#yandere popular girl x reader

[queenie-the-court-jester]

imagine #1

you just finished fucking around with Mimi and Riley. Your nightly fuck sessions if you will. You were spent so you got up to use the bathroom, not noticing Mimi had that certain glint in her eye as you turn your back.

Just as you finished washing your hands, you hear the most pained Yelp from Riley. Slowly turning around, Mimi was sucking him off. Except.. she was biting his cock like a chew toy. She was even growling like a feral dog!

You quickly rushed over and tried coercing her to let go. Finally releasing Riley's dick, you saw it had bright red bite marks and was leaking a little blood. It's going to be a looong night of waiting in the ER...

[violet-butterflies]

❥︎ yandere! Popular Girl

❥︎ Warnings ! ☞︎︎︎ Possessive, Obsessive, mentions of stalking and Blackmail, gxg ( female yandere! oc x female reader )

yandere! popular girl just moved into a new school and instantly rose up in the university hierarchy. Equipped with the perfect looks, money and charismatic personality, it was no mystery that a lot of people liked her. There were still a group of people that hated her for being a "whore" and a "pick me" but, honestly, it never bothered her. She knows her worth and she does not care about what other people had to say about her for choosing who to be friends with.

Despite all that, she found herself worrying about what you think of her. She first met you in one of her classes. This particular class didn't have that many students in it due to the fact that not a lot of people were very interested in it. Heck, she only joined it because one of her friends wanted to.

The two of you were paired together for a project. To be completely honest, you slightly groaned at the forced decision. You weren't really on the side that liked her. You heard from your friends about the rumors and allegations of how she did her work half-heartedly and of how she's slept with a huge majority of people so, deep down you were already preparing to basically do this project yourself.

But to your surprise, she was actually nice? She tried her hardest to help but struggled a bit because of how slow she was at understanding things but she actually wanted to communicate with you; which was better than a few people you've had worked with who stayed silent and made the atmosphere awkward. You hated to admit it but working with her was actually nice. You were even starting to wonder about why you decided to believe the rumors without actually meeting the person first.

Even so, you didn't really expect to get really close with her due to the complete imbalance and difference in both of your lives.

Yandere! popular girl actually wanted to be your friend though. She was a social butterfly so she really valued friendship. But, you were completely new to what she was used to. Most of her friends were over the top and extravagant in some way but you were, well, average.

"What are you thinking about babe?" yandere! popular girl's boyfriend asked her as the two were cuddling on the couch. yandere! popular girl's boyfriend was a few years older than her and was just starting to work as a pilot.

"Oh, um nothing. Just this girl I want to be friends with" she admitted before thinking to herself. Why was she thinking of you?

Eventually, you somehow became close with yandere! popular girl. You two would have lunch together or wait at a cafe somewhere before your classes. You even began to realize that she was hanging out with you more compared to the people she was really close with.

"(y/n) let's go to this new cafe! I saw on the internet that it's super cute!"

"(y/n) I wanna take you out on a little shopping trip! I bet you'd look super cute if I got to dress you up!"

"(y/n) wanna go to my house? I wanna show you this really cool makeup trick and I wanna try giving you a little makeover!"

Every single day of the week, you'd always had some sort of plan with yandere! popular girl. Because of how much you two were hanging out, you too were propelled up on the popularity board. You weren't exactly sure why but your friends began to stop talking to you ever since yandere! popular girl became your friend. Maybe they just hated that you were now friends with someone they weren't exactly fond of.

"Trust me! This party is gonna be fun! We're gonna have some fun! Plus you look so pretty in my clothes!" yandere! popular girl reassured as you two got out of the car.

The two of you then entered the very loud and crowded party hosted by one of yandere! popular girl's friends. You weren't sure if it was because of how good yandere! popular girl was at convincing people or if it was because you wanted to feel like you fit in with this completely new crowd but, you began drinking cups of the terrible beer. After a few more, you were a giggly drunk that was sprawled all over one of the couches.

"Hold on here (y/n)! I'm gonna go get something to eat! Don't go anywhere!" yandere! popular girl said before leaving you to get more chips. You only could give her a dumb smile as you began giggling at whatever you were thinking about.

"Hi there cutie... Aren't you really happy about something," a random guy came up to you minutes later. You gave him a drunken explanation before giggling again. The conversation was going well but, unbeknownst to the both of you, yandere! popular girl scowled at the sight.

How dare this random rando talk to my (y/n)?! And why are they getting along so well?!

yandere! popular girl then began stormed your way before pulling you to stand up.

"Oh sorry there! I think my girlfriend is really drunk and we're just gonna go now!" Yandere! popular girl said with a fake smile and a slightly passive-aggressive tone.

You then clung onto yandere! popular girl for support when you looked at her.

"Hehe, you're pretty even when you look mad" your drunk self complimented her. Yandere! popular girl's eyes widened as she looked at your flushed face and drunk smile.

Maybe she going to keep planning how she's going to dig through the rando's data to find anything she can use to ruin his life with later. It's not going to be pretty hard for an internet sleuth like yandere! popular girl. After all, why do you think your old friends stopped talking to you anyway?

[suiana]

Could you write a female best friend who previously rejected you in the past but now realized that she has feelings now?

ofc!! I'll spice it up a lil though because why not :)

✎ yandere! popular girl headcanons . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― blackmailing, obsessiveness etc.

(gn! reader x female yandere! oc)

✎ yandere! popular girl who was your best friend since young. she'd bring you to parties, help you with homework, all while flirting with you... of course you'd fall for her!

✎ yandere! popular girl who thought you'd be different and is disappointed when you confessed to her. no! you weren't supposed to fall for her!

✎ yandere! popular girl who stopped being your friend when you confessed. she has no use for you now that you turned out just like the others :(

✎ yandere! popular girl who realises that she won't find anyone like you ever again just a little bit too late. aw shucks, maybe she shouldn't have disappeared completely from your life? worry not, you'll just be waiting for her like the rest! right?

✎ yandere! popular girl who is devastated to find out that you've moved on. no! why??? how is she going to come back without seeming desperate now??

✎ yandere! popular girl who is absolutely livid when she finds out who your new crush, no, significant other is. what?? you... you moved on for that??? they aren't even half as pretty as she is?!!

✎ yandere! popular girl who uses her connections to get your current significant other to leave you. yes... maybe threaten their family? sounds like a good idea...

✎ yandere! popular girl who casually slips back into your life while you're feeling moody about your breakup. hey, they're gone but she's back! that's good, right?

✎ yandere! popular girl who has a whole album on her phone dedicated to you. is this how you felt when you liked her? it feels... nice.

✎ yandere! popular girl who acts like nothing is wrong. like she didn't stage everything to get you back. come on, why would she do anything like that? she really did just find you on that street all by yourself! definitely was not stalking you.

✎ "y/n~ let's go shopping together~"

[faerendipitious]

Yandere! Loser X Popular Girl! Reader

content warnings: blackmail, female reader, mentions of bullying, stalking, isolation

Yandere! Loser who’s been in the same class as you all the way up to senior year and has never been on your radar, you who was so well beloved by teachers and students alike for your looks, personality, and actions. 

Yandere! Loser who has admired you ever since you were kids but could never get close because of the guard dogs you have around you at all times, or as he likes to call them ‘the swarm of flies’. Three people that have been with you for years, the same three that are aware of his stares and hate him for it. 

Yandere! Loser who has memorized your class schedule and paths through the halls, always watching you walk with so much confidence and a sway in your hips, your skirt swishing and grazing the back of your thighs that make his pants tighten at the thought of getting a closer look at the contents under them. 

Yandere! Loser who follows all of your social medias on a burner account and knows your true self from how open you are on the internet. How you scorn the people in your life and rant about how you hate your horrible family, eager to finally move away from everyone once you get enough money. 

Yandere! Loser who knows the true you, and takes advantage of that. 

Yandere! Loser who corners you in a hallway with no camera and blackmails you with screenshots from your private social media accounts, making a deal that they won’t get out if you do exactly what he says. 

Yandere! Loser who is no longer terrorized by your friends on his order to call them off. 

Yandere! Loser who requires you come to his house every weekend and takes photos of you in whatever he wants, bunny suits, nurse outfits, nothing. 

Yandere Loser! who slowly isolates you from you friends.

Yandere Loser! who takes you on romantic dates and makes you slowly warm up to him, despite the circumstances

Yandere! Loser who comes up with enough money to move across the country with you, so it can just be you and him for the rest of your lives.

[bloozz]

came across ur blog, can u tell me more about irene??

irene? I got you!! 🦈

: yandere behaviour, manipulation, murder, gn reader, breaking in, stealing underwear

⤷ irene evans! ·˚ ༘

age : 21, she her, fav colors are light pink and purple!

🐟 she was born from a rich family, people love sucking up to her hoping for some favours (that's why she's popular)

🌧️ your parents set the two of you up to be friends! she thought you were just chasing after her money at first, but after a month of just sticking by her side while she brushes you off, she was happy to have gained a real friend!

🐳 you two were best of friends since middle school. when highschool came, many people were so wowed over her and it kind of went to her head... she abandoned you for the popular girls :((

💤 the popular girls would often exclude her from things, Irene was more of a pretty decoration to their group

💦 after a while of being with the mean girls she couldnt stand it anymore and wanted to look for you.. well just to see you talking with other people?! that just couldn't slide...

🐳 her ideal murder weapon is probably a basic knife, but it would be decorated with pretty pink and purple accessories and have a keychain that you gave to her when you were kids hanging off it!! how cute

💫 she misses you soo much! please come back! she'll wash the blood off later :( just come back and give her a hug..

🐬 she's probably going mad thinking you will come back and forget the amount of torment the mean girls did to you..

🐋 she definitely scares off any people wanting to court you and even friends who are too close! that's Irene's job!

🌊 she plays the violin and she used to play for you when you were kids!! you would hum or sing while she played and your parents still have a video of your little performances :))

🎐 she messages you about what she did today everyday even if you blocked her hoping that maybe you'll respond soon

(also her lip gloss tastes like sweet cherries)

" yn! I'm so sorry... please.... come back I miss you :(( "

☾⋆｡ 𖦹 °✩

irene huffed in frustration as another one of her messages were left unread and unnoticed! were you talking to another person? no way! she swears she must've scared everyone away already... well she should check at least right?

she left her house wearing a black hoodie covering her face and hair. she reached your home and climbed up to your bedroom window to see you asleep peacefully. she unlocked your window and climbed in with a camera in hand.

the smell of your room gave her feelings of nostalgia and she slowly tip toed closer to your sleeping form. she snapped a few pictures ready to add this to her collection. not to mention, she took a few underwear from you.

Just as she was about to leave..

"Irene.. what the hell are you doing in my house?!"

oops!

I HOPE U LIKE IT HAHAHAHASBSHSH

[hana-no-seiiki]

PITYF*CKING

tw/cw: 16+ only please / 15 below + ageless blogs dni!! implied seggs nothing explicit (so don’t put a mature label on my post tumblr staff smh), fem! reader, fem! yandere.

more yan college aka midnight darling content before i go night night. it happens to be wednesday so have an old wlw draft i’ve been working on.

for new readers: midnight darling is where my college based ocs are from. If you’re interested in learning more about them please check out the first tag on this post!

You were always somewhat jealous of Ella Morin. Her ability to go unnoticed everywhere she went was quite a feat. It wasn’t because she was considered conventionally unattractive (quite the opposite in fact, you would consider Ella to be one of the most attractive people in Mediasnoches), or her gloomy aura. It was because she was so incredibly meek and quiet that no one could notice her when she entered a room.

The biggest preference towards isolation didn’t seem to bother her as well. She seemed to enjoy being alone and abhor it when people approached her. You knew that yourself as you has tried to recruit her into your clique when you first met in Zoology.

“Hey honey,” You drawled. Each syllable practiced and precise to the sensation you wished to evoke. Communication; speech was a talent and you proudly excelled in it. “Want to join my team? We’re looking for a fourth and you seem like the perfect addition.”

Sadly, despite your well performed invitation nothing could beat the dozens of eyes that glared down at her for even breathing at your direction. “…I-I’m sorry. I think- um- Maybe ask that other person first? They look like they want to join you is all…”

“Honey, I . . .” Before you could even affirm your desire to have her and not some other rando, Ella quickly packed her belongings and disappeared.

You, like most things you did to Ella, did ask her out of pity. But your pride seethed at her reply.

You never, ever get rejected.

You take one look at a belonging she dropped. On a first look it seemed just like any other lipstick case. But upon further inspection . . .

Oh, she’ll really want to have this back, judging from it’s used, almost abused appearance.

And you knew just the way to give it to her.

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[allurilove]

Yan! Prince x Siren you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Gore, murder, death, cannibalism?, physical violence, non-consensual touching, implied sexual exploitation, fem reader, and decapitation.

*This is just a fun short story I wrote for the class I am taking, and I just decided to upload it here! Some parts are influenced by the yandere fic I already made lol! This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: All you have known is peace, all until you get captured by a group of men that unlocks a different side to you. You then meet a prince, a prince driven with a bloodlust for power, and he gives you a proposition.

Men. All they do is bother you.

Your heart beats fast.

Your vision blurs as the familiar blues turn into browns, and your eyes fixate on the woodwork and rustic charm of what is considered to be a ship. The rope burns onto your skin, and your body contorts into an unnatural state as she is hoisted onto the boat.

Your tail thrashes and you try to bite your way out of the trap—teeth gnashing and chewing—and you cry out as youre is hit with a paddle. Your head starts to ring, and your eyes widen as you see the group of men in front of you.

Their garments are quite different from yours; in fact, they are fully dressed from head to toe. Their clothes are all dark, and their blouses have ruffles at the top. They wear boots, have swords at their sides, trench coats, and carry a heavy musk of sweat and battle.

With a sharp and intimidating blade, one of the men cuts through the net. Multiple hands grab for you, and your world comes to a pause as you panic. You feel like you can't breathe and your lungs are about to collapse. You scratch and attempt to plead with your captors, your nails digging into their forearms, drawing long red streaks.

But they do not listen.

“Mighty thang we got ‘ere!” one of the men says, his hair darkened by the rain peltering their bodies. He has a rough scar running down his face– a deep incision that caused his skin to never heal.

You can see a prominent and yellow snaggletooth whenever he speaks. He has an air of authority surrounding him, and his hat has gold embellishments compared to the regular silver everyone else has. That one particular man holds a predatory gaze, his eyes set ablaze with a whirlwind of mischief. “Tie her up, we could use a beaut like her on top of the mantle.” 

Laughter fills your ears as the group of men start to agree, and you feel a chill run down your spine as they touch your smooth cheek, their fingers trailing down to your jawline, and moving lower to your collarbones.

Each touch feels intrusive as they pet your silk-like hair condescendingly. “We could send her to the owner at The Pearl of the Eye; I know they are lookin’ for new girls to show off,” another says, his arms crossed as he leaned against the post.

“Aye, tha’ a popular place.” The man with the highest regard starts to pet his scruffy beard in thought. He then catches your withering glare, and a flash of amusement crosses his face. “Feisty one, aren’t ya? I know men who would pay a pretty coin for that temperament.”

“Keep it up, trollop.” he snickers, his finger moving to boop your nose. “You’ll make me thousands of gold in no time.”

Your pupils turn to slits as you bite down onto the man's finger, a metallic taste bursting into your mouth, satisfaction lingering on your tongue. His blood becomes sweet nectar, and with renewed strength and clarity, you unhinge your jaw and attempt to swallow the human whole.

Your hunger becomes endless, and a gnawing angry feeling grows into an insatiable appetite for flesh. For skin to be peeled off meat. For meat to be taken from bone, and their vocal chords to be a part of yours. Your body adjusts to the change, your throat expanding to the men’s silhouette as they traveled down your gullet. Their screams were words of encouragement, egging you to continue.

Humans, and men in particular, tasted different from the fish you were used to. They were heavier, harrier, bloodier, and infested with nasty ambition of lust and pride. You revel in the taste of their guilt, their fear, and the past memories of their wickedness. 

No matter how hard the group of men tried to band up and defeat the siren, their swords were no match for your unwavering hatred. You waste zero time to snap multiple necks, your teeth digging into any area that you could rip into shreds, and your stomach becomes full off of their disgustingly filthy urine soaked bodies.

One last man is standing, his eyes wide as saucers and his tears roll down his pale cheeks. He looks young and his uniform doesn't fit him properly. Your nails help your body to crawl towards the shaking figure, he can't even defend himself, and the weapon in his hand shakes. The wind continues to whip around them, the clouds darken as a loud cry comes from the sky, and an array of purple and dark blue strikes down on the earth. The boy yelps when you have an iron grip on his ankle. 

Unbeknownst to the siren, a smaller vessel has pulled up to the larger ship.

“I wouldn't touch him, if I were you.” The voice is cutthroat, a harsh demand that sends chills down the spine of the scariest and deadliest creature. You wince as you feel a sharp pain on your scalp, and your hair is now wrapped around a stranger's hand as they yank you back. You crash into a barrel filled with treasures as you are thrown across the ship, and a bunch of diamonds and pearls spill onto the floor. 

A tall and proud man stands in front of you, he has pitch black hair that flows in the wind, and his blue eyes shine like bright lights. The unknown man's presence is regal-like, his back straight like an arrow, and his face is trained with unusual niceties. Then the little boy ran into his embrace, and his arms wrapped around him tightly… all before the man pulls out a dagger from his sheath.

Without a single thought, a clean cut to the throat separated the head from the body, and the man’s lips stretched into a wide eerie smile. He isn't phased by the limp body falling to his feet and the blood spilling onto his perfect shoes.

“You… you are exactly what I need.” The man’s eyes are glued to yours and he stares down at you. “My name is Prince....” 

The prince that stands before you is practically last in line for the throne. That is what you could surmise from his little rant. He is sadly and disappointingly the second youngest, and he isn't close to the crown and title, at all.

He paced around, one hand on his heart, and the other continued to grip onto the hair of the decapitated head. “I need to be king. I am the only one fit to rule the land. It is like the gods have forsaken me, and they decided to punish me for no apparent reason.”  

The man huffs, his eyes narrowing. The waves crash against the sides of the boat, but he stands his ground. “Six siblings ahead of me, and one measly brother behind me– does that seem fair to you? That this kingdom will fall into the hands of dumb and dumber, and eventually to the offspring of the said dumb and dumber?!” His voice is so loud it even rivals the onslaught of thunder, and you can hear a hint of distraught on his otherwise clear and steady tone.

“This is where you come in.” He stops right in front of you. “I can keep you fed, and I can give you all the riches you could ever want. Marry me, carry my children and lineage, and get rid of all of my siblings.” The prince throws the head at your tail, and with a tilt of the ship, it slowly rolls towards you.

The boy's jaw is slack, a tooth chipped from the impact of the fall, and his blue eyes are wide open in fear. He has similar tiny freckles around his nose like the prince, the same facial structure with the high cheekbones, and a tall nose.  

“Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” 

[yandereend]

Yandere nerd x gn reader x yandere pretty boy

TW : faked death, yandere stuff, i dunno bad things, reader is kinda delulu

Special thanks to -👠anon

Your dead.

He was devastated, you were his life, his saving grace, his entire existence.

It all started when you meet Jake in class. He was the kind of nerd everyone picked on. Tall but scrawny, his clothes were past down from his brothers, his hair overgrown and his acne scars didn’t make him any more appealing.

He felt like he had nothing in life. His family didn’t care for him, his parents even told him straight up at some point that he was a mistake. His grades were bad, i know shocker. Sadly he only appeared like a nerd. The only thing he had going on for him were yandere stories.

He was the type of guy to listen to the asmr, to read the stories, to write with character AI and hope to find the love of his life.

He often pondered during class if one of his classmates could be the one, or the guy on the bus, maybe the girl at the supermarket, a teacher, there was that guy with-

Class this is yn, be nice.

Its you, it was always you.

This is the moment he always dreamed of, your his darling.

The moment he saw you he knew it was over. He followed you in the halls, watched you every moment in school, he even signed up in the same classes as you.

And the best part about it all was you. You treated him so well, you never made fun of him, even in class you helped him with math. That must mean you love him, thanks darling.

He never had any type of real friends but this must be it. And next you will be his partner. He planned everything out, ask you out, then go to a restaurant and then to the cinema.

But then there was Dorian.

The biggest asshole in school his complete opposite. Pretty, rich, popular, charismatic and you new boyfriend.

Jake never stopped watching. He wanted to make sure Dorian didn’t mistreat you. He always wanted you to be safe…

So here he was at you’re funeral.

He cried harder than everyone else, standing out beside your family and friends who tried to stay put together. He was a mess and he felt anger knowing you never knew how much he loved you.

But where is Dorian ?

He knew Dorian shared feelings similar to his, that much was clear after all his stalking. So why didn’t anyone see your dead body and the person you were closest to was nowhere to be seen?

Jake was maybe not the smartest but far from the fool Dorian took him for.

He will find you and bring you to your actual home.

💛Thanks for reading let me know if you want more <3 requests are open and i hope you have a great day 💛

[darkbluekies]

Hey blue! How are you? I just wanted to say that i LOVE your OC Hedwig. When could we get more of her please? (Oh and i'm not forcing you to write about her right away ofc, take your time!!<33)

Let her burn

Female!yandere x reader

Summary: someone is trying to take you from Hedwig, and she will not allow it, she will watch them burn.

Warnings: basically assault, reader blaming themselves, arson, public humiliation, hitmen, bully mentality, fake friends

Word count: 3.4k

The sun is out for once and everyone in school — even the ones you would classify as allergic to the sun — is outside in the school yard. You and Hedwig’s group of popular rats have occupied one of the tables with benches. You're sitting on the bench and Hedwig right above you on the table with her face turned upwards, eyes closed. The others talk about parties they're invited to, what they're going to buy with the money they've made, what clothes look good and what makes them nauseous — extra points if the clothes already exist on a person in a fifteen meter radius.

You stand up. Hedwig turns down her head and looks at you through her sunglasses.

“I'll go buy a juice from the vending machine”, you say. “The sun makes me thirsty.”

She's about to grab her handbag and join you, but you shake your head.

“You can stay, I'll be back in a minute”, you say.

“Are you sure?” she asks hesitantly. 

You nod and turn to walk before she has a chance to protest. You need to get away from Hedwig and her friends' constant shittalk. You've never heard Hedwig join in on their degrading teasing, but she has her own reasons for you wanting some minutes to yourself. Reasons that others are jealous of you for. 

You walk into the school and breathe out, run your hand through your hair. Deciding that if you don't want Hedwog to suspect that you ditched her and her friends because of their presence, you make your way through the empty corridors to the vending machine and take out the wallet that Hedwig gifted you. You pop a few coins into the slot and hover your finger over the juice option.

“Y/N”, a voice says.

You turn your head to one of the girls that hang out in Hedwig’s group, Noelle. She's in the cheerleading team — captain, even, if you're not mistaken — and is always judging the other girls on the team. You hear about it at lunch every single day. Confused, you look at her. What could she want you? She has never wanted to speak with you before, always pretended that you don’t exist … or at least that’s what you thought. 

“Uhm … hi”, you say and glance behind you, to see if someone else had sent her. 

“‘Uhm … hi’”, she chuckles, taking a step forward. “Is that the best you can do after all the time we’ve spent together? You act if this is the first time we’ve met.”

“Technically it is. You’ve never tried to speak to me before.”

“And you’ve never tried to speak with me either, not only my fault.”

You turn around and press the right button for the juice and watch it fall down from its shelf. You can hear Noelle move closer behind you and you’re not sure why your heart skips a beat, and why you’re suddenly on high alert. Maybe it has something to do with the students who have hurt you because of your relationship with Hedwig, or maybe the fact that you know how Noelle acts. You’ve never liked her. 

“You know … if Hedwig hadn’t been so quick to snatch you, I’d given you a shot”, she says, suddenly too close to you for your liking. 

You can’t help but be … surprised? 

“Really?” you question before you have time to stop yourself. 

“Of course”, Noelle says as if it was obvious and that you were stupid for not recognizing it, making you feel stupid.  

“I uh … didn’t know.”

Noelle scoffs out a laugh and you want nothing more than to leave, but you don’t want to be impolite to her, don’t want to give her a reason to talk bad about you … but you have a feeling that’s going to be inevitable. You squeeze the juice packet like a stressball. 

“We should go back out”, you say and try to walk past her, but she grabs your arm. 

“I won’t get to talk to you while we’re out there”, she complaints. “Hedwig’s so fucking insecure. She can’t even let you talk to anyone else without becoming jealous.”

You’ve never been this uncomfortable before. You’re frozen in place, confused on what to do. Noelle is Hedwig’s friend and you don’t want to upset her, but you don’t wish to conversate with her any longer. 

You only manage to mutter one excuse that actually lets you go. “I have to pee.”

“Two deciliters of sugar …”, Hedwig reads aloud and grabs the sugar package. “Should we do a little more? Just in case? I don’t want the pie to become bitter.”

“Why would it be bitter?” you question from the other side of the kitchen aisle. 

Hedwig looks up from the deciliter cup she’s holding, looking clueless. “Rhubarb is bitter, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I don’t think the pie will be bitter.”

“Let’s just add a little more … just in case.”

Your eyes glue onto the trees outside the window, replaying today’s events. You haven’t told Hedwig about yours and Noelle’s conversation, not sure if you should. Hedwig can’t stand knowing that other people could have an interest in you, and she can’t let things go easily. If you tell her this, that could be harmless, she might go around dreading it for weeks … which will go out on you too. But it feels wrong to keep it to yourself. Noelle basically hit on you … shouldn’t you let your girlfriend know? But what if Hedwig thinks that you liked having Noelle basically hit on you? What if she becomes mad at you? 

“Sweetheart?”

You flinch and look up. Hedwig’s looking at you with worried eyes from across the kitchen aisle. 

“You aren’t listening”, she says quietly and lets go of the whisk. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No”, you say and shake your head. “I’m just tired. My head hurts.”

You lower your head to avoid looking at her. You feel dirty, somehow, as if you have betrayed her even though you didn’t want to talk to Noelle. Besides, you didn’t do anything, right? Why can’t you look her in the eye? 

Hedwig walks around the kitchen aisle and cups your cheeks in her hands, directing it up to her. She runs one of her hands through your hair. 

“My poor girl/boy”, she coos with a pout. “Do you want something? A cup of tea?”

You nod. Hedwig smiles and lets you go. She walks over to the marble kitchen counter and turns on the kettle. You’re presented with a cup of breakfast tea just a few minutes later. Hedwig hugs you from behind and kisses your cheek before leaning her chin on your shoulder. 

“You will get some rhubarb pie soon, okay?” she says. 

You nod. Hedwig continues to whisk things together as you watch and slowly sip your tea. A message notification pops up on your phone, from an instagram profile you recognize. You don’t follow it, because you’re not allowed to follow anyone else but Hedwig and your family, but you see who does. The profile picture is taken on school grounds, in the cheerleading uniform. 

“meet me tmr in the music room at 11 i wanna tell you something”

You stare at your screen, feeling your body go numb. 

“Y/N!” 

You flinch again and look up to meet Hedwig’s eyes. They’re burning with rage and worry. 

“Why aren’t you listening to me?” she asks and frowns. “I’m talking to you.”

“I’m sorry”, you reply. “What did you say?”

“Can you open the oven?”

You get up from your chair and walks over to the oven, grabbing the handle. 

“Be really careful”, Hedwig says. “It’s hot. Don’t burn yourself.”

You open the oven, but your hand lingers for too long, burning the side of it. You shriek and jump back, clutching it with your other hand. 

“Oh, my Gosh, Y/N!” Hedwig exclaims and rushes the pie into the oven. “I told you to be careful!”

She closes the oven and hurries to wash your hand under a stream of cold water. 

“What is with you today?” she asks worriedly. “You’re not yourself.”

“I’m just tired”, you lie. 

“Is that all? Really?”

“And my head hurts. I told you.”

“Y/N-”

“I just need to rest.”

Hedwig sighs and pulls you with her to the bathroom where you’re sat down on the toilet seat while she looks for bandaids. You feel oh, so guilty. Hedwig takes care of your hand and gives it a soft kiss. She looks you in the eye in a way that makes your stomach twist. You want to tell her about her friend, but you can’t predict the outcome. 

“You would tell me if there was something going on … wouldn’t you?” she asks slowly. 

You can’t bring yourself to answer. If you open your mouth, your voice will fail you. Instead, you choke back your words and give her a small nod. It looks like she wants to say something, tell you that she doesn’t believe you, but keeps quiet. 

She curls up closely in your arms that night. If you try to remove your arms, she’s quick to pull them back, as if she’s assuring herself that you’re still here — with her. She’s always curled up in your arms at night, with her head on your chest, but tonight her embrace feels even tighter. 

The days go by. Noelle seem to pop up whenever you’re alone, which has made you stay closer to Hedwig than usual. She doesn’t seem to mind it. She holds your hand while talking to someone else, nuzzles up in class, always keeping close. But she looks at you in a way you can’t understand, as if she’s waiting for you to say something, impatient yet scared of what’s to come. 

And one day, when you’re walking to the bathroom, you hear her voice again. 

“Stop ignoring me”, Noelle says angrily. 

You turn around to look at her and gulp. Why do you feel so small? Why does she scare you?

“I’m not ignoring you”, you say exhaustedly. “I just don’t want to talk to you. We have nothing to discuss. Why do you keep on insisting?”

“Because I know that I’m a much better girlfriend than Hedwig could ever be. I want to be your girlfriend.”

“Okay? But I don’t want you-”

“You don’t seem happy with Hedwig anyway.”

You flinch. “That has nothing to do with you, so please just let it be. I want to be left alone. Things will be weird in the group if you continue with this.”

“I'm not the one making it weird, if you just accepted to talk with me then-”

“You don't want to talk about anything, though? You just want me to break up with Hedwig! I’m going back now. Move”

Suddenly everything feels too fast. Noelle grabs you and pushes you up against the wall. You yelp and try to push her off, but her cheerleading activities have built her muscles that overpower you. For a moment, you’re absolutely terrified. Before she has the chance to do anything, however, she's ripped off of you and thrown to the side. Shocked, you look to the side, seeing your girlfriend walk in front of you — which, if anything, makes you even more shocked. You have never been happier for Hedwig’s clingy behavior.

“No, get your fucking hands off of them!” she exclaims jarringly and gives Noelle a harsh push to make sure that she gets farther away from you. “Back off! Are you out of your mind?! Who do you think you are, touching my boyfriend/girlfriend? Absolutely insane! Have you no fucking manners?”

She takes up her phone in her shaking hands, about to call her father.

“I regret ever befriending you, oh my God”, she spits. “I will make sure you pay for this-”

“No, wait, Hedwig”, Noelle pleads, suddenly pathetically aware of what she’s done. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh, so now you’re sorry, huh?” She looks up from her phone, shooting lightening at the other girl. “Not when you texted my girlfriend/boyfriend behind my back? Or when you demanded them to break up with me? But now that you’re caught you’re sorry?! You absolute scum.”

She had seen the messages? You lower your eyes, feeling that horrible shame creep back. 

“I don’t ever want to see you near them again”, Hedwig spits. “Trust me, I will let everyone know what you’ve tried to do. Believe me.”

“I won’t do it again”, Noelle says quickly. “Hedwig, please, come on-”

Hedwig grabs your hand tightly and pushes past her. 

“Move”, she demands darkly and drags you out into the sunlight. 

Hedwig doesn’t let you go until she has pulled you far away from all the other students, until you’re hiding by the canteen delivery entrance. Hedwig is shaking from head to toe, her hands trembling too much to navigate her phone. She sobs harshly, tapping the screen violently until she throws it against the ground with a scream. You flinch. 

“H-Hedwig …”, you say hesitantly. “I’m sorry.”

Hedwig’s eyes dart at you in disbelief, offended that you even thought that any of this oculd be your fault. 

“N-No, Y/N-”, she sobs, choking on her own tears. She grabs your hands before rambling. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

“How did you … know?”

Hedwig wipes her runny nose with the sleeve of her school uniform and hiccups through sobs. “W-When you were sleeping I went into your phone, because I thought that you were acting strange and—and I saw her messages. And when I saw that she went after you to the bathroom I had a feeling that she would—would do something. I’m going to make her pay. I’m going to ruin her life.”

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?”

Hedwig shakes her head firmly. She hugs you tightly, hiding her face into your shoulder. You’re unsure what to do, but eventually place your arms around her. 

“I w-want to go home”, she sobs. “I don’t feel well.”

And you do. 

Hedwig sits down on her bed, clutching her phone in her hand. You can’t catch her attention, even though you try to call out her name. 

“Hedwig, what are you doing?” you ask for the fifth time. 

Finally, she looks up from her phone. 

“I’m telling everyone in the groupchat”, she says. “I promised that everyone will know what Noelle did.”

With Hedwig’s contacts, soon the entire school will know, you think. 

“She made a mistake”, you say. “A very idiotic mistake, but is it really worth this?”

“She was a friend”, Hedwig spat. “She knows very well that you and I are dating and she decides to just … disregard that? No, she deserves it all.”

You can feel the air in the room get switched with something poisonous. You can’t breathe. 

“I think I should go home”, you say and get up from the armchair. 

Hedwig’s head flinches up towards you. 

“No!” she gasps. “Please don’t go!”

She lets go of the phone, sprints up from the bed and hugs you. 

“Please stay”, she begs weakly. “Please.”

“I can’t take more of this silence.”

“I-I’ll put on a movie! You can watch whatever you want, just please stay here. Don’t go.”

You’re soon cuddled up in bed with Hedwig having her arms around yours, still tapping away on her phone in silence. 

The very next day when you come to school, everything seem to have changed. People are looking at the two of you and you can tell, by the pitiful looks in their eyes, that they know what happened yesterday. Even though it wasn’t your fault, you feel like you’re in the wrong and that everyone else think so too. 

You meet up with Hedwig’s friend group who immediately tells her how they've always thought that there was something off with Noelle and how disgusting she is. Yesterday, they all loved her. And suddenly they have felt off about her for so long? You fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

You look at Hedwig in disbelief. Do you hear this?

Her eyes twitched. Oh yeah. 

Her grip on your hand tightens. 

While you’re talking, you see how Noelle enters the school yard. She has dark circles under her eyes and looks … small. You almost feel bad for her. The group gives her nasty looks. 

You don’t see the small ‘I-told-you-so’ smile on Hedwig’s face. She drinks it all in, sunbathes in her misery. But it’s not enough. She has humiliated her in front of the entire school and ruined her reputation … but it’s not enough. The sight of her makes Hedwig’s blood boil. She wants her gone, removed out of her sight. Wants her dead. 

She had promised herself not to do it again, but she can’t let Noelle come and go like this. What if she somehow manages to fix her life and reputation? What if she starts a new school and no one knows about what she’s done and starts to like her? She has to disappear. 

Hedwig looks at you and sighs. You are worth it.

“I have to go to the bathroom”, she whispers. “Can you come with me?”

You nod. While Hedwig goes into the bathroom, she takes up her phone and calls the number she has hidden away behind a contact name called ‘Abbe’s Bakery’. She holds the phone to her ear. But this contact is neither named Abbe or owns a bakery. 

“Hedwig, it was a long time ago”, a male voice says on the other side of the line. “Why do you suddenly need me again?”

“My relationship is threatened again”, she says in a hushed tone. “I need to get rid of the threat. You have to help me.”

“Sure, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to burn her in.”

That night when you’re sleeping soundly beside her, she crawls out of bed, making sure not to wake you. Oh, God, if she wakes you … she wouldn't forgive herself. You look absolutely gorgeous when sleeping. No soul in the world is allowed to disturb your peaceful slumber. Hedwig wants nothing more than to cuddle up beside you, hold you tightly in her arms and drift away to another dimension, but she has to make sure the girl pays for what she did.

“I'll be back soon”, Hedwig whispers, knowing full well that you can't hear her. “I will make sure nothing ever happens to you. You will never have to worry as long as I am here.”

She kisses your forehead as softly as she possibly can to not wake you up. She tucks you in and sneaks out of her room. Her heart swells with adoration for you. It only makes her more certain. She has to do this — for you. For your safety. And for her own sanity.

Hedwig wears a black hoodie, pulls the hood over her head and makes sure that none of her hair will be visible and quietly makes her way out of the mansion and runs past the gates. She doesn't take a car or scooter, scared that any security cameras in the city will catch her registration. She runs through the night, not wanting to miss the show. The only thing keeping her company is the sound of her own breathing and her shoes hitting the asphalt underneath her. 

She arrives just in time. Red, yellow and orange flames has started to lick at the house on the other side of the road and is quickly embracing it. The flames climb higher, reaching for the moon. Hedwig can hear screams from inside, hears glass being broken … and all she does is smile. She revels in the sight. 

You deserve it, Hedwig thinks. You should never have tried to take my partner from me. 

She decides to leave before neighbors and firefighters start to come running. It’s with a smile that Hedwig returns to her room and takes you in her arms. You whimper in your sleep and she’s quick to hush and stroke your hair. 

“Don’t wake up, it’s okay”, she whispers and kisses your cheek. “Everything is okay now, you’re safe. You’re okay.”

She smiles widely. Everything is okay now. 

[scremogirl]

✪⁂✫彡𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓✵✥☆ミ★ ???

𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞-𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞

Yandere Student Council Pres x Nonchalant reader

I’m not sure if I should retitle this to Yandere! Childhood friend x reader or not. There’s not a lot of the fact he’s the SCP shown in the story. I felt like I went a little off track. I got so consumed in writing😭. I already have a post like that on my page so I didn’t want to make it confusing. I don’t know if I should’ve said unemotional reader either. Idk let me know what you think. Have fun reading!

He was at the top of the food chain. Good grades, teachers liked him, students feared him, rich, good looking, and most importantly; the student council president. With that being said, why wouldn’t he leave you alone?

Takenya was a stuck up priss in your opinion. Always lecturing you about things you could do in order of improvement. You weren’t popular but you weren’t one of those weird Naruto kids that sat in the back of the class and ate crayons either. You just existed. Someone so average at everything somehow attracted the most “perfect” guy in school. Your grades were fine; a straight A-B student with the occasional C here and there. Your attendance on the other hand… well maybe he’s not so wrong about that, but who actually wants to be at school anyways?

“I don’t understand why you don’t try harder? You could easily surpass most of our class,”

“You need to come to school. This behavior would never pass in the real world. What would your employer think of you just not showing up?”

“Chocolate for lunch…really? If you want to stay healthy you’ll need to-“

Why does he care so much anyways? Sure, you used to be friends in like what, fifth grade? You used to get bullied in school for being different. You just didn’t like the things that kids your age were supposed to like. But… it never bothered you. You weren’t emotionless per se, it’s just, why care what others have to think?

Mellisa Grey. The girliest of all girls. She used to have it out for you when you were younger. Calling you names and bumping your shoulder whenever you walked by. You put up with it until the end of the year; fifth grade graduation. That evening she and her crew thought it’d be funny to pour milk on the shy little nerdy boy in your class. Some spilled on your dress, that you didn’t mind, but the tears of the boy next to you made you. Something inside of you just snapped. You shot up from your seat grabbing a first full of her hair and slammed her head onto the wooden table. Not stopping until you saw the wire of her pink, sparkly braces fly out her mouth. Well, that was what you wanted to do; the teachers came too early for you to inflict any further damage. The most you got was a broken nose and a lawsuit. She transferred schools after that, and you got the whoopin of a lifetime. You didn’t care. You didn’t feel bad at all. If anything you felt elated seeing her in pain and the rage on her parents faces as the cussed child you out. You didn’t cry or yell when your parents picked you up. You weren’t phased by the belt or the palm of your mothers hand striking you. You didn’t feel anything. So why were you so upset on someone else's behalf anyways?

You knew this kid. I mean, how couldn’t you when he would follow you around 24/7.

“H-Hi… my names Takenya” you just blankly stared. His sheepish gaze barely meets yours from behind his big fat glasses.

“…Do I know you?”

“Well…no. But I know you!”

“Good for you I guess.” You continued to go back and forth on the swing, not acknowledging the boy's existence at all. The swing he sat on remained stationary, never once dropping his gaze from you.

“Uhm… I just wanted to thank you for yesterday,” Hm? What was he talking about? He saw the confusion in your face when you turned around to ask and beat you to the point.

“You probably don’t know me. We’re not in the same class,” Right. So why is he talking to you? Again, before you could ask he cut you off.

“The other day when recess started you helped me pick up all of my stuff after Carter pushed me down; remember? I-I just wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me” Ohhh, you do remember him now. He was that shy little rich kid that transferred here at the end of fourth grade. He didn’t have many friends, let alone any at all. Everyone had grown up with each other and formed friend groups at this poin. He was a little late to the party so he didn’t fit in. He wasn’t worried about the next episode of Ninjago and didn’t find humor in looking up the words penis and vagina in the dictionary at the school library when the teacher wasn’t looking. His hair long, tied back into a neat ponytail and not buzzed into a Mohawk like half the boys in your grade. He had glasses that almost covered the entirety of his upper face. He always ate his pb&js on whole wheat instead of white and preferred celery sticks over fruit snacks. So, just like you, he got bullied just because he was different.

“Oh yea. I remember you now. You’re welcome by the way,” he grinned. The first time you saw him smile ever since he came to your school.

That marked the day of a long friendship.

That was until you went to middle school. You think puberty had something to do with it. He grew into his face more and sized down those jellyfishing glasses. His scrawny figure gained slightly more bulk and dressed in a more modern fashion. His hair remained the same; a bit shorter than before but still longer than most guys. You’ve always liked his hair. He would let you braid it sometimes when he was too distracted playing on his DS. He didn’t get acne like many of the other kids your grade either, skin smooth and clear. All the girls found him to die for. Your nonchalant behavior rubbed off on him and he became more confident in himself. Not letting his elementary school self be reflected into now. He became a bit too obsessed with his studies for a middle schooler; pushing all his ways on you. He would always follow you around blabbing about not attending gym class. He even started hanging around the same snotty rich kids he would complain to you about. You became annoyed. So you cut him off. Just like that. Stopped talking to him, answering his texts, not sitting with him at lunch or in class. Even after all the rejection at his advances, he came running back to you. Not willing to let you go so easily.

The school bell rings signaling the end of 4th pd and beginning of lunch. You were planning to go off campus today and not come back. Keys in hand you make your way to the student parking lot. However, someone’s blocking the exit. He’s gotten taller, about 6’2-6’3; sleeper build accommodating his height. Glasses thinner and sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose. Hair as long as ever, tyed back with that same white ribbon you gave him years ago; revealing an undercut. He fixes the collar of his button up and readjusts his tie and vest.

“And exactly…just where do you think your going?”

“To lunch,”

“The cafeteria is that way,” he points with a slender finger, decorated by a diamond ring. It shimers under the lights above reflecting against his matching earrings.

“Off campus,” he raises his eyebrow, folding his arms.

“Knowing you, you won’t come back. You do realize your request for a half day schedule is still pending right? You also recognize that I’m the one who assists the principal in granting them as well?” You don’t answer him, already knowing we're going with this.

“As I said before, your attendance needs improving before I-… we can grant it,” what a pain in the ass this guy is. You try to walk past him but he stops you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t eat school lunch. I’ll be back after,” he gives you an unamused look. Hand gripping your shoulder a little tighter as you try to take another step.

“You know I can’t let you do that. Not unless you don’t want a new schedule,” he pauses.

“Not unless I come with you,” you look up.

“You’re paying?” His eyes widened slightly, shocked at your willingness. But he can’t be too surprised, he knows you don’t care about anything unless you get what you want.

“Of course I am. You need to spend your money on other priorities; like a new math textbook,” you ignore the subtle jab and walk to his car. No need to ask where as he parks next to you everyday to make sure he knows you’ve actually show up. Definitely not because your the first thing he wants to see in the morning.

“I don’t understand why you come to McDonald’s of all places,” he lets out a sigh, handing his card to the drive through worker. He drives up to the next window waiting for the food.

“It’s not healthy. You seriously should consider my offer in taking you to that new place down the street,”. He looks over when he doesn’t get a response; noticing the music blasting from your headphones as you look at the door. He sighs again before taking the food from the workers hand and grabbing your headphones. You turn your head to look at him but your gaze shifts to the bag in his hand. You reach over and grab a fry out of the bag and he s his eyes. Pulling into the parking lot, he silently watches you eat. This brings him so much nostalgia. He misses eating lunch with you everyday. Ranting while you just sit there and chew. He misses having someone listening to him about something that’s not related to school. After you stopped *attempted* talking to him in the beginning of 7th grade, his heart felt like it got ripped out of his chest.

He’s never felt anything his whole life. His father would tell him that one day he’ll find someone who makes him feel everything, makes life worth it. He’d seen the love shared between his parents everyday. He always wanted that. In the fourth grade all of that came true. He saw you getting off the bus making your way to school. He saw the way you helped up Michael Lemitzki, a dorky little boy, after Conner pushed him down. Shaggy hair, braces lining his teeth, comic books all on the floor. How pathetic. You weren’t scared of Conner at all. He was bigger than you and more popular than you, but you didn’t care. You kept a straight face as he threatened you and held your composure. No emotion showing whatsoever.

He thought you were beautiful. It was love at first sight. He was too busy staring at you to hear his father calling out to him. He followed his son's gaze to you. He looked back down at the small boy and gave a knowing smile. Takenya just stared at the other boy hugging you with tears down his face. Why is he touching you like that? Push him away already! That day he purposely made himself a target to the bullying of Melissa and Conner. Hoping that one day, you’ll save him the same way you did Jacob. He got bigger glasses, grew his hair out, and started dressing like the typical “nerd”. He would leave candies in your cubby, prized limited edition Pokémon cards in your backpack, brand new color pencils and markers showed up around you. He started to lose hope though. Why haven’t you noticed him yet!? Sure he’s never actually talked to you.. but still! Could you not see his effort?! Did you not care? He sat alone at recess that fateful day. He was randomly pushed down, papers and crayons flying out his small hands. He wasn’t in the mood for Connors teasing today. To caught up on the fact that the love of his life may never see him they way he’s dreamed of. Oh the dramatic mind of a fifth grader. He clutched the safety scissors that flew out of his pencil pouch watching the dick of an elementary schooler turn around. He was about to get up but stopped as he saw someone bend down beside him. It was you! You helped gather all his things and placed them into his arms. His heart pounded in his chest and the blush on his face spread like wildfire. Before he could say anything you walked away. Taking your place on the swing set. He hurriedly put all his things away before trying to build up the courage to come talk to you. He took to long, however, as the teacher soon yelled for everyone to make their way into the line back to their respective class.

As he reminisces on the past, an alarm rings. Telling him that it’s time to make his way back to school. You’ve already finished all your food and somehow managed to take your headphones back.

“What?” You say snapping him out of his trance. He didn’t even realize he was staring.

“Nothing,”

You make your way back to the school and go your separate ways. He walks you to class ensuring that you get there. Out the corner of his eye he sees someone wave to you. Lemitzki. His hairs more well kept, ditched the glasses for contacts showing of his green eyes. He’s taller and has more muscles now. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the jagged line that makes it’s way across his right cheek, interfering with his dimple as he smiles. It’s been awhile, the scar healed well. The once clutzy boy looks at the door and freezes, hand dropping and going pale. There’s a silent stare off between the two before the late bell rings. Takenya makes his way to class, a slight smile on his face at a sudden memory.

Watching him walk away, a fist tightens. Little does he know someone was planning on getting their revenge.

Hi loves! I hope you guys enjoyed. Take is an OC of mine I’ve had for a while just never had a name for him until now. Like his concept was in my head foreverrrr. He might be a reoccurring character. I really like him. But I did put one shot so I’m not sure. Lemme know what y’all want. Check out this post below for a little more context. Hope you enjoyed.

-Love, Sos❤️

[queenie-the-court-jester]

yandere! popular girl x gn!reader x yandere emo boy

A/n: "Mimi" is 18 years old and a senior! This post is nsfw so minors do not interact! Sorry for the shitty ending, I'm too sleepy

💓yandere! Popular girl who first introduced herself as "Mimi", refusing to tell you her real name as she found you sitting alone at lunch. Riley having left to go and get a lunch for himself

"saw you by yourself and I couldn't leave such a cute thing all by their lonesome! What's your name sweetheart?"

🌺Mimi follows you everywhere, much to Riley's displeasure, she quickly becomes someone fun and reliable for you to hang out with. You never seemed to notice the tension she had with the aforementioned goth

🌷Mimi slowly pushes the boundaries of your friendship, Getting very touchy feely and claiming it was how she was with all her friends! Which isn't much of a lie since you've seen how she acts the same with them.. but still, you could swear she was more personal with you..

💓Mimi starts getting dirty thoughts of you 3 months into your friendship, desperately needing to touch herself to get some relief. It was such a problem since she had a high sex drive, just a horny virgin really

"ah.. hah.. babydoll.. fuck, wish you were here.. wonder how you'd take care of me.. ah..! cumming.."

🌺Mimi secretly has low self esteem and confidence, seeing you as her only saving light despite being surrounded by people who love her. She doesn't need them! All she wants is you.

🌷Riley and Mimi who start getting sexually frustrated because you're either so dense to their advances or you're just choosing to ignore the signs. They come to an agreement to satisfy eachother until they can get you, whoever reaches you first wins fair and square

"Riley! Slow down, w-wait not inside-!?"

"...whoops"

"goddamnit Riley... You're so lucky I'm on the pill.."

💓Riley and Mimi who slowly start falling in love, their dates often involving stalking you and/or mutually masturbating to hearing you get yourself off in your room, through the camera Mimi hid under your bed one time when she was over

🌺Mimi has a big breeding kink, and loves it when she gets her clit slapped. Cumming almost instantly. Riley is more than happy to help. (They totally aren't planning on going 10x more roughly on you)

🌷Mimi and Riley who kidnap you as soon as you all graduate, keeping you locked in Riley's basement. Mimi moves in soon after and they both take turns going out to work or looking after you

💓if you're afab Mimi will beg Riley to knock you both up once you're financially stable. If you're amab Mimi will beg you to give her a baby. She's desperate okay

🌺5 years later they managed to forge a three-way marriage contract, keeping it under wraps as you're all now legally married! Congrats to the happy couple

🌷Mimi is incredibly happy, but she can also feel her grip on reality slipping.. hm,must be nothing, right?

[kaicubus]

Extra Salty | Jennifer C.

₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ───────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ─────────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊

warnings ✩° : 18+ NSFW, yandere!jennifer, implied jealousy, established relationship, cursing, reader knows jennifer is a demon, biting/marking, jennifer getting off on your thigh, dom!jennifer, cursing, dirty talk, jennifer calls reader a slut (affectionately).

pairing ✩° : jennifer check x fem!reader, college au, all characters are of age!

premise ✩° : things take a turn for the worst when jennifer finds out her precious girlfriend has been hanging around someone other than her, which is by far one of the worst mistakes someone can make, but how will she punish you?

word count ✩°: 3.9k

authors note ✩° : this is literally THE fic bc its jennifer, who's a succubus, and my whole thing is basically succubi...like it's perfect. anyways so sorry i've been gone, i'm finding time to write and not lose my sanity but school is so stressful!!

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Jennifer Check was always confrontational. She never feared rejection or looking bad since no matter what she did, she looked great all the time. What did she have to hide? Nothing, apparently. Not even with the insecurities she so often felt when it came to her obsession with you, her beloved girlfriend.

When most people say they trust their partner just not anyone else, Jennifer says they don't mean it like she means it. That being said, for the longest time, Jennifer Check remained the most jealous girl you knew, not that you knew any girls, though personally you believed she had no reason to be. It was her who was constantly in the limelight, being admired up close or from afar as she held the status of being the most popular girl wherever she went in middle school, high school, and now in college. Her treatment was the same regardless of her location, and if anyone should be jealous in your relationship, it should be you. That doesn't go to say that you are by any means less than Jennifer, you were well aware of the fact that her beauty was unattainable. Not because she got plastic surgery or botox, but because she wasn't human.

A succubus. 

She took in a demon from the darkest pits of hell willingly to inhabit her body which causes her to feed on the blood of virgin men, leaving her hungry—starving in fact—until her next fix. Being a succubus basically meant that no matter what, Jennifer would always be beautiful, just as long as she was able to get her hands on the next, drooling dog so she could feed, or as anyone else would say, the next guy looking at her with goo goo eyes. Thankfully, she never had to wait long, and Jennifer remained beautiful. Her hunger for men never stopped her from devoting herself to you though, since as she sees it, men are toys meant to break and abandon, while you're just untouchable.

In her world, the people behind her were simply that: behind her, under her, or below her. They never mattered like you did, the only thing that did matter was if anyone got involved with you, and that was almost always a situation you never wanted to be in because of how extreme she tended to be. 

Despite being everyone's dream girl, Jennifer was cold and bitter towards everyone. She couldn't care less if she ‘accidentally’ gave someone attitude or insulted them to their face or behind their backs, because they just weren't you. In her mind, she had no reason to be nice to anyone who wasn't Y/n L/n. However, you were slightly different than her. In fact quite the opposite. In social settings, you greeted everyone with a smile, asking how their day was, and sometimes giving them a hug—since being friendly just seemed like the right thing to do.

The only problem with your instilled politeness was that Jennifer wasn't the biggest fan. She hated seeing you smile at anyone other than herself, let alone anyone she considered to be as low as scum on earth as she felt it insulting to her beliefs and her heart. She never said, but you knew all too well that she was fed up, knowing that you were at class lectures talking and interacting with other people. 

You never had to walk on eggshells with her, because she was very upfront and communicative about how she felt, but at times, even you had to admit she was being a little...possessive.

So, that's why when she found you spending the entire day with someone she didn't know through a carousel post on Instagram with the caption reading, “With the best partner in the world!” there was only one thing on her mind. 

After a few hours passed since Jennifer saw the post, she was on your doorstep, staring at you with happily squinted eyes, grinning ear to ear, almost as if she were made of plastic. She doesn't have to knock twice before you notice it's her and open the door for her, revealing her straight, long, inky black hair resting pristinely over her shoulder and a tightly fitted cropped shirt hugging her breasts and an acid washed pair of low rise, bootcut jeans hanging off her hips. 

Before you could say anything to greet her, Jennifer shoves past you, holding her head up high with that sort of pep in her step that makes her irresistible. Closing the door behind her, Jennifer continues walking past you and makes her way up the stairs to your bedroom, to where you follow without saying a word. 

“So.” Your girlfriend smiles and wraps her arms around your neck once you both are in your room, “I missed you, where have you been all day? I texted you like, 10 fucking times.” She spoke, her voice low and thick with sultry as she tips her chin down to meet your confused gaze through her neatly plucked, thin eyebrows. The last time you checked your phone was when your heart sank staring at the 36 missed calls and 61 unread texts all from her. You were going to respond as soon as you got back to your apartment, but Jennifer beat you to it, as she always does.

“You know, I could’ve fucking died, Y/n. You weren't the least bit worried about me?” With a pout, she leans closer and presses a kiss on your cheek, leaving a dark shaded lipstick stain on your otherwise clean skin. She remains smiling, swishing her hair over her shoulders as she cocks her head to the side enchantingly. 

“Nice of you to drop in, Jenny.” Despite your initial surprise, you wrap your arms around her shoulders and let your hands fall past her back and her fitted shirt, “I know you didn't die because one, you're already dead, and two, you kept calling. You knew I was in class.” You remind her subtly, using your fingers to twist the ends of her silky hair around in loops in an attempt to calm her boiling nerves. 

Jennifer lets out a sharp exhale and drops her shoulders, “I seriously wouldn't play dumb if I were you, baby. I saw your best friend’s post with you in it. Front and center. Next to some bitch with dry, split ends and eye bags that take up like half of her pustule filled face.” She spits accusingly, only giving a heartless shrug after you shoot her a distasteful sneer, “Really frumpy looking. You know, for someone who’s dating someone like me, you’d think you’d hang out with someone with just a bit more style, you know?” She snorts again, not grasping the weight of her hurtful words and only seeing your annoyed expression.

You push yourself off her slightly, but only manage to turn your neck to face her since her hands are interlocked together in a way it’d be impossible to break free. “She’s a friend of mine, Jenny. You don’t have to get defensive, I met her in my calculus lecture. She’s actually really cool, we were studying at that little cafe on—”

“Snoozefest.” Jennifer says loudly, yawning melodramatically, “No name? Surely she’s gotta have one, or are you keeping her name a secret because you’re scared of what I’ll do if I find out? What, is her code name pineapple or some weird shit like that?”

“No nicknames, not much of anything. But VIVIAN and I are going to be studying for our exam next week, because you know I suck at math.” You shrug. Vivian. What a stupid name, Jennifer thought. Of course, it was clear on her face that she didn’t like it. With a small click of her tongue, she rolls her eyes and catches her elbows with her hands, digging into her own skin for a minute.

“God you are so full of shit. Just tell me you think she’s prettier than me. That’s what you’re thinking, right? That’s why you didn’t answer my calls because you were too busy thinking about how much you want to suck on her face?” She holds up two peace signs and rams them together, insinuating some lewd gesture. 

You meet her eyes. They were darker than usual, not entirely a different color, but blackened by the shadow cast down from her furrowed brows that only seemed to sink into her face, making her pristine expression appear more or less evil. Crystal blue eyes shake frantically from side to side, scanning your face for any sort of change or distortion that could tell her you were lying to her, but since you weren’t, she couldn’t find anything. 

“Jenny, you know I would never go out with anyone like that if they weren’t you.” You smile reassuringly and guide your hands to hers, capturing her cold blooded palms into yours. You fall back silently and sit on the foot of your bed, looking up at her in full. Her arms dangle but she doesn’t seem that convinced. 

"...Are you lying to me?" Jennifer asks with a crazed look in her eyes, suddenly gaining the exposure from the light above in a flash, "What the fuck are you hiding me from me, Y/n? Do you have some side bitch? Something you don't want me to talk to me about?" She continues, pressing on to get a rise out of you. You’re well aware of her tactics and the way her mind works, but she was also aware of the fact you had no control over yourself when you got nervous, or rather when she confronted you and backed you into a corner. 

“N-No!” You manage to squeeze out, “Jen, I’m not hiding shit from you, what’s your problem?” Hot pink stiletto nails sink into your shoulders, wandering down your arms and tracing back up, instantly making your entire body shiver. Suddenly, her nails dig deep into your skin causing half crescent moons to form red in your skin. You look up at her in shock and your lips snap open at the sight of your teeth bared girlfriend now looking like she’s about to unhinge her jaw and swallow you whole. Little ‘ow’s’ don't stop Jennifer from squeezing harder and harder. It isn't until she sees tears prick your eyes, forcing you to snap them shut. Only now, Jennifer smiled. "What?” You can hear her giggle, “Did you think I was actually going to hurt you?" You open your eyes and grab your chest, heaving a deep sigh of relief, "God, Y/n, you're so fun to scare. It’s nice knowing I can still get a rise out of you, that’s why I always love doing it. But, personally, I find teasing you much more entertaining. Plus, I'm really fucking bored, and you have something I want. That's why I came here, you know?" 

You regain a bit of your composure and lean back, “And what would that be?”

Jennifer drops her shoulders and arches her back. Reluctantly taking her hand from yours, she slowly pushes herself onto your body, lowering herself just a bit and wrapping her thin arm around your waist, pulling you closer to her at the same time. “To punish you for ignoring me all day. Because you really know how to piss me off, baby.” Jennifer’s hands clasp together, locking palms into place just over the waistband of your spandex shorts. Sharing a wide eyed glance, Jennifer lets her cherry pink lips fall open, exposing the tips of her ivory teeth and sharp canines as soon as she starts to smirk.

Your mouth falls open as well, prepping your tongue to say something, anything to question her position, the way her lip tucks under her glistening teeth, or her hand slowly trailing down the front of her chest, peeling back the thin, white fabric of her shirt until the cups of her baby pink bra spring out in front of you. No words come out of your throat, not even a sound can be heard as Jennifer effortlessly lifts herself from your waist, unzipping and jostling her belt buckle from her jeans, revealing a matching pink set of panties hugging tightly around her thin waist. 

“All I want is for you to look at me, and see all of this,” Jennifer says, leaning down, cupping her hands around her perfectly rounded tits, “Do you know how many times I touched myself today thinking about you? Thinking about how fucking pissed I was about you hanging out with some needy bitch…while I’m being a needy bitch for you…I’m your bitch, but you're my slut. M’kay?” 

You nod obediently, earning a gentle grin from the only person who mattered right now. That nod was all Jennifer needed to carry out the rest of her plan, and before you knew it, the same acid washed bootcut jeans she once wore to greet you a few minutes ago on your doorstep were discarded to the floor, looking like nothing more than a towel next to the rest of your dirty laundry. Now, Jennifer sat comfortably between your closed thighs, straddling your leg as if it were an armchair or a bicycle seat. While you were fully clothed and dressed, Jennifer was not. 

The only pieces of clothing covering her were slowly being stripped off her the more she noticed how flush your cheeks seemed to get or how many times you've avoided her gaze. How could you act like it didn't bother you that your girlfriend was on top of you, wearing nothing but a matching set of bra and panties, sitting directly on your leg, with nothing to hide, not even the surging heat or pooling wetness pulsating from between her own legs. 

"What’s wrong, Y/n? Cat got your tongue?” Jennifer starts moving, rendering you speechless, planting her soft panties, slowly accumulating more and more slick from just the sight of you, onto the bare skin of your thigh, "Ah, you know, you look really good from this side,” Jennifer grins and moves her hips to the side, but quickly corrects herself with a sharp seethe, shaking her head, “No, wait, this side.” You bite down on your lip. Jennifer’s teased you before, she takes great pride in that. But never before has it had such an effect on you as it does now. But why?

Jennifer quickly jerks her hips forward, reminding you of her presence and clearly annoyed at the thought you might be slipping away from her. 

“You wish you were eating me out right now, don't you?” Like a puppeteer, Jennifer widens her sadistic grin and nods her head, maintaining her agonizingly slow pace of her rutting hips, which causes you to nod your own, “My soaking wet pussy, your hot tongue inside of me…fuck don't get me excited, Y/n. It’s too bad, because after today, I’m not going to let you fucking touch me.” 

“Jenny, I didn't do anything, we just studied!” You let out an uncontrolled whimper, “F-Fuck, ngh…” 

“You’re going to watch me fuck myself on your thigh, and you're going to savor every bit of it. You won't even remember that pathetic bitch’s name after I'm finished with you. Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, that’s all you're going to be thinking. No more Vivian…no more anyone else. You drove me crazy, but now it’s time I do the same to you.”

You gulp down all the saliva pooled inside your mouth, forgetting all of your humanly binds as the inhuman entity on your leg arches her back and stares down at you with eyes piercing directly into your own. Jennifer knows the hold she has on you, which is why her ego’s always so high; She dangles her body, her lust, in front of you like a rare steak to a starved dog, knowing the consequences. The bit of drool that leaks out of the corner of your rose-wet lips is all she needs to see to reaffirm that idea. 

"That's right, baby, don't stop looking at me. Keep looking at how I'm rubbing my wet pussy on your thigh. Doesn't that feel good?" Jennifer edges in a melodic tone, almost siren-like despite being a succubus, "You did this, you know. You made me so fucking horny, thinking about you and what you did today without me, you got me all riled up. I hope you're proud, slut~"

You nod your head eagerly, mouth widened and agape, but not being able to say what you think you want to say. Almost as if she's put a trance on you, you're silenced. Unharmed, but silent.

If it were your fingers, your mouth, or even your own clit rubbing against hers, the story would be much different. Instead this was Jennifer’s way of punishing you, knowing you can't indulge in the sweetness of her juices or warmth of her fluttering cunt directly, or at least the way you want to. Jennifer rocks her hips back and forth, dragging her throbbing clit and equally sopping wet folds against your skin, chewing on her bottom lip to release as much tension as she can while still teasing the living hell out of you. 

“Jenny, p-please, I can’t—” You groan and reach for her stomach, overcome with the insatiable need to touch her skin, but she continues to pleasure herself on your leg. Letting out loose moans as she rolls her neck in circles, Jennifer plants her palms onto your waist, humming your name from her pillowy lips. 

“Mm, ooh fuck!” She gasps, “Right there, right there is perfect~!” Her eyes open just a slit, “Better than any fucking vibrator or dildo I've ever had. Who knew fucking my girlfriends pretty fucking thigh could get me so fucking wet…and hot, and messy.” You stare as Jennifer’s fingers tap further down her pelvis and reach the side of her underwear, which was practically useless now as it was completely soaked through with slick arousal seeping from the nylon fabric. As she pulls the sticky material from her inner thigh, you can hear a small, lewd ‘shlick’ sound coming from her pussy, now met with the cold air surrounding the two of you. 

Jennifer practically purred as she settles back down on your warm flesh, her now exposed pink cunt flattens onto the same spot on your thigh that she's been massaging into, only now you could truly feel all of her. Her eyes flutter shut, and she repeatedly nudges her sweet spot over and over in circles and bold stripes. Normally, Jennifer’s body was pretty insensitive, at least with anyone else she never got to climax. She grew very fond of faking orgasms, and she was pretty good at it. That never crossed her mind with you, though. 

“Baby, look at me,” Jennifer catches your chin and leans down, bucking her hips in sharp, fluid motions, “I'm so close, I'm so close to cumming all over your soft, warm thigh, I'm so close to making such a pretty mess all over you.” She slowly hunches towards you, closing the space between you ever so slowly, taking all the time in the world before finally the burning sensation of her lips on yours returns once more. Pressing against your mouth was the first mistake she made, as now you couldn't hold back anything inside of you. You began to feel your chest start to catch flame, your movements were simply not your own anymore. 

Hurriedly, your arms link behind Jennifer’s back, and your hands find their place on your girlfriend’s plush ass, scooting her closer so that her exposed chest is right against your shirt. You can hear her let out a surprised, yet intrigued gasp, followed by an even hungrier kiss, smirking directly into your mouth. 

“Ooh fuck, Y/n, is it that hard to keep your fucking hands off me? Am I that irresistible to you, my slutty girl?” She says in between breaks of the heated kiss, licking her tongue in circular motions, making loud, noisy slurps and panting breathlessly. Your hands lift up to her back and basically rip off her bra. You remove yourself from her swollen lips to gaze at her perfectly smooth tits, only for her to cut your admiration short with an abrupt grab at your hands from behind her. 

“You're my slut, Y/n. My only. Don't ever fucking,” Jennifer gasps, “Think about anyone else. Just me. Only me.” 

“F-Fuck, Jennifer.” You can feel your own heat growing with each second. 

“Say it.” She commands, bouncing now on your thigh as she brings your hands out in front of her and places them directly on top of her tits, massaging your palms in circles, “Say you're my slut.” Jennifer’s mouth falls open and her movements instantly grow more and more uncontrolled, which was a tell-tale sign she was close to her climax. 

Without hesitation, you lurch forward and run your hands over her erect nipples, squeezing them with just the right amount of pressure to send Jennifer’s body limp, “I'm your slut, I'm your only fucking slut, Jennifer. You're so beautiful for me, all I want is for you to cum.” You wine, your desperate voice full of wanton, “Please, please…” 

“My slut, my pretty fucking slut, begging for me to c-cum all over her. Mmngh!” She pants, “Fuck!” Her hips jerk forwards suddenly and you can feel her entire body above you start to spasm. Your eyes widen as Jennifer flips her head down and back up, swishing her black hair messily over her fucked out expression, watching as a few strands get caught in the corner of her mouth, but she could care less. The rush surging inside of her was too much to ignore for her to preserve her neatness. “Fuck! I’m going to cum, I’m going to fucking c—hm!”

You can feel the way her legs tensing and relaxing together around your thigh, giving her the leverage she needs to accommodate for the overwhelming, pulsating sensation rippling throughout her pussy. Jennifer screams out in satisfaction, repeatedly mumbling encouraging ‘yes’s’ from the deepest pits of her diaphragm, bucking and rutting her sopping wet cunt back and forth as she rides out her climax. Her pussy doesn't stop twitching when she opens her eyes with a hefty sigh, nor does it stop when her body gives out and flops into yours. The extra weight of Jennifer is enough to push you backwards against the pillow behind you, but she doesn't let up.

Jennifer continues to crawl onto you, as if she wasn't close enough already, just to surround herself with the comfort of her girlfriend, but clearly trying to physically get under your skin. Jennifer hums in satisfaction and lets out a breathy laugh, rising up to your chest to rest the side of her face comfortably against the top of your collarbone. Flushed, red, and wet, Jennifer presses small kisses all against any exposed skin, running her hands all over your jawline and through your hair. 

With a firm grip on the roots of your hair, Jennifer grins, “I...I don't want you talking to her anymore. Ok?” She says softly, almost innocently. As her hands start to move up your glistening thigh, just over the fabric hugging your waist, and past your now unbuttoned shorts, you nod, “I won't talk to her ever again.” 

“Good.”

[after-witch]

Death by Stereo [Yandere Chrollo x Reader] [Vampire AU]

Title: Death by Stereo [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re just a nobody living in a small town when a mysterious stranger with a leather jacket, good looks and a penchant for kissing your hand rolls in, just in time for the ever-popular summer carnival. Things are going great, until dead bodies start piling up. 

Word count: 17,510

Notes: yandere, vampire AU, descriptions of dead bodies, some violence, gore, abuse

Thursday

Is there anything more wearisome than a small town? Small towns grind you down so slowly that you don’t realize your feet have been eroded into useless nubs before it’s too late, and you have nowhere to run, even if you had the inkling to get away. 

A small town has its charms, as they say--but it has its burdens, too. You know all the faces, but all the faces know you; some of them have even known you since you were just an ultrasound picture carried dutifully in your mother’s purse, pulled out at coffee shops and book clubs. 

They know when you got your first period (age 13, in the middle of gym class--you were wearing white shorts); when your first boyfriend dumped you (at the school dance, right before he made out with the third most popular girl in school); what colleges you applied to, and later--why you dropped out (your dad got sick) and how he was doing (not so great but getting better) and where you worked, how you liked your coffee, and all these impersonal and personal details that made up the monotony of your life. 

It was a trap, this small town life. A faux bubble of intimacy that your parents embraced, but you’d never fully believed. Because despite knowing so much about you, no one here really knew you. They could tell you that you looked just like your mom at her age; they could sling down a mug with your coffee order without you opening your mouth (black, 1 sugar, 1 cream, no milk)--but they didn’t want to hear about how much you wanted to travel; how much you wanted to see.

Did it matter? You weren’t getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Like all small towns, yours had a claim to fame. While others might boast being the hometown of some B-list celebrity or the site of an all-you-get-eat seafood festival, your particular small town had one edge over the others: a summer carnival right on the beach, designed to appeal to nearby tourists who came to much larger, resort-friendly beaches for the summer season. 

The tourists loved to flock here on that singular summer weekend, pretending they were enjoying a quaint local carnival where they got drunk on cheap beer and sampled funnel cake until they puked. And if the locals hustled them as much as possible, overcharging for drinks and parking and sightseeing maps, was that so bad? Small towns needed to leech off new blood once in a while, after all.

The carnival was four days long--Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Sunday was, of course, the grand finale. There was a massive fireworks show on the beach, a huge concert with local and sometimes vaguely familiar bands. A lot more booze traded hands on Saturdays, and the beach was lit up with more than just fireworks; the local volunteers always spent the next week picking up cigarette butts and discarded joints in the sand.

The carnival can be fun. Although like anything that happens every single year in a small town you’ve lived in your entire life (save the one year of college you managed before your dad’s test results came back) it gets wearisome.

Still--you go. What else is there to do? Besides, you’d be stupid to deny that it’s more fun to spend your summer weekend wandering the carnival, riding a few rides, speaking to people, than to sit at home or pick up an extra shift at the diner. 

That’s why you’ve wandered into the carnival today--Thursday. Thursday is your favorite day of the carnival, because it’s the most quiet, relatively speaking. There are tourists here, sure, but they’re not rowdy yet. Not as overcrowded. There aren’t gaggles of kids running around with lobster-red faces and arms because they’re parents didn’t understand the necessity of sunscreen; there aren’t groups of women traveling in packs with matching sunglasses and hats, enjoying a summer break away from their rich and distant husbands.

It’s mostly locals on Thursday. People like you, bored coffee shop workers with nothing better to do on a Thursday evening.

Or people like Jake Jenson over there, currently aiming a colorful dart at a row of balloons in one of many carnival games that would hustle drunk tourists out of their money this weekend.

Jake was the town drunk--a title he gave himself, and others were only too happy to oblige him. He stuck to himself most of the time. During the carnival, he won as many carnival prizes as possible, and traded them to tourists with shitty aim for beers or cigarettes. 

And over there--the early birds. They’ve come three years in a row, you think from somewhere in New  York. They’re attached at the hip, constantly rubbing their noses together like some twee movie couple, and you’ve heard them complain that the boardwalks in their part of the country are a lot more “authentic.’ 

Sure, there’s the familiar faces, but unfamiliar ones, too. An older gentleman and his wife, who walks next to him more slowly, with a cane. He’s balancing a plastic plate with a fresh funnel cake in his hand. They’ll find a bench to sit down and enjoy it, maybe people watch, like you.

It’s time for one of your favorite games: making up stories for the various tourists you probably won’t ever see again. This couple--this is the last trip they’ll take together, because the wife got an awful diagnosis, and they’re spending what would have been the rest of their retirement savings on the dream vacation she always wanted to take. They met during the war, decades ago… he was a soldier and she was a nurse, and he hurt his leg, maybe, and wound up in a field hospital.

It would have been terribly romantic. 

Your eyes shift away from the couple and onto a few other new faces. 

Maybe that’s why you liked the carnival. It was nice to look at new people and imagine where they came from, what they did. The kind of life they had, which was surely more interesting and worldly than yours.

With people watching in mind,  you abandon your bench in front of the games and head deeper into the carnival, weaving yourself in between snack and ticket booths, stepping over large black cables that kept the rides running. 

Dusk had already settled in, and the warm glow of the summer had been replaced with a deepening sense of evening. The carnival lights had already begun to play against the darkening sky, creating that magical atmosphere that couldn’t be replicated during the day.

You don’t notice the stranger at first. It’s dark, the lights are a bit dizzying, and there are plenty of people simply wandering around and taking in the sights. What’s one more stranger, when over the course of the next few hours and days, the summer will be increasingly filled with them?

But this particular stranger shows up in the corner of your vision and immediately strikes you as… odd. He’s just standing there.

Watching you. Staring--right at you. What the fuck?

He’s wearing all black, and there’s some sort of scarf or cowl over his face. His eyes look impassive but there’s something awful in them, even in the brief glances you get from catching him from the corner of your gaze.

What a creep. 

It sours the mood, and you decide to leave, or at least take a break and shake off whatever out-of-towner decided to pull off his best edgy horror movie impression to creep you out. It wouldn’t be the first time a tourist behaved like a jerk, or a weirdo, especially if they’d be drinking. 

Something about nighttime at the carnival made people go wild. 

So you head away from it all, from the couples trying to win stuffed animals, from the giggling shrieks of people on rides that spun them upside down until they wanted to puke. And maybe you should just head right home, but it’s not fair to waste a night of good weather.

Cool, but not too cool. Pleasant. The moon is out and the stars twinkle overhead.

Heading out on the dock might be nice. Tourists don’t bother with it, at least not on Thursday, when the beach isn’t lit-up and there’s no particular reason to head out this way. 

But you’d been to this beach in the evening before; you weren’t scared of the dark. By contrast, you liked the way the beach sounded at night. The water moving in and out, slow and sure. The occasional sound of wildlife splashing in the water. And the din of the carnival behind you, all rainbow lights and indiscernible human happiness.

Your joy is cut off by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaps in your chest and your hands slam into your pocket instinctively, fumbling for your keys. Fuck, how were you supposed to use these in self-defense again? Put them between your fingers?

Your heart hammers and you slowly turn around, squinting as you make out a figure approaching you in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” a voice calls out, penitent. “Did I scare you? I’m trying to get reception.” The man wiggles a small silver object in the air, raising it above his head. A small LED screen lights up and your heart rate begins to calm, slowly but surely.

After a few beats, he sighs, and shoves the phone in his pocket. 

He turns, apparently to leave, but then looks back at you. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow, lick your lips. Feel stupid for the keys in your fingers. He seems nice enough. A typical tourist. “Um, yeah.” You laugh, an empty sound. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy tonight.”

The moonlight doesn’t give you a clear view of the man’s features, but you can see him tilt his head a little. “Jumpy?”

The keys in your pocket rattle when you let them go, and pull your hands out to point back towards the carnival. The man follows your finger with an almost studious interest.

“Someone was following me, maybe? Or he just seemed a bit creepy.” You laugh again, a habit ingrained after years of dealing with men in odd situations--defuse, tread lightly, always. “He was staring at me, but I couldn’t see his face. He had a scarf over it, I think.”

The man in front of you hums in acknowledgement after a moment. He almost seems a little amused, which is both irritating and relieving in its own way. You were just being silly, jumpy, overreacting, weren’t you? Maybe the guy wasn’t even looking at you in the first place.

“Can I walk you back to the carnival? It doesn’t feel right to leave you here alone.” 

Ah, no, you think. Sure, the man in front of you might just be a tourist in search of reception, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. This is how people get murdered. Or attacked. Or like, hoisted into white vans and never seen again.

“No, that’s okay. I was going to stay out here longer and look at the stars. I’m going home soon, anyway.” Not a complete lie, since you did really want to go home. Something like this is usually enough for most people to take the hint, right? 

The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, you see the shape of his smile, lit only by the moon in the sky above.

“You want me to walk you back to the carnival,” he says simply, and offers his arm out, like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman. 

Oh. Of course you do. What were you thinking, staying out here on the dock at night? Mosquitoes would eat you up, anyway. 

You smile in return and take his offered arm, stepping lightly as you make your way back to the carnival with a complete stranger.

Only by the time you make it back to the threshold of the carnival, which seems to be eaten up by the darkness surrounding all of the twinkling lights, he’s not really a stranger, is he? 

And as you get closer to the carnival, the natural darkness of the beach gives way to an abundance of artificial lights that allow you to see him better. He’s cute--no doubting that, with dark hair that frames his face, and a bandage around his forehead. Maybe an accident, or an unfortunate birthmark. 

Even if you weren’t familiar with most of the town’s residents in one way or another,  you’d know he was an outsider from the way he’s dressed. A slim motorcycle jacket and dark jeans… not the type of guy that hangs around here for long.

As you stop at the border of the carnival, he asks where you live, and you tell him--”around.” He admits that he’s only in town for the carnival week. 

“I figured,” you say lightly enough.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is it that easy to tell?”

You put your hands into your pockets and look around you. 

“I mean, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone, after a while. A new face stands out pretty easily.”

His smile is charming. Practiced, but charming. Or maybe being practiced is how it’s so charming in the first place.  “That makes sense.” He considers you for a moment. “You like to watch the tourists, then?”

You shrug and gesture with your chin towards a mom with a toddler clinging to her hand, pulling her along towards one of the games with enormous stuffed animals.

“I like people watching, I guess. Sometimes,” and as you’re saying it, you don’t know why you’re telling him this so openly. “Sometimes I like to make up stories about people I see. Like, where they’re from or what they do or a backstory like they’re from a movie or whatever.” 

Your cheeks feel suddenly, stupidly hot. Christ, you meet a handsome stranger on the beach and your first major conversation involves you admitting you make up stories about people? You’ve got to get out of this town more.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s judging you. If anything, he looks interested. 

“And what would you imagine for me?”

The question is unexpected. 

“I think…” You try to force your mind to wander like it does when you people watch organically. What would you imagine, if you came across him walking around the carnival in the evening? He’d be on his own, surely, maybe his hands in his pockets. Quiet. A soft smile on his face, maybe? 

“I think you’re some sort of… librarian. Or a curator. A collector?” You shake your head, unsure of exactly where you want to go with this one. “The point is, you’re traveling around the country, looking for things to add to a museum or library or something like that. And you came across an ad for a summer carnival and thought you’d take in some local culture.” You gesture towards the carnival--the lights, the crowd of people, the humanity on display. “But walking around here makes you feel lonely. So you walk down to the beach in the hopes of distracting yourself. Only,” you add, with a cheeky grin. “To come across the most amazing small town waitress in 100 miles standing on the dock like a weirdo.” 

He doesn’t smile at your story. Not exactly. Instead--and you look away when you notice, feeling too rude for staring--his eyes widen just a smidge and he purses his lips in a thoughtful way. 

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “May I have yours?”

Chrollo is kind of old-fashioned, you decide. Perhaps you were more spot-on than you realized with your story. 

Maybe you shouldn’t give your name. But there’s a giddy feeling inside your chest. Something akin to what you used to feel when you were a teen and you snuck out in the middle of the night for bonfire drinking parties.

I mean… a handsome stranger in a motorcycle jacket who escorted you back from the beach wants your name? You’d be stupid to say no. 

So you give it. 

At that, he finally smiles again.

“Well, then,” he says softly, saying your name in such a way that makes you hope he’ll say it again in the future, “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

--

“Help! Someone help me! For God’s sake!”

Jake Jensen cried out these words as loudly as he could--as clearly as he could, with booze slurring his words and making his mouth all mumbly. But he wasn’t loud enough. No one heard him. Not over the music and delighted screams of the carnival.

He had been chased away from the beach, past the dock, into a little storage shed used for kayaks rented to tourists during the summer. His worn out body protested with every movement, his lungs hacking from years of cigarettes. 

His attackers, who blocked the door frame, said nothing. They only looked at one another, silent words passed between them, and the taller of the two grinned in the darkness. 

Jake Jensen died screaming.

--

Friday

You tell yourself that you’re only sitting here on this bench, munching on fresh hot popcorn, because you had a hankering for carnival food. Definitely didn’t come here in the hopes of seeing a certain someone. You tell yourself this even as your eyes dart here and there, looking for any sign of the not-quite-a-stranger from last night. 

The sun has just set, and it’s a bit hard making out faces in the glow of the early evening. There are a lot more people here tonight, a new wave of tourists drowning out the familiar faces. Not that the locals shy away from the carnival--you spot your former best friend from high school, your old math teacher, one of the regulars at the diner… Jake Jensen isn’t in his usual spot at the games, but maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover. He never misses a summer carnival.

“Hello again.”

Oh--you choke on your current handful of popcorn just as Chrollo appears suddenly in your line of sight, hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, a casual smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, coolly, like you didn’t just nearly spit chewed popcorn kernels in his face when he approached. The silence between you doesn’t last long, but you fill it anyway. “You um, want some popcorn?”

But when you hold out the now half-filled container, Chrollo only looks at it curiously. Like he’s never seen popcorn before or something? But then he takes a small handful and pops it in his mouth. Chews--but he might as well be chewing broccoli, for all he seems to enjoy it. Oddly, he watches you while he chews, seemingly studying your face. Did you have popcorn in your teeth?

Better to fill the silence again.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, grinning, popping another handful in your mouth. “It’s my favorite because it’s fresh, and that booth actually uses real butter. Not the fake oil stuff.”

Chrollo hums in agreement. “I see. I thought that tasted like real butter. Thank you for sharing.” 

You decide on the spot that you’re going to make the most of this evening, popcorn-in-teeth or no. So you shrug and give your best smile. “No biggie. Buuut… you will owe me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And what will I owe you?”

It’s your turn to hum as you look out towards the carnival, scanning past the numerous faces, the booths, children running with balloons and sticks of cotton candy. “A ride on the Ferris wheel once it’s properly dark would be nice.”

A snort, though his nose. “I think I can manage that.”

He offers his arm again, and you take it, not minding how old fashioned it was. Somehow, despite his jacket, his sleek hair, the hint of motorcycle oil mixed with cologne, old-fashioned seemed to suit him.

Lots of things seemed to suit him, actually. You learn this as the evening wears on. He’s great at carnival games, choosing only a select few that he claims to be an expert in. He wins you a few stuffed animals that you pass on to little kids, save a smaller teddy bear that you can shoved inside your purse. 

You learn other things, too. Like, he’s a great listener. He lets you talk--about yourself, about the town--and doesn’t interrupt or tell you that you talk too much or make it clear he’s not listening to a thing you say. He even asks you questions, which shows he’s actually listening, and not just thinking about other things and waiting to ask you to go somewhere “private” like some other guys.

It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to find someone from out of town who’s so thoughtful.

The line for the Ferris wheel is always long once the sun goes down, and you’re one of the last rides of the night. 

When the carnival worker locks the bar down over your waists, you kick your legs and wait for the strange rush of adrenaline and pleasure that comes with the Ferris wheel. It’s a beautiful sight--all colored lights contrasted against the night sky, whisking you high into the air and giving you a view of the entire carnival and the ocean beyond.

But your body always reacts to the imagined danger of being carried so far away from the safety of the ground, and when the Ferris wheel reaches the top and begins to circle over for the first time, your stomach lurches and you gasp.

“Are you scared?” Chrollo’s voice is low--you could swear he’s teasing, but there’s something else in there, too. 

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching as you're brought back closer to the ground, only to be whisked away again. “Of course. What if something goes wrong, and I fall off and break my neck?”

Chrollo tilts his head. “You’d be dead.” 

You can’t help but grin. He’s so to-the-point sometimes. It’s charming in its own way, although you can’t exactly describe what “its own way” means with Chrollo. It’s like he stepped out of some old fashioned film but also came out of a cooler city. A biker who carries around an embroidered handkerchief, or something like that.

“And I don’t want to die, hence--the stomach flipping.” 

Chrollo looks ahead, then, taking in the view as the Ferris wheel carries you over again. “No? How long do you want to live, then?”

The snort is involuntary. A philosophical question on the Ferris wheel--not exactly what you expected from tonight. But maybe it’s not so bad. He’s good company. And Chrollo looks earnest in his question, too, which makes you feel guilty for snorting in the first place. 

Maybe it’s the lights of the Ferris wheel that dazzle you; maybe it’s the way being on the Ferris wheel at night makes you feel like you’re in some wonderful haze of a dream. 

Whatever it is, you fling your hand into the air, towards the carnival, towards the stars.

“Long enough to achieve my dreams,” you breathe out, earnest, almost sing-song. “Whatever they might be. I haven’t figured them out yet.”

Chrollo turns his head to look at you. His eyes almost seem magnetic against the night sky, with the lights of the carnival playing in them. 

Then, as the Ferris wheel brings the two of you down towards the ground, you see him. The man from yesterday, with the cowl over his face. He’s looking right at you, and it’s no mistake or figment of your imagination.

Your head swivels to the side and you grip the bar of the Ferris wheel until your knuckles hurt. You jerk one hand out and point to the stranger on the ground with a trembling finger. 

“There--look! Look!” 

Chrollo takes a moment to respond, and follows the sight line of your finger.

But now--there’s no one there.

“What do you see?” He asks, clearly unknowing that the object of your terror has vanished into thin air.

“The man… the man from yesterday. He was right there. I swear.” Your chest hurts; fear hurts. 

Unbidden, Chrollo pulls you close to him, and you let him hold you tight.

“You’re all right. I’m here.” 

He holds your chin in his fingers. “You’re safe, do you understand?”

The fear in your chest seems fuzzy now, like it had almost never been there in the first place. How silly of you to be scared, when Chrollo was right here. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s touching you so intimately, does it? So you nod--yes, yes, you understand. 

Chrollo smiles. 

“Let me kiss you,” he says simply.

And you will. Of course you will. What else would you want to do? 

But as you lean forward, eyes already closing, he pulls himself away.

“Wait.” You blink, head clearing, and he continues, words slow, careful. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Now, you think about it. Maybe it was too hasty. But the lights of the carnival are beautiful and Chrollo is beautiful, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, and now he’s here, holding you, promising to keep you safe from carnival creeps.

A summer carnival is the time for a flirty romance, after all. 

“Yes,” you answer, simply. “I would.”

Chrollo’s finger strokes your chin as you lean in and share your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, glittering lights and carnival music dancing in your mind. 

--

The wife died first. Too quickly, but perhaps it was all the alcohol in her system; $1 margaritas at a local watering hole on a Friday night did nothing to make her more agile when being chased by predators while running in black city heels that had no place in a small town carnival.

Well, to the dying woman’s credit: it was the heels and alcohol and the sliced tendons in her ankle. Taut wires cut through her flesh like butter and she was down for the count, crawling, sobbing, begging for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her.

No one did.

Those pitiful cries, too, were cut down by a wire pressed into her throat; silencing her vocal chords, yes, but spilling blood over her neck that was as pretty as a sight as anything to those watching her choke and scrabble her hands against the ground, eyes wide, gaping, wondering--how is this happening to me? 

The margaritas may have hindered her before her unfortunate ankle accident. But they did make her blood taste sweet and tangy. Metallic, rich, with a twist of lime. All that was missing was a miniature umbrella.

This joke was said aloud, once everyone had a taste of her. A few laughed, blood on their teeth. 

Her husband didn’t seem to find it funny, but perhaps he was more preoccupied with his own current slow death. An arc of his blood spurted into the air--”Don’t fucking waste it, Uvo”--before a greedy mouth latched onto the wound, beginning to suck him dry.

The husband, like the wife, would be shared.

Soon, though, there would be no need for sharing.

There would be enough for everyone to have their fill--and beyond that.

There would be enough to gorge.

--

Saturday:

Three people are dead. 

You didn’t know them know them, but the shock is still there, making your hands tremble a little as you pour morning coffees and deliver plates of steaming eggs and overcooked bacon to tables of locals and tourists in almost equal measure.

Jake Jensen is one of those people. The identities of the other two are unknown--”Due to the state of the bodies, no identification could be provided at this time,” said the sheriff, above a rolling news ticker that had been on the diner’s singular TV all morning--but they might be a couple. A man and a woman.

People die all the time. Sure. But…  dead bodies are not often found in your small town, where gossip typically revolves around couples breaking up or a local store not putting up enough holiday decorations to appease the older crowd. 

Yet now, in one morning, there are three. 

Jake Jensen, who was found near the beach.

And an unknown man and woman (John and Jane Doe) who were found in a wooded area near the carnival.

“Mighta been a bear,” says one of your regulars, gnawing on a piece of his burnt bacon. He liked it that way.

“I heard they were drained of blood!” Your head--and others’ too, you suspect--turns to the voice. It’s not a local. Someone who’s far too dressy for the diner, sipping on a coffee they brought from home while they sample your diner’s less than stellar fruit salad option. He’s oblivious to the stares, to the eye rolls, to the immediate dismissal that his outsiderness earns him. “Two puncture wounds on the neck. Heard it from a cop while I was walking in this morning.”

Someone murmurs a joke about vampires and the locals chuckle, then go back to their coffee, their eggs, their eyes now and then glancing up at the old TV screen.

Your eyes roll, too, but then you wonder.

If they were murdered--and it’s an if, of course, because it could have been animals and Jake Jensen could have gotten so plastered that he fell off the dock or something, murders just don’t happen in your town--then… could it have been that creepy guy from before? The one who’s been following you around the carnival?

Shit, maybe he was waiting for the chance to get you alone, so he could drag you off to the dock or the woods and slit your throat. The thought gives you goosebumps, and acrid coffee tries to climb its way up your throat, before you swallow it down.

It was a good thing you had Chrollo around for the past two days.

And you’d be seeing him again tonight.

They weren’t canceling the carnival--it brings in too much money. And while a part of you is all sore and soft for poor Jake Jensen (who was never mean, just drunk) you try to brush it away. It’s sad. But life is sad. 

You don’t want to be sad tonight. You want to look nice--for Chrollo? He wasn’t the first out-of-towner that had flirted with you, that you’d flirted with back. He was the first one that you’d ever genuinely looked forward to seeing again, though.

So.

You want to be wearing your best smile when you meet Chrollo again tonight. 

And you can’t do that if you’re thinking about Jake Jensen’s body washing up on the beach or if there’s a small, tickling question dancing through your mind--

What sort of animal leaves two pretty little puncture wounds on the neck?

--

You sit on the same bench as before; the bench, in your mind, where you and Chrollo have taken to meeting up these past few days. 

There’s no room in your stomach for popcorn tonight, though. Or rather, there’s room--your stomach growls--but you can’t imagine chewing anything rich, hot and buttery right now. Your thoughts flit between horror (poor Jake Jensen, one time, when you were younger, he helped you fix a flat bike tire) and romance (Chrollo’s lips on yours, warm, the breeze tickling your neck, the lights of the Ferris wheel twinkling around you).

You feel bad for wanting to enjoy tonight. But that’s not fair, is it? Another small town tragedy: caring too much about someone you didn’t really know as anything more than a passing familiar face that you can’t even focus on a hot date. 

Fuck. 

“Daydreaming again?” 

The evening sky above you is a wash of deepening colors, devoid of actual sunlight but clinging to the last vestiges of it like a child refusing to let go of his mother’s hand on the first day of school. 

He’s holding up a stick of bright pink cotton candy in one hand, while the other arm is offered for you to take--the contrast between his leather jacket, the ball of fluffy sugar he’s holding, and the way he sometimes acts like an old timey gentleman out of the movies is enough to make you smile.

Perhaps there’s bitterness in it, because as soon as you’re standing, Chrollo regards you with a measured look.

“Are you all right?” 

Well. You don’t want to ruin your evening, but it would be stupid to pretend everything was all sweetness and sunshine, wouldn’t it? It’s better to get it out of the way. 

“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know if you saw the news?” He says nothing, and you continue. “Those people that they found dead this morning.” Your lips press together. “I mean, the guy--I knew him, sort of? Everyone did. He was drunk all the time, yeah, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Chrollo hums.

“I can imagine that would be shocking for you to hear.” 

Your smile is shaky, and you nab a piece of cotton candy from the stick and shove it in your mouth. The sweetness contrasts awfully with the words that pass through your lips. “For you too though, right? I mean, it’s not every day three people turn up dead at some small town carnival.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to say that he is not particularly shocked by the news. 

“Shit, really? What are you in your non-touristy life, a mortician or something?” A sudden realization washes over you, that Chrollo has an entire life outside of you and these carnival evenings; he has a past, and family, and friends, and a job. Hopes, dreams, the whole nine yards.

“Something like that,” he says. When you move to apologize, he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m not terribly shocked by these things, I suppose, because of what I see in my day to day.” He looks at you a little curiously. “But I can see how it would rattle you.”

You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say. Sugar sticks to your teeth.

“Come on.” Chrollo drops the cotton candy into a nearby trash can, and leads you towards a row of carnival games. “I know what might take your mind off things.”

For once, you’re glad to see the carnival games; the fast-paced spitting words of the barkers trying to hustle money from kids and couples, the sound of darts popping balloons, the triumphant music that plays before the obnoxiously difficult water shooting game. 

You’re even glad to see the tourists in all of their Saturday glory, which isn’t so much “glory” as it is a sort of restlessness. Saturdays were always a strange day at the carnival; the last middle day before the grand finale. An unusual mixture of sleepiness, anticipation, and a buzz that held everyone together until tomorrow.

Strange day, strange faces. Some stranger than others. Staring up at the bell at the top of the Test Your Strength game is an exceptionally tall man with wild dirty blonde hair. By the size of his muscles, he might just break the game, which hadn’t been replaced in the many years you’d been coming here in the summer.

You tug on Chrollo’s arm and point the man out. “What do you want to bet the carnie will try to get him not to play? He might just break the thing…”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beside you, Chrollo snorts, but doesn’t linger on the man as he leads you further into the carnival. 

The two of you walk, and talk. About nothing and everything. He asks you to come up with stories for a few tourists, and you do. Light ones. It really does take your mind off things. At some point, Chrollo buys you fries, which taste slightly sweet; probably cooked in the same oil as the funnel cakes. 

You dig in your heels in front of the fun house, but Chrollo shakes his head, and won’t go in.

“Are you scared?” You tease. At night, the fun house was all lit up, and the clowns painted on the front had a ridiculously sinister air to them.

But Chrollo doesn’t smile or laugh. “They make me dizzy,” he says, quietly. There’s something behind his words, but you don’t know what. A medical problem? A bad experience? You apologize and then he does smile, shaking his head, at himself, or you, you’re not sure. “Think nothing of it, dear.”

Dear.

You want to hold onto that bit of affection like the sky holds onto the sunset on summer evenings. At least as long as you can, which tonight, seems to be until Chrollo takes you on the Ferris wheel again. 

This time, he holds your hand as soon as the attendant locks the bar down. Your fingers interlock and squeeze and it sends butterflies rushing through your chest. What was there to worry about, to think about, when you were sitting next to him? 

It takes a few turns around the Ferris wheel to remember what you were supposed to worry about, because on the trip down, your stomach fluttering from romance and gravity alike, you see him: the strange man. The stalker. The maybe-serial-killer-on-the-loose. 

He’s standing still in the crowd walking here-and-there around the Ferris wheel, couples intent on getting in line, children running from tired parents as they beg for another carnival game.

And he’s staring straight up at you.

You don’t think this time. You grab Chrollo and point straight down and practically screech out the words: “There! He’s there! Look, look--look!” 

And the stars must be aligned, because Chrollo actually sees him. His grip on your other hand tightens and he pulls you closer to him as you make your way back around the Ferris wheel and the man goes out of sight. By the time the two of you are at the top again, the stranger is gone.

Your goosebumps remain.

“We should talk to the police,” you murmur, a quiet, scratchy whisper.

Chrollo turns towards you. You recognize the look. The “Do you really think the police will do anything about this?” sort of look. 

“I’ve been thinking…” You squeeze Chrollo’s hand and he squeezes back and that’s all you need to keep going. “That maybe he might have something to do with those people? The ones they found this morning?”

Chrollo’s eyes widen just a little. It’s both comforting and worrying to see him look taken aback, even if it’s only a bit. 

“I heard…” You feel stupid saying this. But you shouldn’t feel stupid, not with Chrollo. He hasn’t given you a reason to feel like you can’t tell him things. “Someone at the diner today said they were found with puncture wounds on them. I was thinking, maybe… like an ice pick? Or a screwdriver or--I don’t know. But maybe they were killed.”

“Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Chrollo offers, voice low, lips curled into a smile, and your face must reflect the flash of offended shame that rushes into your chest, because he immediately apologizes. His sigh flutters against your cheek. “Well. He wouldn’t be the first killer to prey on crowds or small towns, would he?”

At least he didn’t say you were crazy to connect the two things, vampire joke aside.

He keeps you close once the ride is over, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I’ll inform the police,” he insists, when the two of you finally stumble on a pair of deputies patrolling the carnival. He leaves you standing next to the Test Your Strength game, where the carnival barker has agreed to keep an eye on you. It made you feel like a child, but for once, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing--to be watched and protected.

You watch, biting your nails now and then, as Chrollo and the deputies talk. In the end, they shake his hand, and you feel cool relief in your stomach. The police will know what to do with the information. If this guy’s a killer, they’ll catch him. If he’s not, well. The carnival was almost over, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.

Things will be normal soon.

When Chrollo returns, you take his arm without hesitation, but this time he begins to lead you away from the carnival.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that we might go for a walk. Get away for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

You don’t mind at all. 

“Do you like trails?” You ask, steering him towards a trail that leads from the beach to a popular hiking spot for locals. “It’d be a bit more private. As long as you’re not scared of the dark.”

Chrollo chuckles. It’s a warm, dark, rich sound, and it sends a delightful thrill right through you. 

“I’m not if you aren’t,” is all he says, and that’s enough for you to point out the way.

Thoughts of dead bodies and stalkers fade away with the carnival, whose sights and sounds fade bit by bit as you and Chrollo leave the beach and begin making your way into a wooded area with a paved hiking path lit on the other side by electric trail lights. 

“I’m surprised to see these,” Chrollo says, quietly. He pulled his phone out at the start of the trail to give the two of you more light, though the trail lights were decent enough, especially since you’d been up here more times than you could count.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Locals come up here all the time at night. Especially teens. Usually to make out and stuff.” Chrollo gives you a look and your cheeks hit up, but you don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know about your high school escapades. “They added them to avoid the inevitable lost-teen-in-the-woods-at-night rescue scenario, I think.”

“Clever,” he says. 

--

The waterfall is loud when you’re this close; so loud you can’t hear anything in the moment but your own thoughts, which have grown louder and louder somewhere between the hiking trail and this popular waterfall spot. So popular that it’s lit with a flood light near the top--supposedly a teenager slipped in one night and drowned in the shallow pool, though you’ve never been certain if it was a true story or not.

Regardless, you’re not sure you want to stay. No--you know you don’t want to stay. 

This is a bit much, is what your thoughts are starting to scream. Chrollo is nice, but you don’t really know him, do you? And you just walked somewhere alone with him in the dark after being surprised by a maybe-stalker, the day that three people were found dead around here.

Yeah. A bit much might be an understatement. You should really get back to where there’s more lights and people and civilization in general. If Chrollo is a nice person (and he is, you insist, you’re just being smart!) he won’t mind. 

“I think we should go back,” you say, but Chrollo can’t hear you. So you cup your hands around your mouth and lean closer to his ears. “I think we should go back!”

You expect him to nod and take your arm and lead you carefully down the lantern-lit trail, perhaps still using his phone to guide the way. Instead, he takes your chin in his hands--you move to jerk it out, you’d rather wait until you’re back at the carnival to kiss again--but his grip is impossibly strong.

“It’s all right,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing, you can hear him so clearly despite the roaring waterfall just a few feet in front of you. “You know that you’re safe with me. You don’t want to go back yet.”

How strange. How silly. Why did you want to leave, when you just got here? You didn’t even show him the best part yet.

“Come on!” It’s your turn to pull him along as you carefully walk the path leading to the front of the waterfall, which has already begun to soak water through your clothes. 

“Is there a cave?” Chrollo asks--and again, you’re struck by how easy it is to hear him, despite the water rushing down in front of you. 

“You sure know your way around local watering holes,” you jest. 

He merely smiles. “I travel a lot.”

With that, you grip his arm tighter and run through the waterfall, shrieking in delight. Both of you emerge on the other side soaked; you, grinning, and Chrollo, looking around with interest.

The inside of the cave was lined with endless rows of fairy lights, courtesy of a local high school group. They had also brought in the two couches--used leather, frayed and flecking, but good enough for a hang out. When you were younger, there were only folding chairs; which were great for sitting, not so much for much less. 

“Do you like it?” You ask, then feel stupid. Why do you care so much what he thinks of some local hang out spot, especially one you hadn’t been in for ages? The same reason why you’d spent all day telling him about your daydreams, about small town memories, bits and pieces of local lore that he didn’t brush aside but seemed to enjoy hearing.

Chrollo was so different from the others you’ve met at the summer carnival. 

Maybe that’s why your heart begins to beat fast the moment you catch his eye again. His skin looks almost dewy in the glow of the lights, thanks to the water; his eyes shine, reflecting a soft, warm twinkling glow.

It’s just the two of you. No tourists, no locals, no would-be stalkers. Even the carnival itself seems far away; the lights blocked from view by the rushing water and canopy of the forest, even the wafting smell of popcorn and stale beer was long gone out here.

It was just you and Chrollo in a cave at the end of the evening. 

But… it didn’t have to be the end of the evening, did it? 

You ask him, this time. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” 

“I do,” he says. “Very much so.”

This time, your kiss is tinged with the tang of river water.

--

Five bodies lay scattered in the grass. Young men, young women. Teens that had been giggling and stumbling through the forest, flasks of pilfered whiskey in their bags. 

Now some dead and going cold, their limbs twisted, their mouths open in silent screams.

Two were still alive, whimpering, weak hands beating against monsters’ chests as open mouths hungrily lapped up their life blood. They had screamed, all of them, but no one could hear them in the woods--over the water. 

“This is a lovely spot,” said a woman, brushing back her blonde hair. A bit of red gore had stuck to the strands and she tsked at the sight of it.  “The waterfall adds a nice touch.” 

The man hummed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The slightest touch of red showed on his lips; like a woman pressing her lipstick-covered mouth onto a bit of tissue to get rid of the excess. 

The carnage made him indifferent; the whimpers of the dying, even more so. But as he looked around at the carefully placed lights on the trail, the way they flickered against the waterfall and its hidden cavern like delicate stars, he smiled. 

“It came highly recommended.” 

--

Sunday: The Final Day

Chrollo was in your bed last night, and you thought he’d be there in the morning. But when the sound of birds pulls you delightfully out of a restful sleep and you blink your eyes open to dappled sunlight through your blinds, you realize that the bed is half-empty.

Just you and the sheets and the leftover smell of Chrollo--cologne and, more faintly, sweat and sex. 

You freeze, listening for the sound of someone meandering about an unfamiliar kitchen. He could be up and about already--making coffee or breakfast. The image of him serving up a plate of bacon and eggs almost makes you laugh.

But the apartment is silent, save for your breathing, the sound of a clock ticking in the living room. 

Your heart lurches and shame pricks at the back of your eyelids. He fucked you and ran, didn’t he? Just like the others, just like--

But just when you’re about to give into the temptation to scrub yourself all over with hot water and erase every trace of Chrollo that ever existed in your presence, you see it: a piece of paper, torn from a notebook you keep on your dresser. Carefully folded over and placed on the side table next to the bed.

Your name is on it, written in a surprisingly beautiful, scrawling hand. 

Curiosity and leftover shame-tinged dread curl together in  your stomach as you sit up and slowly pick up the note. 

Dear--

Your heart lurches again, for a different reason this time.

I apologize that I did not give you a proper farewell. I had an urgent matter to attend to. Forgive me, won’t you? We will see each other tonight, I hope, for a memorable and unforgettable evening.

Of course he didn’t fuck and run. He wouldn’t do that. And tonight would be--well, memorable and unforgettable, just as he said.

The pitter-pattering inside your chest takes on a new delightful cadence as you get yourself ready for the day. No work--you had Sundays off, thank God, maybe literally, for that. It was a shame Chrollo didn’t tell you where he was staying; presumably, the only hotel in town. But maybe he was at one of the B&Bs or was shacking up at a room for rent.

It would be nice to see him in the daytime, too.

But he didn’t, so you’re left with nothing to do but flick on the TV and make yourself a cereal bowl. Well, that’s wrong.  That’s not the only thing you could do. You could go to your parent’s house and help out your mom; she could use a break with caring for your dad.

But… was it wrong to be selfish, just a little, for just one day? You didn’t want to see Chrollo tonight with something unpleasant sticking inside you, on the potential chance that your dad was having a not-so-great day.

It was better to approach your last evening together with a sunnier attitude.

Although you don’t really have a choice, because the first thing you see when the news returns from a commercial break is a giant banner scrolling across the screen: TWO MISSING TEENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL WATERFALL. POPULAR TRAIL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

In the background, the sheriff recites familiar lines about respecting the privacy of the dead, about putting the full energy of the police force into finding the investigation, about how there is no need to panic. He says that it may not have even been foul play.

Somehow, you don’t believe that.  You just know. 

Sugary cereal seems to lodge itself inside your throat. You were just there. You were just there, kissing Chrollo, holding his hand, and now two teenagers are dead and lifeless and, and--

And if it was that same man… the one who was staring at you, stalking you… how close did you and Chrollo come to dying last night?

Tears prick at your eyes and you grab your purse. Maybe you would spend the day with your parents, after all. 

--

You should be more excited to see Chrollo. And you are, truly. But between the news this morning and the dull realization that this would be your last evening together ever, it’s hard to feel too enthused. 

Chrollo would be going home after tonight. Tourist trap over, no need to stick around. Something childish in you thinks: maybe I can convince him to stay a little longer. And if he stays a little longer, he’ll see how nice it is here (it’s not) and maybe he’ll want to settle down (he won’t). 

Oh, how stupid. It’s like when you’d meet the endless stream of New Best Friends every summer weekend as a kid, and you’d beg their parents together to extend their vacation.

It wasn’t going to happen. You’ll never see him again after tonight, and you’ll go your separate ways, and that’s that. 

Reality sucks sometimes.

You’re still stuck in the dreary shit cloud that is reality when Chrollo’s now somewhat familiar footsteps approach you on the bench. The bench, your spot--your spot? As if you and Chrollo had anything that could be called an actual relationship that warranted the use of “your” plural. 

You shake your head, hoping it shakes those silly childish delusions, and force yourself to smile.

Chrollo, to your surprise, doesn’t smile back.

Instead, he leans down, and takes your hand. His eyes roam over your fingers like they’re something special and it makes your stomach flutter stupidly.

“You seem a bit sad,” he says, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. The way that makes you feel is something you love and hate in almost equal measure. It’s not fair, is it, that he makes you feel this way--when he has to leave, and you’ll never see him again.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you will part ways after tonight that makes you speak freely.

“I’m just sad that you’ll be leaving.” He blinks at you, and turns his head a little. “That we won’t see each other after tonight,” you clarify. 

You expect him to nod and agree, and perhaps say something trite but comforting, like, “We’ll just make the most of it.” 

Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze.

“We don’t have to part, you know.”

It’s your turn to blink. A silly, little-kid-in-you hope does a twirl. He could stay--and this could maybe, possibly, in some far off millimeter of a chance, turn into something more serious than a summer fling. “You could extend your vacation? Your job would do that?”

Chrollo finally smiles at you. 

“My life is flexible. But,” and now he pulls you up so that you’re standing. It’s a fluid, easy gesture for him, almost too easy--he’s stronger than he looks. “I was thinking that instead of staying here, you would come with me.”

The world around you is not silent. The carnival is always producing an eternal cacophony of sounds--screaming patrons hung upside down on the more thrilling of rides, cheery carousel music, laughter, popcorn endlessly beating like a fast paced drum, everything and anything all mixed together into a swirl of sound.

But it might as well be silent, because you feel like all you can hear is your heartbeat in your eyes for a few stretched moments. 

“What? You’re not serious.” You smile, too, but it feels fake. Like it’s plastered on and cracking underneath. There’s a brief thought--maybe he means, like, for a weekend?--but you instantly know that’s not what he’s talking about.

This is too much, too fast. Too out of the blue. 

Chrollo looks at you in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Like he wants to see something inside you that you’re keeping for yourself. Then that gaze is gone and he’s smiling softly, charming, a little bittersweet.

Bittersweet is familiar territory, and the ringing in your ears fades in favor of a carnival barker offering 2-for-1 prizes on the Test-Your-Strength game. 

Chrollo’s voice cuts through it all, jovial, unassuming. 

“We can talk about it later, if you’d like. Let’s go enjoy the carnival a bit more before the concert.” 

That would be nice.

“I’d like that.” 

And you mean it--you do. You shake your head and let Chrollo intertwine his fingers in yours, and it doesn’t take long for his question to fade away from your mind as you weave in and out of the crowds.

If you weren’t so distracted, so disarmed, you might have noticed an uncomfortably familiar figure clad in black watching the pair of you intently.

--

The Ferris Wheel worker should have kicked you off several spins ago, but Chrollo had slipped him a twenty as he buckled the safety bar down. It’s nice, this extra time with him--it’ll be the last time you ride the Ferris wheel together, after all. 

What did it say about the state of your love life--or your life in general, actually--that slipping a carnie 20 bucks made your heart soar (and twist, and ache) even a little bit?

The night is prettier from the Ferris wheel. The world, too. Up here, you can’t see the grit and grime. The fermenting candy apples littering the ground, dropped two days ago by careless kids; the too-drunk couples arguing about whether they should stay for the concert or not; the exhausted carnival workers smiling hard no matter how much they get yelled at for their rigged games.

All you can take in from up here is the broad vantage point. Crowds and happy sounds--squeals and music interplaying above crowds of people, including a growing crowd on the beach in front of the black stage, waiting for the concert to start.

Chrollo’s grip on your hand tightens and draws your attention back to him. Even he looks more beautiful from up here, with the rainbow lights of the Ferris wheel playing on his face. 

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says softly.

Ah, you realize. The extra spins were for the inevitable “we’ll never see each other again but it was a blast” speech. You knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any less bitter in your mouth. But what good is holding bitterness against your tongue?

“Me too,” you say, and it’s not a lie, even if you hate the way the conversation must end. You try to focus less on the sourness and more on the sweet that came before. After all, Chrollo was… well. Handsome, yes, magnetic, yes. But more than that. He seemed thoughtful. He listened to you prattle on about yourself and your small town, and he didn’t even make fun of you for knowing so many local stories.

He was good in bed, too, wasn’t he? You blink and realize you don’t actually remember all that much about last night, except that he wasn’t there in the morning. Vague snatches rush through your memory. You remember his mouth on your lips, his hand trailing against your skin, removing your clothes. You remember his mouth against your neck, then this teeth, nipping, and--

It’s all fuzzy. But you weren’t drunk. So why--

“Have you thought about what I said?” He asks, and once again you’re pulled away from your thoughts, although this time you’d like to focus on them. Why couldn’t you fully remember last night?

When you don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows.

“About coming with me,” he says, a bit louder, as if you can’t hear him over the carnival din.

You let out a soft puff of a breath, then, and force yourself to focus on the current conversation. For now.

“You’re serious?” You don’t mean to sound so flippant, but you do. Chrollo frowns, just a little, and you feel like a bitch for it. “Sorry. I just--I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

“I am,” is all he says.

You didn’t like the idea of the conversation headed towards Chrollo leaving, but you like the idea of him genuinely asking you to come with him even less. Partly because you know you never could, and partly because there’s some small, stupid, fantasy-of-your-hair-blowing-in-the-wind-wearing-a-leather-jacket-on-a-motorcycle part of you that wants to say yes.

“Chrollo, I can’t do that. I have a job here. A life.”

Chrollo doesn’t let go of your hand, but you can sense the way his muscles tense. 

“A job at a local diner slinging hash browns,” he says, voice dry and almost hurtful. You must look offended--are you? You can’t tell--because he turns a little in the seat, trapping you with his gaze. His voice is earnest now, drawing you in.

“Don’t you want more out of life? The ability to pursue your dreams--to figure out your dreams?” One hand goes to your cheek, and his knuckle brushes against your skin. “You could travel. See so much more than your little town. Imagine it.” 

An image starts to build in your mind. Unbidden by you, but there, somehow, nonetheless. Of you riding behind him on a motorcycle, holding onto his waist as he takes you wherever you want to go--wherever he wants to go, together. Life would be wild and unpredictable, but easy and fun and--

“My family,” you murmur, and Chrollo seems surprised that you’ve spoken. 

His lips press thinner. “You could write to them, call them. No matter at all.”

Whatever fantasy has built in your head gets swept away and the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop. The seat rocks back and forth and the bored (but $20 richer) carnie lets you off. Chrollo helps you as he’s done every time.

You wait until he’s escorted you away from the Ferris wheel to turn and address him. 

“Chrollo, I can’t--” You try to find the right words, but there are no right words. “I don’t know you. Not… really. Not enough to give up my life here.”

Chrollo is quiet. He considers you, turning his head a little. You feel awful--maybe you should just end the night here, on this shitty, sour note, because you’ve probably ruined the rest of the evening anyway.  You wish he hadn’t asked again before the night was over, but there’s no way to fix it now.

You’re ready to leave, to bite your cheek so tears don’t come. You’re prepared for Chrollo to say something low and insulting, to dismiss you, because why should he waste another minute on someone who would rather stay here in this shitpot of a town than--

“Come along,” is what he says, finally, holding out his hand--to your utter confusion. He still wants to go to the concert? With you? Now?

But you take his hand anyway. 

“It would be wasteful to end our evening early and miss the concert.” 

His grip is harder than it has been, but maybe you’re imagining it as he pulls you along, weaving in and out as the crowds grow larger and a little more drunk the closer the pair of you get to the beach.

This doesn’t feel right, suddenly. He’s upset, that’s why he’s holding you so tightly. Or maybe you’re upset and imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. Your primal gut instincts are telling you that it’s better to cut your losses and leave now, then to spend the night with a flipping stomach. 

“Maybe I should just go home,” you yell over the crowd. 

Chrollo stops, and you stumble forward a little, but he catches you in both arms before you make an ungraceful acquaintance with the ground. The hand not gripping your own gently grasps your chin and he leans in, not quite kissing you. His breath smells off, like rust. 

“And miss the grand finale?”

You should insist on going home. Everything’s gone shitty. It’s too crowded and the music will be too loud, and Chrollo is clearly irritated with you--

“Come to the concert,” he whispers, and none of that seems to matter anymore. Of course, you’ll go to the concert. What else would you do? 

He keeps his grip on your hand as you walk onto the warm, crowded sands of the beach, even though you have no intention of leaving. 

--

Booze, sweat, and popcorn. That’s all you can really smell now, surrounded as you are by crowds of people jumping and swaying to some rock band you’ve never heard of before; but no one really cares what the music sounds like on a night like this, when alcohol has been flowing and summer is at its peak.

Even Chrollo seems to be enjoying himself, although he’s not dancing. Just holding you, his arm around your waist, pressing his lips now and then to your forehead.

You feel bad. That must be why there’s a pit in your stomach. You were being rude to him. Of course he’d ask you to come with him--if he’s the type to live so freely, he wouldn’t think twice about making the offer. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be rooted down, willingly or not, the way you are.

You can’t hold something like that against him, so you don’t. 

Instead, you sway to the music, hips bumping against Chrollo now and then. Maybe after this, he could come back to your apartment again, for one last…

All thoughts in your head are stomped into the stand when you spot the strange man with the cowl in the crowd. He’s standing stock still while everyone around him jumps and dances and flaps their drunken arms. 

And he’s looking right at you.

“Chrollo--” There’s no time to waste, and you grab his arm and jerk him towards the direction of the stranger.

But he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Cold terror seizes your chest.

“What is it, love?” 

The nickname doesn’t even register.

“That--the man--the guy from before--he was there.” Your voice begins to tremble, frightened tears welling in your eyes. “Can we leave? Please?” 

Chrollo pulls you closer to him and you feel dim comfort as he wraps his arms around you and presses his lips against your head. But he doesn’t tell you that of course, we’ll leave, of course, I’ll get you somewhere safe, of course, let’s talk to the police. 

“Hush.” One hand begins to pet your hair. “Not much longer now. It’ll be over soon.” 

“What do you…”

Behind Chrollo, you see another familiar face. Vaguely familiar. The tall man with wild blonde hair, the one who looked like he could snap the Test Your Strength Game in half if he really wanted to--he’s standing still, like the man from before, while everyone jostles happily around him. He’s not looking at you, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving. 

Your eyes dart over the crowd.

There are others, standing still. Others who seem out of place immediately, either because of their appearance or something awful you can’t describe. A woman with pink hair looking impassively as she scans the crowded beach, keeping her body perfectly still. A man with long black hair and something shiny and thin strapped to his shoulder. A woman with blonde hair in a smart black tailored suit that no one in their right mind would wear to a summer night carnival concert. Others, too, all out of place and making you want to be anywhere but here.

And then in a few blinks, they’re all gone. Like they were never there.

Dizziness overtakes you, along with a strange sort of fuzzy fear. Is this what a heart attack feels like, maybe? No, it’s just panic. Understandable but undeniably awful panic. 

“Chrollo,” you manage, voice shaky. “Something’s wrong. There’s people, they seem--it’s---I don’t know how to explain, we should--I think we ought to--”

Chrollo doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns you around, keeping you in his arms as he makes you face the stage.

“You’ll miss the concert,” he whispers in your ear.

Helpless irritation courses through you. Who cares about the concert right now? You have half a mind to ask him why he’s not listening to you, but that impulse is gone the moment you see the tall man with blonde hair and impossibly large muscles leap onto the stage.

The guitars and drums come to a confusing, stuttered halt. The lead singer, clad in an oversized black t-shirt with a skull on it, looks like he wants to throw his guitar at the intruder.

“Dude, what the fuck, we’re playing up here, you can’t just--”

Even from your vantage point, you can see the large grin the blonde man sports on his face as he raises his fist and knocks the lead singer’s head off with a single punch. 

The body remains standing for a moment before collapsing without grace onto the stage. Blood spurts from the wound, spritzing high enough that it sprinkles the faces of those closest to the stage. 

There’s a noise from the crowd that almost, for a moment, sounds like a burst of startled laughter.

And then the blonde man leaps onto the corpse, opens his mouth until it’s gaping far too wide to be human, and begins to suck on the headless neck like a crawfish.

It’s that moment when people finally begin to scream.

Your head jerks towards one of the screams, and she’s there--the woman with the pink hair. Latched onto someone’s neck while blood dribbles from her mouth and the person, eyes bugged out, cries out in wordless pain. His body is cross-crossed with strange cuts, like someone pressed him through a sieve. 

You spin around, looking away from horror, only to see it again: the man with the long hair swings something out--a sword?--and strikes someone’s arm clean off his body, then pins that person down and begins to suck at the spurting blood. 

That’s not all he hit.  The person in front of them, a woman holding two drinks, staggers to the ground. Half her face slides off, revealing bone and brain. Lukewarm beer and gore meet the ground together.

You’re not entirely sure if you said Chrollo’s name, or when he let you go, or what you should do. All you know is that when you finally pull yourself together enough to look at him, he’s simply watching the events around you like a boring television show.

Like people aren’t screaming and running and bumping into you. Like blood isn’t flying. Like you aren’t seeing things that you’ve only seen in shitty horror movies. 

He’s in shock. Fuck. So are you, maybe? But it will be up to you to get the pair of you to safety, so you grab his arm and shake him hard.

“Chrollo! We have to go! Now!” 

He doesn’t move. You shake him again, and he finally looks at you. 

He smiles, and holds out his hand, ignoring your jostling.

“You’ve had time to think about it, haven’t you? Will you stay with me?” 

Oh, he’s definitely in shock. That doesn’t stop the impulsive words that flee your mouth as quickly as the people around you are trying--some not successfully--to flee the beach. 

“You’ve lost your fucking mind. Let’s go!” 

You don’t register what’s happened until you’ve hit the ground. Someone finally ran smack into you, and something--their elbow, maybe--strikes your head, hard. Pain blossoms in your knees and the side of your head when you hit the ground, then explodes when someone steps right on your hand.

There’s a feeling of lost gravity when someone yanks you up--Chrollo--but when you’re on your own two feet, he’s not there anymore.

You call his name. Once. Twice. Three times, four. He might not be able to even hear you over the din, if he’s nearby. Maybe he got swept away by the panicked people. Maybe his shock wore off and he ran to get help. Or ran--and left you.

There are a few moments where you almost run deeper into the crowd to look for him. A stupid thought. But then the wild, shock of fear inside you turns to complete ice and you’re not sure of anything in the world because he’s there. 

Standing in front of you.

Close enough to touch. 

Your stalker. The man with the cowl. Only the cowl is down, now, and his mouth is covered in a smear of blood. He smiles at you, and it’s not a nice smile at all. His smile grows wider, and you have to blink several times to realize what you’re seeing.

He’s got fangs.

Two of them, red tinged. Sharp enough to puncture your neck. 

They’re vampires. Actual vampires. Actual, damn bloodsucking vampires. 

There’s a brief, panicked thought--where’s Chrollo?--before your flight kicks in, and you’re scrambling through the crowd like everyone else. You stumble, of course you do. Over bodies, some dead, and you almost fall flat on your face when you make it off the beach and your ankle rolls on the uneven grass-covered ground.

If you were thinking logically, you might have run to the car park, and hopped into your car. You might have run in the direction of the crowds thinking the same, and gotten lost in them.

But there was no logic. Only pure primal panic, the realization that you people were being murdered all around you like animals, and you were one of those animals because one of the monsters was chasing you.

You didn’t dare to look back to see how far away he was; you just knew, deep down, that he was following you now. Running wouldn’t work: you couldn’t run forever, not with the pain in your ankle, and he’d catch up with you even if you weren’t panicked and in pain.

You had to hide.  But where? The carnival was all lit up at night, and the beautiful lights that had been fun to see just a day before now made you want to scream. He could see you, just about clear as day, no matter where you ran.

Unless you can find somewhere to hide inside.

It’s this thought that pushes you to dash inside the fun house, sneakers pounding on the silver ramp leading into the entrance painted over like a mouth devouring any children who enter.

The stillness inside startles you more than anything else. The lights are on. The music is playing, quiet, delightful. It’s hard to hear it over the dulled screams coming from outside, and from the awful, pounding rush inside your ears.

You follow the short hallway until it leads to something which you’d forgotten about; but it wasn’t your fault. Panic made you stupid, and you hadn’t actually been inside a fun house in years. 

The glass maze. All-see through panels that you’d smash into on an ordinary day, much less this one, where your mind is fried from panic and adrenaline keeps your body from coordinating properly. You smash against the panels a few times before you see it… something, behind you. 

No. Not something. Someone behind you. Or near you. Or far away. 

You can’t tell exactly where this person is, because of the fucking glass maze, but the fact remains:

He’s there--he’s here--he’s going to get you and kill you and it will hurt so bad.

You scream, at some point, and it’s dumb because the sound simply bounces off your current glass predicament and hurts your ears.

Maybe panic pushes you through, or maybe you’re just good at completing mazes when you’re in fear for your life; whatever the reason,  you make it out. You stumble through a hallway made of rollers that nearly send you sprawling, until you’re at the end of the hallway. 

A small red spiral staircase, barely usable for adults, is your only hope. 

You don’t try to be quiet now and the metal stairs clang under your feet as you run up them, feeling dizzy, feeling like this might be the last thing you ever do in your short, stupid life.

The second floor isn’t entirely enclosed. It opens out onto the carnival in the front, and there’s a slide to take you down near the end. The wall behind you is covered in a series of mirrors--the kind that make you tall or short or wide or impossibly thin.

It’s not the mirrors that catch your eye, though. It’s what’s down below. 

They’re all down there. The monsters from the beach. All covered in various amounts of blood and gore. Splatters. Smears. Like they’ve all gotten into different scrapes--killed people different ways. 

All of them have blood around their mouths. 

Fear rings in your ears. You want to wake up, more than anything. This is a nightmare and you want to wake up. 

You don’t wake up.

Instead, you hear a metal clang.

Then another.

And another.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Thoughts dart here and there, but there’s nowhere for them to go. If you go down the slide, well. There’s a gang of monsters waiting to kill you down below. If you stay up here, well. There’s still a monster waiting to kill you.

The metal clangs again, and again, and again.

He’s coming up the stairs and he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die. Today. Now. 

Warm urine runs down your leg and thoughts come, too quick to really process: Mom-dad-school-work-never-did-anything-my-childhood-dog-that-one-time-we-went-to-Canada-to-visit-my-aunt-I-kissed-a-boy-under-the-bleachers-I-forgot-to-tell-dad-I-loved-him-yesterday-I-I-I--

It’s not the monster with the cowl who comes walking up the landing of the stairs. 

It’s Chrollo.

It’s like you blink and you’re in his arms, clinging to his shirt and sobbing like a child. He presses a kiss to your hair and you realize, gratefully, that he doesn’t look hurt. No blood on him, no scrapes, no bruises. 

“Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re okay,” you say, reflexively. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Chrollo pulls you tighter against his chest, and murmurs, “God? An interesting choice, my dear, considering…”

You aren’t even really listening. You’re just happy. Delirious, even. Chrollo’s here. He’ll help you. You can make it out together. Somehow. 

There’s an almost giddy sort of hope in your chest--until you hear the metal stairs clang again. And again. And again.

You whimper stupidly and pull on Chrollo’s arm. 

“We have to get out of here. Somehow. I don’t--maybe we can distract them?” Your eyes glance down at the monsters below you, who only seem to be watching more intently. The man with the blonde hair, which is now caked in blood, has an awful grin on his face. You imagine you can see his fangs, even if he’s too far away for you to properly make them out.

Chrollo doesn’t move. Shock again? Or he sees them, too, and knows the two of you won’t make it a step off the slide before being attacked.

The footsteps on the stairs stop. You look behind you, and your bowels clench at the sight of the monster with the cowl, pulled down, that same small, mean smile on his face.

Your hand tightens on Chrollo’s arm. A sentimental, if selfish, thought: At least I won’t die alone.

Chrollo turns, too, and looks at the man who’s been haunting you for days. Looks at the monster who has already killed people and feasted on their blood; at the creature who will now undoubtedly kill the both of you. Lovers for only a few days, but forever in death.

Chrollo sighs, and inclines his head towards the man. 

“Wait a moment, will you, Feitan?”

There were many things you might have said in this moment.  Eloquent things. Meaningful things. Things borne from inner betrayal and horror and anger. But all that comes out of your mouth, which gapes ridiculously, is: 

“Huh?”

And then something clicks, and realization dawns like a morning you don’t think you’ll live to see. The idea comes naturally, somehow. Borne of a childhood reading books and watching movies about vampires. Bloodsuckers. 

Your head turns, and you look over towards the wall of mirrors. You’re stretched thin like taffy about to break, your features a jumble in the dirty, cheap material. 

In the mirror in front of Chrollo, which should make him ridiculously short, there is nothing at all. 

When you look back at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, he’s no longer the person you met a few days ago; the person you took to your bed, the person you were lamenting leaving. The person who kissed you and made you feel good, inside and out, if only for a while. 

He’s a vampire. 

“I advise you not to run,” he says quietly, if not, perhaps, a bit sympathetically. 

You do, because you aren’t a fucking moron. Though you don’t make it far, as it doesn’t do you any good to run towards the staircase. You run right towards the other monster--Feitan--who grabs you with ease.

He’s faster and stronger than he looks. Maybe they all are. Your body and brain don’t care about that, though, so you struggle with all of your might.

In response, your arm is deftly twisted behind your back and you expect this monster to stop, you expect your arm to meet its natural resistance while you struggle.

He doesn’t. It doesn’t. Your arm snaps and the pain is so sharp, so sudden, that your vision goes blind for a few seconds. In those few seconds, you scream.

When you’re aware of the world again, there’s still the pain. Sharp and awful and renewed every time you jostle your body in any direction.

Chrollo, walking up to you, hums in sympathy. 

“I know it hurts, dear. But this is what happens when you don’t listen to my orders. Do you understand?” 

The strangest thing (and in a world where the man you fucked last night is currently standing in front of you with fangs, that is saying something) is that Chrollo’s expression is not wild or monstrous at all. If you thought about it, and you’re having a hard time thinking with the pain of your arm and fear of impending death, you might say he looks hopeful. That you will understand. That you have learned something.

And you have. You’ve learned that he’s a liar, that everything he ever said and did was just to keep you around long enough to literally eat you, that he has no morals, no empathy, that he’s not even a person.

“I understand,” you manage, voice tinged and weak with pain, “that you’re a fucking monster.” You spit at him. Or try to. Your mouth is too dry to manage more than a stringy dribble that sticks to your chin. 

At this, Chrollo sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns.

“You didn’t speak so crudely to me earlier this week.” A little smile. “Last night notwithstanding.” 

Bitter tears well up in your eyes. It was all just a game to him. Cat and mouse. Every smile, every thoughtful word. Every kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his mouth on yours--

“I didn’t know you were a… a… fucking vampire earlier this week.” 

Chuckles, from down below. Feitan, behind you, snorts. 

Chrollo doesn’t look angry, but you can feel a flash of it ripple through the air. It quiets the chuckles. Feitan tightens his grip on you, and the flash of pain makes you groan and slump forward.

“Regardless,” Chrollo says, “respect must be maintained. I expect you to refrain from these little outbursts. Do you understand?” There’s still a tinge of cooing sympathy in his voice--it makes anger bubble up in your chest. 

“Fuck you.” This time, the spit flies, and hits his cheek.

The gestures are slow. Unassuming. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand. He wipes the back of his hand on his pants. And then he nods at Feitan.

Feitan’s hand reaches around your throat and when you glance down, you see that his nails grow. And sharpen. Sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to--

He drags his hand down your collarbone, and you feel the awful, deep sting of it before you see the blood spill out from your flesh. It coats the bare skin between your collar and the top of your shirt like some sort of morbid camisole. 

You cry out, you shriek, but he doesn’t let you go until Chrollo gives him another nod. You’re shoved towards Chrollo, who doesn’t grip you, but merely lets you stand, swaying, in front of you.

When you finally get the courage to look up at him, his pupils are blown up like a shark’s. 

“I’d like you to stay put this time,” he tells you, voice deeper, richer, at the sight of your blood. “And not run away from me. I’d like you to listen, and refrain from being… impulsive.” 

He leans in, and the scent of rust hits you, but this time you know what it means. “I could make you do it, you know. I don’t have to ask.”

Realization hits you again, and it hurts even more this time. That night, on the dock. And on the Ferris wheel. And how many other times he’d told you to do something, feel something. What was really you, and what was him? 

And now, despite all this, despite the scent of blood in the air and the wails of horror coming from the beach, he wanted you to listen to him? The audacity of vampires--it might have been funny, if you were in the mood to laugh.

“Like hell,” you mutter.

Chrollo breathes out through his nose. Impatient.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

You look up at him, gaze sharper. Heart sharper. 

“Like. Hell.” 

The slap you give him is weak. You’re surprised your good arm even managed it, all things considered. 

But the shock of the act that ripples from Chrollo to Feitan and even down below is what gives you a few microseconds to escape, to run, ears ringing from the pain of your jostled broken arm, and throw yourself down the slide.

You don’t have a plan. How could you? As soon as you get to the bottom, you’ll just run. Run and maybe die but maybe you’ll get away, someway, somehow.

You don’t get more than a few steps before you fall. Not fall, exactly. Trip. You trip over something that shouldn’t be there, something taught and thin. A wire? 

You see, from the corner of your vision, the woman with pink hair yank her hand backwards and the wire that shouldn’t be there slices deeply into both your ankles. Blood seeps through your socks before you even hit the ground. 

Your ankles burn and bleed, and new sparks explode behind your eyes when your broken arm smacks the ground at the worst possible ankle. You think you scream, but it’s hard to tell, over the pain.

Chrollo and Feitan jump down from the second story of the fun house. It should break their ankles--it does not. 

Someone turns you over on your back with their boot and you’re left staring up at the sky, ink black and throbbing with stars. It was such a pretty night, before all this. 

Above you, Chrollo and Feitan look down with decidedly different expressions. Chrollo regards you coolly, with no real expression on his face; it’s like a porcelain mask, indifferent, never-changing. Feitan, on the other hand, is smiling--he’s looking not at you, exactly, but at your blood.

It’s Chrollo who speaks.

“I would like an apology for your behavior.”

If your eyes were not safely attached to their retinas, they might bug out of your face entirely. You are laying on your back with bleeding, mangled ankles; your arm is broken, flopping, useless; a collar of blood adorns your neck. Vampires are standing above you, fangs at the ready, having already spread carnage through an entire beach of concert-goers.

And he wants an apology?

You want him to go away. To not be real.

You want your mom, and your dad, and your childhood bed with covers big enough to hide you.

So you shake your head, helpless, like an infant lying on their back.

Above you, Chrollo says your name. Sternly. Just once. 

When you muster up the words, you taste copper. You must have bitten your tongue after tripping. 

“F…fuck you.” 

Stupid words, you know. But you’d rather your last words be this than pointless begging. Now that would be stupid, begging for your life in front of grotesque creatures who want nothing more than to devour your blood. 

Somewhere above you, a gruff voice says, with a hint of glee in his voice:

“Want me to do it, boss?”

Your eyes dart around, but you can’t see anyone else. Even Feitan seems to have stepped back, leaving you with no one but Chrollo in your line of sight.

Chrollo tilts his head a little, considering.

“No,” he says, finally. “Feitan will handle it. I appreciate your methods, but you might break something a little beyond repair.”

Whoever spoke chuckles, but doesn’t disagree.

The words reach you, but you don’t take them in for a slow moment. 

Break… break… what else can they break, what else can they possibly do--

There’s a weight above you. A dark one that smells of blood and metal. It’s Feitan. He blocks out everything else, just for a moment, staring into your eyes with their big pupils and blurring tears.

When he pulls back, you see him move, but don’t know what it means until you feel an explosion of red hot pain in your hand--the hand you slapped Chrollo with. Your fingers crunch and break and you try to pull your hand away, but Feitan’s boot keeps it pinned down, grinding his heel until you shriek so loud that you think the inside of your throat will blister.

Time itself is hot and painful. You’re not sure how long it goes. You’re only sure that when you try to move your mangled fingers, they don’t move. Hot, thick pain shoots down them and it makes you stop trying to get up. 

It’s not like you could run, anyway.

At some point, you hear a new sound. Sirens in the distance. Police? Ambulances? There’s no hope in your chest, no thought that they’ll save you. Even if they got here in time, the monsters would kill them. 

Somewhere above you, Chrollo talks, though his words sound like they’re being spoken through water. 

“Take care of them, will you? We’ll meet up near the waterfall before we head out.” A question from someone. A pause. “Yes, I’ll handle her.” 

The voices fade away. Either because they’ve walked away, or you’re finally going to die from the shock. That might be a mercy compared to whatever grisly end Chrollo has in store for you. Is this how he planned for you to die, after all? Or was it meant to be swifter? You might have screwed it all up with your running and spitting.

Before Feitan broke your hand, you might have been proud of the spitting. Now you just wish you’d let them kill you quick. 

Finally, Chrollo returns to your line of vision. He’s a bit blurry from your tears, from your pain. Probably a bit from your blood loss, too.

He kneels down next to you, and you tense. Even tensing hurts, and you whimper. 

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Beside you, Chrollo coos. A soft, sticky sound. He takes your broken hand and your voice wants to shriek, but all you can manage is a strangled cry. He kisses your broken fingers like a gentleman.

“Kill you? Of course not.” He presses a last kiss to your mangled hand. “I do want to see that sweet girl from before.. the one who daydreams about strangers and holds onto my hand so tightly on the Ferris wheel.” An indulgent look crosses his face and he gives your broken fingers a painful squeeze that has you groaning.

“She’s still in there, no doubt.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, pushing away the dried salt of your tears. “Buried under fear and pain and newfound knowledge, no doubt.” He smiles nostalgically. “But those can be remedied with time.”

He’s crazy. I mean, you know he’s a vampire, sure. But he’s also fucking crazy.

“I want to go home,” you croak. Even though you can’t reason with crazy.  “Please. Please.”

His eyes blink down at you. How old is he, anyway? Centuries? Longer? To him, you must be nothing. Insignificant. Ridiculous. 

He doesn’t mock you, though. He only continues stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be your home now, wherever we go. And we will go so many places.” There’s some sort of dulled excitement in his expression that turns your stomach. “And from now on, you’ll do what I say, won’t you?”

Tears spill over your eyes, trickling down over his thumb. You don’t have the energy or the lack of survival instinct to say no. But you won’t say yes, either. You can’t. 

“Well. I can make you obedient, if you’d rather be stubborn.”

You’re about to ask--”What?”--when he kisses you, shutting you up entirely. 

You’re afraid to move. Your lips tremble against his, thinking only of death--of his fangs. His lips move and brush against your neck, and a mocking forgotten memory of last night flashes through you. He kissed your neck last night, too, a wet, sucking kiss that had your toes curling. Your toes curl now, too, out of fear. The blood from your ankle makes your toes slick inside your shoes. 

And then his fangs sink into your neck and hot, searing pain shoots through your entire body, masking everything else. Your ankles. Your broken hand.  Your brutalized arm. The cut on your collar. None of them matter compared to this pain, which is not localized at the sight of the bite but spreads throughout your bloodstream, making it impossible to think of anything but how much it hurts.

You’re dimly aware of your screaming. A helpless sound you heard from countless others tonight. Your legs kick, and you realize, vaguely, that you can’t really feel them anymore. They hurt, yes, but there’s a numbness behind it. Are you really moving them at all?

There are more screams now--from the beach. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s like you can see it in your mind although you’re flat on your back in front of the fun house with a monster draining you of blood. 

The world spins as you imagine how the first responders must be dying right now, while you’re dying. Are they wishing they never responded to the emergency calls? Are they thinking about their families, their friends, and their little dogs, too? 

Chrollo’s mouth is against yours again, and you taste yourself on him. Bitter metal, still warm. He’s blurry as he pulls back and bites against his wrist. What should be vivid red blood is dark and ugly--dead. He hovers his wrist above your mouth and the substance drips onto your lips. It’s cold, vile.

A final insult before you die, making you drink this nasty stuff. Vampires have a sick sense of humor.

But what did you know about vampires, anyway? 

You black out as Chrollo murmurs something above you.

At least, you think, this is finally over. 

--

You do not wake up in heaven or in darkness, either.

You wake up in a man made clearing, sitting against a tree, with a blanket draped over you. In front of you there is a fire, not roaring but alive enough in the night; a pot with spilled chili lay on the ground. Behind the fire is a camper van with its door wide open. 

The corpse of a man is propped against the door of the van, keeping it open. His mouth is slack and ah, he’s not dead yet, is he? There are two glaring puncture wounds on his neck, but he’s still around. His fingers twitch  and seem to register you with tired eyes, that drift from your face over to the far end of the camp.

You follow the look, and oh. There are two dead teens piled next to the fire. Already drained, already dead. His children, you think. 

The world seems to come into more focus then.

You are, as far as you can tell, alive. You’re propped up against a tree. It’s night time. The people--the monsters, the vampires--are here, in this campsite. Some of them glance at you once they realize you’re awake, but no one says anything.

Strangely enough, you’re not in much pain. Soreness, yes. But you should be in agony. Your hand feels okay--sore fingers, but no longer blinding pain, and you can bend them almost normally. Your arm, too, feels sore but mended. Your hands reach up to your collar, your neck, but there’s no trace of the wounds except a thin scar on your collar and two small bumps on your neck.

How did it heal so fast? Did they bring you here to hurt you again? Keep you like some sort of blood bag?

Your eyes travel down to the blanket draped around you. It’s heavy, comfortable, and stained with blood. 

You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted and throw the soiled blanket from your body.

Someone nearby laughs. “Picky princess, huh?” You vaguely recognize the voice--the tall man with wild hair. The one who knocked a man’s head off at the beach.

Just as renewed panic begins to awaken inside you, Chrollo appears from seemingly nowhere.

“You’re finally awake, I see.”

You shrink against the tree, and look around. Could you run into the woods? Were you still in the trail by the beach? How far could you run? 

Chrollo smiles, and sits down next to you like this isn’t horrifying or unusual at all. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There’s nowhere to go.”

Your throat is dry and your words stick to your mouth several times before you can speak.

“Where… are we?”

If you’re close enough to home, you might still get out of this. Somehow. Find a gas station or a rest stop and beg for help. 

“Far away from that little town, I assure you.” Chrollo jerks his head back and you finally see the row of motorcycles parked near the campsite. “We won’t stay here for long. We rarely do. Just long enough for you to get healed up, this time.”

Which means he plans to take you with him--with them. For how long? And where? And why? Why take you? Why not kill you, why not drain you dry in front of the fun house and leave your corpse for survivors to find? 

You could ask all of these things, but you’re not sure you want the answer. Instead, you give the only answer your mind can manage, which is to curl up against yourself and cry. 

“I want to go home.” You whisper, out of practicality more than anything. Your mouth is so damn dry. 

“None of that,” he says, a little sternly. His expression softens when you flinch, and he brushes the hair from your face. “Don’t waste your breath on such a silly sentiment. You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you didn’t know me well enough to leave with me,” he continues, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, then a warmer one to your unwilling lips. “You said you hadn’t had time to figure out your dreams. Now, you can take all the time you need for both of those things. We’ll have eternity, after all.” 

Dull, cold horror pools in your gut.

Eternity.

“Did you… am I… did you make me--” 

Your hands shoot to your mouth, to your teeth, feeling for fangs. But there’s nothing new inside your mouth, unless you count the awful cotton dryness that blankets your tongue and teeth like film. 

He smiles indulgently, and you hear someone nearby snort. 

“No.” A pause. “Not yet, not quite.” He smiles at your ignorance and takes your hand away from your teeth, giving it a kiss that feels like mockery even if you get the sense that he isn’t trying to make fun. “That may come later, if you behave. For now, I’ve made you…” Another kiss, this time with a smile on his lips, as he seems to debate on what to say. “… let’s say, mine.”

You shiver. From fear, and from cold.

Chrollo presses another kiss to your lips, until he can shove his tongue in between your teeth and run it against your own. You taste yourself on him, still, that rusty taste. It makes you gag, and he pulls away.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you catching a chill so soon. Why don’t you go sit in front of the fire and warm up?” 

You shake your head, wanting to spit out the taste in your mouth, but not having the courage to do so.

He watches you for a moment. Calculating, cold. He makes you think of an animal, in this moment. An animal thinking on what to do when his prey does something odd in the wilderness. 

“Go sit in front of the fire,” he tells you. 

And without wanting to, without meaning to, you do. Your body jerks up and you walk over to the fire, with its spilled chili and corpses left in its wake, and sit down. 

It’s like before, at the carnival, but different now. There’s no warm suggestion, no soothing manipulation. Only an order that you obey, and that’s that. When you try to push yourself up,  you find that you simply can’t make your body do it.  You can flex your fingers, your toes. You can move your arms up and down. But you cannot, in any way, stop sitting in front of that fire.

“I’d prefer you to do things willingly,” Chrollo says from his spot near the tree. “But I don’t mind giving orders either, love.”

Love.

You’re not sure he knows the meaning of the word.

But neither do you.

Despite the fact that there are two dead kids and their dying father just feet away from you, you find the fire comforting. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s everything that the monsters around you aren’t; and you aren’t one of them, not exactly (not yet, your brain screams, he said not yet) and maybe you can cling to that. Cling to your humanity, to get you through this. 

The fire crackles in front of you. At some point, Chrollo sits down, and offers you a bowl of chili that they must have set aside for you before knocking the pot down. 

It’s lukewarm, and a bit bland. The dying man wasn’t a great cook. But you eat it, slowly, carefully, while Chrollo watches with an almost serene expression on his face. Like watching you eat was the most endearing thing in the world. 

Above you, the night sky watches the scene with indifference. 

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Smile❤️ (Yandere X Loser!Reader)

Micky thought that he couldn't feel love.

Ever since he could remember, Micky couldn't connect with anyone on an emotional level. Even his own family members were like aliens to him, creatures that stretched their lips into strange contortions, ETs that became unreasonable when he wouldn't do the same. As a teenager many girls flirted with him in school, hell, a few guys did as well, but none of their confessions ever stirred any emotion from him, even at the height of his puberty. The smiles of the people around him never felt warm or welcoming. Just, tight. Cheeks pulled back, revealing teeth, expecting him to mirror their action, and Micky couldn't understand why.

Nothing made him smile.

College was further isolating. Group projects seemed to no longer be a thing, (at least in the classes he took) so his interactions with humans slowly became less frequent, making his classmates look more inhuman and monstrous.

Until someone in his college was doxxed for being a creep. It was interesting, watching how quickly people turned on their friend, forcing him into an outcast because someone online revealed his private post history.

An annoying young woman in his language arts class gathered people around Micky's seat to talk about what had happened. Micky wouldn't have searched up the drama on his own time, but he didn't see the point in pushing everyone away.

"This user on Xforums, anonymousXnightmare is the one who doxxed Nathan."

AnonymousXnightmare? How fucking lame.

"That's a lame username..."

"Maybe it's a kid..?"

Micky did his best to ignore them, but the username kept popping up in conversation throughout campus. It was getting a little annoying. Some people were mocking the name, while others were praising the "internet hero". It started interfering with his ability to focus in his classes.

But the gossip cooled down after a week, and life began to run as normal, until another student had their life ruined. A football player, they didn't post anything incriminating or disturbing. It was anonymousXnightmare who posted their own collected evidence. Pictures taken from afar of the player with his highschool sweetheart, as in sweetheart who was still in highschool. Recordings of the two of them. Months of stalking all compiled by the stranger.

Again, Micky was bombarded by chatter, excitable young adults losing their minds over the situation. It was... irritating.

Back in his dorm room, Micky was scrolling through Xforums, the most popular forum used by students in his university, made by students for students, searching for the loser with the lame username. Scrolling past the photos he had heard about, he found a post stating

"Dear Allen Brackens, if you cannot stop blasting your shitty music in the halls on your shitty speakers, I WILL ruin your life!"

and Micky had to lean back, to just take in what he had read. That must have been the name of the football player. What he was doing was genuinely gross, and should have been exposed by someone. But did this poster really stalk them for what looked like months just because he listened to music they didn't like?

It was so dumb.

He scrolled down farther into the mystery poster's history, to the first man they doxxed.

"Dear Nathan McAllister, we all know you're a two faced little bitch. Either stop littering the campus with your Jesus pamphlets, or else..."

Micky, for the first time in his life, was amused. The whole situation was so stupid. They really ruined their fellow students lives, just because they annoyed them?

He made an account just to follow his mystery poster, not sure yet why he was interested to see what they would post next.

Less than two days later, and Micky's phone notified him of another post.

"Dear Samantha Rudbeckia, your obnoxious laughter is driving me insane. Can't you see how annoying you are? Knock it off."

That was it?! That was enough to set you off? Laughter? Micky paused mid step, still staring down at his phone. Something felt off about his face. It hurt.

It was pretty easy to find anonymousXnightmare in his school. Micky picked up a map of the university, and mapped out the paths of the three people targeted. They ran into a lot of different students throughout their day. But they only ran into a couple of people who openly seemed to hate them, and only one of those people was a student named (Reader). (Reader), who constantly appeared as though they would collapse at any moment, the hollows under their eyes so dark they looked sickly. (Reader), who despite being borderline anemic, was very sneaky, and very good and being unnoticeable despite their extreme appearance. Unfortunately for them, they had someone watching them as closely as they watched their victims bullies. Micky watched as they stealthily snapped photos of students from around corners, how they seemed to blend into the background and nobody noticed them hiding in waiting.

Micky felt ashamed for ever thinking you were lame. You were.. cute.

The way you crouched like a bug, hunched over like a roly poly scared of being picked up. The way you bit your dry lips in anger to the point they bled.

Micky's face hurt more and more. Every time he saw (Reader) a pain he had never felt before would strain at his cheeks, and his face would feel hot all over. It wasn't until he caught a glimpse of himself in his reflection in a window that Micky realized he was smiling. He never knew that smiling hurt. But he couldn't stop it.

Pictures and videos of Samantha and her married professor were posted online, and Micky was excited to know what (Reader's) face would look like when they reaped the fruits of their labor. But when he snuck into their classroom, zooming in on their exhausted face with his phone's camera, he felt a new emotion seeing that (Reader) was just as annoyed as they always were. A hard pit fell from his ribs into his lower stomach. He was disappointed.

Why aren't you happy? You won. You should be rejoicing right now.

He felt conflicted and confused. Like an octopus was throwing a tantrum in his abdomen, squirming uncomfortably. And it ruined his day. Micky couldn't focus on any of his classes, and the rest of his day was like a foggy dream. What was it about (Reader) that attracted him to them so much?

A cute young woman with smooth black hair approached Micky, a dark blush complimenting her picture perfect face.

"Um, excuse me? Excuse me? Excuse me?"

Micky snapped out of his thoughts, turning his gaze down towards the beautiful person. Her rosey lips were slightly upturned in a posed way.

She's smiling.

Micky internally verbalized it. The same way he did whenever he saw anyone smiling. It never looked good. Smiling was so awkward, and strange. People loved seeing others smiling, and smiled when they were happy, but it always reminded Micky of how not one of them he was.

"Hi! My name is Maggie."

I don't care.

"We have econ together?"

"Okay."

Why was seeing her smile make her look fake, inhuman, alien? Just like everyone else. Then why was Micky so let down seeing (Reader's) lukewarm reaction to their victory?

"I was wondering, I mean, (laughs), a group of us are going out for drinks later, and we, I was wondering if you wanted to come with us.."

She giggled nervously, fiddling her fingers and biting her lip. The image of (Reader) practically eating their lower lip was triggered like a trap. This woman, whose name wasn't worth remembering, made Micky feel nothing. The uncanny feeling of speaking with a living mannequin or an advanced AI. Her movements weren't natural, her smile was just a contraction of muscles. Then, like an epiphany, Micky realized all at once what made (Reader) so special.

Maybe, it wasn't that everyone else was alien, but Micky. Micky was the only one who never fit in. The only one who didn't feel emotions or connect with others like everyone else could. And there was a bug walking around in human clothes, barely staying awake in class and casually ruining peoples' lives simply because they annoyed them. (Reader) wasn't a human either, just like Micky. That's why they didn't seem happy with their victory. Why would a human bring them joy?

Micky's lips pulled tight, smiling brightly at the young woman before walking away without saying a word.

You're the first person to make me feel, because you're just like me. Right, (Reader)? If no one but you can make me feel, then no one but me should be able to make you smile!

:::::::::::::::::::::::::

(Reader) slouched over their laptop, their messy hair pulled back in a top bun just to keep their untrimmed bangs out of their eyes in the privacy of their dorm, eating another cup of noodle while reading all of their "fan mail". Samantha wasn't getting kicked out like they had hoped, but Professor what's-his-nuts did get canned, so hopefully when Samantha comes back to class she'll be too busy sobbing "woe is me" to find anything funny.

Ba-ding♪

A private message popped up from an account with an automated username.

(Reader) snorted so hard a noodle went up into their sinuses.

user01793664544001: I know who you are <3

"Ah-ow! God damn!"

anonymousXnightmare: Who the fuck is this?

user01793664544001: ur prince charming <3

anonymousXnightmare: Don't fuck with me

user01793664544001: come find me

"Watch me, bitch."

Looking up IP addresses is a lot easier than people make it seem. It doesn't take a genius hacker to doxx someone. Of course, (Reader) goes above and beyond, often following assholes for months to collect evidence of their douche baggery. (Reader) got an address in less time than it took to finish their noodles, and took down their hair, quickly setting out to start getting information on their newest "bully".

The address took them to another dorm across campus. How dumb are they? (Reader) faux chuckled, feeling superior to this newest dick. No one was quite as smart as them.

As they crept through the building, no one payed them any attention as they began taking notes on the residents. It had to be one of these losers.

They didn't have a chance to fight back, as they passed one of the rooms the door opened and pulled them inside faster than they had a chance to scream. The man who abducted (Reader) wrestled them to the floor, panting heavily.

(Reader) glared up at the handsome stranger, smiling down at them in a creepy way, his cheeks twitching like he had never smiled before, like his face hurt from the small action. His face was pink and he was sweating, panting with a feverish moisture glazing his eyes.

"Aren't you happy? You found me~"

"G-Get off of me, you pervert!" (Reader) attempted to kick the kidnapper off of them.

This wasn't the answer he was looking for. His smile fell briefly before bouncing back.

"You're just upset because you don't know me yet. Don't worry, it took me a while to realize you and I were the same species as well, so don't worry. I'll wait, I'll wait for you to realize you love me too..."

He rambled quickly, pressing harder against (Reader's) body. A strange noise squeaked out of his throat as he seemed startled, (Reader) feeling a bulge form against their upper thigh.

"Ah, I'll wait.. I'll wait for you to love me too.. but I need you to do something for me while I wait.."

Micky stuck his fingers in (Reader's) mouth, pulling their dry lips out till they bled across his skin.

"Smile for me..."

[nyctoaerah]

Hi queen aerah! I'm a follower from quotev and i really love your works especially divine punishment 🩷🫶🏻 i was hoping to request something, if you accept ofcourse, if you do then could you please do a yandere suguru one?🥰

𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓?

“𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆.”

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Nanako and Mimiko asks you the reason as to why you’re wearing a blindfold, and what they found out chilled them to the bone, as they realized the truth about your blindness.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere stuff, Medical description of stuff, Manipulation, Drugging, Forced Blindness (Lmao)

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Suguru Geto x Oblivious! Blind! Reader

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I do not support or approve of any of the behaviors and actions depicted in this story. The content is intended solely for entertainment purposes. Hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated<3. Kinda mid ig? Not rlly satisfied abt this. I'll do the other reqs next once i get the motivation to write<3

Masterlist

You softly hummed a tune while sitting on the plush mattress, feeling Nanako gently brush your hair.   Mimiko was lounging on your lap as she stared at the ceiling.

“Your hair is so soft mama.. like silk”

Nanako said, admiration tinging in her voice at the softness of your hair, showering you with compliments as she held the right section in her hand and the left in her left hand, leaving the middle section loose. 

Despite having no vision, you could feel her lips curling into a smile and it made a small smile to appear on your lip.

“Thank you, Nanako.” You said softly.

The bond between you, Nanako, and Mimiko had grown strong over time, as they were practically adopted by Suguru, your husband, and raised as his own.  Despite Nanako and Mimiko’s bratty tendencies, they showed genuine kindness and affection towards you.

Nanako, in particular, often displayed a more bratty attitude, while Mimiko seemed content to follow her lead like her loyal minion. It was reminiscent of the classic dynamic between a popular girl and her devoted sidekick.

However, despite that, you loved them too, and treats them as your own daughters.

“Mama, can I ask you something?”

Nanako’s sudden inquiry cut through the air, her eyes searching for affirmation as she sucked in a deep breath and stole a fleeting glance at Mimiko. Without breaking eye contact with you, she searched your expression for any signs of discomfort, to know if you are comfortable with her asking you questions.

“Hm? Ofcourse,” You replied.

Curiosity danced in your mind as you could feel Nanako’s hesitant demeanor. Even without sight, the slight hastening of her heartbeat was a sign of her nerves. Sensory perception was your gift, something that helped you a lot, because you don’t really have a vision.

“Well...” Nanako trailed off, unsure of how to start.

“Don’t hesitate to ask, okay?”

You gently reached out, your fingers seeking hers, your lips parted when you felt the texture beneath your touch felt different—It wasn’t Nanako's hand you held, but Mimiko’s.

“...wait, your hands feels different.. wait no, these are mimiko’s”

The sudden awareness painted your cheeks with a blush of embarrassment, a mix of confusion and awkwardness mingling in your expression.

As the realization dawned on you, Nanako's suppressed laughter bubbled forth, a ghost of a smile gracing Mimiko's features. A reassuring squeeze of your hand conveyed understanding and acceptance. “It's okay,” Mimiko's silent gesture seemed to say.

Apologizing sheepishly for your mistake, you couldn't deny the lingering embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, hoping to dissipate the awkwardness that hung between you.

“Didn’t see that, sorry girls.” You chuckled.

“Mama, stop with the blind jokes.” Nanako deadpanned, watching you rub the taut muscles on the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Right..”

“Um, right... What was it you were going to ask, Nanako?” You quickly shifted the conversation, eager to move past the momentary misstep.

“Well...”

Nanako hesitated for a moment before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat, her gaze fixed on you as her fingers gently ran through your hair.

“Why do you always wear a blindfold?”

The room fell silent, the weight of her question hanging in the air. 

Confusion clouded your expression as you searched for the right words to respond. The idea of why you wear the blindfold had never crossed your mind, as it was just a part of your daily routine. After all, you were blind, and the blindfold didn't make much of a difference in your world of darkness. All you knew was that Suguru had made it clear that it should never be removed—and you had no desire to provoke him.

Nanako could sense your discomfort as she observed your tense body language. Worried that she may have touched a nerve, she inquired tentatively, “Are you okay mama? You seemed agitated...”

“Nanako...” Mimiko began, her own brows knitting in concern. “That’s quite a sensitive question, don't you think?” She spoke softly, trying to redirect the conversation. 

Realizing her misstep, Nanako quickly shook her head and apologized, burying her face in the crook of your neck, her features partially obscured by your hair. “Ah.. I’m sorry mama! I didn’t realized that i was being insensitive...”

“It's okay,” you reassured her awkwardly, letting out a nervous chuckle as you cleared your throat.

“You’re not mad?” She asked, her voice soft and vulnerable as she pulled away from you, her eyes wide and pleading. Her puppy eyes looked up at you, brimming with an innocence that would have probably tugged at your heartstrings—only if you could see it.

“Hm..? ‘course not, don’t worry," you assured her, a gentle smile playing on your lips.

“‘S fine, really,” you said, your tone calm and reassuring.

“Ah.. right, about your previous question...Well, the reason I wear the blindfold is because Suguru told me to.”

“Huh..? Why would Geto-sama want you to wear a blindfold?”

Nanako’s perplexed tone cut through the air like a sharp blade, her confusion palpable. In her mind, she had painted Suguru as one who adored gazing into one’s eyes, the windows to one’s soul. But now, she couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind concealing them, especially when blindness couldn’t erase the existence of your eyes.

“I... Don’t know...” you trailed off as the room fell into an uneasy silence.

The silence was eventually shattered by Mimiko’s voice, breaking through the tension.

“Geto-sama says that you have the prettiest eyes that he has ever seen.” she chimed in, her gaze flitting between you and Nanako. A subtle shift in her posture saw her abandoning her spot on your lap, choosing instead to perch on the plush mattress.

“Huh? Geto-sama saw mama’s eyes?” Nanako asked, looking flabbergasted.

“Nanako, He’s her husband.” Mimiko reminded her twin sister.

“Right...”

“But then.. if he likes your eyes so much, why would he want you to hide them?” Mimiko’s words cut through the haze of confusion.

Your brows drew together, shoulders slightly slouching.

“I suppose that remains a mystery,” you finally replied, your voice laced with a tinge of curiosity and apprehension.

Mimiko and Nanako studied you curiously, wondering what your eyes truly looked like. Were they as beautiful as Suguru had described? However, they had never been permitted to remove your blindfold, and they weren’t the type to disobey Suguru. Despite their bratty tendencies, they were obedient. 

But then, What secrets actually lay behind that blindfold? They were tempted to take a look, Yet, the girls remained restrained by their loyalty to Suguru, reluctance staining their disobedient thoughts. 

“Perhaps he prefers it that way?” you mused, resting your head on your palms and propping your elbow on your thigh.

“I’m not really sure, if i’m gonna be honest.. he just likes it that way i guess.”

“I can’t even remember how I lost my vision too.”

You had no recollection of how you lost your sight, as your memories seemed to have vanished without a trace. All you knew was that Suguru was your husband, and he claimed that you had lost your memories due to your immune system attacking your eyes. 

According to him, your immune system had somehow identified your eyes as a threat, leading to inflammation and damage that resulted in your blindness. He insisted that there was a scientific basis for this too, as the immune system would attack the eye once it recognized its existence.  

And ofcourse, as the dumb little thing you are, you Believed him.

“Mama, are you okay?” Mimiko’s concerned voice breaks through the fog of your thoughts, drawing your attention. 

You compose yourself, managing a smile.

“I’m fine,” you reassure her softly.

Nanako’s eyes are searching, her worry palpable. “Are you sure?” she presses gently.

You can’t help but be touched by their concern, feeling a warmth blossoming in your chest. Meeting their gazes, you offer another smile.

“I promise, my loves, I truly am okay,” you say, a hint of laughter in your voice as you reach out to embrace them both. 

A surge of gratitude sweeps over you as you hold them close, basking in their presence.

“Having you two by my side and a husband who supports me tirelessly every day, I couldn’t ask for more,” you whisper.

“Life is tough, but atleast i have you all.”

Dumb little you was so oblivious and didn’t knew that suguru was the reason why your life was tough.

If only you had been aware that he was the mastermind behind all of this. He orchestrated the entire scheme that led to your memory loss and deceived you into believing he was your husband. It was also because of him that you lost your sight, although you were too dumb to realize it at the time. 

Suguru was deeply enamored with you and the two of you were once in a romantic relationship. However, when you decided to break up with him, his feelings of love turned into obsession. He resorted to disturbing and dangerous tactics to make sure you stayed with him—Such as manipulating and drugging you, all in the name of his overwhelming love for you as he was unable to bear the thought of losing you.  

It may have been your mistake to allow him into your life, however. Perhaps if you had declined Satoru’s invitation to hang out with him and Suguru, you would have never crossed paths with him. Maybe if you had refused to give Suguru your number or declined the love letters he presented, things would be different.

You wouldn’t be in this situation.

After embracing the girls tightly, you gently released them and affectionately patted their heads. Your expression brightened as you spoke,

“I’ll just show you how they look like to satisfy your curiosity, ‘kay?”

Nanako and Mimiko both eagerly nodded in agreement.  

“I bet they’re really pretty just as Geto-Sama says!” Nanako says and Mimiko nods in agreement.

“.. Suguru shouldn’t mind, at least I hope not,” you muttered under your breath.

With a deliberate motion, you gently lifted the blindfold with a slender finger, allowing just a sliver of sight for Mimiko and Nanako to catch a glimpse of your eyes. The room grew eerily silent as the two girls eagerly leaned in, their gazes fixed upon your mysterious orbs.

However, what they beheld was beyond their wildest imaginations, shattering their preconceived notions. Their eyes widened in disbelief, their pupils constricting in shock as a chilling wave of fear washed over them. Their jaws slackened.

Your eyes were tightly sewn together by a thick black thread infused with cursed energy. The thread was so tightly wound, and your eyelids were merged together, giving the appearance of eyes belonging to a puppet with carefully stitched features.

That was when they realized that you weren’t actually blind.

Nanako’s throat constricted as a strangled gasp clawed at her lips, her heart hammering violently against her ribcage. Mimiko’s body tensed, a tremor coursing through her frame as her eyes widened in sheer horror.

Suguru’s presence seemed to loom unnoticed until that moment, as he loitered casually by the door, propped against the wall with a nonchalant air, his head cocked to one side, observing them with a detached interest.

He was just there the whole moment you three were talking, completely silent and just watching.

A shiver ran down the two girl’s spines as their gazes collided. Suguru’s lips curled up in a knowing smirk, his ice-cold eyes staring at them as he brought a finger to his own lips as he mouths something.

“Can you keep a secret?”

[etherealinowrites]

love on the court | lmh

jock leeknow x nerd female reader

✮ ❝ lee minho, a 23 year old senior at levanter uni is the jack of it all. he was the captain of the football team, the president of the dance club, the resident chef and a loving cat dad of three cuties. it was unfair how he seemed to just have it all! good looks, amazing physique, never ending charisma and irresistible charm. safe to say, he was the most popular guy at your college, known for being the heartthrob and heartbreaker of everyone attending. but when he crosses paths with the shy and smart y/n, who is walking around, trying her best to keep her 8.5 gpa intact, he cannot help but feel he’s been wearing a mask all along. and why does only y/n have the power to take it off him? drawn to the silent beauty, minho feels his priorities change and who knows, maybe they fall in love? one thing is for sure, he has a whole lot to prove if he wants to win her heart and have his own love on the court. ❞ ✮

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

➺ genre: university/college au, jock minho, athlete minho, shy girl x popular guy trope, strangers to lovers, typical college romance, nerd y/n, goody two shoes y/n and rule breake minho. cliche. CLICHE. so fucking cliche. it’s basically a 2000s girly movie in 2023 with lee minho in it. also some smau to make it fun.

➺ warnings: eventual smut, crude language- sweating and profanity, partying, clubbing, drinking and alcohol, mentions of drugs (none of the characters take them but they’re mentioned), causal sex, hooking up (i mean they’re all over age and in college so the usual), issues of mental health (anxiety and panic attack related to exams and assignments etc), minors dni

➺ schedule: whenever i can find time (i’m a full time uni student AND a part time intern AND i freelance so please try to understand🩵) . releases: october 2023.

➺ word count: in progress

➺ series taglist (don’t ask to be tagged if you’re a minor!!) : @endzii23 @you-make-skz-stay @tinyelfperson @nattisbored @jetblackbelle @helpsplease @lolos-hoes @noellllslut @thevampiregoth @astraystayyh @seo--changbin @jisunglyricist @felinows @she-wintersoldat @abbiestearsricochet @miin17 @laryisthinking @jisuperboard @theboyz-jacob @aishjah @skz-streamer @semi-semiisbae @httphans @urmomma0324

@hanjisunginc @moasworld @vixensss @realrintaro @ilovehimyourhonour @binnielovie @idkluvutellme @gnfelix @yandere-stories @berrybearbear @brooklynie @justletmehavethenamemarsomfg @phtogravi @yeetlixs @ddazed-lhs @skzwife-02 @moonlyah @babigriin @m111nho @boi-bi-ahaha @leeracha @hxraiiii @reidsfav @doyouknowbtsswag @skzwife-02 @dariangarcia @chlodavids

(taglist is CLOSED)

✮ ✮ ✮

🩵meet the characters pt1

🩵meet the characters pt2

✨dynamics 📱

->chapter one | the meet cute - 3.5K

you make acquaintance of your uni’s football team captain

->chapter two | the strike - 📱

the two friend groups have some heart to hearts

->chapter three | twitterati - 📱

the people of the uni are the biggest gossip mongers ever

-> chapter four | locker room talk - 5K

apparently the guys talked about you. oh, and minho wants to take you out. nothing big. (you were freaking out)

…..more to be added