#R6 Till x HS Ivan

[fujoshi-yappings]

Till wake up with a jolt. He felt his body heavy and stiff, like he'd been knocked out cold for hours. Blinking against the blinding light, he groggily sat up—only to be confused.

Where the hell am I?

The room is ridiculously lavish, decorated in dark woods, silver accents, and plush leather furniture. A thick, blue carpet stretched out beneath his feet, and there's an enormous desk piled with paperwork.

His head ached. He remembered singing and the rain. He remembered the the desperate kissing under the rain. He remembered trying to grasp for air and the pain of teeth biting into his lips.He remembered the hands gripped his throat, ironically gentler than those kisses.

Till remembered accepting his death if it was by that guy's hands. Till would rather die than allow Ivan to die.

But then, something shifted. The hand on his throat loosened slightly, Till opened his eyes and looked at those mesmerizing eyes looking at something behind him. Ivan looked so beautiful, eyes a lit with galaxies as he looked at Till.

Ivan kissed him, gentler this time. It was as if he was saying goodbye.

Ivan was saying something but he can't here a thing. The rain was loud and the ringing in his ears was loud. The tears that cannot be shed blurred Till's vision despite his desire to look at Ivan. Beautiful Ivan without his mask of perfection.

Then came the sound—the crack of a gunshot.

Then another.

Then another.

It was over, just like that. The person who had held him, who had kissed him, and who had caused so much turmoil, collapsed with the lifeblood draining out. In that split second, it wasn’t just the shock or the violence he felt. Something deeper stirred in him, an undeniable realization that hit harder than any force.

He loves Ivan—He loves Ivan underneath the anger, the fear, the aggression. The realization stung. What could have been, what could never be now. All he could do was watch, feeling a mixture of regret, loss, and an overwhelming, unbearable sorrow.

Till froze as his universe drowned itself in red.

.

.

.

Till remembered nothing after that. He felt numb, body on auto-pilot at the shock.

His head ached. Till rubbed face and felt something wrong. His hands way too massive. They're with fingers that are way too thick, veins popping out like he'd been doing extreme exercises. Till could almost expect to see tattoos his arms, but there’s nothing. The skin is smooth, but the sheer bulk is unsettling.He glanced around, trying to get his bearings.

Then, he noticed something even stranger. The reflection in a giant mirror across the room.A man was staring back at Till. He’s not just some random guy. He looks dangerous. His sharp jaw, thick eyebrows, and cold, unreadable eyes scream power. His suit, despite being crumpled, was tailored to perfection, feels like it was made for someone else entirely.

What the hell is going on? This is not me

Till stumbled out of the chair and walk toward the mirror, feeling the weight of a body that doesn’t belong to him.

Dark circles under the eyes, a scar across the lip, and this weird aura of authority. His head ached and memories not his own flashed.

This was not a pet. This was not the world Till used to be. This is not the world were Till had to sing or be killed. This was the world Ivan used to talk about, only Till was living a life darker than Ivan's stories.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and two men in black suits step inside, their eyes flicking to Till with respect, but also something else.

Fear

Till feel it—an instinctual shift in the air. They’re looking at him like he's the most dangerous person they’ve ever seen. Till likes it. He was the one who lived in fear in the past. He likes this sense of power.

If only Ivan was here then it'll be better.

"Boss, here is the file you requested," one of them says, his voice a mix of caution and deference as he handed Till a folder.

"You're dismissed." Till's voice had an edge to it, commanding and sure. It was strange, but Till could feel that he was truly in charge. He was grateful he had the original's memories to pretend.

The men nod and stepped back, their eyes never leaving him as they make their way out of the room. Till opened the folder and froze at the picture. It was a picture of a younger him, only younger and softer.

Till began to read the report and chuckled at the findings that this teen Till was not this body's child. Then he froze again as he was struck with sudden realization.

If there's a me in this world then surely there's an Ivan too?

Till flicked the pages and he slowly smiled at what he saw. There was his Ivan, so young and carefree slinging an arm to the other Till.

Perhaps God answered my wish after all, Till thought as he widened his grin. His eyes, dark yet gleaming with fervor. His breath catches slightly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of that desire, and it’s clear—whatever comes next, he will stop at nothing.

Till will have Ivan in his arms no matter the consequences.

[redrandomposts]

Hi, not sure if you saw it on twitter but there is a R6 Till X HS Ivan wherein R6 Till traveled dimension into the normal world where Ivan is a student and is very much in love with HS Till.

HS Ivan became an attic wife via yandere R6 Till (HS Ivan got chained, SA'd and mind broken by insane R6 Till) and it is implied that R6 Till killed HS Till. Both of the live in a hell of R6 Till's own making

R6 Till's conscience manifests as a dark version of R6 Ivan who accused R6 Till of replacing him so easily.

I kinda think a bad end for Ivan in the time loop au would be similar to this if Till grows more possessive and more insane. Not that Ivan would consider that to be a bad ending much actually since this guy's situational awareness is shoved out the window when it comes to Till

I SAW THAT ONE!!! i think. i go to twitter for the socmed aus sometimes when im desperate.

yeah hs!tillivan are much more sane than r6!tillivan... one finds it hot, the other does not. trauma, folks

i think that ivan would hate if till was murdered, even if he wasn't from his own universe, though. each ivan has his own till; and no ivan wants to live in a world without till.

speaking of, sometimes, when till is really out of it, he'll threaten ivan using his own life. ivan's much more obedient, but he's also much more upset and despondent. from then, it's up to till to make it up to ivan by reassuring he's not going to kill himself with plenty of affection.

...hm...

[fujoshi-yappings]

warnings: kidnapping, drugging and r6 till does horrible things to ivan during the kidnapping. Black room torture method despite the gentleness so HS Ivan will be very confused and disoriented. Also there's a reason he can't run away other than restraints. Till cut off ivan's ability to run so there's the non-con body modification.

___________________________________________

Ivan woke up slowly, confusion clouding his mind as his body stiffened with soreness.

Everything was dark and he feels sore all over. He blinked, trying to gain back his vision but everything was still dark. With a jolt, he realized that his eyes were covered. He was blindfolded. 

He tried to remember what happened. Ivan was sure he was with Till that day. They were hanging out and eating some snacks in their usual hangout before he headed to cram school...no he was pretty sure he was on his way to cram school while Till goes back home. He remembered walking then a hand grabbed him and covered his mouth then something needle sharp nicked his neck. Ivan remembered feeling drowsy and lightheaded. He remembered trying to shout but could only cough and wheeze, his eyes slowly blurring then he blacked out in someone's tight embrace.

He focused on the present. He tried moving but felt his hands bound. Not a exactly a rope but something soft like a fabric or soft cord, something that digged into his skin but didn't break it. The restraints wasn't harsh  nor did it cut off his circulation but it was tight enough to hurt. His wrists ache with every movement.

The reality of being kidnapped did not register much until Ivan felt his feet were bound too, heavier than the restraints on his  hands, cold chains digging into his ankles. He tried flexing his feet but it's useless. They felt heavy, immobilized by the weight of metal. Every subtle shift sent burning pain. The room was suspiciously comfortable with the right temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. It should feel safe as it felt like the heater in his home, but it doesn't.

How long did his kidnapper observe him to know his desired temperature?

The air feels... still. Almost muffled, like there's something in his  ears. He tried focusing on the sounds to try to get a clue on his surroundings but everything is muted. His ears felt stuffed- maybe earplugs? Ivan can't hear clearly. Hell, he can't even tell if there's anyone near him. For all Ivan know, he could be alone or some pervert was watching him struggle.

Ivan gulped, but his mouth feels dry. Did the kidnapper brush his teeth too?

His throat feels tight, but his mouth was free, isn’t gagged. It’s strange. Why isn’t his mouth gagged? Did the kidnapper want to hear him scream? 

But even as the thought crosses Ivan's mind, he felt something grow inside him, a weight pressing down his chest. Panic? Fear? Ivan doesn't know but he found it hard to breathe. He felt shivers and he could feel himself hiccup (or was he crying?) but he can't scream. He shouldn't make a sound because he doesn't know what his kidnapper would do when he's finally awake. His head felt too heavy, too filled with confusion to force anything out.

He tried to focus on what he could feel. It's one of the few things that remain free. (Along with his clothes. He could still feel his clothes and thank god for small mercies. He doesn't want to think what he'd do if he was naked too.)

The ground beneath was hard. It felt like wood but it was hard to tell when there’s something soft under him—blankets? Pillows? It’s odd. He can feel them shifting when he moved, like they’re meant to comfort him, or maybe just to keep him subdued. But he can’t make sense of any of this.

The longer Ivan lied here, the more the silence presses in. His mind races, but it doesn’t have any answers. He doesn’t even know if he'd been here for minutes or hours. Can't be days yet because he doesn't feel hungry yet.

The absence of sound, the uncertainty, it’s suffocating. He tried imagining the sound of a trickling clock to pass the time.

Who did this? Where am I? Am I alone? 

Ivan tried moving again. He twisted his body but every motion only felt pain flaring through his limbs. There's a stabbing pain in the back of the lower leg, accompanied by a sudden sense of something snapping. The pain was disorienting and intensely painful. Ivan could feel himself shout in pain and he can't stop the tears in his eyes.

Did the bastard cut off his ability to walk? What's the use of the chains then? Decorations?

This guy was dangerous, Ivan was sure.

To cut off his Achilles tendons without much complications means that this guys has money and connections.

Ivan felt that there's no getting out like this. But he has to—somehow. Someone just save him. Anyone would do. 

"Please," Ivan prayed "Please just let me go"

He might have said that out loud as he felt a hand patting his head gently.

He does not feel safe from it. 

A traumatized and kinda insane Till after r6 transmigrates into the modern world into a body of an heir to the criminal underworld. He sees normal student Ivan and kidnaps him.

[fujoshi-yappings]

Warnings: stalking and delusional Till

________________________________________

Money truly solves everything, Till thought as he watched Ivan sleep from his laptop.

His beloved looked so vulnerable asleep. It was so different from how Ivan acts awake. The nightlight allowed Till to bask on Ivan's serene and relaxed face. His chest had a steady rise and fall, each breath a reminder Till that Ivan is still alive. The soft flutter of his eyelids with long lashes as he dreamt, the slight twitch of his hand, and the slightly parted lips, it’s all so calming to Till who had memories of Ivan dyed in red. Ivan breathing in his sleep is Till's reward after a lifetime of suffering.

Till thank every stars that the body he inhabited is filthy rich to hire people to install cameras where Ivan lived, where Ivan would put off the mask he wore even in this peaceful world.

Beautiful Ivan, so alone even in this world. It was as if the god was telling Till he could have him for himself. To show Ivan that he is so loved by Till. That Till learned his lesson to never let him go this time. Ivan is Till's everything.

His god. His love. His universe. His wonderful miracle cure.

Till smiled as he watched his beloved Ivan wake up so adorably. Till wasn't able to see Ivan wake up back then and he regrets it so much. Not when Ivan look so ravishing. Till was tempted to jump on him and drag him to his bed and do things to him that Ivan will not be able to walk away.

Ivan's usually well-kept hair is tousled, a little wild that Till longed to touch to test if his hair remain as soft as he remembered. Till thinks back to the days he grabbed and yanked Ivan's hair and the latter would only laugh. He really should have been kinder.

Till watched as Ivan stretched like a cat, body curling, with a quiet contented sigh. He will not deny that his gaze lingered far too long when Ivan's shirt lifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of his stomach. Till saw the curve of his body, the way his muscles shift and move is so natural, yet there's a vulnerability in it, making the moment feel even more intimate despite Till watching from the screen.

Till longed to hold that waist and move Ivan to his rhythm of pleasure. Till wished to lick and trail kisses on that skin, bite and mark Ivan as his.

.

.

.

Watching Ivan move through his morning routine was like observing a quiet dance. The way he moved was deliberate but effortless caught Till's attention. There's a casual grace in how he dresses and Till almost chuckled at how elegance seem to be ingrained in Ivan.

When it was time to eat, Ivan's meal was already prepared by their family's cook. His parents too busy with their work that they're rarely at home for their only child

To Till, Ivan looked so lonely alone in such big house. Yet there's something that never seem to change. Ivan still liked his sweets. There was an unholy amount of sugar in that cup of coffee.

Till watched everything. Observing Ivan had never been boring even back then. (Even if Till will deny it back then. Till had looked at Ivan so much yet in those moments, Ivan never see Till look at him)

As Ivan prepared to leave, he gathered his bag and slipped into his shoes. Till was sad to see him go. If Till was there, maybe Ivan will tease him for a quick kiss.

Till's eyes darkened with want at that image then it suddenly sharpened when he realized that Ivan was in love with a false Till. His brows furrowed deeply, a flicker of frustration and beginning to tighten the lines of his face.

In this world, Ivan is still in love with Till. In this world, Till is not that Till.

No matter, Ivan will be his in the end.

Till wake up with a jolt. He felt his body heavy and stiff, like he'd been knocked out cold for hours. Blinking against the blinding light, he groggily sat up—only to be confused.

Where the hell am I?

The room is ridiculously lavish, decorated in dark woods, silver accents, and plush leather furniture. A thick, blue carpet stretched out beneath his feet, and there's an enormous desk piled with paperwork.

His head ached. He remembered singing and the rain. He remembered the the desperate kissing under the rain. He remembered trying to grasp for air and the pain of teeth biting into his lips.He remembered the hands gripped his throat, ironically gentler than those kisses.

Till remembered accepting his death if it was by that guy's hands. Till would rather die than allow Ivan to die.

But then, something shifted. The hand on his throat loosened slightly, Till opened his eyes and looked at those mesmerizing eyes looking at something behind him. Ivan looked so beautiful, eyes a lit with galaxies as he looked at Till.

Ivan kissed him, gentler this time. It was as if he was saying goodbye.

Ivan was saying something but he can't here a thing. The rain was loud and the ringing in his ears was loud. The tears that cannot be shed blurred Till's vision despite his desire to look at Ivan. Beautiful Ivan without his mask of perfection.

Then came the sound—the crack of a gunshot.

Then another.

Then another.

It was over, just like that. The person who had held him, who had kissed him, and who had caused so much turmoil, collapsed with the lifeblood draining out. In that split second, it wasn’t just the shock or the violence he felt. Something deeper stirred in him, an undeniable realization that hit harder than any force.

He loves Ivan—He loves Ivan underneath the anger, the fear, the aggression. The realization stung. What could have been, what could never be now. All he could do was watch, feeling a mixture of regret, loss, and an overwhelming, unbearable sorrow.

Till froze as his universe drowned itself in red.

.

.

.

Till remembered nothing after that. He felt numb, body on auto-pilot at the shock.

His head ached. Till rubbed face and felt something wrong. His hands way too massive. They're with fingers that are way too thick, veins popping out like he'd been doing extreme exercises. Till could almost expect to see tattoos his arms, but there’s nothing. The skin is smooth, but the sheer bulk is unsettling.He glanced around, trying to get his bearings.

Then, he noticed something even stranger. The reflection in a giant mirror across the room.A man was staring back at Till. He’s not just some random guy. He looks dangerous. His sharp jaw, thick eyebrows, and cold, unreadable eyes scream power. His suit, despite being crumpled, was tailored to perfection, feels like it was made for someone else entirely.

What the hell is going on? This is not me

Till stumbled out of the chair and walk toward the mirror, feeling the weight of a body that doesn’t belong to him.

Dark circles under the eyes, a scar across the lip, and this weird aura of authority. His head ached and memories not his own flashed.

This was not a pet. This was not the world Till used to be. This is not the world were Till had to sing or be killed. This was the world Ivan used to talk about, only Till was living a life darker than Ivan's stories.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and two men in black suits step inside, their eyes flicking to Till with respect, but also something else.

Fear

Till feel it—an instinctual shift in the air. They’re looking at him like he's the most dangerous person they’ve ever seen. Till likes it. He was the one who lived in fear in the past. He likes this sense of power.

If only Ivan was here then it'll be better.

"Boss, here is the file you requested," one of them says, his voice a mix of caution and deference as he handed Till a folder.

"You're dismissed." Till's voice had an edge to it, commanding and sure. It was strange, but Till could feel that he was truly in charge. He was grateful he had the original's memories to pretend.

The men nod and stepped back, their eyes never leaving him as they make their way out of the room. Till opened the folder and froze at the picture. It was a picture of a younger him, only younger and softer.

Till began to read the report and chuckled at the findings that this teen Till was not this body's child. Then he froze again as he was struck with sudden realization.

If there's a me in this world then surely there's an Ivan too?

Till flicked the pages and he slowly smiled at what he saw. There was his Ivan, so young and carefree slinging an arm to the other Till.

Perhaps God answered my wish after all, Till thought as he widened his grin. His eyes, dark yet gleaming with fervor. His breath catches slightly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of that desire, and it’s clear—whatever comes next, he will stop at nothing.

Till will have Ivan in his arms no matter the consequences.

[fujoshi-yappings]

Time felt like it’s slipping, stretching and warping in the suffocating space. Ivan felt his very sanity draining away.

The blindfold kept everything in darkness, and without any cues—no light, no sounds, no changes in temperature—there’s no way to mark the passing hours. It could have been minutes, or it could have been days. Ivan can't tell and it's been driving him crazy.

The muffled silence around made it hard to gauge anything. No ticking of a clock, no voices in the distance, no change in the air. The only thing that signaled time was the ache in his muscles, the tight chains, oiled up to prevent rusting, around his now useless feet and the persistent, dull throb of his bound wrists. But that’s not enough to measure it.

Ivan tried to focus, trying to count the seconds , but he quickly lost track. The idea of time, once so precise and reliable, now felt distant, as if it doesn’t apply here. Ivan felt his body craving for movement, his mind craving any sort of change, but nothing shifts. Every moment felt endless, stretched out in a way he can’t understand.

There’s a strange, maddening rhythm to it. Time here isn’t linear. It’s fluid, shapeless. He could have woken up just now or hours ago. He might be trapped in this same moment forever, held in some twisted kind of stasis.

Each breath Ivan took seems to echo forever, and each thought feels as though it lingers for too long, unable to escape the confines of this silent, suffocating room.

Ivan knew he needed to stay sharp, to hold onto his sanity. It was difficult.

The slow, relentless passage of time is starting to wear him down. Ivan felt like he was caught in an endless loop, waiting for something—anything—to shift.

A traumatized and kinda insane Till after r6 transmigrates into the modern world into a body of an heir to the criminal underworld. He sees normal student Ivan and kidnaps him.

[fujoshi-yappings]

It took Till a long time to prepare Ivan's room. At least it seems too long for Till but he needs to make this room perfect.

Ivan is far too smart for his own good and he would have done anything to return to that false Till. Till remembers that escape far too well. He remembers Ivan smiling, laughing as he held Till's hands to freedom under a meteor rain. He remembers Ivan's act of sacrifice on stage well too. He remembers Ivan wearing a suit fit for a groom and how it was dyed in red at the end of their kiss.

Till cannot have Ivan dying on him. Till also cannot have Ivan love a false Till. Not when Till is the one who is real. Ivan will always belong to Till for Till is the one who deserves Ivan's whole being.

It would be hard to convince Ivan though when the face Till has in this life is so different from his previous one. Till would do everything to make Ivan see that he is the real one and not that false Till who is wearing his face.

Till briefly entertained killing that false Till but he but shook off that thought. There was something more important. He has Ivan in his room, sleeping after Till ordered his men to rescue Ivan and return him to his side.

Welcome home, Ivan

Till watched Ivan from the corner of the room, his swelling with a strange, possessive warmth. Ivan doesn’t know it yet, but Till can see the change in him—how his resistance is slowly crumbling, how he no longer fights against Till's touch, how the tension in his body has softened, replaced with something… different.

Till thinks he’s beginning to understand, to feel the care and love Till is giving him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Ivan can be strangely silent about such useless things. But then again, Till doesn't think Ivan knows what Ivan wants. For all his perfection, Ivan is so, so human when he loves Till.

At first, Till wasn’t sure about whether this was the right thing to do. He wasn’t sure how to make Ivan see, how to make him understand. But Till learnt to ve patient. Till has been gentle. Till has taken time in making sure Ivan feels safe, cared for and loved in all ways that even Ivan didn't know he should have.

Till couldn't see the fear in his eyes with the blindfold but Till could feel it. There was desperation too and anger. This is why Till kept the blindfold on. He cannot take it if Ivan looks at him with hatred when he looked at Till with so much love then. Till cannot accept it if Ivan cannot recognize him too. Till looks so different now that he knows Ivan won't recognize him. Not when Ivan is still in love with the false Till.

Till will do everything to make Ivan see Till. He did everything even if it hurts Till more. It hurts, in a way, to see Ivan so broken. But it’s also beautiful. There's a quiet fragility in Ivan that Till longed to keep within his reach. To embrace him, never letting him go; to trail kisses on his skin, devour everything that is Ivan: to love him, make love to him; to drive him insane with want, just as Ivan drove Till mad in love for a long time.

Till made sure he has given Ivan everything he needs. He fed him, cleaned him, taken care of him. Till made him his. The more Till cared for him, the more Ivan needs Till. And that’s what Till wants. To be needed. To be loved.

Ivan doesn’t remember what it’s like outside, doesn’t know the world beyond these walls. He’s forgetting his life before their now, and in a way, that’s Till's greatest gift to him. Till has taken away the weight of the world, the pressures, the expectations. Till has given him peace. Ivan doesn’t have to be anyone anymore—just 'this', just 'us'.

He’s mine now, forever and always.

Till found it hard not to smile when he sees how Ivan responds, how he craves the touch, even though his mind is probably still fighting it. He doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s starting to feel what Till feels. He’s starting to need Till as much as he needs Ivan. Till can see it in the way Ivan reacts when he's near, the way that sinfully breathtaking body relaxes into Till's care, the way his breath catches when they're close.

He’s afraid, yes, but there’s something else too—something Till knows he can’t quite name. It’s love, even if he doesn’t recognize it yet.

Till has been so careful with him, gentle. He don’t want to hurt Ivan, not really. Till just wants him to stay. To stay with Till. He can’t imagine him leaving, can’t imagine a life without him in it.

Till has given him everything he needs, and in return, he received Ivan's reluctant trust. It’s enough for now. But Till knows he would want more. Till had always been so selfish when it comes to Ivan.

Till watches him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. He looks so peaceful now, so different from the frightened, desperate person he was when Till first took him home.

He’s mine. Completely. And I will take care of him forever, even if it means his freedom is the price. He doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need anything but me.

Ivan will come to understand that. He’ll see. And when he does, they will be happy.

Just the two of us, here, forever.

Till wake up with a jolt. He felt his body heavy and stiff, like he'd been knocked out cold for hours. Blinking against the blinding light, he groggily sat up—only to be confused.

Where the hell am I?

The room is ridiculously lavish, decorated in dark woods, silver accents, and plush leather furniture. A thick, blue carpet stretched out beneath his feet, and there's an enormous desk piled with paperwork.

His head ached. He remembered singing and the rain. He remembered the the desperate kissing under the rain. He remembered trying to grasp for air and the pain of teeth biting into his lips.He remembered the hands gripped his throat, ironically gentler than those kisses.

Till remembered accepting his death if it was by that guy's hands. Till would rather die than allow Ivan to die.

But then, something shifted. The hand on his throat loosened slightly, Till opened his eyes and looked at those mesmerizing eyes looking at something behind him. Ivan looked so beautiful, eyes a lit with galaxies as he looked at Till.

Ivan kissed him, gentler this time. It was as if he was saying goodbye.

Ivan was saying something but he can't here a thing. The rain was loud and the ringing in his ears was loud. The tears that cannot be shed blurred Till's vision despite his desire to look at Ivan. Beautiful Ivan without his mask of perfection.

Then came the sound—the crack of a gunshot.

Then another.

Then another.

It was over, just like that. The person who had held him, who had kissed him, and who had caused so much turmoil, collapsed with the lifeblood draining out. In that split second, it wasn’t just the shock or the violence he felt. Something deeper stirred in him, an undeniable realization that hit harder than any force.

He loves Ivan—He loves Ivan underneath the anger, the fear, the aggression. The realization stung. What could have been, what could never be now. All he could do was watch, feeling a mixture of regret, loss, and an overwhelming, unbearable sorrow.

Till froze as his universe drowned itself in red.

.

.

.

Till remembered nothing after that. He felt numb, body on auto-pilot at the shock.

His head ached. Till rubbed face and felt something wrong. His hands way too massive. They're with fingers that are way too thick, veins popping out like he'd been doing extreme exercises. Till could almost expect to see tattoos his arms, but there’s nothing. The skin is smooth, but the sheer bulk is unsettling.He glanced around, trying to get his bearings.

Then, he noticed something even stranger. The reflection in a giant mirror across the room.A man was staring back at Till. He’s not just some random guy. He looks dangerous. His sharp jaw, thick eyebrows, and cold, unreadable eyes scream power. His suit, despite being crumpled, was tailored to perfection, feels like it was made for someone else entirely.

What the hell is going on? This is not me

Till stumbled out of the chair and walk toward the mirror, feeling the weight of a body that doesn’t belong to him.

Dark circles under the eyes, a scar across the lip, and this weird aura of authority. His head ached and memories not his own flashed.

This was not a pet. This was not the world Till used to be. This is not the world were Till had to sing or be killed. This was the world Ivan used to talk about, only Till was living a life darker than Ivan's stories.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and two men in black suits step inside, their eyes flicking to Till with respect, but also something else.

Fear

Till feel it—an instinctual shift in the air. They’re looking at him like he's the most dangerous person they’ve ever seen. Till likes it. He was the one who lived in fear in the past. He likes this sense of power.

If only Ivan was here then it'll be better.

"Boss, here is the file you requested," one of them says, his voice a mix of caution and deference as he handed Till a folder.

"You're dismissed." Till's voice had an edge to it, commanding and sure. It was strange, but Till could feel that he was truly in charge. He was grateful he had the original's memories to pretend.

The men nod and stepped back, their eyes never leaving him as they make their way out of the room. Till opened the folder and froze at the picture. It was a picture of a younger him, only younger and softer.

Till began to read the report and chuckled at the findings that this teen Till was not this body's child. Then he froze again as he was struck with sudden realization.

If there's a me in this world then surely there's an Ivan too?

Till flicked the pages and he slowly smiled at what he saw. There was his Ivan, so young and carefree slinging an arm to the other Till.

Perhaps God answered my wish after all, Till thought as he widened his grin. His eyes, dark yet gleaming with fervor. His breath catches slightly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of that desire, and it’s clear—whatever comes next, he will stop at nothing.

Till will have Ivan in his arms no matter the consequences.

[fujoshi-yappings]

Ivan felt hands caressing his skin, soft but firm. It’s an unsettling contrast—the touch is gentle, almost caring, as if they’re trying to soothe him and make him feel safe.

Ivan knew better. He knew what’s happening to him. He knew who’s doing this to him.

It’s them—the kidnapper.

Their touch is unmistakable, yet Ivan can’t bring myself to push it away. There’s a warmth, an odd tenderness in the way they handle him, cleaning him, feeding him.

Ivan tried to resist the humiliation rising in in chest, but it’s hard. His body reacted instinctively even though his mind kept screaming at him to stay distant, to fight.

The sensation of their fingers brushing against his skin, of being fed and cared for like some helpless thing—it’s humiliating.

Ivan is fully aware of his degradation, but still, he can’t deny the strange craving that twists inside him. The craving for human touch, even if it’s from the very person who has trapped him here. Even if it's from the one who is driving him insane.

It’s maddening. Ivan should be disgusted, repulsed by every interaction, but instead, his body responds.

A simple touch, a tender motion—it stirs something deep within, even though he knew the intent behind it is sinister. The boundaries between what is kindness and what is manipulation blur, and Ivan hates himself for feeling this way, for needing it, for responding to it. Especially when he knows that this is manipulation.

But sometimes when Ivan felt more rebellious than usual, when he tried to crawl away from his kidnapper, there’s the sudden sharp sting—leather gloves slapping against his cheek and if the kidnapper was feeling playful, on his ass like Ivan's some sort of child that needed to be spanked. The sting burns anyways, and Ivan could only gasp, the pain forcing him back into his reality. Escape on his own is impossible.

He can't hear what his kidnapper is saying but Ivan imagined that they keep telling him that he should be a good boy and never try escaping or fighting their every touch.

Ivan assumes that his kidnapper is a man because he felt their cock on his ass everytime they assist him with his needs. There was something teasing in their touch whenever they help Ivan relieve himself. That's why Ivan is so certain he was not here for ransom nor because his parents made wrong enemies.

Ivan could feel the scars and calluses on their hands touching them gently, touching them reverently, touching them obsessively. It could not assure Ivan. Not when it's the hands of someone who fights and kills. He could still smell iron on their shirt whenever they had the idea to embrace Ivan and made him sit on their lap as their twisted way of comfort.

A needle pierced his skin, cold and clinical. Ivan thought that the syringe are like the ones used in the psychiatric hospital—something to calm the mind, to dull the senses. Ivan knew what it does, and he hated it.

Hated how his body betrays himself, how he wanted to slip into that fog, to escape the awareness of what’s happening. It’s a defense, a way to numb himself, but he also knew it’s conditioning, training his mind to fall in line with whatever they want.

Ivan struggled to stay alert, to keep his senses sharp, but each injection, each touch—it erodes his resistance. His mind fights, screams against the helplessness, but his body sought the need for comfort, for connection.

It was suffocating. Ivan felt that he was being molded into something he wasn’t before. His mind knew it’s wrong, but he can’t help but respond.

Ivan doesn't know how much longer he can hold onto who he was before. He doesn't know how much longer he can fight against the sensations that have started to feel almost… familiar and comforting.

It’s conditioning, Ivan knew. He read that once from a book. But he can’t escape how it feels. His body felt weak and vulnerable. He craves the touches, even though his mind fights against every moment.

A traumatized and kinda insane Till after r6 transmigrates into the modern world into a body of an heir to the criminal underworld. He sees normal student Ivan and kidnaps him.

[fujoshi-yappings]

It does not end well for anyone

__________________________________________

Till stood in the dimly lit room, his heart thudding in his chest, but it wasn't from panic or fear. It was rage, raw and searing, turning his insides to a furnace.

Ivan—his love, his obsession—lied still, lifeless, wrists bleeding in red. It was a cruel testament to the other’s final act of defiance.

"How dare you," Till cried as he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms

The anger didn't go away. It churned, a storm he couldn't control, and yet beneath it all was something else. A bitter ache, a hollow space where something had once thrived, something that felt like love but was twisted by his need, his desperation.

He had kept Ivan locked away, kept him close, told himself it was for protection, for their future. But Ivan, his love, had outsmarted him again. Ivan planned it all like a chess game where Till lost again. Where Till lost Ivan again.

The sense of complacency. That’s what did it. The way his Ivan had played him, lulled him into believing he had the upper hand, letting him think he was in control. That Ivan finally accepted that he is Till's.

Till hadn’t even noticed the subtle shift in the air, the quiet rebellion brewing behind the eyes of the one he thought he’d saved broken.

His mind reeled, trying to piece together the clues, the moments when Ivan had been distant, the times he thought he’d seen a glint of something other than acceptance in his eyes. It had all been a lie, a ruse to get close enough, to lull him into this trap.

Just like in the past, Ivan had been such a great liar.

And now it was over.

But no matter how deep the betrayal cut, no matter how furious he was at being outplayed, Till couldn’t bring himself to hate Ivan. Couldn’t bring himself to despise him for choosing escape over submission.

"He was always smarter than me,"he thought bitterly. "Always knew what he wanted. Even if that was death"

Till wanted to scream, to smash everything around him, to tear apart the walls that had held them both in this twisted space of obsession and love. But instead, he stood there, paralyzed, trapped between fury and a love so consuming.

His Ivan had been brave—braver than he was. The thought ate away at him, gnawing at his insides. Because even as he fumed, he knew deep down that the other’s choice had been his own.

Ivan will always choose this, be it be back then or now.

A final act of freedom.

It was the one thing he’d never been able to offer in this life. And that realization… that knowledge… shattered him completely.

Till wants to follow right away. To slit his throat and reunite again with his Ivan but he stopped himself.

He cannot let his Ivan rot away. His Ivan deserves a funeral even if Till won't be there to see it.

"Soon my Ivan," Till promised as he hugged the cold bleeding body. " I'll follow you soon. Wait for me"

There was no answer but Till would like to imagine Ivan teasing him and telling him it's not yet his time.

His Ivan had always been a loving sacrificial idiot.

Till wake up with a jolt. He felt his body heavy and stiff, like he'd been knocked out cold for hours. Blinking against the blinding light, he groggily sat up—only to be confused.

Where the hell am I?

The room is ridiculously lavish, decorated in dark woods, silver accents, and plush leather furniture. A thick, blue carpet stretched out beneath his feet, and there's an enormous desk piled with paperwork.

His head ached. He remembered singing and the rain. He remembered the the desperate kissing under the rain. He remembered trying to grasp for air and the pain of teeth biting into his lips.He remembered the hands gripped his throat, ironically gentler than those kisses.

Till remembered accepting his death if it was by that guy's hands. Till would rather die than allow Ivan to die.

But then, something shifted. The hand on his throat loosened slightly, Till opened his eyes and looked at those mesmerizing eyes looking at something behind him. Ivan looked so beautiful, eyes a lit with galaxies as he looked at Till.

Ivan kissed him, gentler this time. It was as if he was saying goodbye.

Ivan was saying something but he can't here a thing. The rain was loud and the ringing in his ears was loud. The tears that cannot be shed blurred Till's vision despite his desire to look at Ivan. Beautiful Ivan without his mask of perfection.

Then came the sound—the crack of a gunshot.

Then another.

Then another.

It was over, just like that. The person who had held him, who had kissed him, and who had caused so much turmoil, collapsed with the lifeblood draining out. In that split second, it wasn’t just the shock or the violence he felt. Something deeper stirred in him, an undeniable realization that hit harder than any force.

He loves Ivan—He loves Ivan underneath the anger, the fear, the aggression. The realization stung. What could have been, what could never be now. All he could do was watch, feeling a mixture of regret, loss, and an overwhelming, unbearable sorrow.

Till froze as his universe drowned itself in red.

.

.

.

Till remembered nothing after that. He felt numb, body on auto-pilot at the shock.

His head ached. Till rubbed face and felt something wrong. His hands way too massive. They're with fingers that are way too thick, veins popping out like he'd been doing extreme exercises. Till could almost expect to see tattoos his arms, but there’s nothing. The skin is smooth, but the sheer bulk is unsettling.He glanced around, trying to get his bearings.

Then, he noticed something even stranger. The reflection in a giant mirror across the room.A man was staring back at Till. He’s not just some random guy. He looks dangerous. His sharp jaw, thick eyebrows, and cold, unreadable eyes scream power. His suit, despite being crumpled, was tailored to perfection, feels like it was made for someone else entirely.

What the hell is going on? This is not me

Till stumbled out of the chair and walk toward the mirror, feeling the weight of a body that doesn’t belong to him.

Dark circles under the eyes, a scar across the lip, and this weird aura of authority. His head ached and memories not his own flashed.

This was not a pet. This was not the world Till used to be. This is not the world were Till had to sing or be killed. This was the world Ivan used to talk about, only Till was living a life darker than Ivan's stories.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and two men in black suits step inside, their eyes flicking to Till with respect, but also something else.

Fear

Till feel it—an instinctual shift in the air. They’re looking at him like he's the most dangerous person they’ve ever seen. Till likes it. He was the one who lived in fear in the past. He likes this sense of power.

If only Ivan was here then it'll be better.

"Boss, here is the file you requested," one of them says, his voice a mix of caution and deference as he handed Till a folder.

"You're dismissed." Till's voice had an edge to it, commanding and sure. It was strange, but Till could feel that he was truly in charge. He was grateful he had the original's memories to pretend.

The men nod and stepped back, their eyes never leaving him as they make their way out of the room. Till opened the folder and froze at the picture. It was a picture of a younger him, only younger and softer.

Till began to read the report and chuckled at the findings that this teen Till was not this body's child. Then he froze again as he was struck with sudden realization.

If there's a me in this world then surely there's an Ivan too?

Till flicked the pages and he slowly smiled at what he saw. There was his Ivan, so young and carefree slinging an arm to the other Till.

Perhaps God answered my wish after all, Till thought as he widened his grin. His eyes, dark yet gleaming with fervor. His breath catches slightly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of that desire, and it’s clear—whatever comes next, he will stop at nothing.

Till will have Ivan in his arms no matter the consequences.

[fujoshi-yappings]

This is a horror story with Ivan finally giving up. There's no point fighting against the inevitable.

__________________________________________

He felt giving up. His hands weren't bound and his ears were finally free yet his chains remained despite his feet being useless in running away. 

He was undressed and dressed numerous times but he might as well be naked. His kidnapper became too lazy to put up bottom clothes for him with the chains getting in their way. His upper clothes were white even if he can't see it with the blindfold still on yet he can hear his kidnapper whisper in his ears as he embraced. How Ivan looked so beautiful in white.

He supposes his name is Ivan with how they keep reverently calling out this name.

The fight drains him slowly, quietly, until all that's left is exhaustion. His mind, once so sharp, begins to blur at the edges. He tried to hold onto something—anything—but the struggle is too much

Till. Till. Till. Remember Till. Till. Till. Till. Till.Till. Till.

The constant cycle of care, the soft hands, the hand feeding, the soft touches, the forced intimacy - all begins to seep in, like the fog in his mind becoming thicker with each passing moment.

He used to be someone. He used to be someone with thoughts, with desires, with a sense of what was right. But now… now it feels like those parts of him are slipping away, like he's losing pieces with every soft touch, every injection, every hour that stretches into the next. 

His kidnapper keeps touching him, forcing kisses and murmuring sweet nothings and promising him that they'll be together.

He is just so tired. He can’t keep fighting anymore. He's tired of resisting, tired of hating himself for needing something, anything, to feel human again. 

The desire for freedom fades, replaced by a strange, aching longing for comfort. For warmth. For anything that feels real in this suffocating place. 

He doesn’t care anymore about the world outside, about the life he might have had. It’s gone. 

It feels like he'd been here forever, and the idea of escaping seems as distant as the sun in the sky, something he can barely remember. It’s easier to stay here, to surrender, to let himself be shaped into whatever they want.

He let go. He doesn’t fight the hands that touch him. He doesn't resist the care they give him. It’s easier this way. 

He let himself be fed, cleaned, held in those careful hands. 

He let his kidnapper kiss him and take him again and again until he could only moan, writhe and beg for more.

The silence, the soft murmurs, the feel of another person close—it's all he knows now. 

He does not remember anything before this. He doesn't remember the person he was before this. Those times felt like a distant dream, something he could never return to, even if he wanted to.

Freedom is a ghost, an idea that no longer matters. It’s too far gone. His identity is slipping through his fingers, slipping into nothingness. 

All that’s left is this moment, and the strange comfort it brings, even as it erases everything he used to be. He doesn't know how long it’s been, but he doesn't care anymore. There's no need to know. There's no need to fight. He just needed the touch, the care, the peace. Even if it means losing himself forever.

Till. Remember Till

A traumatized and kinda insane Till after r6 transmigrates into the modern world into a body of an heir to the criminal underworld. He sees normal student Ivan and kidnaps him.