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spitdrunken · 2 years ago

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this is a commissioned work! thank you so much for your support!

notes: yandere, stalking, kidnapping, drugging a continuation to this. cynthia x reader x volo

Volo will never meet his god. It’s the eternal punishment for his hubris; an inability to die. His energy shall never return to Arceus, and he’ll forever roam the earth itself. At first, he wanted to see a blessing in his curse. He had an eternity to figure out all the secrets of the world, an eternity to try again. An eternity to spend with you. (As Arceus’ angel, knew you couldn’t die.) But you disappeared without a trace and, as Volo aged, there was nothing left to interest them. The ruins left to discover for these days are places he saw turned to rubble before his very eyes.

He doesn’t believe you’re dead. Volo has never seen your body, has never seen the rot sinking into your skin, so you’re alive. Out there, somewhere. There are few things for him to study, even fewer places he has left to visit. You’re all he has left. When he has reached his limit once again and tries to die, it’s the thought of you that drags him back. (One time, he finds comfort in someone with your face. They looked so much like you that, for a moment, he lost himself in them. It’s the first thing in his life he truly regrets.) Pieces of his past self break and fall away from him. He no longer has the energy left to be charming, to approach anyone who isn’t of direct use to him.

After a century of aimless wandering, he sees you again. At the side of a woman who looks so much like himself, smiling like he remembers you always did. The resemblance between him and her is striking. Were you looking for him too, all this time, and is she the closest thing you could find? A cheap copy? He’ll take better care of you, like he always did. This Hisuian Sinnohan champion is a mere substitute for himself. (Even if she is who he thinks she is, that doesn’t change anything.)

Once Volo has finally found what he wants to live for again, there’s no stopping him. The woman is smart though, he’ll give her that. Constantly on the move, or having her Pokémon crawling about nearby. He himself hasn’t had a team in years, only Spiritomb remaining by his side. But Volo has no guilt or shame left, unable to care about your ‘friend’s’ privacy, and finds his way towards her home. It took him longer to find than he would care to admit.

He finds you laying in bed in the middle of the champion’s messy home. You’re… Out of it, clearly. Your pupils are blown wide open, and a bit of drool leaks from the corner of your mouth. You don’t seem to be able to move. Even when he prods your side, you don’t even twitch. You’re still somewhat aware, though. When he moves his hand in front of your eyes, your gaze follows it. Before he can give into his urges, no matter how badly he wants to devour you right here and now, he has to document your state. Take pictures and videos of you, including your current surroundings.

When he strokes your face, the groan you let out is almost inaudible. You’re still so pretty. Neither of you have aged much, despite the years flying past you. He still feels the same too. Being so close to you has his heart racing, his fingers twitching. They tremble when he cups your cheek. Without any hesitation, he kisses you. Your mouth doesn’t taste like it used to. Is she not feeding you your favourite foods? When he pulls away, buries his face into your hair and inhales, he can tell you don’t smell the same either. Your locks have been slathered in some shampoo you’d never used before. You’re different, you’ve changed. He’s not the same either. But all of your changes… They’re not your own doing, they’re hers.

“Get away from her.” Cynthia’s voice trembles with suppressed rage. Volo hadn’t heard either of them approach, but now he has a Garchomp’s claw nestled against his throat. He doesn’t move. Why should he? He has nothing to lose, and the pain of another failed death is a price he’s willing to pay.

“Call your Pokémon back,” he says instead. “Unless you want pictures of your lover,” he laughs despite himself. “Sent to every news outlet you can imagine. Kill me, and they’ll be sent automatically within the hour.” Cynthia doesn’t comply with his demands either. Instead, Garchomp lifts him up, and holds him so tightly he can’t move.

Cynthia glares at him with an amount of hatred he hasn’t seen in a century. “What do you want? Money? Fame?”

Volo laughs. “None of that. I’d say my demands are very simple.”

He talks. In an attempt to show to this second choice how much he loves you, and the depth of the relationship you two shared. He talks about how you are an angel, something she wouldn’t be able to understand, how much he loves you, how much he’s missed you, and how he is certain that you would prefer him. He recites parts of the letters he’d written for you in your absence, and the places he wanted to show you. After not having mentioned you in years, everything comes flowing out. Cynthia only allows it, because she’s stunned into silence. With every word he speaks, he reminds her more of a diary she knows by heart.

“Are you… Volo?”

The two of them don’t get along perfectly well, and disagree on who or what is best for you. But, in the end, they come to the agreement that they’d rather spend time looking after you, instead of constantly trying to take you away from the other. (Volo would never have folded so easily if Cynthia wasn’t a descendant of him, and Cynthia would’ve never allowed this if his diaries hadn’t been such an eye opener for her.) Because of her many responsibilities as the champion, Volo ends up spending the most time around you.

Now that someone is around looking after you, you’re not given nearly as many spores as before, only enough to have your mind remain a little hazy. Most days, Volo does everything for you. From feeding to dressing to cleaning you up, and talking to you about the memories you’ve lost. Whenever you seem to panic, he forces you to calm down. He does still talk to you about how he’s better than Cynthia, and tries to get you to protest against her as well. Cynthia, on the contrary, is likely to kick Volo out of her house when she finally has some free time to spend with you. He never goes far. She’s sure you prefer spending time with someone you actually remember, hm?

#cynthia x reader #volo x reader #yandere #cw.drugging #cw.stalking #cha.cynthia #cha.volo

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spitdrunken · 2 years ago

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guardian angel ( ray x reader)

i’ve been playing a lot of the ssum lately and unlocked ‘the canals of sensitivity’ which is basically like. a place to post fanfic LMAOOO so i cleaned up a ray x reader i wrote like two years ago and posted it there. the original version is orphaned on ao3 and kinda sucks but shhh

notes: obsessive behaviour, stalking, unrequited feelings, vague religious themes (because of mint eye’s influence on ray), mentioned selfharm (biting)

summary: The two of you have never met. You aren’t even aware of his existence. But Ray knows you, knows how you laugh when you think no one is watching, knows the videos you find comfort in late at night, and the friends you only talk to through messages on a screen. It pains him how he can’t reach out to you yet. He’ll give the hope that has dimmed from your eyes another chance to grow ablaze.

Soon, he’ll be the angel guiding you to paradise. So keep clinging on to his hand until then, okay?

You’re wearing something new today.

The sight makes Ray perk up in his seat, his eyes glued to the screen. The video quality from the surveillance camera is so poor that he has to lean towards his screen to make out every detail. It hurts his dry eyes even more, but it’s a price he’s willing to pay. You’re still just as beautiful. You’d look nice no matter what you wear. Would you let him pick out clothes for you once you get here…? The thought makes his face flush. He’ll buy some in advance, just in case.

Thinking about your arrival makes him restless. He’s been busy enough combing through your social media to figure out what items you’d like in your room and what food you might enjoy. Now he has to consider clothing as well… It all has to be perfect, you deserve nothing less. The wishes filling his prayers are often about you these days. That you would be happy with what he did, that you would like his company, that you wouldn’t want to leave…

He’d expected a challenge in picking a single person from the masses. It was an order from his Saviour however and, for her, he’d take on any task. No matter what. He’s already pushing himself to his limits day by day, drowning himself in Elixir on her command, though each drink leaves him sicker than the one before. His body is simply too weak and foul. Regardless, his doubts had turned out to be unfounded. He’d stumbled upon you, after all: the perfect lost lamb to guide to Paradise. Someone who he could save.

There had been some unknown factor that drew him to you. You didn’t stand out in a crowd. In fact, it looked like you were trying to pull yourself away from the gazes of others, shoulders slumped and staring at your phone as you walked. You were indifferent to the world, and it returned those feelings. There, he saw a tiny part of himself. Ray couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. Such a pull had to be fate, and nothing else. (Though there were many others that looked to be in similar spirits to you, you were the only one to hook him in such a way. He doesn’t know why. Ray doesn’t like things he doesn’t understand, but to keep feeling like this… He’ll bear it.)

The two of you are destined to end up together in Paradise. He had been praying for guidance in his mission, and his wish brought him to you. His resolve only strengthened as he watched you struggle through your daily life, hitting low upon low.

Ray switches the camera. You’re a creature of habit, often stopping by the same places. Right now, you’re at the cafe you frequent. He has your entire routine jotted down; habits, hobbies, dislikes, and quirks that make you unique all compiled in a single document. He’s been fleshing it out over the course of multiple days, researching the things you enjoy. It makes his work easier.

You always take the same table, as long as it’s free. Thankfully, the quality is far better inside. He can finally see your new outfit clearly. Ray takes a screenshot, labeling it with the date and time before saving it to a folder named after you. It’s a good thing he’s been allowed to focus more on the tester at the moment, rather than collecting information on the RFA. He’s tried to get you off his mind, but to no avail.

One time, he had asked one of the Believers who was next on schedule for recruitment work to leave a rose on the seat you usually sat. They hadn’t questioned him or, at the very least, not in front of him. (“It’s essential to the mission I received from our Saviour,” he’d said.) You’d actually taken it with you upon finding it, carefully putting it in your bag after spinning it around in between two fingers. You smiled. He could’ve died happy at that moment.

Is it strange to yearn for someone he has never met, or spoken to? Ray likes to think he knows you through the way you present yourself online, and your body language in real life. Sometimes, he likes to pretend you aren’t texting your friends but, rather, responding to him. He’s been finding himself zoning out more and more often, forming a drawn out fantasy.

Once everything is perfectly prepared, he’ll contact you and you’d come here, entirely trusting his word that everything would be safe. You’d help out with the project. You’d tell him you liked spending time with him more than the RFA. You’d let him guide you by the hand, let him gently push you in the right direction. You’d trust him and stay close with him, forever, that’s the most important part.

(He’s been bordering on treacherous thoughts. Deep down, Ray wants you to depend more on him than the Saviour herself. He would be the one who literally brought you to Paradise, rather than her. Couldn’t you go to him for advice…? He wants to look after you, to keep you satisfied and safe. He wants you to thank him.)

It hadn’t been his intention to scroll through hundreds of messages when he hacked your phone. He’d only done it to download the app when all preparations were complete. With all of that information at his fingertips, he couldn’t resist. With every message he read, you became more perfect in his eyes. It’d be difficult to hide that he’s aware of the most private thoughts you had shared online, but he’d have to make do. He’s gotten his hands on a couple of voice messages you left as well, and he’s been listening to them on loop. Not being allowed to contact you yet was already torturous enough. And that was before he knew how wonderful your voice sounded.

Besides your wardrobe, there’s another irregularity in your routine today. This one doesn’t make him perk up. An unfamiliar fact takes the seat opposite of you.

He’s gathered bits and pieces on your friends, very basic information. In case you were in contact with someone dangerous, he wanted to alert you about it. But whoever this is, he doesn’t recognise them. A stranger? Ray hates unpredictable factors. He wishes the world were as programmable as the code he’s so efficient in, then, everything would run without issue. He wants you to tell him to go. He wants you to leave. You don’t.

You speak to them. You’re having fun, you’re smiling. His chest tightens up all on its own, and Ray doesn’t recognise the feeling. Shouldn’t he… Have been glad? He wants you to be carefree, to look at the world with bright eyes, but this… He sinks his teeth into his finger, sudden and hard, tasting blood. This plan can’t fail. Not for your sake, or his. If, after observing a specific target for so long, he would fail to capture them… He can’t imagine the Saviour’s wrath, which he’d be deserving of after such a great failure. The idea of you slipping through his fingers makes his breathing stuttery.

Everything is fine. It is, it has to be. This isn’t an issue at all! They can’t grant you the happy ending, the comfort, that he could. You would realise that. He’d never spoken to you before though, and this hits him harder than ever now. You couldn’t possibly know about the salvation heading your way, the lengths he’s gone to orchestrate it.

Ray’s fingers twitch on the keyboard as he types, and his report on your behaviour is filled with typos. He doesn’t want you to smile at him like that, doesn’t want you to start growing enamoured with them. People in the outside world are cruel. You’re like them. Too weak and soft for your own good. You’d surely be trampled by the very person you’re now laughing with. He’s sure of it. He needs to get you out of there, and soon. It’s for your own good.

It takes serious effort to close the tab. To put his aching fingers on his keyboard. He’ll turn this pain into motivation to get you by his side as quickly as possible. Salvation is never painless.

#mystic messenger x reader #ray x reader #saeran x reader #cha.ray #cw.stalking

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spitdrunken · 3 years ago

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Idk how we feel about being "the dark™️ one" in scenarios, but man... I wanna gaslight, girlboss, gatekeep pla ingo. Like, being a big fan of his back in unova normal times, or someone he turned down, and seeing him when you fall into hisui. Realizing he remembers Nothing and deciding to use it to your advantage. Giving him an inch of information ("you were an incredible trainer in our time. You even worked at a battle facility!") then taking a mile ("the partner you worked with left after a few years:( you were alone") and just Being The Worst with him and making him feel like he has to rely on you since you seem to know him. :))

personally, i don't mind reader being Fucked Up, it's fun!! i REALLY kind of let this concept get away from me, lmao.

notes: 'bad reader' / reader is not a good person, unhealthy relationships, obsession, manipulation, stalking, ask to tag.

maybe you'd been a fan of him for ages, went barrelling down the path after a short but sweet chance encounter, but in your lonely life, you’d ended up just a little bit too invested. you don’t know how it got like this, but you don’t care! every scrap of attention you get from him gets you on such a high that nothing else matters. (you ignore the lows, the times where you can’t focus on your schoolwork or taking care of yourself and your entire body is tense with anxiety because he’d been active on his most visited train forum and his twitter, he’d liked stuff, but not your stuff, and he hadn’t responded to the thread in which you left a comment with purposeful misinformation on his favourite train model that you know he’d want to correct and he probably hates you and wants you dead now and and and-)

you know his entire schedule and all the strategies he liked to employ during battle, running fanpages and having notifs on for all his social media (and emmet's, and elesa's), zoning out and daydreaming about the life you might have together once you could finally get him to respond to your messages- you’ve been trying to follow him home from his shift (so you know where to send the flowers to, obviously!) but he keeps his chandelure around often, and it’s like the pokemon can sense your intentions. you can’t let yourself get caught, what if he thinks you’re some kind of weirdo?

but eventually you can’t take it anymore. you’ve tried your best to learn his interests and mannerisms, what he likes and dislikes, written out plenty of ways you could start conversations, and much more. you tried to make yourself perfect for him. you’re incredibly nervous while standing in front of him, flowers in hand. tongue going a mile a minute as you ramble about how much you admire him, how much you love him, that you’ve talked a little bit, of course, and would he like to go out with you?, and- (you miss his tense expression or posture, just how baffled he is by this. he’s no stranger to enthusiastic fans- but this is much, very much, in fact, even for him.)

“my sincerest apologies, passenger, but... who are you?”

it was the worst answer he could’ve given you and it’s like an icy fist crushed your heart. and for a moment, as you crush the flowers in between your fingers and throw them at his feet before turning on your heel, that you wonder; what the fuck have i been doing with my life? the tears run hot on your face as you make your way home, and you’ve scratched the inside of your hands raw with your nails to relieve some of the stress. by the time you’ve collapsed against the inside of your door, something else takes that thought’s place. you put... so much time and energy into this, so much effort, so much love, you know him better than anyone else, you’d been perfect, you’d been certain and he- he spat it all back in your face.

'love' had turned to vitriol, fanpages deleted and sockpuppets made to send endless strings of harassments and threats. with all the information you knew about him, you could also figure out ways to say the things you thought would get underneath his skin the most. you’d gotten banned from the battle subway because of your behaviour towards other challengers, always throwing a fit whenever you lost. nothing deterred you. that was, of course, until he disappeared. and you had nothing to do with it. it left you aimless and empty until, eventually, you were whisked away to another world entirely.

every single day being a struggle to stay alive definitely helped to keep your mind off of things. but then you just had to see him, and it had your heart racing. you didn’t know how to feel. a buried, almost-forgotten part of yourself rears its head. you can’t remember why you were brought here, nothing except a golden light searing into your brain. perhaps you were brought here to find him again, perhaps you were right all along- that even a god would offer their assistance to bring your love to fruition. your bitterness wins.

wouldn't this be the perfect opportunity to take revenge?

it’s not as hard to be nice to him as you expected. you feed him little bits and pieces about his past life, his occupation, the existence of trains, the city he lived in... you even drew out a little picture of chandelure for him! it all feels so painfully familiar to him that he knows you can’t be lying. but you never tell him about any of the people associated with him, and lie if he insists. and even if that doesn’t rouse the same feeling in him, he chooses to trust you. (”i’m afraid i still do not recall you... i apologize. we must have been quite familiar with each other since you knew me so well, yes?”)

no matter how you treat him, ingo would be hesitant to call you out on it, terrified of losing the only strand that ties him to his past life... being as aware of this as you are, you often pull away from him entirely for days at a time, obviously avoiding him or disappearing entirely! until the stress eats away at him more than he can handle, and he comes over and apologises for absolutely nothing, just to have you around him again. it makes you the giddiest you’ve been in years every time.

#cha.ingo #cw.stalking #bad!reader #ingo x reader

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spitdrunken · 3 years ago

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probably gonna be one of many that asks 💌 + bruno pls <3

anon asked: I found your blog around a week ago so I’ve been lurking and I absolutely ADORE how you wrote Bruno! <3

so 💌 + Bruno

anon asked: 💌 Bruno 💌

thank you all for the requests!!!!! *blows kiss*

notes: incest, age gap, implied stalking. based off of this post.

You return to your room, and find another thick envelope addressed to you on your pillow. It’s crumpled and torn in numerous spots, even having what looks like a nibble in one of its corners. Just this week, you’ve gotten multiple. There’s a stack of them in the corner of the room, and you might need to start on a second one. Despite their contents, you don’t have the heart to throw them away. Their content used to be so genuine. They used to make you happy. You still hold out a bit of hope that your secret admirer is going to turn around and declare it all a bad joke. At the very least, you want to read the first page. Even though you know to expect more of the same, at this point.

The paper is in a similar state to the envelope: Messy. There are more crossed out passages than not, and the handwriting is shaky everywhere. In some spots, liquid has seeped into the paper and made the ink spread out, leaving the words illegible.

To you,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for writing you so often, and for making you uncomfortable and for making you read about my feelings again and again. and i’m sorry for touching (The words after were scratched through with so much force that there’s a hole in the paper. Through it, you see a word on the next page. It’s ‘family’.) I don’t really think anymore when writing these. Can’t make nice comparisons like I used to. but you’re still pretty you’re perfect the issue is with me i promise i promise. I’m just going on and on like I used to talk and I can’t stop. It’s the same with the plays I’ve written, you’ve been- A real inspiration! Haven’t worked this much in the past few years. maybe I should give you one next time. they’d be nicer to read than my rambling. you don’t read all of these anymore, do you? i get it, these must be a waste of time for you i should get to the point.

Thank you so much for being there for me, for being my light in the dark. You’re the only one who would, no- I want to talk to. Because I think, somehow, if I ever revealed myself (ME me not me in these letters does that make sense?), you might not hate me. Maybe. Sometimes I think you might be worth showing myself for, that you might understand.. Tell me to stop. Please. You have to. If you’re the one telling me, I might be able to stop myself from doing something terrible. i mean, even worse. please please please please (It’s one of the spots that got wet, and you can’t make much of it out.)

You’re beautiful, you’re special, you made me have something to look forward to every day. You bring happiness wherever you go, to, to me at least and it’s… You deserve the happy life you’re living, and that’s why i should stay out of it. but sometimes i wonder and it’s and it’s just a thought but how would your hand feel against mine and knowing who I am would make things difficult. Our Your family would never agree. You’re still so young and have so much life left and-

And it continues on and on, a person struggling with themselves, arguing on paper. True to your intentions, you don’t read much more than the first page.

#cha.bruno #cw.incest #cw.stalking #cw.agegap

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spitdrunken · 3 years ago

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PLEASE more creeper Bruno aggh anything is alright I just need more content!!!

:)! your wish is my command anon!! (and i wanted to write this anyway)

pairing: bruno madrigal x reader notes: gn!reader, (implied, one-sided) incest w/ an uncle, (implied) stalking, large age gap

The whole family is buzzing now that you’ve been getting notes from a ‘secret admirer’. You should’ve known better than to mull about what to do with them out loud. Dolores can’t keep a secret to save her life. You’re trying to ignore most of the comments, from good-natured to teasing. (Though Camilo’s really been getting on your nerves with how he keeps making up ridiculous parts of them. He’s never read any!)

You can’t say you’re unfamiliar with romantic advances. As an adult, single Madrigal, there are plenty of people who would like to court you. Exactly because of that, you always have to question if there’s anything genuine there. But... It’s different now. There’s no name on any of them, nor a return address. You’ve got no clue from who it could be from. And yet, it has to be someone who knows you well, with how much commentary on your days is in them. Concerns you’ve only shared with close friends or family. Everyone denies all involvement, however.

At first, they had your heart pounding. It was written with a kind of clumsy, endearing quality, like the person in question didn’t know exactly how to write one. There were flattering comparisons regarding your beauty, poetic ones eve, but the things you were being compared to were always just a little off. They had you laughing, and maybe it wasn’t the intention, but it made you look forward to the next one nonetheless. Plenty of crossed through sections too. Eventually, they had started to quote and cut out parts from romantic novels and plays. It became a bit of a hobby to figure out where the passages came from. You can’t help but think they’re someone young and inexperienced, like yourself. A first love.

...Somewhere along the lines, it changed.

They’re so long now. It’s pages and pages, all crumpled and torn at the edges. On some of them, there are clear marks of drops of liquid. Clear droplets. But all the paper smells dusty, so you can’t be sure what it is. You’re getting somewhat uncomfortable at their frequency. How can they write so much when you can never respond? It doesn’t help that the words themselves have been getting more and more desperate, the descriptions of their feelings so overhelming it leaves you feeling choked. This is no wanting or loving, it’s needing, and it drips from every word.

You don’t know why they’re so lonely, why they don’t have anyone but you to talk to- Why they feel like you’d be the only one to understand, how you’re the only one who’s nice to them. Every compliment turns into a kick to the gut, as they’ve started dragging themselves down as they’re praising you up to the heavens. You can’t be sure either why they are deadly convinced it couldn’t work out between you, and saying so, but clinging on to you nonetheless. ...There’s no way you’re qualified to deal with something like this. To drag someone out such deep of a ditch. They’re begging for a response, but there’s no address to respond to. W-what are you supposed to do?

At the very least, you can try to write something back. To offer a bit of support. Maybe you could ask Dolores to listen and get an idea of when they leave a letter again, to figure out who it is?... To repay you for spreading the knowledge around in the first place. Then you might be able to deliver it to them. But when you leave your response letter alone in your room, you return with it being nowhere to be found.

...In the meantime, your tío Bruno is curled up in the stolen chair in his room, pressing your letter to his chest. He’d snatched it away as soon as you left. Knocking on wood the whole way he stumbled his way back into safety. There’s no way he’d miss an opportunity to see it, even if it wasn’t finished yet. He’s so nervous, so happy (and disgusted with himself), that he can’t bring himself to read it just yet. Instead, he brings the paper to his nose, and inhales.

#bruno madrigal x reader #cw.incest #cw.agegap #cw.stalking #cha.bruno

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spitdrunken · 3 years ago

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d**ney can kill me for this one <3 no shame tho @vermilispam i’m the one who messaged uuuu!!! hope u enjoy it!

notes: f!reader, incest (uncle/niece), stalking / general obsessive behaviour, guilty wank, age difference (both adults) word count: 1.5k

When you’re living in the walls of your own home, forced to remain invisible, you have to get creative in how you entertain yourself.

Bruno is more than familiar with this. Solitude has become his new home, one he’s made comfortable with years of practice. He’s drafted plays and novels, epics even, wringing his brain dry for lives to escape into. Any except his own. Forces his wrist to draw out one scene after another in crayon. Once he started sharing his food, he befriended the rats. He talks, names and looks after them, though the ones he met the first couple of years have all passed away since. (And yes, he does miss them.) Still… Most of his time is spent picking at old wounds.

He imagines the different ways his family would react upon his reappearance, some more positive than others. As soon as the halls are empty, he wanders through them, nicking memories for himself. Inserting himself into a home he no longer has a place in. No matter how miserable it makes him, he can’t stay away. He never wanted this. To pull away from the people he loves the most and live off scraps. But as his name has grown more and more taboo, it’s become clearer and clearer he made the right choice taking a step back with his curse.

There’s… You, however. One of the few who never joined the majority of town in calling him a creep or his gift a force of bad luck. You used to be such a bright-eyed little kid, always directing such big smiles at your tío and eager for his attention. Your heartbroken cries nearly pulled him back out of the walls, but time had healed your wounds. Unlike his. His heart aches at the sight of how much you’ve grown, and how he wasn’t there to support you through any of it. Even if there isn’t much he can give advice on, he would’ve at least tried. He wonders if you remember him.

Just- At least just a little bit, he convinces himself. Otherwise you would’ve been swayed by their opinion of them, right? If you didn't have any of your own? If you didn’t still think of him sometimes? You used to look up to him so, so much. Bruno… Wants you to remember, wants you to think of him again. To have you look at him, and to look at you in other places than the holes he’s drilled into the wood. O-of course it’s all familial, like it used to be when you were small. All he fantasizes about is your excitement upon seeing your tío returning from the dead. Maybe a simple hug, a sniff of your hair, nothing more than that!

(But it’s been a while since his lies worked. You’re so… Beautiful now. It doesn’t matter if he catches you all dressed up, or when you’re dragging yourself out of bed on an early morning. You draw him in and muddle his brain. Bruno’s never known many people personally. Less who speak as nicely of him as you do. He’s not sure when his affections for you morphed into something inappropriate. His feelings have settled in his mind like the tiny cracks of dysfunction that have been tearing up the walls, slowly spreading.)

There’s nothing weird about him digging through your belongings when you’re out. All he’s doing is making sure you didn’t throw out the pots of salt he hid throughout your room! Considering his circumstances, can he blamed for taking some little things here and there? When you’re home, all he does is watch. There’s no harm in it, nor are the countless notes scribbled with details a bad sign. They’re important. He knows all the names of your friends by heart, your favorite foods and sleeping positions and everything in between. Your day to day never gets boring to him.

He reaches a point where he gets distressed when he doesn’t know where you are, or you mention someone he’s unfamiliar with. The rats skitter off as soon as he mentions your name. Without a better audience, they’ve had to listen to him gush for hours. Before, it didn’t matter what kind of a bizarre story he spun, they were always ready to perform. All he can write about anymore is you. (You and him, really. Thrust into different situations each time, though always the same: Star-crossed lovers kept apart by society, circumstance or family, never failing to fall in love and stay together. A happy ever after.)

They all think he’s a creep, no matter what he does. It’s not like it can get any worse. It’s not like they’ll ever see him again. He’s disgusting. Everyone was sure of it before he was, now he finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with them as his dick is rubbed raw from how many times he’s jacked off to thoughts of his cute niece. Head filled with thoughts of how soft your skin would be, how nice your lips must feel, how sweetly his name would roll off your tongue, how you’d look when you’re pushed over the edge-

And now it’s come to this. A certain piece of cloth clutched in his fist, snatched away through a gap in the wall before it could get washed. He can’t give it more than a quick glance without his heart stuttering in his chest. Without his body being set ablaze, an itch crawling underneath his skin. He regrets it. Still, he holds it carefully like a treasure. Bruno knocks on the wood next to him three times in rapid succession. One of his feet taps along with it. He’s so hard. He tries to ignore it. Your underwear feels like it’s heating up between his fingers. (A part of him feels like the scum of the earth, soiling your image through his thoughts and by touching your clothes. You deserve so much better than him, but… He knows he could never get anyone better than you.)

He can’t resist any longer. It’s too much. His skin is slick with sweat and he bites back a frustrated noise as he fumbles to get himself out of his clothes with one hand. He’s gross, he’s disgusting, he hates himself- Yet he doesn’t hesitate to wrap your underwear around himself and start fisting his cock through them. Bruno can never be as quiet during this. He stuffs his knuckles into his mouth and bites down, eyes tearing up. He’s panting through his nose, quick and heavy, like he’d been running for hours. His precum is quick to soak through your underwear. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of you, as usual.

That he isn’t inhaling dusty air in the wall right next to your room, no, no, no- It’s the scent of your favorite shampoo. You’re pressed up against him, so warm and soft. Bruno’s fucking your thighs and humping your crotch. His fingers aren’t trembling, no, it’s your thighs squirming around his cock. Teeth nipping lightly at flesh that isn’t his own, because he can’t even hurt you in his mind. The scene slips through his fingers and a new one takes its place. You, gazing down at him with a smile, rubbing up against him. Whispering his name. He’s in his own bed, but it smells like you. You found him and wanted him and for all these years, you’ve loved-

The creak of the door pulls him back to reality. His teeth break skin and his eyes go so wide a tear dribbles down his cheek as you walk into your room. None the wiser. He has to stop. You have a slight smile on your face when you look around, and when he catches your eye for a moment- (S-so pretty, looking at him with those glossy eyes as you lean in to kiss. For once, he wishes famtasy was a vision.) He grunts like an animal, dick throbbing in fist as he shakes all overMere eye contact brings him euphoria. You look around for a moment, but don’t seem to think too much of the noise. It’d sound muffled to you.

Bruno doesn’t stop. In fact, he can’t keep himself from bucking his hips into his hand and squeezing tighter, a combination of drool and blood dripping down his chin. He’s got to get this over with quickly, has to get out of here! (A random thought wriggles its way into his brain. In a way, you’re his already, even if it’s only his niece.) You’re looking his way again. And as soon as he thinks this, he doubles over with a wheeze as ropes of cum hit the floor and he slumps against the wall behind him.

Lazy relaxation settles over him like a warm blanket. Bruno’s head is filled with cotton. He presses his lips against the top of his hand like it might be your skin. Maybe he could get a pillow from you next. Could use it to sleep on too…

In all honesty, he wants to take enough risks for you to notice him.

#cha.bruno #cw.incest #cw.agegap #cw.stalking #bruno madrigal x reader

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