of them just never talk about it, because things go downhill in act 2 FAST. like, within a month he loses his mother, almost gets dragged back to the circle, has to fake his daughter's death, completely destroys his relationship with carver, and almost dies fighting the arishok.

the connor hawke of reality and the Champion of Kirkwall that gets immortalized by varric are two very different people - basically by the time that connor gets the name of Champion, he's already been working on maintaining a public persona that he just calls Hawke, and after everything with his daughter being sent away, he never lets that mask down again. he really considers Hawke to be a completely different person to Connor, and varric tries to help cement that difference in the Tale of the Champion. Hawke's story is that he was always Ferelden, his daughter was adopted and really did die, and he had no idea anders was getting so radical until the moment the chantry exploded - connor's story is that from the moment he sent Lila away, he was planning to find some way to take down Meredith.

he and anders spend a lot of time inbetween acts 2-3 trying to figure out more peaceful ways to address the chantry and bring some - any - oversight to the circles, but when all of that fails, they finally resort to plan dynamite. when all is said and done, they go to amaranthine to be reunited with lila, and then go on the run trying to help the mages break out of the circles and evade the templars. when he hears that varric was kidnapped by cassandra and that she's looking for him to speak at the conclave, he sees it as an opportunity to make a case for the rebel mages, and goes despite all the warnings not to. he survives in the fade up until the questline where the Herald goes into the fade, finds him alive, and drags him back home to see his daughter again. then he stays in skyhold to basically act as an advisor to her, and when the rest of the kirkcule get their hands on him, it kind of spurs him on to finally address his relationship to the rest of them.

connor is a force mage by default, but given how long he spent in Ferelden living on the run from the templars, he mastered both casting without a staff and fighting without magic. he's both tall and strong, but he manages to avoid scaring people off through sheer Dad energy.

LILA HAWKE: hey look theres that daughter we've been talking about

Lila is very much her father's daughter, but she doesn't have his same talent for acting calm or friendly, if she doesn't like you she Will tell you to your face and she will not work with you. (cullen.) after hawke's "death" at the conclave, she kind of becomes the defacto leader of the rebel mages, which is definitely a normal amount of responsibility for a twenty-one year old struggling with ongoing mental health issues and overwhelming grief to handle. shes doing great

(slight detour: to address some of the weirdness with DAI's timelines im having there be basically 3 factions of mages in the rebellion: the Circle mages, who want to remain under the circles with the exact same setup as before; the College mages, who like the idea of having their own spaces and want some oversight, but also some oversight of the oversight to address the rampant abuses of powers; and the Hawkes, the rebel mages who want no circles and no templars and the ability to live their lives in the same communities as non-mages. the Circle mages mostly look to Vivienne for leadership, the College mages are rallied behind Fiona, and the Hawkes were roaming the continent with Connor, now working loosely with the Inquisition with Lila.)

she's got some health issues - she's shorter than varric by a few inches despite being a human, she has moderate asthma, and semi-regular psychotic episodes, mostly auditory/visual hallucinations and paranoid episodes. bubba, the family mabari, acts as a service dog for her when he isn't doing the same for connor, and i imagine at some point between inquisition and veilguard, she has her own mabari who works full-time as her service dog.

she is one of the co-inquisitors for DAI, but she is not the herald of Andraste; she wasn't actually at the conclave when it exploded, she was down in haven with varric and anders, but she kind of gets roped into everything because cassandra says "youre a hawke, you're going to get involved anyways" and lila... can't really argue with that, she's just mad that cassandra was right. arisas is the diplomatic one, she's the more experienced one, and they honestly balance each other out really well. it frustrates her to no end that arisas is almost literally twice her height.

lila kind of regards her time in amaranthine as the best of a really, really shitty situation - she hates that she lost so much time with her father, that her teenage years were so tumultuous and that she had so many milestones of her life and she couldn't talk to her father about them, she never got to introduce her first girlfriend to him, she had to come out to him over letters, and while she has a lot of respect for the wardens in amaranthine and appreciates them for taking her in with no questions asked, she hates that she lives in a world where that had to happen in the first place. sarrelan is the person who made her realize she might be kind of butch, and zevran taught her how to actually fight instead of just using her magic for experimentation. connor never kept a grimoire after fleeing kirkwall (too obvious and too much evidence, especially if it got lost or stolen), but she does, and it's filled to the brim with notes and homebrewed spells.

ARISAS ADAAR: please help him he is too young for this

arisas is by far the youngest person to get involved in a major political conflict in my canon - he turns 16 during the events of DAI - and he is trying so hard to keep people from learning that information. he grew up in tevinter, taken there from par vollen as a very young child, and doesn't have the greatest grasp of southern mage/templar politics and is very confused by everything happening at the start of the game. he joined with a mercenary company as his first job, and was only with them for a few weeks before they got hired for the conclave, and he was Not getting paid enough to get a crash course in the differences between southern mages and tevinter mages.

ari is a lot more hesitant / cautious than lila is, partially because he has an anxiety disorder, and partially because he just knows a lot less about the south than she does. if it were up to him, he would not be in charge of this mess, but he's the one with the Anchor so he kind of has to be. he takes to the diplomacy pretty well, and he at least always finishes the paperwork that josephine sets in front of him (unlike liia, who will get distracted and go do something else halfway through). it does mean that he is constantly sleep deprived

inquisition is probably his first big exposure to a lot of queer people in very close proximity to him - between lila, leliana, dorian, and bull, it's the first time that he's really considered that people could be queer, much less trans, and it starts to make him question some things that he really doesn't have time to question. and, as the game continues, it doesnt really seem like questioning it will do him any good, as the inquisition continues to erase him and fill in the blanks with the Herald of Andraste, so he basically goes "even if i am queer, looking into it now will do me no good, because no one here is going to listen or respect that" and continues on like normal. (post canon he does figure some shit out, although he still uses he/him pronouns).

ari looks up to bull a lot, at first because he's a qunari who actually follows the qun, and ari is very curious and kind of wants bull to take him under his wing and become a father figure to him; but when bull becomes tal-vashoth and leaves the qun, ari tries to reassure him that he's the same man regardless of the identity he ties himself to, and that there's no shame in acting outside of the qun if it means protecting the people he cares about. bull in turn tries to help ari come out of his shell and maintain his sense of self in the midst of everything that comes with being the herald.

he struggles a LOT with having his identity erased by the inquisition, being both revered and reviled and rewritten with every step he takes. it makes him feel just thorougly inhuman and alone, and causes a mental breakdown after trespasser. he tries to stay in politics for a few years post canon, tries to help dorian with reforming tevinter with all this newfound influence he has, but being in the spotlight so much is detrimental to his heath, and he ends up having an early retirement in his mid-20s. he moves to kirkwall and raises nugs. this is the greatest his life has ever been.

#is this cringe? maybe. idc. im trying to embrace the cringe this year #also not 20 minutes after finishing the templates i dropped my tablet pen and it broke.#tw for mentions of SA under the readmore while talking about my hawke's backstory #the ogre thing: it was at the end of the assault of amaranthine where that giant fuckass ogre comes out #everyone went down trying to fight it and it was at like half health #and i had a giant stock of healing potions so i went 'fuck it'#and sarrelan 1v1'd it and won #also realizing i never put this in the main post #sarrelan is recently 19 at the start of DAO #connor is 24 at the start of DA2 #lila is 21 at the start of DAI #dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #dao #da2 #dai #da #my ocs #my art #christ how long has it been since i used that tag.#warden tabris #m!hawke #garrett hawke #hawkeling #inquisitor adaar #oh no how long is this post going to be #if you read it and the tags: hi thank you i hope you enjoyed my thoughts i am going back to my silence now rnsdljkgsd #edit: i forgot to say yes lila and ari have matching uniforms

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cc-horan28 · 9 months

Text

Dress Me Up

Gangster!Louis x Baker!Harry

(T) (1.5k)

Louis was just doing his best to protect the neighborhood. Getting injured wasn’t the plan. Harry gets worried and just wants his husband to feel better. Fluff ensues.

The one where Louis Tomlinson comes home injured and Harry just wants to take care of him.

A/N: Okay so this idea has been bouncing around in my head for over a week at this point and so here we are. Also I'm making a promise, every 28th I'll release atleast one Larry fic. Promise. Imma keep this one. (also i wrote this in like two hours in a caffeine fever so yeah)

Tags: Pre-established relationship, Hurt/Comfort, TW Semi-Graphic descriptions of Violence, TW swearing

Louis winced as he got out of the car, hunching his shoulders against the bite of the cold air. He glanced along the street, most of the houses still had their christmas decorations up and the stain spreading along the sleeve of his jacket looked odd in the flickering lights. He kicked some of the frost accumulated on the driveway as he walked to the door, their own house decked out with lights.

If he had it his way, they would be living in an isolated cottage in the middle of the woods somewhere, but that wouldn’t work. Not for Harry’s business, neither for his. Some of the boys insisted the lights were a literal neon sign, ‘I’m here come get me’, but Louis didn't have the heart to tell his husband they couldn’t put the decorations up, nor did he have any plans to. Besides, this helped them blend in.

Just your textbook nice-gay-couple-next-door, he thought with a wry chuckle. None of their neighbors had any idea what Louis’ profession was, and with Harry insisting they attend all the kitschy house parties, them turning up with baskets full of baked goods, none of them ever suspected a thing either.

A particularly painful twinge in his arm jerked Louis out of his thoughts. He realized he had been standing there, staring at the lights and quickly hurried in. He tried to reach for his keys, but his muscles screamed in protest as the movement and he settled for ringing the bell. He gritted his teeth, trying not to let any sounds escape his lips, previous movements making his arm throb.

He finally heard footsteps softly padding across the floor, a shadowy figure visible through the frosted panels on the door. “Harry, it’s me,” he said before the other man could ask, doing his best to not let pain seep into his voice, not wanting to worry him. The door flew open and Harry launched himself at Louis, arms wrapping painfully around his torso. “Where were you all day?! You didn’t even see my messages,” Harry mumbled, pulling Louis closer.

Louis yelped loudly and jumped back, moving out of the hug. Harry just started to say something when Louis interrupted, “I’m sorry, Haz, but can we please take this inside?” He saw his partner’s eyes roving across him, brow creasing when he registered the dark spot on his jacket. Almost used to situations like these, Harry nodded, stepping back to make way for Louis, quickly shutting the door behind them.

Louis noticed the ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron Harry was donning and smirked, poised to make a comment when Harry gently reached out, fingers ghosting over his jacket, light enough for it to not hurt. “Lou…” he whispered softly, not needing to voice the words out loud.

“It was nothing,” Louis began almost sheepishly, “Just a little altercation. Some Oilers were in the neighborhood. I’d gotten some reports they were planning on starting up a protection racket. They pulled weapons first. I couldn’t not reciprocate, we’d have looked weak. It was just a few blocks away from your bakery! Besides, Oli had already run in, I just went to back-”

“Give me that shit later.” Harry burst out, sniffing once before grasping Louis by the waist, “Let’s get you fixed up first,” he said, leading them into the kitchen. Louis was hit by the smell of something sweet. Caramel, maybe? He saw that the oven was going and he remembered what date it was. Shit, he’d forgotten. He’d gotten so wrapped up-

Louis heard Harry rustling around in the cupboards and turned around, watching as he pulled out a white box. “Sit” he said with a raised eyebrow and Louis followed silently, teeth digging into his lower lip. “What actually happened?” Harry asked, crouching in front of the chair, his voice softer now, “To you, I mean. Give me all those gang explanations later. I couldn’t care less about that right now.”

Louis knew that his husband was only putting up a strong front, trying to hide the concern and worry he felt. He saw the tears glossing over Harry’s eyes and felt his heart twist guiltily. “I’m alright, Haz,” he said, reaching his arm out to squeeze Harry’s shoulder, and swore loudly, pain ripping through him, feeling like his entire right side was on fire. He gulped loudly, clenching his jaw. “Well, maybe not perfectly alright,” he joked weakly, looking away when Harry stared sternly at him, looking unimpressed.

“It’s just a graze,” he attempted to downplay the injury, not wanting Harry to worry further but he just continued staring, jaw set. “They had guns, alright?” he finally admitted with a sigh, “One of the boys didn’t notice, and he’d definitely have been hurt a lot worse. I stood up to pull him down and a shot just… grazed me.” Louis caught Harry’s gaze, trying to convince him, “It really is just a graze. Surface wound, didn’t actually go in.”

Harry glanced up at Louis, eyebrows knitted together with distress. “If it’s too bad, I’m not going to stitch you up. We’re going to the hospital, okay?” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement but Louis protested nonetheless. “Harry, you know I can’t.”

“I do. But all that’s fucking secondary. We’ll work through that later.”

That effectively shut Louis up. Harry lightly cupped his jaw, brushing their lips together. “Can you take your jacket off?” he asked in a soft voice. Louis shook his head, not even bothering to try. Harry nodded grimly as he opened the box. He did his best to not cause Louis any further pain as he snipped at the denim material, whispering apologies when the latter gasped or hissed. When the sleeve of the jacket was finally off, Louis glanced at the wound, slightly surprised at the amount of blood.

“Didn’t bind it,” he muttered to himself. Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly at him and he shrugged, “Forgot to put a tourniquet on. And I drove back,” he cringed back slightly, awaiting another outburst from Harry but he just sighed and shook his head, reaching up for the box, which Louis dutifully passed along, feeling guilty that he had put him in this position again.

Each time he came home hurt, Louis had to grapple with these feelings- the guilt, the anger, the disappointment- but he pushed it all away at the moment, the fresh sting of the peroxide against his skin causing him to throw his head back, knuckle of his other hand caught between his teeth as he tried not to shout.

“I’m so sorry, babe…” Louis whispered, eyes cast down. Harry lightly swatted his thigh, “Don’t apologize, Lou. I’m- It’s,” he sighed deeply, brushing Louis’ fringe away from his clammy forehead. Louis hadn’t even realized he’d been sweating that much. “Just be thankful it’s small. Would’ve had your arse on a plate had you been hurt too bad,” Harry was trying to put on his tough guy act again and Louis couldn’t help but chuckle. “Don’t you anyways,” he mumbled under his breath, grinning innocently when Harry glared at him.

Louis sat patiently, doing his best to not make a fuss as Harry maneuvered his arm a little, dressing the wound up. His eyes were focused on Harry, the latter completely unaware of it. He felt such a surge of love for him, grateful for having a partner who supported him so completely, despite his… non-conventional life choices. He felt his eyes stinging and quickly blinked, sniffling a little. “Y’alright, darling?” Harry asked, concern evident in his voice as he finally got up, stretching a little before sitting down on the chair across from him.

“Yeah, ‘m just- thinking about how much I love you. And, well- something’s burning.” Louis whipped around, watching as Harry rushed over to the oven, which was currently spewing a thin stream of smoke from one corner. He couldn’t help but chuckle as Harry brought the charred remains of what seemed to be a pie to the table, coughing a little. “No dessert for date night today, then” he said with a shrug, bursting into peals of laughter at Louis’ indignant expression.

Louis was snuggled up with Harry, letting his husband envelope him, being the big spoon for once, opening his mouth as Harry brought up handfuls of popcorn from the tub. “Perks of having an arm that doesn’t quite move. We should do this more often” he quipped, smirking as Harry bit his cheek, trying not to laugh. “Don’t- ‘M supposed to be a baker. Dress up cake boxes and stuff, not you.” Harry grumbled, pouting at him.

Louis giggled, feeling uncharacteristic to himself but not caring. “You can dress me up all you want,” he smiled, turning to kiss him. Harry groaned, rolling his eyes “Thought I was the one s’posed to make the bad jokes,” he said, leaning forward to press his lips against Louis’, grin plastered on both their faces.

#louis tomlinson #harry styles #larry stylinson #one direction #larry fic #larry stylinson fic #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson fanfiction #Gangster!Louis #Baker!Harry

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mysticmagics · 3 months

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It's finally here

hgrsughasrasudf it took so fucking long for me to post but it's doneeee i made a fucking cotl fanfic let's go

TW: Semi-graphic depictions of violence, blood, death

i am always open for feedback on my works :D

#cult of the lamb #fanfic #cotl #cotl au #cotl fanfic #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #they're so gay already #lamb looks at narinder and is like #“damn okay i like the view”#it's so silly #implied narilamb #nowhere near soon #but it's implied

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xoxo-ren-xoxo · 1 year

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My Watcher/Listener Lore

TW/CW for below the cut: semi-graphic descriptions of permanent character death, violence, gore; depression/self-hatred; mistaken identity/stolen identity; memory loss; philosophical debates on death; rebirth/religious implications; dehumanisation; misgendering (referring to a ‘he’ as an ‘it’ in a derogatory sense)

These are my interpretations of Watcher/Listener lore which I used to write my fic You Say You Feel Hollow (and you know it's 'cause you are) ! So spoilers ahead for that fic!! These ideas aren’t what I interpret as ‘canon’ (because that would make me sad tbh) but are more like a collection of ideas that make up an AU. Please proceed with caution as it is not pleasant!

Watcher-vessel Grian & Listener-vessel BigB

This lore is partially inspired by @definitelynotshouting ‘s Hunger AU! It is very cool you should check it out <3 !!! It was the fic that got me into the fandom so it’ll always be in my heart.

WATCHERS:

What are Watchers? In my lore, Watchers are god-like beings which feed on the emotions of players in the servers they Watch over. They are more satisfied by negative emotions than positive ones, so they will cause chaos and pain to the players in order to feed. They also just enjoy ‘entertainment’ (read: despair) from these players. They rarely communicate with players, but when they do, it is often through rhymes and puzzles.

What is a Watcher-vessel? This is a player chosen by the Watchers to become their puppet or chaos-causer. It is basically something that is halfway between a player and a Watcher, holding some of their powers but not all.

How is a Watcher-vessel chosen? The perfect player to become a Watcher-vessel is one that is already entertaining and a bit of a chaotic soul, as well as someone who is loved by many people. This way, their capture and Transfer will cause the most emotional pain to the maximum amount of people.

How is a Watcher-vessel made? This is a process known as Transfer. Once chosen, the player is taken away to a remote part of the void to face the Watchers. The player’s code is unraveled from their body slowly (painfully) until they become an empty shell of a body. Then, the body is harvested for vital organs such as the heart and brain. These parts are stuffed into a new body, a Watcher-vessel which looks almost exactly like the player, and the player dies. The Watcher-vessel gains all the memories and personality of the player, but is aware it is a copy. Transfer is a long and painful process for the player as they die, but the vessel suffers as well, sent into a coma-like state for several days as it tries to contain the vast sum of memory and life the player once held.

What does a Watcher-vessel look like? Exactly like the original player, but with purple coloured eyes. If the player had wings or other hybrid traits, these become purple as well. Other vessels can tell when the Watcher-vessel is Watching, as opposed to watching, but to a normal player this difference is unknown. The Watcher-vessel tends to hide what it is for as long as it can, a small part of it still able to grieve for ‘itself’ (the original player) and knowing it is safer to hide what it is. But when it is revealed, the Watcher-vessel may have trouble understanding other players’ grief.

LISTENERS:

What are Listeners? Listeners are a fragment group of Watchers who disagree with the Watchers’ methods and find their forms of ‘entertainment’ cruel. They appear much the same as Watchers, also speaking directly into players’ minds and in rhyming sentences.

What is a Listener-vessel? A Listener-vessel is the equivalent of a Watcher-vessel, but with the express purpose of spying on Watcher-vessels in order to give information to the Listeners. They are meant to be enemies with the Watcher-vessels and are meant to kill Watcher-vessels if given the chance.

How is a Listener-vessel chosen? The perfect Listener-vessel is a player who is rather inconspicuous but with a slightly violent air- someone who can be convinced to attack. The whole purpose of a Listener-vessel is to spy, so most are chosen for not being too loud or chaotic. However, some players are chosen specifically because they appeal to Watchers, designed more to act as bait for hungry Watcher-vessels rather than spies.

How is a Listener-vessel made? This is a process called Hollowing. The player is taken away to a voidspace, and their mind is scoured for important memories- which are Saved. The player is then Hollowed, their flesh, organs, blood, etc removed from their body so they are only skin and bone (known as a Shell). The Shell is then altered to be able to Hear and Listen properly, then put back together as it was made. The Listeners have a basic understanding of player biology, so some elements may be a little skewed. The player’s mind is blank, and also must be put back together using the Saved memories, hopefully not removing anything important (but removing any past loyalties to Watchers). Whether the Listener-vessel is the same entity as the original player is up for debate, but the Listener-vessel is conditioned to think so.

What does a Listener-vessel look like? Exactly like the player, though perhaps with a couple of Wrong parts and a strange Hollowness. To the average player, the Listener-vessel does not hold anyone’s attention, their vision sliding off of them. They are designed to not be noticed, and even direct questions from players about the vessel’s identity can be redirected. Watcher-vessels are especially unable to See the Listener-vessel, registering them as a normal player. However, once the Listener-vessel’s identity is revealed, it becomes very obvious they aren’t a player.

CODE:

How does code work? The ‘code’ is the fabric of the universe, made up of several different code languages which can be learnt by players, and are inherently understood by Watchers & Listeners. The code manifests most often on ‘admin screens’, literal screens that server admins can open. These screens contain a 2D representation of the code, stored in various neat files, from player code to world settings. The player code manifests in 6 or 7 layers, with each layer becoming a progressively more complicated code language. The first few layers are all an admin should ever really need to access, unless something is very deeply wrong with a player.

How do Watcher-vessels See code? As a part of their Watching ability, Watcher-vessels can access a 3D version of the code, known as the ‘codespace’ or ‘codeworld’. This manifests as a sort of overlay on top of the physical world, making the vessel much more involved in the code than an admin. The vessel can edit this code without knowing code language, and sees it in more colours and emotive functions than an admin player would. The codeworld is also how vessels feed, as they must in part eat emotions like Watchers do.

Emotion code? Each player’s ‘level 1′ or ‘surface’ code is changeable, called ‘emotion code’. It can be taken and eaten by Watchers, which can feel invasive or strange to the player. The player may forget their emotion or feel numb for a while after being fed upon, but usually a Watcher or Watcher-vessel will not take enough for this to happen. Technically, Watchers could eat the player’s other code elements, but this would probably kill the player.

PLAYERS:

(NOTE: this is more focussed on Grian than BigB, because I’m currently working on a BigB fic and don’t want to spoil it all! This is your last chance to go read my Grian fic linked at the top of the post to avoid spoilers!!)

Grian: As per my fic, Grian is a Watcher-vessel. He (or the original player) was taken from EvoSMP and Transferred before being placed into Hermitcraft. He knows he is a copy, but this does not bother him until other people have negative reactions about it. He does not know how to be anything other than Grian, and literally cannot be anything else as he was ‘born’ with only player-Grian’s memories. A few times, he struggles to understand his friends’ grief, but eventually he does understand and tries to rebuild friendships with the Evo folks. He also holds a funeral for player-Grian, which is a sort of catalyst for rebuilding his lost friendships. He is unsure about BigB, but knows since double life there is something off about him.

BigB: He is a Listener-vessel, Hollowed around the same time that Grian was Transferred. He is meant to spy on Grian (thus his inclusion in the life games becomes his greatest strength) and potentially kill him. However, he does not want to kill Grian and ends up ghosting the Listeners in favour of being with his friend again. He is not particularly bothered by Grian’s Transfer, though it is sad, he gets over it quite quickly as he has a deeper understanding of what it is like to be remade. Though he believes himself to still be ‘original BigB’. He hides what he is from everyone, worried about what might happen if Grian finds out.

Pearl: She knows something is wrong with Grian when they reunite on Hermitcraft season 8, but she doesn’t fully figure it out until after double life. She is disgusted and angry, believing Watcher-Grian killed player-Grian and is actively lying / manipulating everyone rather than just existing. Instead of his name, she calls Grian ‘Not-Grian’ and ‘the stranger’. She keeps this perspective for a long time, and is the one who tells Jimmy what Grian has become. There is currently no indication that she is getting over it. During session 3 of limited life, BigB tells Pearl what he is, but this does not bother her so much, as BigB explains he was not killed like Grian.

Jimmy: He was told by Pearl what Grian is between session 3 and 4 of limited life. His initial reaction is one of anger and bitterness, referring to Grian as ‘the Watcher’ and ‘it’ in a derogatory sense. He does not care about the philosophical debate around what Watcher-Grian is, rather just asking if the body is still around and if player-Grian could ever come back. Like Pearl, he sees everything Watcher-Grian does as an ‘act’. However, he seems to have a slight change of heart after the funeral, telling Watcher-Grian that they can try to be friends again. Also, the Watchers and Listeners find Jimmy entertaining, and do not plan to Hollow or Transfer him. They just think it is funny when he dies.

Martyn: He figures out what Grian is through guessing, mostly. The Listeners are very interested in him, as he could be very good Watcher-bait, but he is not taken by them after limited life. Once he figured out what Grian is, he felt some kind of solidarity with him, as they both dislike the Watchers and Grian seems happy to try to protect his friends. He is suspicious of BigB, but cannot see that he is a Listener-vessel, yet.

Scott: Likely the player who knows the least, out of everyone here. All he really understands is that Grian saved him from being taken by Watchers after last life. And Grian is strange. He’s mostly just grateful that he’s alive, but at the funeral he definitely expresses support for Watcher-Grian.

Scar: Because of his Vex magic, Scar knew Grian was unusual when they first met, and it didn’t take him long to ask questions. Grian confided in him quite quickly, and it didn’t bother Scar, having not known player-Grian and therefore not having anyone to miss. He learnt more about Watcher-vessels during double-life, where he could feel the emptiness of being a Watcher-vessel. He’s very supportive and understands the concept of being not-quite-a-player.

Mumbo: Despite Mumbo knowing Grian before the Transfer, it doesn’t bother him very much. He took time to grieve when he found out what happened (shortly after Scar) but he treats Watcher-Grian the same as he would player-Grian. If he were actually faced with player-Grian’s death, he would likely break down, which is why he avoids the funeral.

Xisuma: Being a Voidwalker, he actually worshipped Watchers for a lot of his childhood, making the reveal of Grian’s identity a bit strange for him. When he first finds out, he is looking through Grian’s code, and Grian is there with him, so it is a little awkward. But other than calling Grian ‘Watcher’ (mostly out of misplaced respect) and being a little overwhelmed, he manages to deal with the news. Grian’s code baffles him, the 7th layer being something that constantly moves and changes (impossible to read) aside from two lines of dead player code which hold up Grian’s entire existence. Somebody give this man a cup of tea.

Aaaand that’s it! As I say, there are a few bits and pieces I haven’t included because I’m working on a companion fic to my original piece, this time focussing on BigB and how his relationship with Grian develops over time. I hope you guys find this loredump interesting! Feel free to riff on it or ask me questions about it :D

#life series #traffic series #evolutions smp #trafficblr #third life #last life #double life #limited life #hermitcraft #hermitblr #fanon #headcanon #watcher grian #listener bigb #grian #bigbst4tz2 #death

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depravitycentral · 1 year

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Yandere! Gyutaro General Profile

Yandere! Gyutaro x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, mentions of non-con, mentions of masturbation, nonconsensual touching, semi graphic descriptions of violence, murder, mentions of catcalling and objectification (not by our lovely disturbed Gyutaro), poor nutrition, descriptions of Gyutaro consuming human flesh, lack of vitamin D in the underground lair, Gyutaro is cripplingly insecure and it shows, threats of violence against you, yelling, deragatory language, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of reader being non-traditionally pretty, fem reader, MDNI

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Motherly

The feelings he holds for his darling are, of course, not platonic, but there’s a part of him that craves to be cared for.

Daki cares for him, true, but he needs more – a sort of love that will leave his cold, empty heart racing, a love that will make his pessimistic views of himself and the world just a bit softer, someone to hold and warm his bed and tell him that he’s enough.

It’s sad, really; he’s so painfully insecure, so full of self-hatred and loathing that the moment his darling shows even an ounce of kindness or care for him, he’s done for.

He’s latching onto them, desperate for any ounce of love or attention they can give him, greedily taking and taking and taking, needing to feel cared for and wanted in a way he’s only ever dreamed of.

His darling is addicting, the feelings they give him becoming something he needs in order to simply just function, and a darling who can help foster these feelings and continually care for him would be very, very attractive to him.

He needs a darling who pities him, really, though he doesn’t want this to be obvious – they need to feel for him, to want to help him and stop all these horrible self deprecating comments, to help give him even just the slightest bit of confidence.

And just these efforts alone will have him gulping, his claws sinking into their sides in an effort to keep them by his side, safe and secure and trapped, so that they can never leave him.

Patient

He’s emotionally stunted.

Having been turned to a demon from a difficult, horrible human life, he’s never had any experience with romance or how to properly woo someone. He’s rough around the edges and short tempered, easy to set off in a fit of anger with very little reason.

He’s genuinely quite difficult to be around, and the constant negativity he spews about his life, humanity, and himself can be hard to tolerate.

As a result, he has to have a darling who is patient; they need to be able to handle all of the foul words and complaining he sends at them, just nodding along and comforting him, letting him clutch onto them and curl around their body, nearly suffocating them as he pours his heart out, relishing in the feeling of someone being there for him.

They need to be able to sooth him when his emotions get out of hand, running their fingers through his spindly hair and slowly rubbing his back, whispering his name and telling them that it’s okay, I’m here now, let’s try to get some sleep.

He needs a steady figure in his life, someone he can fall back on, someone to depend on and keep by his side as his rock.

He's too reclusive and standoffish to have had anyone prior to his darling, and the moment that his obsession forms, he’s latching onto them and never, ever letting go, akin to a parasite.

They become his sounding board, and while he does come as close to love as his twisted heart can get, at the end of the day they’re a possession of his, and they must be able to handle him.

Things will ugly very quickly if they can’t; a fate both he and his darling want to avoid.

Submissive

Gyutaro likes the idea of a darling who will revere him. He doesn’t want someone who is feisty or stubborn; he likes the idea of a darling who is submissive and nurturing, kind and patient and utterly willing to do everything he wants.

He has such trouble being vulnerable, and a darling who challenges him in any way will immediately force him to backtrack any sort of progress he makes in this field, his shell closing in on himself and cutting him off from any further emotional contact with his darling.

He’s sensitive, and he needs someone who will simply nod and allow him to hold them, even if his hands are deathly cold and he’s so awkward about physical affection that it hurts.

He needs someone who will smile when he asks them to, the apples of their cheeks plumping up and their pretty teeth on display, the smile – even forced – making his heart ache in a way he simultaneously adores and makes him nauseas.

He needs someone who will let him rant and rave into their ear, his grip on them slowly tightening as he details all of the horrible injustices in the world, complaining about humans and how vile they are.

(He’ll always begrudgingly bury his face against his darling’s back or stomach when he does this, his voice small and weak as he says but not you, you’re different, you’re the only good one of those miserable, filthy beings…)

He just needs someone who will support him, even if that obedience comes from a place of fear and self preservation.

It doesn’t matter, because all that matters to Gyutaro is that they’re with him, warm and alive and pliant in his arms, listening to him and touching him and running their fingers through his hair.

He just needs someone to love, and is that really so much for a creature like him to ask for?

Not traditionally pretty

While this isn’t a requirement, Gyutaro finds that a darling who isn’t the classical beauty everyone idolized when he was a human is preferable.

He certainly doesn’t find his darling ugly - absolutely not, but the idea of having a darling who has an insecurity regarding their looks is very, very attractive to him.

He doesn’t want his darling to be perfect in others’ eyes – no, they can only be perfect in his eyes, because he’s the only one who seems them for who they truly are.

He’s the only one who understands that they’re more than just their beauty, that they’re sweet and smart and gorgeous and intriguing and so, so very warm.

It makes him feel like he and his darling are connected if they don’t fall under the mainstream category of beauty, like they share something secret and primal, like they understand the suffering and horrors he’s experienced.

It convinces him further that he and his darling are bonded, that it’s some sort of twisted fate that they end up together – the monster and his love, the freak and the only one who could ever love him. It’s oddly poetic in his eyes, and so while this isn’t an absolute necessity, it definitely encourages his attraction towards his darling.

They just grow more beautiful to him day by day, their imperfections becoming the things he loves most about them, and while it sounds almost sweet and innocent, it really, really isn’t.

He’s hyper fixating, and while he doesn’t mean to be rude or prey on his darling’s insecurities, he’ll often comment on these perceived imperfections, telling them that they’re different, unique, weird, but in what he hopes is a comforting, awe-filled tone.

(It’s not, and it will take his darling quite some time to figure out that he’s being honest – he really, truly loves these features. It’s not a lie, even if he sounds like he’s belittling you – truly.)

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Stalker

Gyutaro is, tragically, not the most confidant creature on Earth. He’s internalized every bit of negative treatment he’s experienced, fully believing himself to be repulsive, disgusting, a freak.

And this doesn’t exactly instill confidence in his ability to interact with you – he’s convinced he’ll somehow royally fuck up if he approaches you, whether that be by scaring you, accidentally hurting you, or making you hate him.

He’s sure you’ll find him ugly and strange, that you’ll stare at him in horror and try to run away from him, only to leave him with a broken heart and anger simmering through his veins because how dare you reject him?

He’s convinced things will go awry if he tries to interact with you in any normal, healthy manner and so he falls back on a less consensual, less perilous position – that is, there are many, many benefits to stalking you.

He can observe you much better this way, watching you at your most vulnerable, when you think you’re alone, when you’re comfortable and at ease and utterly unaware of the violent monster sitting on your windowsill as you sleep, or the shadow in the corner of your bedroom as you dress to get ready for the day.

(You’ll sometimes hear this ragged sort of gasp, so quiet you’ll think you’ve made it up, but it’s real, his cheeks on fire and his hands shaking because god, even just the sight of your bare shoulder is enough to bring him to his knees.)

He’s watching through Daki as he resides inside of her, taking in the way your lips move when you speak, your tongue darting out to lick at the dry skin, your employer feeling the way her brother’s emotions spike upwards the longer you talk.

He watches the way your fingers skillfully move as you fold and sort the laundry piles of Daki’s clothing, your eyes glimmering in the light of the ornate House room, your lashes looking perfectly curled, the urge to count each individual hair making him urge Daki to slowly creep closer, dangerously close to bridging the too-big gap between your bodies.

He takes in the sound of your voice; sweet, like honey, something that makes him close his eyes and bite his lip, his brows drawing inward, the idea of you saying his name making him have to grasp onto the nearest object to keep his composure.

He’s hanging on to every word you say – your replies to Daki’s commands, your words of appreciation when she treats you like a slave, how relentlessly kind to her you are. It’s odd, and frankly he doesn’t understand it – why would you be so sweet to someone treating you so poorly?

It almost makes him mad, as he lays dormant, wishing he could escape his sister’s body and carry you to another room, to wipe the somewhat sad look in your eyes away, to maybe even hold you like he’s seen humans do, pressing you against his bony chest and feeling your warmth and seeing your pretty eyes look up at him and maybe even kissing you –

He’ll always stop himself with a miserable wail when these thoughts get too out of control, confusion coursing through him because what is he thinking? You’re a lowly human, weak and disgusting and obsessed with trivial, horrible things like beauty and greed – you aren’t worth his time or energy, even if your skin looks smooth to the touch, even if your body looks warm and soft underneath the layers of your clothing, even if he swears that you sometimes even seem to see him through Daki, as if you can sense his presence.

The denial slowly begins ebbing out of his system, however, as time goes on – and instead, he replaces it with an increased sense of desperation for you.

He starts spending more time outside of Daki’s body than inside, wishing to be independent so that he doesn’t have to merely observe and hope that Daki will be in the same room as you.

Now, he can freely follow you; tracing your every move to different rooms in the house, around the district. He can see who you interact with, learn what makes you smile and laugh, what makes you cry, and see how you grow uncomfortable when strange men leer at you and ask to see what you’re hiding beneath your kimono.

(Rarely does Gyutaro kill non-slayer humans with purpose aside from eating or petty revenge for reacting badly to his appearance, but that night those men died in the most excruciating way he could think of, their voices ringing in his head. C’mon pretty girl, a good bitch like you is only good for one thing. Aw look, she’s scared. That just makes me even more excited, little girl. The rest of the night he spent on your windowsill, yellow eyes fixed on your peacefully sleeping form, trying to engrave the sound of the men’s screams into his mind.)

He likes being your shadow; of course, he fantasizes about the day he’ll get to interact with you himself, but for now this is enough. He's terrified you’d reject him if he were to try to speak with you like a human, and if he tried to confess his feelings for you and you were to reject him?

Well, Gyutaro isn’t afraid of many things, but he’d rather insult Muzan than see the disgust and hate in your eyes directed at him.

So, he satiates himself with simply watching you, always keeping a healthy distance between you, one that makes him equal parts relieved and frustrated.

It’s easy to pretend like he's in your life this way; he’ll imagine you saying his name, imagine holding you while you sleep, brushing away stray strands of hair from your face while you smile at him. He runs his fingers over your pillow when you’re not in your room, brings your toothbrush to his lips as he slowly, deliberately licks across the tied bristles, eyes rolling back because is this what you taste like?

It’s easier to pretend like you actually know of his presence this way, like you’re happy that he’s watching out for you, like you want him to stare at you, like you want him to just be there, to be by your side.

He won’t be content forever to simply follow you, but before he steals you away to Daki’s lair, it’s enough. Just barely, but it takes Gyutaro so long to gather the courage to actually interact with you that this is the only way to save himself from potential embarrassment and rejection.

After all, he feels like he’s getting to know the real you this way – too bad you know nothing of the looming, violent presence sticking onto you like fucking glue.

Clingy

Gyutaro has a difficult time expressing his feelings. With his limited romantic experience, he’s very much not adept at human emotional communication. He struggles to properly display how he feels for you, especially towards the beginnings of his obsession.

At first, he’s incredibly resistant to the idea of growing attached to you. You’re just a human, and a weak one at that – you’ve been blessed with a pretty face (gorgeous even, he might say, though the barrage of scratching at his eyes that follows that statement deters it), you’re kind, you’re everything he claims to hate.

And yet, he can’t stop thinking about you – it’s infuriating, and at first he finds himself idly wondering if he should just kill you to get all these confusing, uncomfortable feelings to go away.

He doesn’t like how he’s not in control when he thinks of you, his heart racing and his palms growing sweaty, this weird, foreign sense of urgency fluttering in his stomach because he just needs to see you, to let his eyes settle onto your figure, to hear your voice or watch as you bite your lip in concentration or peacefully sleep.

He wants to kill you, but the more he thinks about it, the less sure of that he becomes – there’s this sour taste in his mouth when he imagines your dead body, and it makes him scratch at his neck to imagine you not being alive and therefore not watchable.

So, begrudgingly, he decides he shouldn’t harm you – not out of cause for your safety, but rather out of selfishness. This is, of course, just what he tells himself – in reality, it’s very much because he can’t stomach the thought of you getting hurt.

He doesn’t want a single scratch to mar your pretty skin or a single hair on your head to be touched – you’re perfect, and you’re his little bit of perfection, one that he’s never had before. He’s never had someone make his heart race like this, nor has he ever had someone be so unintentionally kind to him.

Originally, you’d caught his attention because you’d seen a shadow of him in Daki’s room in the house, and as her servant, you’d quickly closed the door and begged her forgiveness for interrupting, only to offhandedly compliment the colors of his hair as you attended to her.

Gyutaro, having been resting within her, had heard your compliment, and immediately was bristling, his heart fighting between extreme anger that you could be making fun of him, and a smaller, pathetically hopeful piece of him that was wondering if you’d meant it, if he’d really just received the first compliment of his life.

And from then on, he’s lost – his obsession festers quickly and strongly, his dependence on you growing with every minute of every day as he relives your compliment over and over, slowly finding everything you do endearing and interesting and – dare he say it – cute. And so, simply put, any time that Gyutaro is not sealed away inside of Daki, he’s diligently by your side, stuck to you like glue.

Once he develops feelings for you, he becomes much more independent than his previous self – rarely does he reside within Daki anymore, unless he needs to rest. He doesn’t like being trapped and separated from you, because while he still retains a level of consciousness of what’s going on around him when he’s sealed away, residing within her limits his ability to communicate with you.

And god, does he love to do that – once he’s stolen you away, he’s always, always talking to you, his gravelly voice ringing in your ears even when you try to sleep. He’s always asking your opinion on things, questions that seem pointless about your favorite foods, colors, activities, even personal questions about himself.

(What is your favorite thing about me? And don’t lie, I can sense when you lie; your lip trembles slightly, and I’ll sense your heart beating faster. It might be hard to answer, I’m so ugly…)

And of course, when he’s got you trapped in his thin, inhumanely strong arms while you both reside in Daki’s nest as the sun beats on the ground above, he’s reaching deeper, the questions becoming more personal.

Hey, what’s your biggest fear? What makes you the happiest? How does it feel to be so misfortunate as to have me as your lover?

He’s not always looking for answers – though most of the time he is – but rather he just likes the way you look at him while he asks. Your eyes are wide, your rapt attention given to him, and the way you hang onto his every word has him feeling important, understood, even if your answers aren’t what he wants to hear.

He’s never punished you for a wrong answer to these questions, though it’s easy to read his disappointment. Mostly, he absolutely hates it when your compliments fall flat, or if you aren’t as kind and loving as you normally are to him.

If you don’t give as heartfelt of a compliment to his appearance as you did yesterday – instead of praising his collarbone as being defined and curved like a bird’s song sounds, you’re telling him his eyes are pretty – he’ll pout, like some child, though the repercussions and feeling of terror you’ll experience are anything but childish.

He’s frowning, a scowl pulling at his features because he wants more. Tell him how his eyes make you feel – do you get nervous butterflies in your stomach from them? Do you lose yourself in the amber depths, getting lost in the way he gazes at you with such ardent adoration and lust?

Gyutaro is needy, really, and you’ll very quickly learn this. It takes a while for him to allow himself to touch you (he’s nervous at first, though he’d never ever admit it – he’s killed and injured too many, never having known how to be gentle and loving, and the thought of accidentally hurting you has him scratching at his face and chest, agony blooming in his heart), but once he crosses that mental barrier, he’s suddenly never taking his hands off of you.

The touches are small at first – a hand at your cheek while his thumb traces your cheekbone, the sharp nail unbearably close to your eye as you stay as still as you possibly can. He’ll run his fingers over your hair, the texture growing familiar as that strange, dazed look overtakes his features.

He’ll try to have you in his arms as often as he possibly can, whether that’s leaning over your body while you stand before him, or forcing you to sit in his lap as he runs a finger up and down your spine, marveling at how soft and warm and pliant you feel in his grasp.

(You’ll be able to tell he’s in awe, too, because there’s always something hard pressing against your lower back and the breaths he wheezes into your ear are strained and uneven and gaspy.)

He grows a penchant for simply watching you, his eyes fixed on your form as you bite your lip and shiver, the freezing temperatures of Daki’s lair making your skin burst into goosebumps.

He’ll occasionally bring back human items; you’ve woken up to a ratty woolen blanket covering your form before, a thin pillow under your head while Gyutaro’s face peers at you from a mere foot away, his own body lying down beside yours. You’re sure he was watching you sleep – as he often does – but you can’t deny the warmth the blanket offers you, and you’ll even whisper with a soft voice, thank you, Gyutaro.

(You hadn’t been aware previously to him that demons could blush, but the soft pink that envelopes his cheeks is difficult to ignore, as is the way he warbles and rolls over to face away from you, curling in on himself and violently scratching at his chest, the embarrassment and influx of something warm and sweet and good in his heart making it hard to look at you.)

Generally, Gyutaro’s main goal is to always be around you, whether that’s being in the same room, you in his arms, or simply just staring from aware.

He’s needy, absolutely desperate for you to acknowledge him and validate every insecurity still left over from his time as a human, and while he doesn’t believe you most of the time, it’s still euphoric to hear. So please, please tell him you love the way he holds you so delicately and carefully. (Don’t mention the way his protruding bones dig into your skin, causing your discomfort and making it hard to spend the hours laying with him that he wants.)

Tell him that you enjoy the way he says your name, that it sounds sweet and romantic and loving. (The odd lilt that sounds just a bit too much like a moan isn’t important, of course, nor is the way you sometimes see his eyes roll back just slightly, as if the mere thought of you is enough to get his knees weak and blood rushing south. It is, but again, it’s not important.)

Tell him that you wish he’d be with you forever, that you’ll never leave his side. (And when you’re forced to drink Muzan’s blood – and Gyutaro’s, too, because he wants to feel more connected to you - and you become a demon, don’t be surprised when he says with a gleeful smile that now we can truly be together, stuck with me for all eternity, clutching onto you with all the force and strength he’s been yearning to for months.)

He just loves you, or as much as a demon can, so just take it, yeah?

Protective

Once his feelings for you begin to form, the residual urge to protect Ume that resided within his human self comes into play.

Of course, he still protects and prioritizes Daki’s safety, but you’re equally as important to him, just in a different way. With Daki, it’s about survival – he cannot live without her, and she cannot live without him. They’re siblings, bonded by something deep and intangible, something that can never be broken.

But you?

Oh, it’s different with you – you’re something he wants to protect, his own sweet, naïve little human that he gets to keep as his own for all eternity. He wants to keep you pristine and healthy and detached from the vile, horrible human world, because he wants to feel like your protector, to feel like you need him, like you wouldn’t be alive today without him stopping all sorts of threats.

(He’s the only real threat facing you, of course, but it’s not like that – of course not, because he loves you, and why would he ever hurt you? He’s already decided not to eat you, so why do you still seem so uncomfortable around him, always flinching away from him or breathing hard when he comes near you?)

Despite his mantra of balancing the inequalities of misfortune he’s had to endure, he sees you as his sole light. You’re the only thing he’s been given by the heavens, and how could he squander the only good thing he’s ever had?

The prospect of you dying or becoming horribly injured makes his eye twitch and his fingers grasp onto his scythes so tightly that his knuckles turn white, his bloodlust palpable in the air. And so, Gyutaro takes your safety very, very seriously.

He himself only eats human flesh, but he knows (begrudgingly), that you won’t partake in this particular diet, so he scrounges up stolen food from the various shops in the district. He’s not quite sure what all you like, and he’d never gotten the opportunity to try most foods when he was a human, so he relies solely on smell to guide his food picking.

Everything he brings back is either extremely healthy (earthy materials with a residue of dirt on them, likely pulled directly from the ground out of someone’s home garden), or extremely unhealthy (boxes of pickled candies with minimal nutritional value).

He doesn’t remember what humans need in order to survive, so while the constant supply of food is good, the food itself is not.

And yet, there’s something oddly endearing about the way he watches while biting his lip (his sharp teeth drawing blood along with the nails that scratch at his biceps), eyes trained on you as you chew and swallow, watching every movement like a hawk. He’s so focused, the nervous question of do you like it rolling off his tongue before he can help himself, shame eating away at him because he sounds so damn pathetic. He’ll watch you eat, making sure you don’t choke, with his fingers shaking slightly as he holds himself back from reaching out to touch you, to make sure you’re real.

He’s always asking you if you’re feeling good, hoping that you don’t fall ill, because he remembers nothing of human medicine and he can’t exactly take you to a doctor with his condition.

And while his protectiveness in terms of your needs as his captee are admirable for a man-eating monster, the level at which he obsesses over your safety in other ways is less than ideal.

He’s so, so scared of you harming yourself that he does nearly everything for you. He’ll call you weak as he helps you bathe, his hands running over your naked skin with strokes that are much slower than they need to be, but he doesn’t mean what he says.

(You’re not even sure he's aware of what he’s saying – the way his eyes bulge out of his head every time he sees your bare ass tells you as much, as does the way his breathing gradually picks up as he bathes you, uneven breaths turning into labored pants until it reaches a fever pitch and oh – was that a moan of your name?)

He’ll tell you that you’re pathetic for needing his help walking around the lair, though you very much never asked for his assistance; nonetheless, his arms wrap under your armpits regardless, helping ease some of your weight off of your knees, the lack of exercise you receive from staying underground all day long making your muscles tired and weakened.

He’s condescending, really, though it’s painfully obvious he doesn’t mean to be. There’s malice in his eyes when he tells you these things, though you’ve learned he always has malice in his eyes, so is it really aimed towards you?

If he really hated humans and the blessed as much as he claims, would his grip on your delicate skin be as gentle as it is? You don’t think so, and while it hurts to be called weak and incapable every day, his insistence on helping you with the most trivial of tasks tells you that he cares about you more than he’s willing to admit.

And – heaven forbid – if you were to ever be in danger from another man?

Well, Gyutaro’s never enjoyed a kill so much, even against pesky Hashira. Because when he eventually tears out the man’s eyeballs, his teeth bared as he growls and groans at the fresh corpse, obliterating the body in a more graphic and violent way than usual, Gyutaro can’t help but feel smug because he saved you, he made sure this vile excuse for a life never laid a hand upon you.

And if it’s another demon that’s threatening you? Gyutaro’s an Upper Rank for a reason, and while this battle is significantly more terrifying for you to watch, he's torturing the demon as slowly and painfully as he possibly can with two main goals in mind.

Firstly, he’s making a point to the other creature, showing him that only he can lay eyes upon you, and only he can have and hold you.

And the other reason? Well, he can’t deny the way his heart races when you praise him for his power, telling him he’s so strong, I – I feel safe with you, Gyutaro…

He feels needed when he protects you, and so your best course of action is really to just let him baby you. Daki and you both might hate it, but Gyutaro needs to take care of you – he needs to hear you praise him and thank him for his hard work, and with every compliment that slips from your lips he only grows more and more obsessed.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Quite honestly, the likelihood of anyone else giving you the attention or time of day that Gyutaro is afraid of is extremely low.

The only people you’ll really ever see are himself and Daki; your lone companions for the rest of your life. Being kept hostage in Daki’s underground lair makes it very, very difficult for you to receive visitors, and unless you’re able to crawl at a steep upwards incline for miles through tunnels, you have very little hope of ever escaping. Consequently, the chances of you ever interacting with someone that could spark jealousy within Gyutaro while you’re under his thumb is very low.

But that’s the key part – while you’re under his thumb. He doesn’t act on his obsession very quickly, instead preferring to simply stalk you for months on end, watching and observing and letting his feelings fester, growing stronger and stronger until they eventually bubble over and he can’t not be with you at all hours of the day.

But that period of a few months between his feelings for you forming and when he eventually steals you away are wrought with jealousy and frustration on his end. He’s constantly, constantly paranoid that another man will come and sweep you off your feet, that you’ll fall head over heels for some lowly human man, that your heart will be stolen and possessed by some weak, pitiful human that doesn’t even deserve you.

(Not that he feels he deserves you either, but it’s different for Gyutaro – at least he can protect you, at least he can keep you safe. What can this man do? What could he possibly offer you, aside from perhaps a more pleasant face?)

He’s monumentally terrified of you ever finding someone else to love, the prospect of you leaving him behind, your feelings (whatever they may be) for him withering away into nothing while another man holds your attention and love being more painful to him than anything else he could ever imagine.

He doesn’t want to lose the feelings you give him, so he resigns himself to knowing he has to do something to stop all these men from potentially stealing you from him. He doesn’t like how weak this all makes him feel, the paranoia churning in his gut and forcing him to act in ways he'd never expected to, ways that disgust him, ways that embarrass him when Daki asks why the hell he seems to be going so far for some stupid human woman.

He’s never even totally sure himself, only guided by the knowledge that he has to keep you his, that he can never go back to his life before you wandered into it. All he knows is that when he hears your voice (so pretty and sweet, something he could listen to for hours if you’d let him) accompanied by a more masculine, male one, he’s seeing fucking red.

He’s never felt this angry before; Hashira have come and gone, made his sister cry and landed a few good hits on him, but he’s genuinely enraged in that moment, honestly livid at what’s happening right before him.

The idea that you could be talking to another man haunts him from that night forward, the jealousy brewing in his gut difficult to identify but horrible to harbor. Gyutaro gets jealous extremely easy during this time period between the formation of his feelings and eventually kidnapping you; he’s so terrified of another man grabbing your attention, and can he honestly be blamed?

He’s a monster, and his self esteem is so low that he’s sure every other living being on the planet is more attractive than him – so why would you ever choose him?

Gyutaro gets very, very angry when jealous.

He’s naturally quick to kill, but in the context of him being fearful of your attention wavering from him, he’s even more trigger happy. He’ll kill without a second thought, slashing at the heads of any man he thinks has even the merest idea of potentially pursuing you.

So when he’s coming back from a kill one night, with blood already staining his fingers and his stomach full, the last thing he expects to hear is your voice. He’d hated having to leave you alone; normally, he’s following you like a shadow, never more than a few feet behind you, following your every move and staying with you for hours on end.

You’ve never really noticed, as his skills of deception and hiding are high, and being this far away from you for a few hours has taken its toll on him. He’s exhausted, and every muscle in his body is taut and alert – ready to see you, to smell your now familiar scent and gaze at your beauty in whatever working kimono you were wearing this evening.

However, your voice brings him out of that reverie – you’re laughing. And so is the man you’re with. Immediately, Gyutaro’s face twists into an ugly scowl, his claws scratching at his cheeks and chest as he begins muttering under his breath, trying to pinpoint where the sound of your voices is coming from. He growls as he finally decides on the direction, before sprinting off, already arming himself with his sickles.

His shoulders are more hunched than usual when he lands on the balcony of the room you’re currently in, the man in question sitting across from you over a small table. Gyutaro’s eye twitches, his gaze raking over the man in question. He’s tall, he can tell; a brunette with soft hazel eyes, his physique decent underneath the black robes he wears. Immediately Gyutaro finds himself hating him even more – he looks rich, happy, handsome.

For a moment Gyutaro is frozen, simply watching the scene play out with wide, panicked eyes, his pulse racing dangerously, before the man’s reaching hand caressing yours over the table snaps him out of his daze. He growls lowly, charging into the room as quickly as he can and snatching the man into his arms, thrusting him outside and disappearing before you have a chance to register what just happened, everything happening in the blink of an eye.

As he runs through the crowded, loud backstreets of the Entertainment District out to somewhere more private where he can probably dispose of this scum, he hopes that he was fast enough that you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. He’d heard your confused calls of what he assumed to be the man’s name, but that only made him angrier, his steps faster and faster as he neared the woods.

Soon he’s surrounded by trees, their shade darkening his body, only allowing his eyes to illuminate. Gyutaro throws the man to the ground, the dirt of the forest surely staining his robes an ugly brown color. The man hacks as he touched the ground, the force knocking the air out of his lungs, but Gyutaro doesn’t wait.

No, instead he throws the man against a nearby tree with a scythe, the sound of cracking making a wide, gleeful smile cross his features. The man’s back is broken, surely, but it’s not enough.

You think you’re special, don’t you?

He warbles, eyes narrowing while the smile stays spread across his lips. The anger in his veins is so potent that it forces him to take staggering steps, his mind too hyper focused on killing this man to walk properly.

You think you can have any woman you want, don’t you?

The man gasps something, though his body isn’t moving from where the scythe has him pinned against the bark.

Gyutaro spits at him, a glob of saliva landing on the man’s cheek.

I may be the repulsive one, but you’re pretty pathetic too, huh? Letting someone as ugly as me kill and devour you…

Gyutaro cuts himself off with a giggle, his fingers once again coming up to scratch at his face and neck.

Then I’ll make you suffer… you’ll watch as I feast on your flesh.

And with that he charges forward, his fingers wrapping around the man’s forearm and pulling, hard, the resounding sound of tearing flesh making him grin. As he brings the severed arm up to his mouth, blood streaming down his arm, Gyutaro can only shake, the thought of eating the man that dared touch you and steal your attention making a strange sort of euphoria dance through his veins. Not a piece of the man is left by the time Gyutaro is done an hour later, his stomach sated as he scowls down at the bloodstains left by the stranger.

(He’d paid special attention to truly savor and enjoy the hand that had touched you – licking at the skin, a moan tumbling from his lips because this is the closest he’s ever gotten to touching you himself, and even if it was the disgusting man’s arm, the experience was still intimate, sweet, enough to force him to have to lean against the nearest tree so as not to fall to his knees when they buckle.)

He spits once more at the ground, cursing the human, before sprinting off to the room you’d been in, hoping with everything he has that you’d still be there.

Maybe he could watch you for a while; you always looked prettiest when you were unaware, and maybe you’d even fall asleep so he could come closer, so he could smell you, touch you ever so lightly, listen to the way your heartbeat beats again, and again, and again…

The rage subsides slowly as he places himself outside the window of your home in the House, his harsh breathing slowly returning to normal, until a light pink flush coats his cheek and he coos your name, wishing you’d turn around and smile at him, that you’d cup his face and tell him I love you Gyutaro, no one but you.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Because Gyutaro’s feelings for you take a while to accumulate (mostly through watching you while he’s dormant inside of Daki, or stalking you from the shadows as he grows more and more fascinated with you), he’ll slowly come to the conclusion that you can’t be left alone.

He discovers he fucking hates not having you next to him; you’re the one thing he looks forward to every day.

Seeing your smile ignites this odd sense of happiness inside his chest, a feeling he’s not sure he’s ever experienced before.

His fingers shake when he’s around you; nerves eating him alive, because as desperately as he wants you to give him attention, he’s also terrified you’ll find yourself repulsed by him, that he’ll do something that causes you to hate him or be afraid of him.

He needs your focus on him, but he’s just so, so scared that you’ll reject him – which, in combination with his jealousy, leads Gyutaro to an odd dilemma.

On the one hand, he always, always wants your presence near him – you’re like his drug, the one he’s hopelessly and happily addicted to, and to be without you would mean death to both the small grains of humanity still within him, and any sense of self he possesses.

And on the other hand, he’s terrified that you’ll find someone better than him, that you’ll replace him and leave him in the dust behind you, heartbroken and enraged that you’re gone.

And so, he does the only thing he can think to do – if he’s afraid of losing you and your gorgeous, bright smile aimed at him, then taking you before you can leave is the only solution.

He’s not particularly regretful about stealing you away from your life; you didn’t love the world you were in, he knows that. He knows that despite now being stuck with a grotesque monster, you’re in a better place now.

Because despite his flaws (both internally and externally), the one thing that Gyutaro can do better than any other man on Earth is protect you. He’s strong, capable, destructive, and thoroughly able to take care of you.

Thus, don’t you belong fully under his protection, where the world can get at you (and you can’t get at it)?

Gyutaro believes so, and stealing you away not only keeps other men away from you, but now you’re fully his. Daki’s lair is empty most of the time anyways, and maybe in the dimness you won’t see Gyutaro very clearly.

Maybe then the compliments that come from your lips will feel more real – and maybe then, Gyutaro can will himself to believe that you mean it when you say you don’t think he’s ugly, simply special.

Of course, Gyutaro is a demon. He’s by no means an ideal captor – he’s only marginally aware of what humans need in order to survive, and despite his intense devotion to you, he’s not fully changing his personality just because of your presence.

He becomes much softer around you; less harsh around the edges, more like a nervous teenage boy because fuck does he want to impress you.

He doesn’t want you to be disappointed in him, so he tries his absolute best to keep you comfortable and happy, though he isn’t always successful. He doesn’t fully understand that insects and scraps of food from various shops in the district aren’t your preferred meal, but don’t mention it to him. He doesn’t realize that the one kimono he’d stolen you away in has grown to be caked in mud and dirt since you’ve been ‘living’ in this lair of his, but you won’t say anything out of fear that the alternative is wearing nothing.

Don’t ever say anything even somewhat negative to him about his actions; he’s extremely sensitive, and one small critique of him in any way has him caving in on himself, scratching at every inch of his skin as warbles away about how you don’t love him, you’re lying to him, how he knew there was no way you could love such a disgusting monster.

He’ll close himself off, the anger and hurt making his head spin, and after a long few minutes of him wallowing in his self pity, he’s suddenly up, staring at you with wide yellow eyes and a tear or two, his hands shaking as he lunges at you.

However, while he’s somewhat stand-offish at the start of your captivity, he slowly warms up to you.

Mostly, he’s just terrified that you’ll confirm all of the insecurities he possesses; he’d die if you were to call him ugly, his heart cracking into a million little pieces while tears well in his eyes and his lips spread into an ugly sneer, bitterly telling you he knew it, I knew a spoiled whore like you could never love a monster like me.

Of course, you know well enough not to do that (you’ve seen Daki and him smeared with blood too many times to fear how they’d deal with your resistance), but the fear is very present in his heart.

He’s always nervous you’ll turn back on your compliments, that your sweet words and touches are born out of trying to trick him into being falsely secure, then tearing the rug out from under him, leaving him a shell of what’s left of himself.

However, as you don’t morph into the monster he secretly half-hopes you’ll become, Gyutaro slowly grows more trusting of you, more believing of your kind words.

He starts touching you softly – his fingers brushing over your skin, over the fabric of your kimonos. He’ll throw an occasional smile at you under the guise of being teasing, though despite the stinging, rude comment he likely uttered, the quirk of his lips looks strangely genuine.

Eventually, he’ll allow himself to hug you, your softer body against his making his knees feel weak, his heart leaping up to his throat.

And as his physicality grows more lenient with you, as do his words – instead of only teasing, crude remarks made towards you, he slowly begins complimenting you as well. He’s used to hiding behind his mean words as a defense mechanism, but when you’re looking up at him with your watery, scared eyes, how can he call you a pathetic excuse for a human?

You’re beautiful; every imperfection and blemish on your body is gorgeous to him, and how could he ever make you feel terrible about yourself?

And so, instead of telling you that you’re really pretty sad, you know? Laying on the ground scared like a worm, a poor excuse he’ll instead say you have some dirt on your cheek, you’re so messy.

It’s not that much better, but as time passes his words slowly grow less harsh and more appreciative, until he’s pulling you close one night and whispering into your ear that he thinks he loves you, that he needs you, don’t ever leave me alone, I can’t live without you.

Aside from the way he acts around you, your living conditions will be painfully unchanging. You’ve been relocated to Daki’s lair, deep underground. A few lamps were brought in by Gyutaro so that you could see, the warm light making you feel slightly better as the chill of underground seeps into your bones.

He’s collected a number of human items for you in an attempt to get you feeling more at home; a collection of blankets sits at the end of your futon, a makeshift pillow sitting on the other end. A few novels have been delivered to you, and while you’re not a particular fan of any of the genres present, you’ve read them cover to cover more times than you can count during your time with Gyutaro.

He brings you human foods (though they’re marginally considered food), and he’s placed an instrument he stole from the House down there as well, as entertainment for when he can’t be with you.

(When he’d brought the instrument, he’d set it down in front of you and scampered back, his shoulders hunched in slightly, nervously glancing at you as you appraised his gift, his heart racing wildly because do you like it? Are you happy he thought of you and stole this for you? Are you appreciative? Will you give him a kiss as a thank you?)

Daki is hardly ever around, and while her belt can be annoying when it speaks, a quick conversation with Gyutaro about not bothering you had Daki reluctantly relenting to keeping her belt mute, only furthering her irritation with you.

Gyutaro is always in the lair with you unless he’s directly needed by Daki, or to feed. As such, you’d better be prepared to constantly be stared at, watched, poked and prodded, your sleeping body waking up to a different position than the one you fell asleep in, nail marks still imprinted on your skin.

Gyutaro just really, really likes having you in close contact, and while he knows you likely aren’t extremely pleased by your forced relocation, isn’t this better?

Because now you’re safe – with him, where he can keep every man and demon away from you, keeping you selfishly all for him.

PUNISHMENTS:

As a captor, Gyutaro is a delicate balance of gentleness and abrasiveness.

Of course, he’s a demon. He’s naturally violent, crunching human flesh between his teeth often, and the strength in just his pinky is more than every muscle in your body combined.

And as a demon, his temper is rocky, at best. He’s extremely temperamental, and it takes little to nothing to set off his anger.

When it comes to you, he’s marginally more in control, but for the most part you need to exercise extreme caution once you’re in his captivity.

Gyutaro isn’t the best communicator, which often times lands you in the unfortunate position of having to guess what makes him mad; you’ve built a list as time goes on, mentally noting any time he seems to get agitated, when he starts scratching more at his neck or his voice gets tight and curt. The list is vivid in your mind, something you diligently avoid bringing up in conversation or doing, if only because you’re still terrified that one day it’ll be your blood staining his teeth or splattered across the metal of those scythes he carries.

And the list is long – he’s easy to set off, whether it’s from mentioning the name of another man, or even just slightly flinching when his hands begin travelling all over your body, his breath ragged and deep.

But you’ve found, through experience, that there are three things he tolerates the worst, one of which being any mention of your past life before meeting him and Daki.

It’s not that he’s not interested in knowing about your hobbies and the people you knew (and, frankly, all that stalking makes you having any habits he’s not aware of extremely unlikely), but rather that he gest so, so jealous when you talk about former friends or important people in your life.

It pisses him off to hear you talk so familiarly about anyone that isn’t him, and each jealous thought is immediately followed up by worries about what they do better than him, if they’re more attractive (he’s sure they are), and just how much better than him they must be.

He’ll also get upset if you mention anything about wanting to escape or leave the lair. He takes it as a sign that you’re not happy here, with him, that you don’t think he’s doing a good enough job of taking care of you.

And lastly, while he knows you’re stuck with a demon like him and are understandably terrified, he doesn’t tolerate your nervous twitches and flinches when he comes near you, or your hurtful words insulting him in any way.

He views it as you rejecting him and his presence, and that’s a sure fire way to find letting a deep scowl settle across his features, his fingers tugging at his hair while he runs off to find some human to kill and feast upon to release his anger.

It’s easy to set him off, yes, but while Gyutaro is by no means gentle, he won’t often actually physically harm you.

He might, potentially, begrudgingly, to prove a point, but the worst he’ll do is break an arm or a finger, something to scare you but not actually threaten your life. And even then, this will take a huge amount of anger on his part to actually follow through on. He’s still hesitant to hurt you in any way, too afraid he’ll accidentally lose control of his strength and kill you, and so frankly these situations are often just as painful for him as it is you.

He avoids these physical punishments, though, unless he absolutely has no other choice – but as a general rule, a twisted arm or swollen joint isn’t the repercussions that await you when you anger him.

No, instead Gyutaro does something much worse – his punishments aren’t planned, purely emotional outbursts that end up warping your view of him, damaging your perception of reality until you’re so unsure of how you real feel or what he really is that you’ll blindly cling to him, the Stockholm Syndrome festering and growing until you become just as dependent on him as he is you.

Generally, any negative comments towards him set him off, but any comments specifically referencing his appearance will bring out a very specific type of rage, and this particular brand of anger is very, very scary.

What makes it so dangerous is that Gyutaro is not only pissed, angry, livid, he’s also incredibly hurt. He hates allowing himself to believe your kind compliments and words, but every once in a while he’ll let them settle in, letting hope bloom in his chest that maybe you mean it.

(He’ll delude himself into believing that you really like his eyes, or that you think his facial birthmarks are endearing, that you aren’t just saying that so he won’t kill you. And it makes him feel good, a sense of belonging and bashfulness making him struggle to meet your gaze and instead tug at your kimono and ask you to say it again and again and again, committing the sound of such sweet words coming from your lips to his memory.)

And the main reason for his anger when you lash out and call him hideous is because he should have known.

It’s a slap in the face – how could he have allowed himself to be so foolish and naïve? How could he have allowed himself to get comfortable, to forget his cursed appearance, to forget that he’s a monster in every sense of the word?

He’s frustrated at himself for not seeing this coming; there’s no way you’d ever like someone like him, and it was stupid of him to even entertain the notion that you don’t see him as a grotesque, terrifying predator.

And so, as the words slip past your lips, he’s immediately freezing, his shoulders going slack and his jaw hanging open slightly. Don’t touch me, you monster!

The lair is eerily silent for a few moments, your words processing in his mind as he stares at you, the only sound filling your ears being your own heavy, nervous breaths.

But soon a small, nearly breathless giggle echoes in your ears, the sound making you suck in a sharp breath. The chuckle soon turns into quiet laughter, rising in pitch and volume until Gyutaro is cackling, his voice cracking and hiccupping as his eyes go wide, his hands scratching welts so deeply into his sides that it almost concerns you.

His whole body is shaking, shoulders violently jumping up and down at the force of his maniacal laughter, but eventually it subsides, his hair hanging forward to cover his face.

Do you think that I’m a monster? You think I’m a freak, huh?

His voice is more unsteady than normal, you note with a sense of fear. He tilts his head up slightly, peeking at you from underneath his bangs, his lips pulled into some mixture of a grimace and a grin, the sight making a shiver crawl down your spine. It’s only now that you notice his eyes are red rimmed, his cheeks wet, as if he’d been laughing so hard he was crying – or, perhaps, he really was crying.

Huh? Answer me, dammit!

He’s screaming now, the grimace getting tighter. He takes a step forward, and you shuffle backwards, scooting the backside of your kimono across the dirt as you shuffle back against the wall, trying to get as much space between the two of you as possible.

Answer me, you bitch!

You squeeze your eyes shut and whimper out a n-no, but that only makes him angrier, taking another step forward, the sound of his foot crunching against the dirt making you sob.

You’re a liar! A filthy, disgusting liar!

His words hurt, though you can’t explain why. They make you flinch, your hands balling into fists as you bring your knees up to your chest, trying to become as small as possible as he takes another few steps towards you.

You’re nothing without me! He’s screeching now, his voice unbareably high, raw emotion shining through as the words start tumbling from his lips. You’d be dead without me! Imagine that? Something as beautiful as you needing a monster like me to keep you from getting devoured by some demon or some human. You’re pathetic, are you ashamed of yourself?

You’re crying now, fat, ugly tears streaming down your cheeks, but he’s too blinded by his rage to notice.

Does it make you feel good to think you’re better than me? Does it make you feel important? You’re a liar! How dare you do this? How dare you lie to me and tell me that you love me, when you just think I’m ugly and horrible!

His voice is close now, too close, and as you peel open your watery eyes, you see his own yellow ones mere inches from your face. His teeth are bared, every muscle in his neck and chest flexing as he struggles to stop himself from reaching out and clawing at your face, destroying your face until he can no longer recognize you.

You’re speaking before you can help yourself, fear and panic and a cold, gripping sense of regret climbing into your throat.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I don’t think you’re a monster, I’m just – I’m just scared Gyutaro! I’m scared of how you make me feel! I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me, please…

You cut yourself off with a sob, fingers digging into your palms, and as you close your eyes and wait for something to happen, all you’ll be met with is the sound of a gulp, his breath still huffing against your skin. It’s silent for a few moments, before you brave a peek to look at him.

His eyes are wide, the yellow bright and still tinged with red as he stares at you. His chest is heaving, breaths falling heavily, and he’s biting his lip. Blood wells up against the wound, but he doesn’t seem to notice. No, he’s staring too intensely at you to notice anything.

Scared of how I make you feel? He questions, moving a few centimeters closer to you.

You nod shakily, swallowing down as much fear as you can manage as you whisper out that he makes you feel wanted, in a way I’ve never felt before, and I don’t know how to deal with that. I want to hate you, but I can’t.

He makes a sound then, like a wounded puppy, deep in his throat as his brows quirk up. Something in his stomach twists, a pleasant feeling settling at the base of his ribs.

You can’t hate me? You can’t despise me?

You nod, biting your lip, and Gyutaro stares at you for a few moments, before his arms are suddenly wrapping around your waist, his body closing the distance as he pins you against the wall, his face buried into your neck and his waist worming its way between your thighs.

You love me, you love me.

He’s chanting against your chin, a bit of his saliva getting onto your neck. His grip on you is tight, soffucating even, making it difficult to breath. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, and with a small, unsure swallow, you try your best to rub at any skin of his that’s available, soft petting motions that make another little whimper muffle against you.

You love me you love me you love me you love me –

It’s a mantra, like he’s trying to convince himself, but as he spends a good forty minutes repeating this to himself, keeping you trapped in his arms against the dirt wall, you’ll find yourself wondering if he’s really even lying – do you love him?

You hadn’t been lying when you said you aren’t able to hate him. He’s a monster and has killed countless people, kidnapped you, keeping you locked up and always touching you and forcing you to look at him, but do you love him?

Maybe you do, because as you find yourself relaxing into his arms, finding comfort in the feeling of his hot warm breath against your skin, you almost feel at ease. Maybe it’s survival instincts, maybe it’s something else – it doesn’t matter though, does it?

Because you’re stuck with him, and he’ll never, ever let you go.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

Gyutaro is less dangerous to you and more dangerous to those around you.

He’s by all accounts shy in the beginning of his obsession with you – stalking you relentlessly from the shadows, watching and waiting and never leaving your side for even a moment, content to simply see you as you smile and sleep and live your life.

He won’t ever hurt you – at least, not often – and in fact protects you to a fanatical degree, but the same can’t be said for the other people in your life.

He’s very, very willing to eliminate anyone he deems as competition for your attention and love, enjoying devouring them and ending their miserable lives in the most painful, drawn-out way possible. He views himself as your protector, watching from the shadows and acting as your twisted guardian angel, until suddenly it’s not enough – he needs more.

He needs to have you looking at him, acknowledging him, your pretty voice saying his name and your soft hands on his calloused, rough skin.

He needs to have you fall asleep in his arms, your breathing even and steady and so very precarious, your unaware and vulnerable state making him lick his lips and slowly, carefully, timidly press a clumsy kiss against your lips, immediately pulling back with pink tinged cheeks because oh, he wasn’t expecting your lips to be so soft and warm.

If you can look past the kidnapping, murder and invasions of your privacy, Gyutaro is honestly not the worst – he’s temperamental and difficult to handle with all of his triggers, but if you can find yourself balancing and managing to placate him, life with him won’t be too terrible.

He'll care for you as best as he knows how, keep you company whenever he can, drown you in physical affection once he musters up the courage, and over time his harsh comments will eventually morph into honest, genuine compliments about things so specific that you’ll feel seen, understood, perhaps even loved.

Because while Gyutaro may be rough around the edges and difficult to understand, he really does love you in some twisted, fucked up way – and if you’re to be stuck with him for the rest of your life, isn’t it better that you accept it?

Wouldn’t it just be easier for both of you to let him hold you, to whisper to him that you’re happy with him?

Just accept your fate – you’ll be much, much happier that way.

#yandere kny #yandere demon slayer #_gyutaro #_kny #_lee's profiles #yandere gyutaro

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