#feeding my new unhealthy obsession

[psdrawsthings]

«Мила, ім’я тобі легіон,

А я проти тебе один

Перейдено Рубікон,

Та не спалено всі мости»

(quote from legion - fleur cover)

[citruswriter]

Yandere Bayverse Turtles x Receptive Darling

Listen in with me! ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

Warnings: Yandere, dark themes, obsession, unhealthy relationship.

A/N: Gonna give the turtles with different kinds of receptive darlings so be prepared for that. Mlem.

Leonardo x Reader 💛/🩷

Warnings: Violence, blood, degrading, mentions of carving into Reader's flesh, begging, mentions of marking.

You feed into his ego so badly. Like it's gone so far that you wouldn't even be able to THINK about leaving at this point.

You lived by yourself in New York City. You were "strong & independent". But when Leo came in and started manipulating you to be his damsel in distress, you welcomed the advances.

Of course, you're not dumb. You knew exactly what he was doing. You could tell he was manipulating you, that he was utterly obsessed. But it felt so nice to have somebody fawn over you. To have somebody want to pamper you and do everything for you.

You'd take any chance you could to just pout or cry and fling yourself into his arms. You could tell it did wonders for his ego. The victorious grin, the glimmer in his eye.

Oh and he thought he was so slick too. He didn't realize what you were doing until one day he overheard you and April talking in the kitchen.

"(Y/N), you need to get out while you still can. Leo's utterly obsessed with you! You're so clueless but he's manipulating you." She said in a worried, hushed tone. He wasn't expecting your response.

"Oh I know full and well what he's doing." You replied with a giggle.

April stood gawking at you. "If you know then why don't you leave? You still have a chance to escape!" She said, trying desperately to reason with you.

"And why would I do that? You said it yourself, he's utterly obsessed with me! Try finding a man like that these days." You shot back, rolling your eyes.

"That's not what I mean and you know that. He treats you like this porcelain doll. He wants you to be his little... damsel in distress or something. Fully reliant on him". As much as April loved Leo, even she could see how unhinged he was with you.

"April I'm not stupid. I know exactly what he's doing. I'm letting him do it. It's so nice to be able to just turn off my brain and be his little fragile doll". You said with a little sigh and April shook her head.

"For fucks sake. You're just as obsessed as he is! You're both deranged!" She exclaimed before leaving.

"So you love turning your brain off around me, hm?" He'd question, startling you. You'd bite your lip and bat your eyelashes up at him. "Yea, and?"

The two of you become inseparable after that day. He demands you quit your job and move in and you do just that.

Everytime somebody tries to "save" you, you run and hide behind your lover, shouting about how they know nothing and that they're just jealous.

Since you're so compliant, he let's you wander around in the real world (but only at night) while he follows from a distance.

Heaven forbid somebody flirt with you.

It's not that they have to worry about Leo. Oh no they need to worry about you.

You love seeing Leo get angry and jealous. You're such a manipulative little shit.

You'll lead the poor lad on before coming back home and pouting, telling Leo that some guy tried to take you away from him. That it was so terrifying and you really thought that you were in danger.

Leo will come home, coated in blood, and all you'll do is giggle and kiss him.

NSFW

When he confronted you in the kitchen after your conversation with April, he had to restrain himself from taking you in the kitchen right then and there.

"You're a little minx, aren't you?" He growled out and you just brushed the palms of your hands over his plastron. "Not at all. I just enjoy being spoiled by you".

He took you to his room, slinging you over his shoulder, and fucked you til you were cockdumb.

You kept begging him to mark you, so everybody could know you were his. If you hadn't inflated his ego before, you certainly were now.

You love him fucking you after he's killed somebody for you. Seeing him come home all splattered in blood just gets you all hot n bothered.

Leo finds it amusing. He thinks it's so cute that his darling gets all horny from it. He can smell your arousal almost immediately as you eye him up and down.

You love just randomly straddling him and making out with him while you grind against him. Bonus points if he places his hands on your thighs.

He knows your body inside and out and you love it. Sometimes you'll be a brat on purpose just so he can remind you of that fact.

You also love it when he gets jealous. You might get your outside privileges revoked for a bit but you love flirting with other people just so he'll drag you back home and fuck you all night.

He'll make sure you remember who you belong to. He knows exactly what you're doing. Knows you did it on purpose just to piss him off.

He'll bully you and degrade you as he fucks you numb. "Such a slut aren't you? Could've just asked me to fuck you but you wanna be a whore instead. What do you think you're doing flirting with other men? You're mine, darling. Mine. I'll carve my name onto your skin if I have to. But you'd probably enjoy that, wouldn't you? You're such a slut for me".

Can and will make you scream his name until your throat goes hoarse.

ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ

Raphael x Reader 💛/🩷

Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, forced voyeurism, breeding, creampie, marking.

You love making him chase you. Cat and mouse is one of your favorite games apparently.

Raph isn't exactly one to manipulate. He's one to demand. You're his. No this is not up for debate.

The two of you were close buddies for months, courtesy of being April's roommate.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't been crushing on him but you didn't exactly expect him to kidnap you.

So when you woke up in his bedroom all chained up with Raph stroking your hair, you were more than surprised.

You yelped in shock and tried to push him away in a panic. "Raphael what the actual fuck?! Couldn't you just ask me out like a normal fucking person?"

"No. I couldn't risk you rejecting me. You're mine. We clear?" He'd growl back, trying to assert dominance and intimidate you.

He's shocked when you pull a bobby pin out of your hair and start picking the locks of your chains free. "I would have said yes, fucking idiot". You'd reply with a roll of your eyes.

You guess living rent free isn't too bad. But eventually you get bored. You love Raph but gosh. There's nothing to do!

So you make a run for it. Raph's pissed, of course. How could you do this to him? Couldn't you just accept that you were his?

You managed to escape him for a solid three days, where he finds you in some random guy's apartment.

Raph wasted no time busting the door in and beating the living shit out of the other guy that no doubt touched his darling.

"Finally! Took you long enough. I was starting to think you didn't actually love me." You said with a pout, arms crossed.

Raph isn't taken off guard easily but here you were, doing exactly that to him.

"Wait... I thought you tried to escape?" He questioned, tone somewhere in between annoyed and confused.

"I didn't try. I did escape. Temporarily. But I wanted you to find me. Come on, the lair is so boring sometimes. I just decided to spice things up a little. I knew exactly what I was doing. I left a trail on purpose." You'd smirk over at him before demanding he pick you up like the spoiled brat you are.

Eventually he'd just chuckle and kiss you. "So you want to dance with danger, huh darling?" He'd question.

"Only if it's with you." You'd all but purr back.

NSFW

He'd fuck you in that apartment right then and there, he doesn't care if the guy he just beat is still alive and watching.

He loves it too. Every time you get bored and decide it's time for him to chase you, he'd fuck you in front of whichever poor fellow had fallen victim to your games this time.

"Bet you wish you could fuck them half as good, huh? Hate to break to you pal, but you'll never be able to fill them up like I can".

And as if to prove his point, he'd make you describe how good it felt. Poor lad would just sit there, crying and upset as you just babbled out how great he felt.

How full you were, how big he was, how great your body felt in that moment as you all but begged him to breed you and claim you as his all over again.

Angry sex is something you have a lot too. You're such a little shit. You love pissing him off just so he'll tie or chain you up and fuck you till your leaking with his cum.

Beg him to mark you and he'll be over the moon. Bite marks, scratches, bruises, all of them. If he wasn't obsessed beforehand, he is now.

ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ

Donatello x Reader 💛/🩷

Warnings: Stalking, violence, blood, forced voyeurism, marking, begging, orgasm denial, somnophilia, Reader gets roofied, creampie, breeding, pregnancy mention.

Donatello is a master at manipulation.

Unfortunately for him, so are you.

Donnie denies his obsession for you at first. But as he finds himself stalking you more, putting tiny cameras in your apartment, putting a tracking device on you without your knowledge, the more he starts to realize that he's absolutely obsessed with you.

The first time he tries to manipulate or gaslight you you just turn your head to him in shock and confusion before laughing at him.

"Oh Donnie! Please! Don't think I don't realize what you're doing." You'd muse, making him curse internally.

"I don't know what you're talking about, (Y/N)." He'd say casually with a shrug of his shoulders. But he'd watch you as a mischievous smirk would crawl it's way onto your face.

"Oh you wanna play that game, huh? Alright. I'll humor you". You'd purr out.

The next several times Donnie would attempt to manipulate or gaslight you, you'd gently call it out. But that wasn't all. Oh no. You started doing it back.

It became almost like a game between the two of you to see who could successfully manipulate the other one first.

Unfortunately for you though, as patient as Donnie is, his patience isn't infinite. Especially after you make the fatal mistake of getting a partner.

You come to his lab the next day and he cages you against one of his tables, towering over you in a way that made your heart race.

"Enough of the games. You're mine, understand?". He'll growl out and you give that mischievous smirk once more.

"No I don't think I do. See, you took too long Donatello. Your loss. Sorry". You were doing this on purpose, he'd realize. You wanted him to lose control. You wanted him to go feral, to make those threats.

He'd chuckle and grab your chin, jerking your head up to look at him. "Oh you're cute if you think I'll take no for an answer, darling". He'll reply with, causing you to bite your lip and give him innocent doe eyes.

"Leave them or I'll kill them in front of you". He demanded and you just gave a sadistic giggle. "Promise?"

Poor guy didn't see the light of day ever again.

NSFW

True to his word, he didn't take no for an answer. When you went home, he snuck into your apartment.

You put on a real show. Really you did. You flirted with your partner, kissing their cheek and letting them feel you up.

They went to kiss you on the mouth but Donnie ripped them away from you, picking them up by the throat and tossing them to the ground.

Your partner would find no solace in you however. They'd beg you for help but all you did was stand there giggling as Donnie beat them.

But Donnie wouldn't kill them. Oh no. He had other plans. He'd bend you over the counter and fuck you in front of your poor partner. Drilling into you from behind as your partner just laid in a pool of their own blood, sobbing from the pain.

He'd fuck you until you were almost over the edge before stopping, making you sob and beg for him to keep going. He'd grip your hips til they bruised, relishing the sound of your pleads.

"Who do you belong to, hm? Say it. Say you're mine, and I'll give you anything you want." He'd softly demand, tugging at your hair to pull your head back so he could nuzzle your neck and breath your intoxicating scent in.

"Y-You. I belong to you Donnie. Only you. I'm all yours, Donnie. Please. Please let me cum on your cock. Please Donnie I need it." You'd all but babble out, causing Donnie to chuckle condescendingly down at you.

"Good pet. You're mine". Is all he'd coo out before fucking your wet hole once more until you finally came on him, a whine being ripped from your throat as he fucked you through your orgasm until he finally came himself.

Donnie loves marking you, especially with bruises.

He also loves hearing you beg as he slings your legs over his shoulders and makes you squirm and sob in a way that only he can.

We already head canon this man as being a somnophile but it's so much worse if he's a yandere. Mans will legit roofie you just so he can fuck your unconscious body for several rounds. The only evidence upon waking up being his cum that's slick against your thighs.

If it's possible for him to get you pregnant, he absolutely will. Get you full and round with his babies. Now you can never leave him.

ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ ʚ♡ɞ

Mikey x Reader 💛/🩷

Warnings: Bondage, begging, marking, exhibitionism, pregnancy mention, breeding.

Mikey is probably the "best" yandere to have. He's super fun loving and laid back.

Unfortunately for the world, you're a little sadist.

You two are an absolute power couple and you're just as obsessed with him as he is with you.

Ya'll both love talking shit too.

This man will literally hold you with one arm in such a way that you might as well be the angel sitting on his shoulder.

You'll lean in and whisper gossip into his ear with a sadistic smirk and he'll just smirk back at you, maybe chide you for being mean, but kiss you none the less and tell you that he loves how your mind works.

Believe it or not, you were the one that asked him out. He was ecstatic when his darling was the one to make the first move. He was even more so when it quickly became clear that you were just as crazy obsessed as he was.

The two of you are an unstoppable force and it's almost impossible to see one of you without the other being close behind.

The two of you are so clingy with each other, always touching or intertwined in some way.

You bring out a darker side to Mikey. The way your twisted mind indulges and encourages those darker yandere thoughts in him is so dangerous but so delicious.

He's also super possessive. Don't get me wrong, he'll give you your space and he knows you'll never leave him but boy oh boy does he love making it known that you're his. That there's no escaping him. That he's your forever home now.

NSFW

Another darling that loves to play cat and mouse. You love making him chase you through the sewer until he finds you and traps you.

He'll drag you back and tie you up with rope and you'll just beg him to let you go with a bite of your lip.

"Please Mikey? Please? I'm sorry. I promise I'll be good. Please baby? I'll do anything. Anything for you." He knows you'd never actually run away but chasing you and then tying you up while you beg to be let go just does something to him.

He'll fuck you long and hard after that. Marking you and demanding that you tell him who you belong to.

He's such an exhibitionist too. If he can fuck you in public, he will. In the living room under a blanket? Done. In the alleyway a little to close to where a car's headlights could illuminate the two of you? Give them a story to tell their friends.

Another one that would absolutely get you pregnant if he could. He enjoys the thought of seeing you waddling around with a full pregnant baby after he worked so hard breeding you.

Like the little shit you are, you love fucking around and finding out. And by that I mean you allow others to flirt with you all the time.

A man comes up to you and says you're sexy? Oh you'll let him prattle his head off all the while your eyes will slink over to where you know Mikey is and smirk.

Mikey, hidden away from all but you, will run his tongue over his teeth and chuckle at your antics.

And when you get home? This man his stuffing you full and bullying your cervix.

"You're such a slut. You know that? If you wanted my attention, you coulda just asked instead of letting that man eye fuck you." He'll degrade you but you're such a brat

"But there's no fun in thaaaaaat." You'd whine out with a pout, crying out as he'd angle your hips to abuse that spongy spot within your velvet walls.

"You're so fucking needy. So fucking thirsty for me. Fuck, I love it so much. Love you so much".

*aggressive giggling* I enjoyed writing this way too much. Might extend them into their own full on one-shots. Maybe not Leo's though... I'm so fucking bad at writing Leo. *sobs*

[aphroditelovesu]

Yandere Team Black Headcanons (Platonic)

''There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, and no war as bloody as a war between dragons.'' — Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was.

❝ 🐉 — lady l: I needed to get this out of my mind, so here it is. It's more focused on the Black Council, so only they appear, but if anyone wants, I can do it with the other allies of the Blacks. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistake! 🖤❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of murder, unhealthy platonic relationships, messy writing.

❝🐉 pairing: yandere!team black x gender neutral!reader.

After the death of King Viserys I Targaryen, the Seven Kingdoms was divided into two factions. The Greens, who supported the succession of Aegon II Targaryen, son of Queen Alicent Hightower and Viserys, and there were the Blacks, who supported the succession of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the first woman to be chosen as heir to the Iron Throne and the legal heir of Viserys. There were these two sides to the war and you were a supporter of the Blacks, of Rhaenyra.

Your family had long ago sworn loyalty to Rhaenyra and you would not dishonor that oath. You would fight alongside the Blacks and follow the Queen to the death if necessary. You would protect her and defend her honor until your last breath. It was this oath that you swore and it was what brought you to meet her face-to-face, along with the other members of her family who supported her.

Rhaenyra received your support with great enthusiasm and affection, smiling at you and hugging you, saying how much it meant to know that you, and your family, stayed true to their oath. She hugged you tightly, and you melted into the Black Queen's tight embrace.

She was so kind, just like the stories said. You were proud to call her the Queen. Rhaenyra touched your cheeks warmly and introduced you to the rest of her supporters, her family. Rhaenyra quickly became attached to you, developing her obsession and becoming possessive and protective. She doesn't want anything to hurt you. She had already lost too much.

You were introduced to Daemon Targaryen first, Rhaenyra's husband and prince consort. He was a little skeptical of you at first, looking strangely like he was sizing you up and your intentions. Which in fact, he was doing. After deciding you weren't a threat, Daemon was more open and welcomed you.

He wasn't the kind of person you wanted to mess with. Always so cruel and using violence to resolve conflicts, Daemon is not easy to deal with. But you can deal with him in the right way, being his listener and eventually his friend. Someone he can truly trust. Very possessive and short-tempered, Daemon doesn't hesitate to claim you for himself and will burn alive anyone who says anything about it.

Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was, was all the stories said. Stormy yet with a gentleness and grace you had never seen before. She was courteous and distant at first, as you would expect a princess to be. But as she got to know you, the more Rhaenys opened up and trusted you.

She is very protective of you, Rhaenys does not want you to fight, preferring you to become part of the council and act solely as a strategist. The war was very dangerous and she wasn't going to risk your life. Not when she already liked you so much and had already lost her two beloved children.

Corlys Velaryon became close to you quickly. You met him when he was still in bed, injured. Rhaenys was the one who introduced you to him and he quickly warmed up to you. He smiled in gratitude every time you helped him feed or get out of bed. His eyes seemed to always follow you, with affection shining in them.

He could see what his wife saw in you. Something new, something lasting. When he had doubts about whether or not he should join the Blacks, you convinced him and he found himself admiring you even more for your loyalty. Corlys knew he had to protect you. You were so pure for this world and the war that was to come. He couldn't let something bad happen to you.

Jacaerys Velaryon took a liking to you at first sight, warming up to you and becoming the linchpin of his mother and brothers' obsession with you. He saw a lot of himself in you for some reason and enjoyed your company immensely. Jace is always asking for your approval, trying to please you in any way.

He is quite protective and this only intensified after the deaths of people dear to him. Jacaerys enjoys reading to you and would love to teach you High Valyrian if you wish. When he becomes King, he would love to name you his Hand.

Lucerys Velaryon became especially close to you after you arrived in Dragonstone. Not just because you supported his family, but because you were you. So kind and so loyal, he was immediately attracted to you and started following you like a baby duck. Luke loves spending time with you, reading, or when you watch him train with swords. Just your presence is enough.

He is very possessive and clingy towards you, constantly wanting your attention and approval. Lucerys does his best to be with you, clinging to your arms, as if he were hiding behind you.

Joffrey Velaryon is the baby of the Velaryon family, so young and unaware of what is happening. He usually stays close to you, holding your hand and looking at you with curiosity and affection. It's common to see him following you through the hallways of Dragonstone.

Although young, Joffrey is very intelligent and is possessive of your attention, often fighting with his brothers for it. He wants you with him all the time, close and protecting him.

Baela Targaryen is fearless and a free spirit, much like her father. She approached you firmly and quickly, encouraged by her grandmother and father. She really liked you and you quickly became friends with you.

She is quite demanding when it comes to you, Baela has a tendency to get angry quickly but she never stays with you. She likes it and is very patient and calm, smiling charmingly and holding your hand affectionately. Quite possessive, she will often get into fights to defend you.

Rhaena Targaryen is more delicate and calm than her older sister, all gentle and sweet. She is more courteous and also less demanding, taking whatever she can get and inwardly happy when you approach her of your own free will.

She's more subtle in her obsession, watching you from the corners of her eyes and smiling sweetly when she thinks no one is looking. Rhaena takes every opportunity to be close to you. She loves dancing and would be honored if you wanted to dance with her.

The Blacks cared deeply about you. Not just the Targaryen and Velaryon family, but others as well. The Lords and knights also created their own obsession with you and they knew they must protect you at any cost. Especially when you were the pillar of that faction.

They will go against anyone who dares to hurt you. Ready to destroy and burn, the Targaryens have no qualms about getting rid of anyone who threatens your life. The Velaryon fleets are at your disposal at any time and always ready to protect you.

They would only become even more suffocating after Lucerys' death. They had already lost him, they couldn't lose you. There's no way you can leave Dragonstone alone. Always accompanied by one of them or of guards.

You have become important to them. Important to the Black Queen and her allies. You have become their obsession. They would rather raze King's Landing, and burn the Iron Throne than lose you.

[emotionalmessss]

Me again hehe ok so what if Sukuna had a frail s/o that bruises really easily like he could flick her arm and an hour later boom purple spot

A/N: ahhh. I know sukuna is like the opposite of nice/gentle, but I'm going to be taking a different approach with this. I tried to answer the best I could, I swear my brain likes to run with things and spew out random shit.

Warnings: slight violence, teasing, unhealthy relationships, soft-ish sukuna?

it was hard for sukuna to come to terms that he actually liked you. he noticed he was paying a little too much attention to you. nothing particularly peaked his interest much like you did. the thought of having feelings for something other than himself bothered him immensely. fruitlessly, he tried to suppress these emotions.

in his mind, he thought that if he ignored them, they'd eventually go away. so he resorted to his usual tactics; teasing, taunting, and humiliating you.

this succeeded in very little. he found himself even more enamoured by you. he loved watching you and never seemed to leave your side.

you'd grown accustom to his little games and stopped feeding into it. you knew he enjoyed your reactions and you weren't going to give him the satisfaction.

this annoyed him. although, he thoroughly enjoyed watching you unconsciously fight with your inner self. your face twisting up in a grimace, blush creeping in on your cheeks, and fists clenching at your sides.

his advancements were becoming intense. you couldn’t have more than a few hours to yourself without him intruding. it was strange. you couldn’t place why he was so interested in you and you tried to ignore it. it wasn’t an easy task. besides his taunting words and sadistic humour, he started being physical. he would stand closer to you than normal, hovering over you in a manner that screamed dominance.

sukuna found himself watching you more and more - his interest peaking to a borderline obsession. if he couldn’t ignore these feelings, he’d just have to embrace them. no one was allowed to harm you, except him, of course. you were his. his to torment. his to enjoy.

he noticed you were fragile, like a fucking child. If he grabbed with even just an ounce of his normal strength, your skin reddened. normally he'd feed off this new finding, but something else dwelled in his stomach. he wanted you all to himself. the desire to hurt you shifted into the need to have you.

a thick hand caught your wrist, instinctively causing your body to react and jerk backwards. your mask slipped from your face as you felt his grip tighten. the desire to flee was overwhelming, so much so that you'd combust if you stood still.

sukuna merely glanced down his nose at you, tightening his hold as you moved to step back. oh, no. you're not going anywhere. the need to have you close amplified and he tugged you closer, earning a hiss of response.

his eyes flicked to your wrist, noticing your pale skin darkening to a purple bruise. he couldn't hide the look of surprise on his face. his brows twitching as his eyes narrowed.

"such a fragile thing, aren't you?" his expression hardened again, but the softness of his voice couldn't be hidden.

he knew humans were fragile - there was no doubt in his mind about that. but he didn't expect this. he usually felt pleasure in causing pain towards others, but you were different. seeing all the cuts and bruises that littered your arms and legs made him unsettled.

he did his best to hide it, but you were smart. the way his expression shifted into slight concern before reverting to boredom, never went unnoticed.

his approach shifted, and you noticed it. sukuna refrained from using excessive force on you and instead, opted to softer gestures.

"hurt yourself again, brat?" you looked up at him, crossed legged at the bottom of his shrine.

"no." you stubbornly answered, flicking at your nails.

"hm." he shifted on his makeshift throne, glaring down at you with a bored expression.

he was crouching in front of you now, taking you by surprise and making you flinch back. his hand enveloped yours as he studied the fading bruise on your wrist.

"doesn't look that way to me." he muttered, focusing his attention on your arm.

sukuna’s usual lack of interest in anything changed. in your first meeting, he barely gave you a second glance. you weren’t important to him. he could care less about you. but now, his eyes lingered over you. he’d quickly check over your body when he thought you wouldn’t notice. at first, you couldn’t place why he was doing this. was it to make you uncomfortable? no. he was checking for any indications that you might be hurt.

[38livesalone-has3cats]

could you write for the impractical jokers with an s/o that has anorexia ? if that would be too triggering for you, i completely understand!!

hihi ! thank u for the ask :) i did my best with this and i didn't mention purging or binging because that's a lil triggering so i hope this is what you were wanting !!

The Impractical Jokers with a s/o with anorexia

-- tw; eating disorders(obv), unhealthy eating habits --

Sal

-he definitely monitors your eating as much as he can(in a loving way i swear, not trying to be creepy)

-texts you casual reminders to eat throughout the day, even if he know you won't

-he has your safe meals/meals he knows your comfortable with memorized

-y'all don't go out to eat often(he def has hellofresh or smth), but when you do, he makes sure to look up the menu with you beforehand and you guys plan what you'll get together

-he's very particular about what he eats so he has absolutely no shame while the two of you are out and will send back any food you mention isn't made the way you like

-honestly you could just give the plate a weird look and he's already calling the waiter back

-makes sure you take at least a few bites, but he won't force you into anything

-anywaysss

-sitting and eating with you is his love language atp

-he's always so proud of you, no matter what !! and he won't hesitate to tell you that

Joe

-we all know this man loves to eat

-he won't hesitate to finish your plate for you(after you take a few bites of course !)

-absolutely LOVES talking about sweet treats with you and honestly that's how he get's you to try new treats most times

-he will def get you to take silly pics with him with food connecting y'alls mouths or making silly faces with the food to "trick" you into eating

-his favorite dates with you are dinner dates, because he loves to chow down and he loves to watch his partner eat

-all in all he doesn't 100 percent understand ! but he supports you, loves you, and keeps you well-fed !

Murr

-he's genuinely so caring with you

-he makes sure you ALWAYS know how much he loves and cares about you

-he loves to pack lunches for the both of you, and he always leaves you cutesy little notes !!

-he insists that you two eat dinner together every night, he loves sitting down to unwind, chitchat, and share a meal with you(no matter how much you eat !)

-he can(and will) just go on and on about how beautiful he thinks you are

-he tells the guys that he doesn't understand how he got such a gorgeous person on his arm

-He will read books and watch yt videos to learn more about anorexia and how he can help

-will always keep it real with you when you start getting bad again, not in a mean way ! he just loves you and hates to see you that way

-loves to remind you of how far you've come in your relationships with food and your body

Q

-he's had his own struggles with depression, so although he may not completely understand, he gets it

-loves to curl up on the couch with you and watch movies; he'll hand-feed you a few bites of whatever snack he's got

-he's completely obsessed with you tbh

-he often brings home your favorite takeout for dinner because it's easy and he knows he can get you to take a few bites

-always wants to remind you how beautiful you are, rarely calls you by your name; it's always "gorgeous" or "beautiful" from him

-he will also text you throughout the day; he loves to yap about how his day is going, he'll also sneak in little reminders to eat a snack of some sort

-he will celebrate every little milestone with you, no matter how small or insignificant you tell him it is(he's buying you flowers, jewelry, the whole works)

-he's just so loving with you ugh

-on days where you're feeling extra weak or tired he's so gentle with you, he spends all day coddling you and making you stay in bed while he takes care of you

[nightlyrequiem]

Hello there requiemmm 💫💫💫

Ive got a new request for u bbg 😈 /p

okay, so, this ones short, but, i hope its descriptive enough?? Idk 😭

(excuse my grammar, english is not my first language)

Valeria X unfairly devoted Reader.

hear me out, -- Reader is a member of Valerias cartel, -- they're in the higher ranks (im talking, one of the very few people that actually know who El Sin Nombre is, type of 'higher rank')

Reader is an absolute devotee. They (platonically, mostly) worship Valeria, cater to her every need, do whatever she'd like, whenever she'd like, no questions asked. Reader doesnt do it out of fear, that much is obvious. They just do it out of both respect and the far lack of both disobedience and a backbone.

Valeria, naturally, appreciates them, -- keeps them close, enjoys their company (mostly, because it feeds her ego, and makes her feel superior, -- in control, and whatnot) so much so, that reader is nearly permanently stuck being, somewhat of a 'personal assistant'.

Reader, being forced to spend all day (and, sometimes night, if Valeria needs some help with something) decides 'eh, why the fuck not' and asks Valeria out on a little hangout, disguised as a small 'meeting' in a coffee shop, that, ultimately, actually goes well, and spirals into a date.

(Date, naturally, ends with beating someone senseless in a dark alley, after they listened in on Readers and Vals conversation, or, .. something. Reader is, most definitely, doing all the damage, being a guard dog of sorts, not wanting Valeria to 'get her hands dirty, from such a small, unimportant man'. Not manner, man.)

Etc etc, girlfriends, lesbianism, boom. Work your magic, im bad at describing genuinly falling inlove.

hope yar doing well!

--Jester

🃏🌀⭐️

Took me eight days but I finally got around to this. Sorry for the wait, Jester 😔 I am doing quite well as of wiritng this, thank you. I hope all is well with you!

This is very loosely connected to the headcanons I did for this idea. I said it once, and I'll say it again; I love the unfairly devoted trope. I’m not sure I captured it too well but 🙌

Tags/Warnings: Violence, WLW, Boss/Employee Relationship

Swans

Many species of birds mate for life. Penguins, corvids, vultures, and most famously: swans. Symbols of love, loyalty, and grace. They are creatures full of love. They're so sensitive that they can die from heartbreak. You stare at Valeria and understand how the swan feels. How it could hopelessly devote itself to another, even at the cost of it's life.

The quiet scratching of a pen fills in the silence. Valeria's brows are furrowed in concentration as she haunches over her desk. You want to remind her to straighten her back, so it doesn't hurt later. Your eyes greedily drink in her profile. The slope of her nose, the curve of her lips, her curtain of black hair slightly obscuring her cheek and eye.

She sighs.

"Get me a drink." She murmurs. You're to your feet immediately. Heading towards the small cabinet containing her alcohol. You've fixed her enough drinks to know what she wants. Your fingers wrap around the neck of a bottle with golden liquid. Pouring it into a small glass, then putting in exactly two small ice cubes.

You carry it over to her desk and set it down in the corner. You slink around behind her. Watching her take a sip. You can't see her face, but you know she's letting the liquid sit in her mouth to savour the taste. She does that with all of her drinks; savours the first sip.

You have no problem getting her drinks. Or doing her paperwork. Or taking a bullet for her. Valeria has been the one constant in your life. She's the only one who has ever noticed you, and you latched onto her like a leech. She fed you crumbs of kindness and that's all it took. It's obsessive and unhealthy but you're long past the stage of caring.

Valeria takes a second sip then goes back to working. Her shoulders look so tense. You want to rub that tension away, but you don't. It's late and you're feeling a little tired, but you'd never say so. You doubt Valeria cares and you don't want to distract her. Besides, she must be tired too. You'll go home when she does. For now, though, you wander back around the desk and sit down in one of the chairs off to the side.

You gaze at Valeria as she works. At some point without even realising it you fall asleep. Your body startles itself awake as that fact worms it's way into your subconscious. You aren't sure how long you've been dozing off for, but Valeria isn't in the room anymore. You sit up with urgency and look around, a small fleece blanket falls from your shoulders.

You furrow your brows, trying to remember if you put it on yourself. You know you didn't. You feel slightly giddy at the thought of Valeria doing it. As if just thinking her name summoned her, Valeria walks into the small office. Despite how tired she is her stride is still intense and confident.

She sits down with a grunt and glances at you.

"Good sleep?" She asks sarcastically.

"How long was I out for?" You murmur. Tugging the blanket into your lap. Valeria's hair is a little messy and you wish you could run your fingers through it. Or a brush. You just want to touch her hair.

"Fifteen minutes." Valeria replies. "You should go home and get some rest."

Fifteen minutes isn't that bad. You don't want to leave just yet though.

"No, I'm okay to stay for longer." You insist. "I could help you finish up the last of those reports."

Valeria shakes her head and when she speaks her voice sounds softer than usual. "You've been staying late for the past few weeks; I know you aren't getting the sleep you need. Go home."

You frown but concede. "Alright." As you're getting up an idea pops into your head. "Hey, could we meet at Ila's tomorrow? I just think I need some extra reminders about where all the trade routes are." You know every route and the exact location of them.

"Okay." Valeria agrees. "5PM."

The next day arrives and you're very impatient for 5PM. You finished all your tasks and went home early. It's not a date. Not to Valeria, but that doesn't mean you aren't going to treat it like one. You've picked out a nice, attractive outfit and touched up your makeup.

You arrived five minutes early and secured a table. Watching as patrons pass by. The smell of baked goods almost tempts you into buying something, but you don't want to eat before Valeria. Ever the punctual person, Valeria walks in through the glass doors at exactly 5PM. She looks very put together, hair brushed and glossy. She's even wearing different clothes.

Valeria sits down across from you and gives you a small smile that sends fireworks throughout your body. You want to trap that smile in a jar like a firefly. Valeria reaches into her bag and pulls out a folded, yellowed map and sets it up on a table. She begins to quietly and intently explain where each route is and where the shipments go.

You nod and hum, pretending to listen. You're much more focused on Valeria's hands as she points at places on the map. Her neatly trimmed pink nails and fingers. Ine of them is slightly crooked from having been broken one too many times. Her skin looks soft and if you try hard enough you can smell her lotion.

"-and this is when we split it into smaller batches to move it across the border."

You point to Mackey Hill.

"Here?" You ask. Already knowing the answer.

"Yes." She nods. You glance up behind her for a split second and watch some scruffy looking man quickly turn away. Immediately you straighten and stare at him. You don't like the vibes he's giving off.

Valeria furrows her brows at you.

"What's wrong?" She asks quietly. You lean closer and whisper back.

"I think that man is eavesdropping."

Valeria turns her head to look at the man, narrowing her eyes. You feel pleased that she trusts your word so strongly.

"Get rid of him." She commands.

You slip out of your spot and approach him. He startles as you lean down and murmur in his ear.

"Follow me. My boss has a proposition for you." You walk towards the doors and cast a look behind you. He's staring at you nervously but eventually rises.

You wait behind the brick wall and wait. Sure enough the man rounds the corner. Looking at you with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

"What was the-" He's cut off by Valeria hitting him in the back of the head. He grunts and falls to his knees. You strike him this time. Kneeing him in the face. He opens his mouth to scream but you cover it before he can.

You drag him deeper into the alley and fish out the small blade hidden in your boot. You make quick work of slitting his throat. He makes an awful gurgling sound before going still. Valeria helps you lift him into the nearby dumpster. Your fingers brush and you look at each other.

You've been loyal to her for years. Since before she even came into power. Through thick and thin you've stuck by her side. You've thrown yourself in harm's way to protect her without thought. You've spent countless hours staring at her intently but now your gaze is being returned tenfold. There's a new fire in those dark inky eyes. One you've only caught glimpses of. But here it is, in all it's blazing glory and it's directed at you. Scorching and all consuming.

His body thumps dully as he falls among the full trash bags but neither of you are paying attention to him anymore.

"Why don't we go get something to eat?" Valeria murmurs softly. "I'm sure you'll have an easier time getting the routes with a full stomach." Her hand creeps towards yours and your fingers tangle with hers. You've done more than feed her ego, you've carved out a place in her heart for yourself.

[merakiui]

YOUR DISCORD MOD SCARA...I am thinking about him so hard. I've never even considered becoming someone's discord kitten before but I'd do it for him (even if he's terrible). SO... could I get a layered cake and sweet lollipops (him and his kitten not long post-abduction) from the miscellaneous menu, along with lemon squares and sea salt caramels from the midnight menu, all with my babygirl discord mod scara?

yandere!scaramouche x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, modern au, nsfw, dub-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, kidnapping/captivity, restraints, drugging, obsession, loss of virginity, alcohol/intoxication, force-feeding, brief use & threat of knife, coercion, scaramouche calls you kitten a few times, implied stockholm syndrome note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

There’s a warm meal waiting for you on the foldable table, its delectable aroma enticing you to eat despite your apprehensions. You lift your head from where it once rested on your knees, staring at it from where you remain huddled in the corner on a certain someone’s bed. A metal cuff clings to your ankle, and from it a chain extends to connect to one of the metal bed frame poles, only going far enough to let you walk into the adjacent bathroom. You’ve tried to squeeze your foot out, but doing so has only succeeded in chafing and tearing your skin; and so now you sit against the wall and sulk in defeat. 

Scaramouche—at least that’s his Teyvatcord alias; he’s yet to tell you his real name—plops down in his gaming chair, running his hand through his hair and exhaling a slow, measured breath. His kitchen apron matches the color scheme in his room, making him seem like a chameleon in a space composed of reds and violets. His three monitors are alight behind him, framing his face in a halo of light. One of them is open to Teyvatcord, displaying the chat log of a server you were once part of—and still are if you haven’t yet been kicked for prolonged inactivity. You think it’s been a few weeks since your kidnapping, but at this point time doesn’t serve any purpose here. It’s all the same within this room, blending together like pastel watercolors on canvas. 

“I didn’t know you could cook. You’ve only ever served me the bare minimum, so this is new. Feels fancy.”

“Shocker, right? Be grateful I’ve gone to the trouble.” You peer at the meal that sits before you, brows furrowed. Scaramouche rolls his eyes, scoffing noisily. “Don’t tell me you actually thought I eat all that gross instant shit.”

You shrug. “Dunno. It suits you. Shitty diet for a shitty person.”

“You…” His eye twitches and his hands curl into fists. “Whatever. Either eat or starve.” He swivels around in his chair with a huff. “Not like I care either way.”

But you do, you think, looking back towards the food, steam rising in wispy curls. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have spent so much money on me. You wouldn’t have told me to go to sleep early, to eat three meals every day, to drink enough water, to continue living.

“This isn’t going to kill me if I eat it, right?”

“Relax. I’m not a murderer.”

“Oh, so you draw the line there?”

Scaramouche whirls to face you, his pierced features twisted in a nasty scowl. Your eyes are drawn to the snake bite piercing on his bottom lip, and for a minute it stuns you that such a pretty face could be so vile both online and offline. Perhaps it would be best if he didn’t talk at all. Maybe then you could appreciate him from afar, never having to confront all of the bitter hatred he seems to harbor. 

“You’re even more unbearable in person. I can’t believe I let someone like you kick my ass one-hundred-something times during every game we’ve ever played.”

“One-hundred and sixty-eight to be exact,” you correct, scooting closer towards the tray to inspect the rice dish one final time. “Someone had to humble you. For a mod, you’re awfully full of yourself. They don’t pay you to collect kittens and police VCs, you know.”

“Well, they should.”

You fail to contain your laughter. “That was…actually kind of funny.”

A thought flutters into your head: I’m losing my mind. Since when was he ever funny?

His stare is fixated on you when you gather a bite on your spoon and bring it to your lips. As criminal as he is, he’s been surprisingly tame in the time following your captivity. You suppose you just haven’t seen the worst of him yet and that these civil moments are merely the result of his desire to connect with you. Before you found yourself on the sixth floor, tucked away in his apartment, you spent most weekends talking to him through games. You’d chat about your character builds, swap tips on strategies for certain FPS games, spend hours constructing towns in creative open-world games, and even laugh about the placements in the tier lists you’d compile.

You could call what the two of you had a competitive companionship (or if you wanted to get technical: a Teyvatcord mod who was spoiling his kitten outside of the competitions), where both of you were constantly trying to best the other. If it was a matter of money, Scaramouche always had you beat; he’d emptied plenty of that into his favorite games to amass a vast collection of rare gear and resources so that he could claw his way to the top of the weekly leaderboards.

If anything, you admired his determination. Beyond games, you only knew that he lived alone and had a few piercings and liked to wear chains and rings. He’d talked about it before when the both of you had strayed from gaming and had discussed fashion styles and aesthetics late into the night. He appeared normal beyond the bratty attitude he often displayed during rematches. You even found yourself wanting to know more when he’d divulge little facts about himself on occasion. 

But now that you’re sitting in front of him, entirely against your will, you realize this relationship should have remained in Teyvatcord. 

Underneath your artfully crafted bravado and sarcasm, you’re absolutely horrified that he had found your address so easily and had been able to pull off such a clean kidnapping. He’d pulled you into the darkness of his car while you were on your way home, pressing a knife to your throat and insisting you stay perfectly quiet otherwise your neck would be mired in red. At the time you were too overwhelmed with raw panic to even consider the familiar intonation of the man who had so suddenly stolen you from your peaceful life. But it became clear when he’d forced you into his apartment after a long drive, and you’d finally gotten a look at him in the light when he shed his disguise. 

An introduction wasn’t necessary; you recognized him, and he seemed to know everything about you.

Now it’s almost humorous to consider that a Teyvatcord mod actually went outside, touched grass, and collected a captive all in one night. And you never suspected a thing, completely oblivious to his mounting obsession. Although how could you have ever noticed it when he was so intent on masking infatuation with hatred?

You wonder if things would have transpired differently if you hadn’t been living within the same city. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been tempted to take you away from your life and confine you to a single room where the sun never breaks through the curtains and you’re constantly bathed in the sensual hues from the LED lights that border the room. Maybe he would have lost interest and you could have continued your one-sided rivalry without any unhealthy attachments. 

Those what-ifs don’t quite matter anymore, though, do they?

Flavor explodes on your tongue when you sample his cooking, and you hastily gather a second bite and then a third. Scaramouche watches from his chair, looking quite satisfied with your submission. Foregoing etiquette altogether, you eat as if this is the last meal you’ll ever have the pleasure of enjoying, so fulfilled by the fluffy rice and bitter tea that tears gather in your eyes. You stop halfway to wipe at your glassy eyes, sniffling pitifully. 

You’ve forgotten the joy that accompanies homemade meals.

“It’s okay,” you mutter around another mouthful. “Better than convenience store snacks.”

Scaramouche chuckles. “For something that was just ‘okay,’ you had no problem getting your tears in the bowl.”

You bark out a laugh, but it comes out strained and sad. “Lay off, will you? I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in forever. It was a little nostalgic, even if it’s coming from you.”

Scaramouche stares at you, his cheeks tinged the softest shade of pink, before he turns in his chair. “Whatever. Don’t get used to it.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

You set the now empty bowl back on the tray and retreat to your corner, observing Scaramouche as he clicks through various tabs before he returns to Teyvatcord. His fingers, adorned with sterling silver rings, fly across the keyboard to respond to some user you can’t quite see from where you sit. Noisy click-clacks fill the air, and it’s a sound that pulls you closer towards sleep. By the time Scaramouche has swapped to his second monitor to play a game—the very game that got you into this nightmare to begin with—you’re already falling into the void of unconsciousness, tugged under by drowsy tendrils. 

It’s the soft thump that alerts Scaramouche, who turns slowly in his chair to see you slumped over on his bed. He rises to his feet, crossing the distance to gather the bowl and accompanying utensils. Before he departs from his bedroom, he leans over to press a lingering kiss to your cheek.

“Dummy,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at you. “Never eating proper meals… Honestly, what would you do without me?”

Though he told you not to get accustomed to homemade meals, Scaramouche has presented you with breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day, all prepared by his generous hand. It’s a luxury to be served food that has been assembled out of some form of crooked love—Scaramouche claims he’s only keeping you well-fed so you won’t die and rot away on his bed; the smell would be horrendous, so he claims. There’s one meal that always manages to put you to sleep. Whether it’s just the result of a satisfied stomach or your own frazzled nerves in desperate need of sleep, you always slip away shortly after finishing it. As childish as it sounds, you often wonder if he’s put a spell on it. 

Or maybe you’re just always hungry, craving his cooking because he’s the only one capable of feeding you when you’re stuck in chains. And luckily for you he’s memorized all of your gastronomic preferences. 

You’re not sure if you’ve surpassed a month’s time, but when you wake up one morning to Scaramouche slamming his cat ear headphones down on his desk, which is followed by a foul tirade of grumbled curses, you feel as if it’s already been a year spent in his room. To think that you’re starting to find it normal, as if waking up to him is to be expected in this situation. 

You must be losing your mind. 

“Rough match?” 

Okay, you’re really losing your mind if you can be so casual with your kidnapper. 

Scaramouche deflates in his seat, groaning at the ceiling. “More like a rough team. None of these idiots know how to play! I’d have better luck digging through the dirt and assembling a team of worms than continuing to rely on these guys.” 

“Then just leave and join a new lobby.” 

“‘Just leave and join a new lobby,’” he mocks in a high voice. “I can’t. These teams are locked in for the upcoming tournament. I’m stuck playing with a bunch of losers.” 

I’m more stuck than you, you almost blurt, but you hold your tongue. 

“Like?”

“Like Tartaglia, Dottore, Signora… They suck. I hate them. And they expect me to tolerate them for a bunch of rounds? That’s not even a good joke. We’ll just look like fools trying to force teamwork.”

You peer at his monitor. He’s muted himself, so they have no idea of the complaints he’s launching at you as if you’re a suitable outlet. 

“Sounds tough.”

“Believe me, it is.” 

“Have you tried reworking your strategy?”

“You’re asking me to kiss ass here.”

“Never said that.”

“You’re implying it.”

“Oh my—” You flop back onto his bed with a groan. “It’s not that serious!”

“It is when it’s a competition. You think I want to look stupid in front of the other teams? We’re up against some lame group that calls themselves the Knights of Favonius. I am not about to lose to them.”

“And what’s your group called?”

“The Harbingers.”

“You honestly think that sounds any better?” 

He turns in his chair to glare at you. Before he can retort, he’s fit his headphones back over his ears and unmuted himself to address the VC. “Can you stop spamming the chat for five seconds, Tartaglia? Damn!” There’s a brief silence and then he adds, in a low hiss, “I’m not running away! I muted for one minute! Come off it, Signora.”

Absorbed in the conversation, which sounds more like an argument that’s quickly boiling over, Scaramouche exhales slowly and resolves to try again through grit teeth. You can’t hear his teammates, but you think they all reach a mutual agreement because within the next few seconds you’re watching another practice match on his monitor. Your gaze slides away from him and centers on the posters and tapestries that adorn his walls. Some days, if you ignore the metal cuff on your ankle, you forget you’re a prisoner and he’s your warden. Some days, if you really force optimism, you picture him as a friend and a roommate. 

Most days you wonder if you’ll ever get outside. You miss the sun and the wind, lively aspects of nature that are nonexistent in this stifling cave of a bedroom. And, as odd as it may seem, you miss your old life, struggles and all. You miss ranting to your friends about finances or an empty refrigerator. You miss staying up late into the night playing games, laughing about casual enjoyments, and indulging in a freedom you took for granted. When you were struggling, you could be comforted knowing that there would be better days, even if those days only consisted of small joys—like feeding a stray cat or feeling the sun’s rays smile upon you with bright warmth. Now you live your days in a loop, waking and eating and sleeping, and this sort of cyclical madness is more entrapping than Scaramouche’s infatuation with you. 

Although perhaps it isn’t right to call it an infatuation when it feels so far from one. Aside from meal times, he hardly acknowledges you during the day, too swept up in a game to pay you any attention, and when he does speak to you you’ve already submitted to your dreams. He never touches you (at least not when you’re awake). In fact, he treats you more like an annoying pest rather than the person he supposedly loved enough to kidnap. Perhaps, instead of an infatuation, it is an obsession driven by greed and the twisted desire to control every inch of you, down to the very foods you ingest.

You know one thing is certain: He is the kidnapper and you are the kidnapped. 

You’ve sorted through all possible means of rebellion. You’d refused to eat anything the first week, which was why he chose to feed you cheap convenience store snacks out of pettiness, and by the end of the second week you were beyond starved. You’ve thought about destroying his monitors out of spiteful anger, but that wouldn’t accomplish much aside from satiating your hunger for revenge. You would remain shackled no matter how many things you trashed, which makes destruction a useless venture. All you can really do is feign friendship, if only to keep your current predicament peaceful. 

But lately you’ve wondered if there are other ways to get Scaramouche to trust you. It’s obvious he still has some level of distrust for you, evidenced by the terrible cuff attached to your ankle and the fact that he never leaves you alone in his room for more than five minutes. Perhaps there’s an easier way to shatter his defenses. 

After all, the reason you’re here is because he likes you so much. And if it really is a hidden infatuation, you plan to poke at it until it’s no longer his little secret veiled within manufactured hatred. 

Scaramouche is scolding Tartaglia for his “stupid, shitty aim” when you slither off of his bed, standing behind him with an expression so pensive it’s as if you’re considering life or death. Although perhaps this idea of yours really is akin to that. 

Briefly, while eyeing the headphones that rest on top of a head of midnight-hued hair, you wonder if you’d have the confidence to attack him while he’s distracted. Your arms reach out, readying to tear his headphones off and coil around his neck in a chokehold, but then it occurs to you that if you really do hurt him no one will be around to feed you. You’ll shrivel in his room, alone, cuffed, and cold. 

You decide, with mounting unease, that your original plan is much better (and safer) than murder. And so you lower your hands with a muted sigh. Even if he’s the worst person you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting—even if he’s taken you from your life and forced you into his—you still couldn’t bring yourself to fatally injure him. 

But you can bring yourself to your knees, swallowing shame in order to survive. 

If Scaramouche realizes you’ve slipped under his desk, he doesn’t immediately acknowledge you, his eyes tracking his screen as he shouts into his mic for Dottore to cover him. You peer up at him from where you sit, studying his facial features as they morph into various expressions, all centered on frustration, impatience, and the occasional glare-frown. It’s your hand on his thigh that momentarily strays his focus, his eyes flitting down to you for a mere second, glazing over with an emotion you can’t quite place. Your lips quirk up in the beginnings of a sly smile, and he huffs, nudges your side with his foot, and returns to shouting orders at his teammates. 

Slowly, as if moving with weights attached to your wrist, you reach out to palm his flaccid cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. Scaramouche nearly flinches out of his chair, his head snapping down to look at you.

“W-What the hell are you—” He’s silenced when you squeeze just slightly, gazing up at him through your lashes. “N-Nothing. Just…talking to my cat. Shut up and focus on the match, losers,” he grumbles, not to you but to his teammates. 

You intend to draw away, thoroughly pleased after having gauged such an amusing reaction, but his fingers pursue your wrist, pinning your hand in place. He’s not looking at you, but his cheeks are warming considerably. 

��I’ll kill you if we lose,” he mutters, and this time you know the threat is meant for you. 

But, as you’ve come to learn, this is his own version of acceptance, however frigid it may have sounded. Scaramouche likes a good competition; that much is apparent from how engrossed he becomes when playing any type of game. Most importantly, you think he just enjoys the prideful satisfaction that comes with being labeled a winner. If you look at it from a gaming perspective, this is just another challenge—another rematch the both of you have agreed upon in order to determine who’s the best. 

And, like always, you’re certain victory will be yours. 

His hand slides away from yours, returning to its rightful place on his desktop, and it gives you the opportunity to continue your teasing touches. His stare hardens into something deadly when he attempts to retain his focus, his fingers mashing the keys in a loud cacophony of clacks, but within just a few minutes of experimental squeezes his cock is straining against his pants. You admire the outline for a brief moment, considering an approximation of his size just from the bulge alone. He’s definitely larger than any of the beginner dildos you’ve browsed online out of sheer boredom and curiosity, and the idea that you’re about to willingly subject yourself to this is enough to cow you into premature defeat. 

I won’t make any progress if he doesn’t trust me, you tell yourself, steeling your electrified nerves and reaching out to slide the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down to free his cock. It springs out, pre-cum beading at the tip, and your eyes follow the curvature. For such an aggressively high-strung moderator, he’s surprisingly well-groomed. You wonder if he’s always lived a life so nicely assembled. Perhaps you’ve misjudged him entirely and he’s never been the stereotypical gross, smelly, hermit of a Teyvatcord mod everyone likes to think he is. Maybe it’s just his personality that’s so foul. 

You were confident before, but then he’s passing you a bottle of lube and now what little courage you could muster is beginning to ebb away, squeezed out of you much like the dollop of lubricant pushed from the tube. Your eyes flick to his. He holds your gaze for a minute before a sly smirk crawls across his face. 

Hope you like swallowing, he mouths, indigo irises flashing with arousal, because if you get a single drop on the floor I’ll end you.

Arrogant brat, you mouth back. 

You roll your eyes and wrap your slick fingers around the length of his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath at the contact, chewing his bottom lip bloody to muffle any suspicious sounds that are eager to slip out. You’ve only ever viewed handjobs in erotic films, and you’ve never given one to another person before. So you slide your fist up and down, mirroring the movements from memory, in hopes that the experimental pace you’ve set isn’t too awkwardly inexperienced. Scaramouche seems to pay it no mind, for his shoulders shudder with every exhalation, and he’s bent forwards, his elbows resting on his desk. 

There’s no way he’s this easy, but that thought quickly evaporates when you squeeze just a little tighter, and he whines through grit teeth. Your eyes snap up to find his foggy hues, which are clouded with lust and peering right through you rather than at you, and it becomes abundantly clear that perhaps he truly is simple to seduce. Or, at the very least, it’s only easy because he’s stressed and needs release; or maybe it’s because this is the first time you’re touching him of your own volition, stringing him along with every graceful pump of your hand. 

I’ll never understand him, you think, halting your movements once he’s been brought to the very edge, his cock flushed pink and leaking. 

The vicious, disapproving scowl he sends you is such a sight to behold! When you’re viewing him from below, it’s almost as if he’s a vindictive deity sitting pretty and untouchable on his throne and you’re the mere mortal granted permission to kneel before him, an amusing comparison considering he has, in a way, proven to be your saving grace on many occasions. Even riddled with impatience, he’s pleasant on the eyes. If only the same could be said for when he opens his mouth. 

“Did I give you permission to stop?” he hisses, humping into your hand to force friction. 

Your gaze strays to the cat ears on his headphones; you wonder if his teammates can pick up either of your hushed whispers. “What happened to your oh-so-important practice match?” 

He narrows his eyes at you and reaches to seize your chin in a vise-like hold, forcing you in close proximity with his cock. “You can do much better things than sit there and run your mouth, so finish what you started.”

“Anything for His Royal Highness,” you mutter and close your mouth around his tip. 

Scaramouche inhales sharply, his fingers ghosting over your head as if he intends to grip your hair and force you to take more of his size, but then you hear obnoxious keyboard clacks. He’s back to berating his teammates, albeit in a louder, higher voice than before, leaving you to your own pace. You pull away, tasting flavorless lubricant and pre-cum all at once, and lick a stripe up the underside, which has him humming through a clenched jaw. With your confidence restored, you lean in once more and, fingers wrapping around his length, slowly fit him in your mouth, only stopping at where your hand rests halfway.

Despite your initial unease, you manage to settle into the rhythm as naturally as you possibly can, bobbing your head back and forth in slow, even motions. Your other hand slithers up his leg, fingers creeping like spiders, and rests between his legs to fondle his balls, squeezing ever so slightly while your mouth works him towards the edge of ecstasy. It prompts a guttural groan from him, and your lips twitch around him, as if attempting to rise in an amused smile. He’s falling apart in his chair, shivering through every salacious sigh and curse, all produced in barely restrained hisses. He mutters something to his teammates, but the words hardly reach your ears when you’re so hyper-focused on pleasing him. 

You continue your careful ministrations, hollowing your cheeks in the same manner you’ve witnessed actors in films do, and at some point you’ve shut your eyes and have resigned yourself to the moment, relishing in every lewd sound. His reactions bolster your pride, feeding it as though it’s a ravenous monster, and you muster enough bravery, courtesy of your inflated ego, to peek at him through lidded eyes. 

Scaramouche is peering down at you once more, but this time his headphones are off and he seems to have ceased playing altogether. You attempt to pull off of him to ask, but his hand rests atop your head, mapping lazy patterns in your scalp in a way that’s almost reminiscent of petting, and that’s enough of a response for you. 

“I thought you’d be terrible at this, but it looks like you’re good at something after all,” he remarks with a mean smirk. “Or maybe...” He moans lowly. “Maybe you’ve had practice.” 

Or maybe your standards are low because no one’s ever touched your dick before, you think, closing your hand in a tight fist just to draw another pathetically desperate whimper from him. 

His fingers curl into your hair and he tugs you up to meet his haughty countenance. The head of his cock prods impatiently at the inside of your cheek and you narrow your eyes at him, drool running down your chin. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, running over the piercings that reside there like twinkling stars. With a breathy chuckle, his other hand traces the bulge in your cheek and his lips only seem to widen with exhilaration. There’s a near-manic glint in his eyes now—an unhinged sort of sparkle that could only shine so brightly in the midst of pleasure. He’s a frightening sight, but then of course he’d be when he had so callously held you at knifepoint all those weeks—or has it been months?—ago. 

Now it makes sense—all of the mean jeers and insults. Scaramouche likes to see just how small he can make others when they’re caught in his shadow like vulnerable butterflies in a spider’s wicked web. And aren’t you just the most unlucky butterfly?

“This is a—haah—a good look for you.” 

You’d bite him if you were feeling particularly masochistic, but there’s no telling what he would do in retaliation. So instead you continue your pace, idly stroking him in time with the movements of your hollowed mouth, holding eye contact for the entirety of it. He keeps his hands on you the entire time, locking you in place between his legs, and your warm, wet mouth and tongue send delectable bolts of pleasure racing through him. It causes more delicious sounds to spill in plentiful amounts from his parted lips, enticing you to work more vigorously. He gasps through backhanded praises, each one meant to chisel you into something weak and self-conscious, but all it does is prove your previous observations. 

“Hey.” His knuckle is on your cheek again, and you blink tears away to look at him more clearly. “You haven’t done this with anyone else before, have you?”

You know it’s a trick question. No matter what answer you give, it’s going to prompt a visceral reaction either way. Rather than a clear, concise response—not that you could possibly give one when he’s stuffing your mouth full—you hum lowly, and the vibration has him twitching on your tongue. 

Scaramouche scoffs and attempts a glower, but it crumbles when he arches in his chair. “What… Whatever,” he manages through grit teeth, swallowing yet another sweet love cry. “Consider yourself lucky I’m here, otherwise—hah… Otherwise you’d have no one to practice your lousy, little technique on.”

This time, you’re afforded the chance to detach yourself and your mouth comes off of him with a wet smack, strands of saliva still connecting your lips to his cock. He peers at you, studying your face for a moment, and if it weren’t for the dim lighting in his room you’re certain his blush would be brighter than the sun. 

“You seem to enjoy my lousy, little technique,” you purr, leaning in to press your puckered lips to his tip. Your hand slows its once quick pace, and you watch miserable frustration stretch across his features. “If you’re going to be ungrateful, I’ll just stop and—”

But the rest of that sentence is shoved down your throat when he catches your head in resolute hands and forces you to take all of him in a rough thrust. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you choke on it with a gagging cough. Your hands grasp his wrists in an attempt to steady yourself, but he pays it no mind as he continues to pound into your mouth, a string of filth falling from his parted lips like torrential rain. Tears prick your eyes, obscuring your vision and blurring reds and purples into a haze. 

It only takes a minute, but it feels like many when he eventually halts his erratic pace, his cock lodged in your mouth, and shoots his load down your throat. You have no choice but to force yourself to swallow, your eyes squeezed shut as you choke through the deed. Scaramouche laughs at you, a short, sudden sort of sound that’s more grating than nails on a chalkboard. And only after he’s shuddered through the aftermath of his ecstasy, heaving soft breaths as he settles from his orgasmic high, does he finally release you. 

You pull away with the residue of his spend sitting heavy on your tastebuds, sticky and bitter, and you’re only allowed a moment to catch your breath before he’s gripping your face with one strong hand, the cool metals of his rings digging into your cheeks. You stare at his sickly sweet smile and narrowed eyes, two indigo pools reflecting haughty victory, and your heart sinks with his next words. 

“Oh, and nice try.” His finger flicks your forehead, and a taunting smile darkens his features. “But I’m not taking the chains off, kitten.” 

It was worth a try, you think, swallowing a scoff and resolving to try again next time. You are nothing if not stubbornly resilient.

It’s a dangerous game, waiting and watching, hoping for a moment in which you can execute your plan. When Scaramouche isn’t glued to his monitors, when he isn’t feeding you meals that immediately send you to sleep, and when you aren’t on your knees satisfying him in the most carnal of ways, you’re wrapped in your thoughts like a mummy perfectly preserved. For a while you weren’t sure if it was worth the risk, nor were you sure if he could even come to trust you, if only slightly, but by some miracle you’ve sacrificed so much time tending to him and it has paid off handsomely.

Though the cuff remains, he’s grown to exercise some leniency, allowing you to sit on his lap while he browses online, his chin resting comfortably on your shoulder. Sometimes the two of you watch a movie; other times you play a game, gambling your dignity in exchange for a chance at victory. Lately Scaramouche has been on a winning streak—though you’re certain he’s just cheating, even if he claims it’s pure skill—and more than once have you found yourself at his mercy, submitting to wandering hands and lips, dutifully playing the role of his obedient prize. He always gloats, flashing his teeth at you in a cruel taunt, and you have no choice but to accept it. Everything you do is for the sake of survival; you’ve reminded yourself of this fact when you wrap your arms around him at night, pressing yourself against him and slowly slipping into sleep just as he cautiously returns your embrace. 

You usually fall unconscious after you’ve had lunch, condemned to sudden sleepy spells that are beginning to seem more drug-induced than natural, and this unfortunate happening leaves you completely gone for many hours into the afternoon and early evening. You’ve narrowed your options down after observing Scaramouche for so long, committing his cyclical ways to memory. Either you force yourself to wake at the crack of dawn and hope he isn’t still gaming, or you wait until he’s left the room to prepare your lunch. You’ve deliberated over both, almost acting on one when the opportunity presents itself, but you’re always stopped by the uncertainty. Will this work? Will you be fast enough? 

And if you aren’t successful, what will happen to you? Will he truly kill you like he claimed he would all those months ago when you first started living with him? You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

There’s a specific person you have in mind while you lie curled and comfortable in Scaramouche’s bed, feigning sleep to ward off the jittery sensation in your nerves. If he still exists within the server—and you’re hoping he does because your escape plan hinges on his presence within it—he will be your ticket to freedom. 

You almost flinch out of your skin when Scaramouche’s hand rests atop your head, stroking your skull so fondly. “I’ll wake you up for lunch,” he whispers to you, pressing his lips to your cheek. And then his hand is drawing away, and your pulse settles once more. You can feel his eyes pinned on you, and you picture him standing at the bedside, casting a terrifying shadow over your slumbering form.

“It’s too quiet when you sleep so many hours,” he mutters, and you strain to hear the rest of his complaint. You think he might be in the doorway because you can’t sense him near you anymore, and his voice is distant and soft, a strange contrast to the harshness in his usual intonation. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re here.” 

He says something else that doesn’t quite reach your ears, and you listen to his footsteps as he retreats to the hall and then the kitchen. You wait until you hear movement before slowly sitting up. Even though you’re alone and he’s a good distance from you, you fear he might hear your quick heartbeat. It pounds inside your rib cage, on and on like the loudest war drum, and you clutch at your chest with trembling hands. 

Without wasting another second, you slide off of the bed as carefully as possible, mindful of the noisy chain at your feet, and creep over to his desk. All of his monitors are on, each luminescent screen displaying something highly contrasting from the previous one. The screen on your left showcases an online shopping site (the page he’s currently on is new microphones, each more high-quality and expensive than the last). The screen on your right blinks back at you, and you spy a photo album of pictures screencapped from every social media connected to you. 

You’re not surprised, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t disgusted. Gross, you think, biting back a shiver. If he touched me with the same hand he used to—

But then your attention is stolen by the middle monitor and before you know it your fingers are gingerly tapping out keys one at a time, so agonizingly slow that you think your rapid pulse might give you away before the clacks do.

Alatus, you’re thinking, eyes skimming the member list. Alatus. Come on, Alatus. Where are you?

Miraculously, you spot his profile picture before his name—a cute, mint-colored bird with fluffy plumage and narrowed eyes. For such an adorable image, the one behind it is so silent and intimidating. You wonder how you even managed to befriend him when he’d been so terse in the early stages of your online friendship, but you’re glad to have this connection. 

Relief floods through your system when you notice the tell-tale green circle near his profile. He’s online! And with that, you pull up a private chat and begin to write to him, your heart skipping a beat with every word added to your desperate SOS message. 

this is gonna sound crazy but this is (name) from server need u to help me out ive been kidnapped by scaramouche call the authorities or someone just let them know i’m missing please believe me

You don’t have time to proofread it, nor can you even consider adding anything else in your frenzied panic, and so you hasten to send it. Your finger just brushes the Enter key when two arms coil around your waist, yanking you away from the desk with so much force that the horrified gasp sticks in your throat. Before you can register the danger, you’re on the floor, the chain rattling with the movement, as if foretelling of the threat that’s about to descend upon you like the Grim Reaper coming to capture a wayward soul, and Scaramouche stands over you, a kitchen knife held in a trembling fist. There is a foul tempest raging within those ominous eyes of his, each dilated pupil darkened with thick, syrupy betrayal. 

You attempt to sit up on your elbows, readying yourself to reason with him before he can slice your throat to ribbons, but then he’s pointing the knife directly at you, his face contorted into a glower so monstrous it has you flinching away. 

“You’re a special kind of stupid,” he snaps, and you press yourself into the floor as if you intend to melt into it. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I was so foolish that I wouldn’t suspect the motive behind your little game?”

You open your mouth to profess faux innocence, but the words won’t come. They’ve dried up on your tongue, leaving you to wallow in silence. You’ve never been so obviously, painfully guilty before, and the evidence of your disobedience is printed blindingly bright on a screen for his perusal. Scaramouche gazes at his monitor, cold, cruel eyes taking in every word. Ice crackles through your veins, crystallizing your blood, and for a brief second you consider what might happen if you seize the knife while he’s distracted. Perhaps it works in your head and your attempt to force him to his knees with the threat of death is successful. But realistically you know it wouldn’t be that easy and he certainly wouldn’t give you the chance to one-up him like this, especially not when so much is at stake. 

For once, this has nothing to do with the childish concept of pride. 

“Alatus, huh?” he muses with a monosyllabic hum. “Is that your friend? Well, it’s not like it matters. You don’t need friends.” 

With a sunken heart, you watch as he deletes the message you mustered the courage to draft. Within seconds the faulty plan you’ve considered for months crumbles before your despairing stare. 

“I hate you,” you whisper. Brimming tears are on the verge of overflowing and you will them away with quick blinks. 

“Yeah? Not the first time someone’s told me that.” He turns to face you, and you follow the knife as it’s set delicately on his desktop. It’s an obvious trap, but even so your hand still tenses as if you intend to lunge for it. He bends down to where you remain on the floor, his elbows propped on his knees. “I should commend you for your bravery. Were you working yourself up to this? Were you counting down the days until the moment for rebellion arrived? I’m not sure I should even call it a rebellion. You’re not very smart. I mean, you had access to the internet! You had so many resources at your disposal and yet you chose to message some loser on Teyvatcord! Just how moronic can you possibly be?”

What irks you more than the degradation is the fact that, unfortunately, he’s right. 

He clicks his tongue at you, laughter in his tone. “I would’ve been in trouble if you actually used a sliver of your puny brain. Lucky me, huh?” His fingers cling to your chin, pulling your face closer to his. “I have the cutest, stupidest kitten.”

You narrow your eyes at him and, gathering your mounting revulsion, spit at him. It spatters on his cheek and he seems to pause momentarily, a tense beat stretching taut between the both of you, before he releases you with a huff. The next thing you feel is the harsh sting of his slap as it comes down upon your cheek. It’s more so the shock that has your head turning in time with the impact rather than the dull ache, and you lift your hand to feel raw skin beneath burning fingertips. The tears are now falling in silent streaks. 

It’s hopeless. You’re stuck here forever. 

Scaramouche swipes his thumb along his cheek and scrutinizes the saliva coating his finger with a frown. “Not fond of ‘kitten,’ huh?” 

“Of course not, you freak.” 

“Ouch. That smarts.” Feigning offense, he dries his thumb on his kitchen apron. “A shame. ‘Kitten’ suits you. They’re soft and clumsy and weak. Just like you.”

He retrieves the knife and, after admiring the red-and-purple lights that reflect off the silver blade, offers you a smile so sweet it contrasts his sour threats.

“But as cute as you are on the ground, looking oh-so-terrified, it’s not going to save you from your punishment.”

You watch him carefully, awaiting a catastrophic change in temperament. Despite how cheerily nonchalant he appears, you’re certain there is anger swelling within. It’s clear in his eyes; his glee stems from sadism.

“Should I even ask what your idea of a punishment is?” you venture. You intend to sound bold with your inquiry, but your heart is still stuttering with the aftermath of your failure and it causes you to trip over your tongue. “L-Living with you is punishment enough…”

Scaramouche hums, unfazed. “If you were in my position, what punishment would be most fitting?” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not answering that. You just want me to list the worst possible things.” 

“Perhaps,” he drawls, tapping a fingernail along the blade. His gaze strays to his desk drawer and he opens it and withdraws something you can’t yet see. The jarring jangle of handcuffs alerts your keen ears, and your expression must have twisted into something akin to potent odium because he chuckles. “Wandering hands ought to be properly restrained, don’t you think?”

You hold his gaze for a long minute. “Why? What’re you going to do?” When he doesn’t reply, merely continuing to watch you with that deceptive smile of his, fear sizzles within your electrified nerves. He takes a step towards you and you scoot away instinctively. “Seriously, what is it? Don’t you dare put those cuffs on me.”

“And allow you to misbehave again? As if.” He stands over you, peering down at you with a mixture of disgust and distrust. His foot is pressing on your stomach before you can even think to grab at his ankles and force him to the floor. “In case you’ve forgotten, kitten, you’re mine from now on. So unless you’d like me to tear you a few extra holes with this knife, you’d better shut your mouth and let me put these cuffs on you.”

He seizes your forearm, yanking you up with surprising strength, and you squirm in his unyielding hold, kicking out uselessly. It does nothing to deter him, but it does spark a wrestling match between the both of you, in which you fight desperately to grab hold of the cuffs or the knife before either can find themselves on your person.

“Let go of me! You can’t put those on me!” You elbow him in his ribs and he responds by shoving you down onto his bed, slotting his knee between your legs. His fingers dig into your arms with a harshness that has you wincing. 

“Should’ve thought twice before you decided to act like a brat!” he hisses, squeezing tightly. 

The discomfort soon becomes the least of your worries when he pins your wrist to one of the metal bed frame posts, readying it for one of the cuffs.

“No! Let go of—”

The knife is at your throat next, promptly silencing your terrified protests, and you don’t dare open your mouth. 

“Try again.” 

It’s spoken like a demand or a particularly harsh dare, the ice in his voice a perfect match for his scary expression. For however long his eyes bore into yours, you return his ogling with the same amount of ferocity, challenging his overbearing aura despite the blade poised at your jugular. You’re not sure how sharp it is, but you aren’t intending to find out with misplaced disobedience. 

Eventually, the first cuff clicks around your wrist, and you watch warily as the next cuff attaches to the bedpost. Your arm hangs limply from where it’s been restrained, and the other receives the same attention shortly after he’s retrieved the second handcuff pair. While he’s fumbling one-handed with it, the knife is held in place in his white-knuckled grip. The cool metal kisses feverish skin; you can already smell the river of iron that will drool from a precise slice. After it’s closed around your wrist and the bedpost like its predecessor, you yank arms to test the resistance. Your wrists have been secured tightly, but it isn’t uncomfortable. Rather, it’s the uncertainty that settles under your skin, lighting your senses with raw anxiety. 

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper, gazing at the handle of the knife. It’s close—too close. 

You think he lives to torment. He must, otherwise there would be no plausible explanation for why he presses the sharpened edge deeper into your neck, applying just enough pressure to break skin.

“I’ll make one thing clear, so listen and listen well.” His voice drops a few octaves, a perilous murmur. “Don’t ever touch things that aren’t yours again.”

You think he says something else along the lines of, “And don’t ever think you’ve earned a shred of leniency just because we’ve been intimate,” but the words sound far-off and muffled like they’ve been processed through a jar of cotton or an unfathomable depth of sea. Registering them doesn’t seem so important, though, not when the sting in your throat worsens and a thin rivulet of something slick trails its way down your neck, staining your T-shirt—Scaramouche’s shirt (but you refuse to dwell on that distinction). And this time you don’t need any laced meals to slip away. This time it’s the stressful threat of near-death that puts you to sleep.

With the world having slithered away, narrowed down to a singular point devoid of terror, you fall into a familiar darkness. 

At first you think you’ve woken enshrouded in muddy earth, buried alive in some forsaken place, but then the haze of LEDs is piercing through your eyelids and you know you’re not resting amongst soil. With an exhausted groan, you peel your eyes open, searching the room for a figure who is oddly absent. Intending to sit up, you’re stopped short when your wrists catch on the cuffs, the metal digging into sensitive skin, and there is a spreading stiffness in your outstretched arms that’s becoming more unbearable with every passing second.

Something soft and scratchy is wrapped snugly around your throat. A bandage, you think, and it brings forth the not-so-distant memory of the knife and the blood and the dazed look in Scaramouche’s stare. As if he was not entirely there when he was pushing, pushing, pushing the blade into your jugular

As if he intended to carefully saw through sinew as if cutting slices from a block of cheese. 

Inhaling a steadying breath, you consider your options. Escape has become a daunting challenge—an impossibility if you’ve ever known one—and with the way you’re so tightly restrained you’re certain you won’t get close to freedom anytime soon. After all you’ve endured, you’re not sure you want to fly close to that sun again. 

Is it even worth it? you catch yourself pondering. I’m under a roof. I’m fed. I’m washed. This isn’t any different from my usual routine, only I have a housemate now and I’m living here permanently. Right. He’s a housemate. A housemate. A housemate. 

He’s not a housemate. He’s a horror wound into human anatomy—a perfect shell for what you assumed was a normal person. But does the distinction truly matter now? Kidnapper. Housemate. The latter sounds much nicer, but then the latter is also a lie sweeter than caramel and it’s easier to swallow a delusion than confront the looming truth. 

You sigh, your gaze sliding towards the monitors. They’re off this time, three dark voids silenced in the corner in which they’re kept. You tug at your restraints even though you’re aware they won’t come off no matter how much you struggle. For however long it takes Scaramouche to return, you lie on your back, watching the ceiling and counting the tiny bulbs in the strand of LEDs. Finally, there’s movement beyond the room. He pushes the door open with his foot, carrying a tray of food and bringing with him all manner of kitchen scents.

“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead,” he teases, and you muster your meanest scowl. He laughs. “You should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Scaramouche sets the tray on his desk, picks up the bowl of ochazuke, and gathers a bite between wooden chopsticks. “Don’t drag this out just to be a pain in the ass. Sit up and eat.”

Slowly, you manage to sit up, your wrists still confined. “I’m not eating unless you remove these cuffs.”

“Hm. Let me think about that.” Scaramouche drums his fingers along the ceramic bowl, considering. “Not a chance.”

“Looks like I’m going hungry.”

“You are so insufferable. You had no trouble eating yesterday.” He narrows his eyes. “Licked the bowl clean and everything.”

“That was before you decided to nearly kill me!”

“But I didn’t.” 

“You say that as if you’re proud! Eat your own food. I don’t want it.”

“Alas, I made it just for you,” he says with a dramatic sort of flair that does not fit the smug pride that drapes itself over him like a linen shroud. “With love and everything.” 

Your lip curls into a hostile sneer. “Let me think about that. Yeah, no. Not a chance.” 

“You do realize you’ll starve if not for me.” 

“I look forward to that.”

“You little—”

Scaramouche covers the distance with graceful strides. He sets the bowl on the bedside table and, much to your dismay, you can’t reach it with the position you’re stuck in, unable to swipe or kick at it. After pulling his gaming chair up to the bed, he lowers into it and takes the bowl in his hands, chopsticks poised. You turn your head away when he tries to feed you and the bite he’s gathered misses its mark, poking your cheek instead. Grains of sticky rice adhere to your skin like glitter. Despite your obvious refusal, Scaramouche persists, pushing another bite of ochazuke at your lips. He’s calm for all of three seconds before the thread of restraint snaps and he grabs your chin, yanking your head in his direction. 

“If you don’t want me to shove these chopsticks so far down your throat, then stop being difficult and open your mouth.”

Still, your lips remain sealed and he huffs indignantly, digging his nails into your skin in hopes of eliciting a reaction. You swallow the wince and frown instead. The next bite prods against your lips and you narrow your eyes, silently daring him to try again. And he does, his fingers tracing along your jaw to find your cheek. He pinches—ruthlessly, unforgivingly rough—and you open your mouth to snap at him. Knock it off, you intend to say, but the words never leave your mouth because the next thing you know you’re tasting a mouthful of fluffy rice flavored with bitter tea, strips of nori, and salmon flakes. 

You almost spit it out, but you’re already chewing, relieved to taste gastronomical goodness. Scaramouche smirks at you, his thumb rubbing circles against your cheek.

“I win.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, turning away, mouth ajar for another bite.

He feeds you with a hum. “That wasn't so hard, was it? It’s almost as if acting like an annoying baby made this entire thing more unbearable than it should be.” 

You scoff around a mouthful. “You’re the unbearable one.”

“And yet here we are.”

You don’t protest at that. What else can possibly be said? Instead, you resign yourself to the meal, finishing every bite he offers and clearing out the leftovers in the bowl. And, as usual, it’s delicious.

Scaramouche pats your head when you’ve finished, a smile sharpening on his lips. “Good job.”

You roll your eyes. “You could’ve been nicer about it.”

“I was very nice,” he says, his tone clipped, as he sets the bowl down and lifts a glass from the table. “See? I even brought you a drink. Aren’t I a portrait of magnanimity?”

He’s a pain in the ass, you conclude, but you allow him to bring the glass to your lips so you can drink. You expect a mouthful of water; what you don’t expect is the sheer burn that comes with swallowing, and your noise of surprise comes out as a cough. Scaramouche sits back in his seat while you stare at him, searching for any indication that he’s joking. 

“Scaramouche—”

“You’ll be a good kitten and drink it all, won’t you? I’d hate to waste something special I picked just for you.”

Your lip curls in abhorrence at his utterance of that dreadful name. “Maybe if you stop calling me ‘kitten.’”

“Not a chance.” 

He takes a sip from the glass and leans in until his face is centimeters from yours. Your eyes find his, and for a moment you’re connected only by this contact. But then, within the next second, he’s closing what little distance remains, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy, sake-tinged kiss. His hand cradles the back of your head so that you’re pinned on his mouth as it molds against yours. His snake bite piercing pushes against your lips and when he licks into your mouth to savor the alcoholic notes on your tongue you think you taste the cold sterling silver of his tongue piercing. With mounting unease, you realize it’s not a terrible sensation. And though saliva and sake drip down your chin in a thin, sticky rivulet, it’s not the worst kiss you’ve ever had. 

It’s over before you can even think of reciprocating. Thankfully—otherwise you’re certain doing so would have been more sickening than a simple teasing nickname. 

He pulls away to observe your dazed expression, his dark eyes alight with manic glee. His laugh comes out breathless, almost like a gasp, and he touches two fingers to his lips. “Your lips are softer than I thought…” he mumbles, curling his fingers against his chin. 

Before you can retort, the glass is poised at your mouth again, enticing you to drink, and you struggle to swallow the amount that’s tipped onto your tongue. You taste tropical citrus this time, flavors reminiscent of sunny days and palm trees and sparkling seas, each one so out of reach in your current predicament. Things you might never see again. Scaramouche climbs onto the bed and sits between your legs, preventing you from shutting them. With your back pressed against the bed, wrists still bound, you have no choice but to remain where you are, entirely at his mercy. 

“That’s a good expression,” he purrs, reaching out to pet your cheek. You turn your head away with a scoff. “To think you could be so cute when you’re terrified of the unknown.”

“Not funny. Take off these cuffs and get me some water. My wrists hurt.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. Cry me an ocean.” His free hand splays across your stomach, applying just enough pressure to your pelvic bone, and a devious smirk twists his lips. “That’s not the only place that’ll hurt.”

The reality of his intentions—of why he has you restrained—dawns on you like a sun risen from the grave, blindingly, searingly hot. 

“You can’t be serious.”

You intend to squirm, to kick out at him with your legs, and push him as far from you as possible, but your legs just won’t move. It’s as if you’re attempting to tug yourself free from a pit of molasses, crushed under a new weight. You manage to lift your foot a mere centimeter from the bed before Scaramouche gingerly lowers it back onto the mattress, all the while clicking his tongue at you.

“No need to panic. I’ll take good care of you.” He glances at you, spidery digits tracing tantalizing lines along the length of your leg. “I always have.”

The grogginess spreads throughout the rest of your body like the thorny tendrils of vindictive vines, stifling all possible movements and replacing your usual taut, alert muscles with a sleepiness that's awfully familiar. It doesn’t take long for you to reach a harrowing conclusion: He’s drugged you. Again. You blink rapidly to gain your bearings, and it takes you a moment to recognize the glass that’s at your lips. Foolishly, you drink because he’s already tilting it and you’re not sure how many more sips you take, but by the end of it the glass is empty and your head is spinning, nerves buzzing with static. 

Scaramouche slips off the bed with graceful steps, practically floating about his room, to retrieve a bottle of lube and a pair of scissors. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, coming to you in nonsensical clumps as the alcohol thins your rationality, numbing you to the encroaching unease that so desperately wishes to fill your veins. Rather, you’re overwhelmed with a very pleasant, dizzying warmth. You peer at him from where you’re slumped against the headboard, and the red-and-purple lighting in his room paints him in hues so alluring you find yourself at a momentary loss, staring blankly at him like he’s a fascination you’ve only just fallen for. And then you’re reflecting on the way his lips fit against yours, soft and sweet and metallic…

The scissors run up the fabric of your shirt in a flawless snip. When the tattered material is pulled from you and you feel the rush of cold air upon bare skin, prickly realization manages to sober you.

“W-Wait…” You shake your head slowly, tongue heavy and clumsy just like the rest of your limbs. “I’ve never… N-Never done this before…”

He gazes at you, searching for a lie. Finding no such thing, he chuckles and leans in until you’re practically breathing him in. “I would’ve thought otherwise.”

“And I…” You try to narrow your eyes at him, but he’s placed his hands on your hips and so your gaze is inevitably drawn downwards. “And I would’ve thought you were letting me win all those times.”

“Not this time,” he promises, pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth. “If it means having you all to myself like this, I’ll gladly indulge in the pity prize.”

If your wrists weren’t bound to the bed, you may have pushed him away. Or perhaps you would have embraced him, tugging him closer against your chest so that you could feel his heartbeat, taste it on your lips, allow it to thrum between the both of you. The sake muddles your mind, aiding the muscle relaxant in soothing pre-sex jitters. As Scaramouche’s hands wander, fingers tracking up and down your waist, sliding across your bare stomach, climbing further upwards to pinch your nipples between dexterous digits, someone starts to whine, each faint gasp just barely slipping past lips that have been chewed bloody. 

You realize, when he pulls away to grab at the waistband of your sweatpants, that you’re the one producing such sinful sounds. 

“Wait,” you whisper when he’s yanked it down to your knees. He peers at you with glazed eyes, and you’re certain you’re looking back with the same amount of lustful ferocity. “S-Scara, I don’t know if… Don’t know if we should…”

You shake your head, utter a frustrated curse, and squeeze your eyes shut. What do you truly wish to tell him? You wonder if it even matters anymore. He has you right where he wants you and, frighteningly enough, this is exactly where you’d like to stay. You have to remind yourself it’s the alcohol and the drugs and the sensual lighting that twist your reasonable senses. Even so, your fear trumps any lust that might have been simmering under heated skin.

But before you can verbalize these anxieties, he’s tugged your sweatpants down with ease. Your underwear goes next, leaving you utterly, humanly bare. Scaramouche stares for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and his licentious ogling is enough to send a bolt of embarrassment rushing through you. Avoiding his eyes, you manage to shut your legs, which earns you a breathy chuckle from him. Scaramouche lifts his shirt over his head next, casting it aside without hesitation. You’re treated to the view of his chest, porcelain-pale, creamy skin aglow under the dimmed lights, and upon noting your wide-eyed stare an easy smirk sprawls across his pierced lips. When he cocks his head to the side, you follow the way the tiny chains on his ear cuffs tilt with the movement, star and moon charms jingling faintly. He’s touched by the very cosmos above, shaded in light so beauteous he’s seraphic. 

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” he whispers, drumming his fingers along your knees. “You’re in good hands.”

You open your mouth to object—I don’t want this; I’ve never done this before—but his hands part your legs, spreading them agonizingly slowly as if the universe has benevolently graced him with all the hours in the world. You watch him consider your nude form splayed before him, and the temporary stillness is interrupted when he reaches for the bottle of lube sitting so patiently on his bedside table. 

It’s a chore to follow his hands as they uncap the bottle and squeeze a generous amount onto his fingers. Everything spins and blurs into a messy portrait of colors and shapes. You taste the raw acidity of bile in your throat and promptly swallow it and the rest of your apprehensions, forcing yourself to turn off what’s left of logical thinking and submit to the moment—to allow yourself to be fondled by such good hands.

The slick index prodding curiously at your unrelenting hole tightens the tangle of nerves in your stomach and has you squirming once more. 

“W-Wait! Wait, wait…”

“It’s only my finger, scaredy-cat.” He laughs and lies beside you, one hand between your legs and the other curled under your chin. He moves your head until you’re looking right at him, and he’s already moving in, lips ghosting over yours. “Unless you’d rather take it raw without any prep. That can be arranged…”

With a half-lidded stare, you spy his lips rather than his eyes as they capture yours in a sloppy smooch. He chases after your breath, swallowing reedy, needy gasps, and traces a circle along your hole before sinking his finger inside. You choke on a whine and wriggle your hips in discomfort. He pulls away only for a brief respite, soon reclaiming your mouth in his greedy pursuit, experimentally curling the lone finger inside you. You’re on fire, burning up with sheer desire and shame and a dizzying intoxication, and everything tangles into a mess fueled only by mounting lust. Fears shrugged away like worthless fabrics, you melt into the mattress’s cushiony embrace, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, as Scaramouche draws little gasps and groans from you, each one spilling out in between kisses. 

The hand on your chin falls away to grasp your nipple between cold fingers, and the chill slithers through your flushed form. You whine a pitiful sound. 

“Look at you, falling apart on one measly finger.” His voice, hushed and husky, wraps around your head like the softest scarf. “Am I the first to touch you down here?”

Foolishly, you try to nod and shake your head all at once, but he seems to catch the truth veiled in your response, for he hums into your mouth again. You kiss back with more desperation this time, chasing his tongue with a delightful fervor. He pushes a second finger in, slick enough as to not cause discomfort, and it soon finds residence with the other digit curled within. 

“No wonder why you’re so easy. It’s almost cute.” Scaramouche lazily works you open with the two digits thrust up inside you. Lewd squelching permeates the otherwise quiet room, and it spurs you into submission. Instinctively, you arch your back when he pinches your nipple harder than before, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “See? Isn’t it better when you’re enjoying yourself? And all it takes is a little reciprocation.” 

“I… I’d never—mmh—never reciprocate,” you mumble, but the words are spoken in a gasp.

“It’s a little too late for delusions and denial, kitten,” he says, practically singing the sardonically spoken pet name. 

You grit your teeth in an effort to stifle your sounds, turning your head away when he tries to steal a quick kiss. “Hate you,” you mutter, jaw clenched. 

Scaramouche barks out a disbelieving laugh. The finger that had been toying with your puffy nipple traces an invisible pattern along the expanse of your chest, sliding further down under he’s gracing your privates with feather-light touches. A moan hums low in your throat, betraying your poor attempt at defiance. 

“That’s not what your body’s telling me.”

He scissors his fingers, stretching you wide enough so he can slide a third in. You hardly feel the pain when you dig your nails into your palms. It’s so fierce you think you might break skin, and if you do the muscle relaxant prevents you from truly feeling it. You peer at his sly smirk, but the disgust melts away when, combined with the fingers working you open and the hand petting your sex, you find yourself shuddering through a sudden climax. Scaramouche marvels at the way you clench around his fingers, and before you can even try to avoid him he’s pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple. 

“Look at you, cumming from three fingers.” He removes each finger one by one just to watch you writhe bonelessly beneath him. He presses two slick fingers against your lips, tilting his head as if you’re a morbid curiosity he spies through the bars of an invisible cage. “My cute, pathetic, virgin kitten. I quite like that dazed look in your eyes. Perhaps you should look at me like that more often…”

You manage to roll your eyes, unamused. “You had your fun. Now take the cuffs off.” You fix him with a pout. “Please?”

“I couldn’t possibly when we’re just getting started.”

There’s a playful lilt in his voice, and your eyes follow his hands as they grasp the waistband of his boxers. It’s only then when you realize he’s painfully hard in his underwear, his cock outlined so starkly against the constrictive material, and your heart plummets into your stomach. 

“Hold on. Wait. H-Hold on…” You try to shut your legs, but the sedative in your system has you reacting as if you’re pulling your limbs through unforgiving tar. Every inch of you craves the comforting release of a long slumber, but the alcohol keeps your nerves sparking with a fiery need that greatly outweighs any languor. “N-Not inside…”

“Why not? We’ll be closer this way.” He wipes the cold sweat from your forehead before placing a gentle kiss upon it. The look in his indigo hues is lionizing, and when he cradles your cheek in a warm hand he is uncharacteristically fond. But then of course he’d be; he likes you, after all. For all of the cruelty, you forget he does this out of love. “Don’t you want to be closer—to find all of the right spots together? We’ll fit together so perfectly…”

He’s already squirted lube onto his hand, and he runs it up the length of his erection, all the while holding smoldering eye contact with you. You swallow dread so thick it almost lodges itself in your throat, mumbling a slew of slurred protests that fall upon deaf ears. 

Scaramouche forces you to look at him next, his hand still on your face, and you lean into it out of emotional instinct. He smiles—it’s tender this time, almost welcoming—and strokes your cheek with his thumb. “You’re okay,” he whispers, sincerity weaved into the promise. You blink tears away and your breath hitches when the soft, fleshy head of his cock kisses your puckered hole. His fingers trail along the bandage secured around your throat, and his eyes glaze over with an unknown emotion. “You’ll be okay.”

And hearing it twice has you believing it with a mindless nod of your head. 

If your hands were free, you’d reach out to touch him, run your fingers along his porcelain chest, loop your arms around his neck to pull him into you so that your puzzle could be complete. Instead, you look up at him with pleading eyes as he cages you between his arms. 

“Please be gentle.”

He noses the crook of your neck. “We’ll see.” 

But his words are warm and inviting. And—oh. Oh, he cares for you! Scaramouche, the one who’d ensure you were always fed, who’d go out of his way to check in at night after a long day, who’d entertain you with an argumentative back-and-forth regarding his favorite games, who’d let you win every single match just to be able to spend more quality time with you...

Who loves you more than he loves himself, relying entirely on you in order to fill the cavernous void in his heart with sugar and sincerity and serenity. 

He cares for you, and no one has ever quite cared for you in the way he does, as sickly obsessive as he may be. Knowing that someone likes you enough to look after you is more saccharine than honey.

Illuminated in red-and-purple luminosities, you shimmer beneath him, a lone star plucked from a dark, desolate sky. His hand falls from your face, finding your hip instead, and he rubs soothing circles into it as he presses in, the head of his cock pushing past rings of tight, lubricated muscle. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as you thought it would, but then the relaxant and the alcohol have you at ease. His brows are knit in concentration, breath hot and wet on your bare skin, as he slots himself inside inch by inch. 

A shaky groan spills from his lips. “(Name)...” Your name is candied ambrosia in his mouth, the sweetest song. “(Name), (Name), (Name)...”

He exhales slowly, tears glimmering in glassy eyes, and locates your lips in the gloom, drawn in like a fool blinded by the deceptive light of an anglerfish. You kiss back as if this is the last time you’ll ever have the chance to do so, pursuing his whimpers in the same fashion he seeks your keening cries. And when he snaps his hips forwards to fill you completely, joining your bodies in unholy communion, you throw your head back and sob like you’ve never sobbed before. It’s a wonderful fit, snug and tight, and he rocks in experimentally. You shiver under him, crying out a string of incoherent phrases. 

“Scara… Scaraaa,” you sigh dreamily, and his hands brace themselves on either side of you so that he won’t crumple when he thrusts in, settling into the rhythm, following the thrum of your conjoined heartbeats. “Aah… Don’t stop. Please, Scara, I want it deeper… Haah… Please don’t stop.”

“Kuni,” he corrects, breathing it into you in an open-mouthed kiss. “My name. Kunikuzushi.”

It’s lovely. It’s everything. It’s your own heavenly delicacy. 

“Kuni. Kuni. Oh, Kuni…” you parrot, voice thick with need.

He’s moving in and out gradually, savoring each time he thrusts up into you and your bodies meet in a perfect connection, slowly rolling his hips into you as if he’s too fearful to destroy something so fragile. Or perhaps he wishes to keep himself intact—to prevent himself from crumbling into a love-drunk mess. When he kisses you, it’s flavorful passion, and the both of you exchange saliva and breath as if you’re each other’s lifelines. You’re not sure what you’re saying anymore, or whether any of it makes sense, but then he’s murmuring all manner of things into your skin as if every admission will tattoo itself upon your very being, engraved into your soul. 

Though it’s spoken in a voice barely above a whisper, you catch it. Faintly, like flickering candlelight, admitted like prayer, he says, “I love you.” 

And with that you fall, vision whiting out as your orgasm seizes you, and you whine your relief when he fucks you through the highs and lows of it. Your chest is heaving when you return, and you bury your face in his shoulder, wanting to feel all of him, to have his warmth affixed to you.

In that moment, there is no such thing as hatred or revulsion. There are no drug- and alcohol-induced feelings. No handcuffs or shackles. There is only love. Lots of it—all of it—filling you to the brim entirely. 

The shadowed space you’ve been confined to is slightly brighter now that you’ve found a star for yourself, and he is a celestial comfort crafted by the threads of fate—for it’s handcrafted destiny that brought the two of you together in a virtual world. Regardless of what awaits you when you’re shaken from this inebriated fantasy, you hope it is just as bewitchingly dazzling as the puzzle you make with Scaramouche. 

“I love you… Kuni, I love you.” 

He’s crying then, tears falling in twin rivulets, and in response he drives his cock in so deeply it has you arching your back, the motions coaxing precious love cries from the depths of your very heart. Sealing what’s left unsaid in a final kiss—every other emotion, all of the twisted obsession and the horrors of the past month—he empties his load inside, moaning into your mouth. Like a lotus at midnight, you open so obediently for him, your legs wrapped around his waist to pin his body to yours like butterflies spread on an entomologist’s board. 

Of course you love him. After all, there’s no one else for you to adore in this vast, lonesome outer space.

[thlayli-ra]

Punkintyre; a twisted love story

As anyone who follows my blog knows, I like posting my headcanons and LOVE posting about Punkintyre, and yet the two have never met... until now! This will be very long and probably split into different parts as I have a lot to say about them. So sit, back, relax and enjoy.

***Please note; this is all my own personal headcanons just for a bit of fun***

Punkintyre, at its core, is a story of obsession, possession and hate. Fiercely passionate hate. The kind of hate that consumes the soul entirely, and once it has destroyed the vessel, it goes on to destroy everything else around it.

But above all, to me, the essence of Punkintyre is that it's a story of unrequited love.

To understand this better, let's look at the players in this ship;

Drew McIntyre - 'You complete me!'

By the close of 2023, Drew was already a good girl gone bad. Having been a popular babyface for years, his attitude had noticeably changed after a series of disappointing losses, becoming more aggressive, ruthless and caring only about himself. The crowd didn't like this new direction and were rapidly turning on him.

Then hell froze over! CM Punk made his glorious return.

And Drew had an epiphany! Here was a true villain, a man currently looming beneath a large, dark cloud. A cancer. A disease, threatening to infect the WWE with his sickness. At the Royal Rumble, he targeted Punk and injured him, putting him out on the shelf for months. Drew basked in his triumph, calling himself the Saviour of Wrestlemania and waited with anticipation for his flowers. Because, if there was one thing that was guaranteed, it was that everybody hated Punk far more than they hated Drew.

Except... they didn't! The mindless drones had already been swayed by the lies of the wolf in sheep's clothing, had already fallen for Punk and his cult of personality. Drew made it his mission to wake them up; to rip that smiling mask off of Punk's face and expose the putrid flesh beneath, show them all the monster that Punk truly was.

To do this, he used the same weapon that caused Punk's downfall in AEW; social media. He constantly mocked and prodded at Punk, hoping to elicit a reaction from the notoriously thin-skinned veteran. He got plenty; but only from the fans. Not from the one he craved! So he pushed harder. Vandalised his signature ringer tee, used Punk's own move set, his entrance, visited his favourite bakery in his beloved hometown and bought him muffins.

Soon, he found himself flying high. His popularity had taken a massive up-swing, tongues were wagging, people were sitting up and listening, waiting on tender hooks for his next move. So he fed them, more and more. Taking pot shots at Punk every opportunity he could on every platform at his disposal.

Until Punk had become something else. Something more. Sitting cross-legged on the announce desk opposite the man who had made that particular taunt famous, Drew called him 'my muse', telling Punk that 'you complete me'. And it wasn't a word of a lie. He now needed Punk, needed him like a crutch to lean on. Needed to feed that hate.

Somewhere along the line, Drew's mission had become an obsession. Not for his goal of exposing the man, but for the man himself!

He didn't want to love Punk...

..he needed to!

CM Punk - 'I love you because you love me!'

Punk, meanwhile, is the not-so-innocent innocent in all of this. Punk never wanted all this attention from Drew, calling him 'an ex-girlfriend that I can't get rid of' yet he's the one who's responsible for making Drew's unhealthy infatuation even worse.

Drew accused Punk of being a 'succubus', a sex demon that seduces men and sucks the em... 'life', shall we say, out of them. The metaphor fits well. Punk has a way of seducing those around him, both in the crowd and in the back, sometimes even to the point of insanity (a certain Maxwell Jacob Friedman immediately comes to mind!). Punk fans affectionally refer to it as Punk Derangement Syndrome.

Punk once told a crowd 'I love you because you love me'. He lives for the adoration! He feeds off of the spotlight and the attention it affords him, soaking up any and all reactions from the crowd. Cheer him, boo him, love him, hate him; so long as it's loud, he'll take it. Unlike Cody who struggled with the hate at AEW, Punk faced against the waves and waves of boos battering him from all sides with a shit-eating grin on his face, doing his worst to up the noise even more.

And this is precisely why he just can't drop this petty tit-for-tat with Drew. The man's obsession with him is feeding Punk, and while his attention is a nuisance at best - and dangerous at worst - it's just not in Punk's nature to be the bigger man and let it die. He has to keep poking the bear even if it might tear his face off (which, it eventually does, but we'll get to that Smackdown later).

And so the players are locked into battle. Neither of them willing participants but their respective obsessions have honed in on one another, fingers on the trigger and aching to fire, neither taking heed of who they hurt along the way.

To be continued...

Part 2

[aayakashii]

my pictures of you

Warnings: Yandere!Sagara Haru x reader; SFW; unhealthy obsession

Haru was, once again, in debt. Precisely, ¥625000 in debt, due to his latest and most important acquisition so far: A Canon EOS R5, with 45 megapixels and 8K resolution at 30p – the best professional camera in the market that would allow him to take the prettiest, clearest and most detailed pictures ever.

Now he could finally post only the best photos on instagram, advertising the Jabberwock safari, and even enter photo contests that could get him back all the money he spent over his months as Captain, in the off chance he actually won them.

But most importantly, now he could finally take proper pictures of you.

The GPS he had snuck into your phone case beeps, alerting him of your location and Haru smiles gleefully. Perfect timing – he had just finished feeding all the animals and now all that was left was cleaning the dorm, but that could wait a little bit. Now he needs his daily dose of you, even if only for a few moments.

Haru cannot properly pinpoint when this little habit of his started. One day he saw you playing with Peekaboo and sneakily snapped a photo on his phone. He couldn't help it, it all just looked so pretty, so lovely! Seeing you with his baby just warmed his heart and he needed a way to make that moment last forever.

Everything went downhill from then on.

Haru knows this isn't exactly the most normal of activities – he's pretty sure Ren would tell him time and time again that that's harassment. But, another part of him keeps on being louder and louder, so he asks himself: how can that be? He just wants to be able to capture all of your moments and have them with him forever.

Haru craves your every smile, every tear, every brow furrowed. He needs to have them all, to collect them like precious little stones.

He's not truly doing anything wrong, he's not hurting you – he would never hurt you! He just loves to see all your moments and wants to keep them all safe and locked beside his bedside table.

With a skip on his step, Haru enters his room and opens the table's drawer to get his newest trusted partner.

Carefully picking up the camera, he eyes the thick envelope in which he keeps all of his most beloved treasures and smiles again, satisfied to see that it is untouched.

His collection of photos of you fills the envelope to the brim, and it is actually surprising how it hasn't torn apart yet.

Every photo, a different moment he secretly captured, each one with some new little detail about you he's all too ready to treasure.

He has pictures of you smiling bright and wide, a blinding light in the middle of the grim campus in which you all reside. But despite how lovely you look, these are the pictures he avoids looking at the most. Because someone else will always be in the frame of the photos, someone else will always be the target for your smiles. Haru feels his stomach churn as jealousy washes over his body.

Oh, what would he do in order to be the only one who sees you smile like that every single day… if he wasn't so busy, if he hadn't so many responsibilities, would you choose him?

No one else but him truly sees you, no one deserves your pretty smiles as much as he does, so, in a perfect world, would you smile like that for him and him alone?

In some pictures, however, you look like the weight of the world is on your shoulder and Haru knows; it might as well be. Through the lens of the camera, he sees the dark circles under your eyes, your tiredness, your concerns. He has seen you in person on the campus during these moments, and it always pains him to see you like this.

If he could, he would rid you of all your burdens in the blink of an eye. There is nothing Haru wants more than to protect you – from your curse and from all the dangers of the world (and from other ghouls). He has to keep you safe, right there, in his arms, where nothing and no one could ever hurt you. He wants to kiss every tear away until your brows unfurrow and you finally rest against his chest.

Sometimes, he snaps photos of the way you longingly look at the Galaxy Express, undoubtedly thinking of the world outside.

He hates these pictures. He hates when you think of leaving Darkwick, of leaving HIM behind. How can you think that? Wouldn't you miss everyone you met - no, scratch that, wouldn't you miss HIM?

How can you think of a life in which he's so obviously not included? Even though his own life is now all but revolving around you? He works faster to be able to see you, barely sleeps to be able to see you, eats almost nothing to be able to see you… How dare you think of leaving him?

In these moments of unrestrained anger, Haru entertains the idea of simply stealing you away. Locking you behind a door to keep you safe, so he can always know where you are, no GPS needed.

The only thing that keeps his hands from doing it, is thinking about you fearing and hating him – this would hurt just as much as you leaving him behind. He needs you to love him otherwise his dedication would all be for nothing.

His favorite photos, however, are the ones he takes late at night, when you are sleeping.

Oh, you look so cute! Snoring quietly, fully relaxed and defenseless, he wishes he could just scoop you into his arms and have you sleep away in the safety of his embrace.

Sometimes, when he goes to your window, he sees some weird floating doll flying away from your quarters, but he chalks it up to just some harmless anomaly that likes to watch you sleep.

At the end of the day, he understands; he loves to observe you as you dream away during the night. You look so peaceful, so comfortable… Haru hopes to have the courage to ask to relax with you just like that someday.

But he's so busy, so so busy.

So for now, he is content with taking endless photos of you sleeping. He promises he keeps them safe in his bedroom, sleeping with them on his pillow for the few hours he manages to close his eyes, hoping you'll invade his restless dreams every night.

“Haru, hi!” You smile brightly at him once you see him come closer to where you are – an open clearing with nowhere to hide. Nowhere for him to take photos secretly.

“What a coinkydink, honor student! What brings you here in this place?” Haru happily skips his way towards you, camera still in hand.

“I just found this place when I was trying to run away from Romeo” you scratch your head, sheepishly “He's being annoying and trying to make me run some errands for him, so I ended up hiding here. What are you up to? I didn't know you were a photographer!”

Snapping out of his thoughts of how he could keep Romeo far, far, far away from you, he looks down at his hands as if he just noticed it was there.

“Oh! Yes! Haha! I like taking some pictures here and there. Good for advertising the safari, you know?” He gives you a thumbs up.

“That seems cool!" you say, a surprised expression adorning your features "Can I see what you took so far?” You ask, shyly holding out your hand.

“Hmmm, actually I have a better idea” Haru quickly says, clearing his throat, before the panic of having you find out about his ‘hobby’ settles in “How about we go to Jabberwock and we take some pictures of you in the safari? I do need someone to model for my advertisement.” Haru says it as if it was the most revolutionary idea in the world and not something he thinks of on the daily at all.

“Are you sure? I've never modeled for anyone…”

“Of course!! Don't worry, let's go, let's go!!” He grabs your hands and pulls you towards the fields of Jabberwock “As long as you have fun, you'll be the perfect model!”

You let yourself be dragged by him for a moment, until you nod your head in acceptance.

“Okay! If you put it this way, I guess I can do it. I always have fun when I'm with you in Jabberwock!” you smile brightly at him and Haru swears you would be able to see hearts floating around his head at any given moment.

He's so happy you accepted to be his model! He will never ever post any of these pictures on Instagram, though. They'll look just fine beside all his photos of you sleeping.

[rainbowsky]

You are amazing! I found your blog back in October when I became obsessed with The Untamed. I'm usually not a Chinese drama fan nor do I follow too closely with celebrity culture but something about the way Xiao Zhan and Wang Yibo got to me. One thing led to another and I find myself deep in the Yizhan rabbit hole as I slowly transformed into a turtle. I wouldn't call myself knowledgeable about their past or present besides what's posted on YouTube and on here. I'm curious as to how you maintain your dedication to their love story.

Hi new turtle! 💛🐢💛

Thanks so much, I'm glad you're enjoying my blog! 😊

I wouldn't say that I'm 'dedicated to their love story', so much as I'm dedicated to each of them as individuals. I think that's the key to fully enjoying being a turtle - loving them each individually first and foremost, and viewing their relationship as icing on the cake.

Over the years I've found that the turtles who go about it the other way around - fixating on their relationship and not really looking at them much as individuals - tend to have more of a negative or roller coaster ride as turtles, and tend to get bored, have emotional meltdowns, lose interest or look for candy in unhealthy places out of desperation to feed their addiction to 'their love'.

I just enjoy the boys. I enjoy the content they put out, I enjoy their dramas and projects, I enjoy their photo spreads and interviews. I trust them both to take care of their careers, their relationship and each other, and I don't really have that 'high maintenance turtle' attitude that leads a lot of people to extremes of emotion.

A lot of turtles have a very binary way of looking at everything GG and DD put out into the world: either as proof their relationship is real, or as proof it's not real or that they broke up. This leads people to a lot of unnecessary agony. In reality, very little that GG and DD put out into the world will have any bearing on their relationship at all. This is totally normal.

So as a new turtle my advice to you is to avoid that at all cost. Just enjoy GG and DD and the rest will happen naturally.

As a new turtle you might also find my masterlist post helpful.

[spottedalienmonster]

A lot of us don't remember this, but the concept of "doomscrolling" was coined during the first Trump administration. In order to keep up with all the things they threw at the wall, a lot of us developed an unhealthy obsession with trying to keep up with the news and staying on social media.

This is a warning to everyone right now:

There is being vigilant and staying on top of current events and news to be informed on what's happening. There's caring about an issue and keeping your ear to the ground, staying in circles that let you know when/if you need to take action for particular causes.

The current landscape of social media makes it so that it's easy for this to start turning into actual, genuine "doomscrolling." There are people, accounts, corporations that benefit from blasting you with bad news incessantly on your timeline. Hate clicks, rage clicks, clickbait, and more!

Start curating your timelines for this now!

Block bad faith accounts.

Start following organizations that specialize in particular information you care about. Look for accounts that do share potential action items like bad bills that need you to call your rep, and consider following them!

Use bookmarks to keep track of things.

Make lists or feeds that give you reliable news.

Dedicate a small portion of the day to just getting caught up on news. Maybe that's not even 15 minutes!

Find places that you know will highlight good news so you know there's still good in the world.

Trump and the Republican party want you exhausted and hopeless so that when they're throwing everything at the wall to make something stick, there's nothing you or anyone will be willing to do about it. Get ahead of that now. Protect your time and energy, especially if you're prone to spiraling or going down rabbit holes.

I know this won't fix everything. I want to make a post about how Trump will use military units viciously to crackdown on protests, but I already feel I'm talking a bit outside of my area of expertise.

But do what you can. Do your best not to fall for misinformation and disinformation. Protect yourselves against conspiracy and outrage merchants. That doesn't mean you can't get angry, just know what you can actionably channel that anger into.

[animeyanderelover]

Hello😄Could I request Hashirama,Tobirama,Madara,Itachi,Tsunade,Sasuke,Obito,and shisui with a darling that is a ghoul?

Holidays start in about a month for me so I'll try to schedule a day where I open my inbox again.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, restriction, isolation, abduction, violence

Darling is a ghoul

Madara Uchiha

🌑You've been using the corpses that the war produces as your source of food, always steal the bodies of the dead to stock somewhere. One day to your great misfortune, you get caught by the Uchiha attempting to steal one of their dead comrades and they instantly attack you as they see that you don't belong to their clan. They're merciless so you're left with little to no choice but to fight back and for a short few seconds, you manage to catch them by surprise. Your own red orbs mirroring their own eerily much and you use that distraction to try to escape. One glance into their Sharingan as they chase after you traps you into their Genjutsu though and when you regain your consciousness, you're heavily chained and kneeling on the ground. In front of you is no one else besides Madara himself who has been informed about you and your strange abilities as one of the first. Judging from his cold tone, you know that fooling around might get you executed or tortured so you don't see any other option besides revealing what you are.

🌑 Your revelation is a sensation and you're kept imprisoned inside their campus as the eldest and Madara discuss what to do with you. Some are a bit wary as you feed from humans, others see in you a great new weapon. Madara decides to see for himself what you're capable of so you're forced very soon into a fight with him where he attacks you relentlessly. You don't know any jutsu yet somehow manage to keep somewhat up as your regenerative abilities, heightened senses, faster reflexes and your kakuja aren't something he can copy. You're ultimately losing to him as your techniques are sloppy but Madara recognizes the raw potential you have. All he has to do is polish your skills and train you. So he votes to keep you and teach you and the eldest agree, the majority delighted with the thought of having someone like you as their own. The clan guarantees to feed you with the corpses of their opponents. Training with Madara is harsh as he is even more ruthless since you heal so fast.

🌑 Madara is at one point the person you spend the most time with as he teaches you ninjutsu, taijutsu, even some genjutsu and weaponry. His training is brutal but it shows major improvement with time as you're able to fight him on almost equal footing at one point. It gains you some rare compliments from him but that is how you know that he's genuine. Fighting you is a genuine joy because only few people can give him a good fight and he's proud that his training has brought you that far. However, Madara ensures that you never grow stronger than him as he needs to establish his dominance between you two. He won't let you be above him. Initially he assumes it's because he just hates to lose but as time passes on, he realizes why. He's gained feelings from you. It's that knowledge that spikes his possessive obsession up as he suddenly forbids you to interact greatly with others and you notice the heavy weight of his glare even before you see him if he catches you still being nice to someone else.

🌑The death of Izuna awakens a feeling of urgency inside of him as the loss of his last family member shatters him.  His declaration to the eldest of the clan that he chooses you as his spouse is so sudden that it flabbergasts all of them equally and their opinions are mixed. Some disagree with him as they want him to marry someone from their clan yet others don't think it's that bad after thinking about it. You're certainly strong with your unique abilities and if you can conceive children, they'd be very curious to see what abilities your and Madara's children would have. If Madara wants something, he makes sure to get it so he forces the council to accept his opinion and you find out within the next day from him what has happened. You're even more astonished by his boldness to make such a decision without your consent. Yet your protest dies down on your tongue as he grabs your chin harshly and looks at you, muttering under his breath that he won't lose anyone else. If Hashirama wants to make peace with his clan, then only if he can keep you.

Hashirama Senju

🌳 He most likely sees you two as secret childhood sweethearts but unfortunately he just glorifies your memories in his mind into something much more innocent. The meeting of you two is one of pure accident as you essentially save his life, at a time before he even knows Madara. Mourning over the loss of one of his younger brothers and taking a stroll during a ferocious storm, numb to the warning words of Tobirama. He takes notice of the roaring river and the slippery and muddy shore too late as he slides into the clashing waves, loses his sense of up and down and swallows a gallon of the cold water. He's panicking as he desperately tries to puddle to the shore but fails to do so, his short life flashing in front of his eyes. Until someone suddenly grabs him and pulls him back on solid ground. Hashirama feels dizzy, coughs up water yet doesn't forget his manners as he wants to sincerely thank his savior. Yet they disappear as fast as they appeared, a blurry face and striking eyes the only memory he has of them.

🌳 It could be an Uchiha that saved him and he assumes so at first too and it isn't until he catches sight of you again that he's informed. You were apparently silently following him before he sees you, although initially he is unsure if you're the one that saved him. He has caused a lot of troubles because he kept confusing others with the person who saved him. You're honest though and tell him that you are the one who rescued him and are very flustered when he kneels down in front of you, forehead smushed against the dirt and thanking you for saving him. When he asks you if you're an Uchiha, you shake your head with a half-amused smile, stating that you don't belong to any special clan. He keeps on asking you questions but you keep dodging them, unwilling to answer. Eventually you tell him that you have to leave even if he begs you not to. The last thing you hear from him is him shouting after you and asking you to meet him here again. He wants to be friends with you.

🌳 You decide to take his offer, even though you know you shouldn't but you can't help yourself. Hashirama is infectious with his energy and cures your loneliness. He's bubbly and optimistic, something you need in your life. You never tell him about your true origins and never answer his questions about what he saw on the day you met him. You do tell him at one point that you're an orphan though and lost your parents to the war to which he offers you to take you to his clan. You decline obviously. The telltale signs of his major crush on you are what ultimately drive you away from him as you know that you could never be together with someone like him. So you never return again, breaking his heart as you need to separate yourself from him. It's alright. You've heard that he has found a new friend. You shatter Hashi's heart beyond belief as you've become his one big love and he's never able to comprehend throughout all the following years why you would just abandon him.

🌳 It's only so many years later in his adulthood that he gets all the answers to his questions when fellow men of his clan present him with the man-eating monster. A rumor that has been circulating around for a long time but now they've finally caught and imprisoned the person that stole and dishonored their fallen warriors. He doesn't know what to feel but his whole world stops and his heart drops when he sees the same eyes that saved him all those years ago. Your previously growling and sneering expression drops as you stare at him in shock before you avert your gaze, tears of shame building up behind your eyelashes. You never wanted him to know. You're used to being hated and feared so his shouts to free you from your chains as he storms over to you confuse not only you. Tears are in his own eyes, ones of happiness, as he embraces you in a tight hug. Finally he can make sense of everything. You were ashamed of yourself, weren't you? He knows that you'd never hurt someone purposely after all! Don't worry, he'll sort everything out for you!

Tobirama Senju

🌊 With Konoha finally being established, the many years of waging war against the Uchiha has finally ceased. Tobirama isn't too fond of the idea of living together in peace with the Uchiha, he doesn't trust them but he has no choice but to have faith in his brother. Konohagakure earns money from the missions that the people send to the village. Tobirama oversees all of that together with his brother and takes on the more dangerous jobs together with a team he hand-picked himself, all people he trusts and knows are skilled enough. It's this one mission that manages to spike his interest as he receives a request from a smaller village in the Land of Fire. A lot of thieves and criminals reside in the village yet that isn't the reason why they request his help. It's because people have started disappearing in the village and a few witnesses are only able to tell about a human-like monster with red and black orbs, mouth covered in blood as it's strongly assumed that this thing eats humans.

🌊 The legend of the man-eating ghoul is one that he has heard only in legends as some of his own clan members insist that they've spotted the thing during times of war, dragging away corpses to feast on them. At that time he only assmued it to be a silly rumor yet as the story pops up again and the legend starts surging up again as fellow Senju members hear about it, he decides to investigate. He travels to the village, takes one Senju with him who claims to have seen the ghoul before and waits. To your misfortune Tobirama is a legendary sensory type and even if you try to be careful, you're helpless as the man approaches you and you quickly stop fighting, realizing that you wouldn't stand a chance against Tobirama, his chakra too powerful. His own red orbs meet your own black and red ones, his eyebrows furrowing as he senses the unique energy radiating off of you. You may look like a human but you aren't fooling his sensory skills. Ultimately he decides to imprison you for the time being.

🌊 You're surprisingly well behaved, he somehow expected more troubles from the rumored ghoul yet you seem to choose the wisest option of giving up for now. You won't pick a fight where even you might get into troubles. Tobirama ensures that the citizens are left in the dark, only a selected few Senju and Uchiha know about you. It's better to keep your presence hidden for now from the public. Hashirama approaches you with a mix of curiosity, fascination yet also slight caution whilst Tobirama is prepared to attack you any moment, far more stiff than his brother. You're interrogated by Tobirama and answer all of his questions with honesty that baffles him. You need to consume human flesh just like humans need to eat too or otherwise you'll starve to death. When he tries to frame you for murder, you instantly fire back that you've only eaten already dead or evil people and that he shouldn't throw such crimes at you as his entire clan has committed murder too, far more than you have.

🌊 Somehow they have to feed you as Senju and Uchiha murmur that you might be very useful to the village so they start searching for ways to feed you without having to sacrifice humans, except the criminals that is. Tobirama remains the most cautious although your physical abilities fascinate him and he volunteers to teach you when he hears that his clan wants you to learn ninjutsu. He's low-key impressed by you but rarely admits that. You're snarky yet also very quick to adapt to situations and more civilized than some people he knows. The fact that you eat people is the only thing that keeps him from being more welcoming and is the main reason why he bristles up against his growing feelings. It's petty, he's murdered too but he would never allow himself to feel that way. Hours of research are put into creating artificial food for you whilst he increases the supervision around you. He absolutely can't have you lose control and attack someone. not if it means that you might be killed or ripped away from him. He won't admit his feelings for now but he won't let you get away from him either.

Tsunade Senju

🐌 Tsunade first stumbles upon you during her travels with Shizune, before she becomes the Fifth Hokage. She finds you heavily wounded and severely starved. She takes you in to care for you although her fear of blood paralyzes her so Shizune has to take care of you. You seem terrified when the two approach you, yell at them to stay away from you but it's already too late. You smell human flesh and lose control, attack both of them as your eyes turn black and red and salvia starts dripping down your chin. You're luckily overpowered as the hunger has weakened you and restricted your clear thinking, Shizune's poison numbs you and Tsunade's strength makes you lose your consciousness and you feel the relief flodding your veins that they stopped you from killing another person. What surprises you is when you regain your consciousness and find out that both of them have still taken you in and helped you with your injuries. Tsunade isn't all soft-hearted though, asking you with a hardened gaze what you are.

🐌 They're medics, they save lives so both are shaken when you confess that you're a ghoul and have to feed from humans to survive. You're too ashamed to do so, unable to kill someone so you always end up starving yourself to insanity until you can't take it anymore. You've killed too much people, nearly killed the two women too yet they still took you in and took care of you. It's all too shameful as disgust fills you and tears start shimmering in your eyes. You remind both of them that you have to leave as soon as possible or else you might hurt them again. Behind closed doors Tsunade and Shizune both have a discussion later on as both are unsure what to do. Tsunade seems a bit more merciless at first but Shizune quickly persuades her that they should help you. You can't do anything since you were born that way and helping you would also mean saving other people's lives and also your own. When both of them offer to help you, you have limited hopes.

🐌 They start working on supplying you with artificial food or at least have you survive on only little blood which both could supply to you with ease. You avoid both as good as you can to not fall into temptation and attack both of them again although you have no doubt that in your current condition, both could overpower you easily. When both of them still succeed and provide you with artificially changed blood that makes you feel full with only little amount, you feel truly happy for the first time in a long while. Just like that you become the third party to tag along, forever grateful to Lady Tsunade and Shizune as you swear to protect both of them. As you travel with both of them around the country, you start getting especially close to Tsunade. You know that under that tough shell is a hurt yet also kind woman as you soon find out about her past and in return share your own painful memories with her. Both of you bond over the past that wasn't kind to both of you.

🐌 Her feelings startle Tsunade initially when she first realizes that you've become more than a close friend to her. Not because of what you are, she'll defend you against anyone who dares to call you a monster. She's mainly scared because she's still suffering from the death of her brother and previous lover, doesn't want to lose anyone again. So the lady finds herself growing very overbearing, paranoid and worried about you excessively all of a sudden. What if people want to kill you for being a ghoul despite there being humans who are far more of a monster than you are? One of the main reasons why she rejects Jiraiya's offer at first is because she doesn't want to trust Konohagakure with you. She has heard stories about how Naruto was treated, she won't let you suffer from such hatred ever again. Ultimately it's only because of Naruto's promise to ensure your safety and your own encouragement to become the next Hokage that she agrees. If anyone even thinks about imprisoning you or performing a surgery on you to find out more about your body, she won't hesitate to seriously hurt them though.

Obito Uchiha

🔥 Rumors about man-eating monsters such as ghouls have always circled around the country, even during his childhood. In the past he had an odd fascination with such stories, as a traumatized adult Obito has other things to consider than some silly bedstories to warn children to not go alone outside at night. Or are those just some ghost stories? Perhaps he has to rethink his take on ghouls when he's faced with one of them in person. One of the spies working for the Akatsuki has been suspected to betray them so he was planning to kill them. Only to see them already being dead with you devouring their flesh. When you notice him, both of you just stare at each other for a while. You quickly clean your face painted in blood and give him an eerie smile, asking him what he plans to do now as you activate your kagune, ready to attack if he tries anything. Instead Obito is very calm as he has seen worse people than a ghoul. That being said, having one under him might be very useful later on.

🔥 You don't seem to be against the idea when he proposes it to you, merely ask what you would get by joining his organization, besides free food that is as he fully allows you to devour anyone who would be on their target list. Ultimately you ask him for time to consider his offer as your current life style is very satisfying already. He reluctantly allows you to consider his offer when you volunteer to stick around the region to reassure him that you won't try to escape. Honestly speaking, you enjoy spending time around people since it's rare to meet one who isn't scared if you. To top it, you appreciate beauty when you see it and Obito's scars give him a unique and rough beauty so you often just stare at him when he tries to convince you to join his crew. You try to tease him and have him breaking out of his serious and pessimistic character and when you do manage to fluster him, you break out in an amused grin, one that makes Obito's heart somehow flutter inside his chest.

🔥 You're very unique but also very different than he first thought you to be. Sure, you're a tad bit cocky about your abilities but also very chipper, witty and teasing around him as both of you warm up around each other more and more. When he tells you one time that you are very different from your first encounter with him, you reply with a bitter-sweet smile on your face that it isn't often that you meet a human who doesn't want to chase you out or scream in terror when seeing your true self and that you want to enjoy this as much as possible. You just do what you have to do to survive after all. Those words stick with him, haunt him as he starts worrying what has happened in your past and he attempts soon to question you persistently about it and whenever you refuse, his anxiety triples. What has happened to you? As his feelings start to grow, you soon realize that you might have made a mistake by hanging around him as he grows co-dependent.

🔥 So when you try to escape him, you make the biggest mistake of your life as he uses his Sharingan to trap you inside a genjutsu and abducts you. When you come back to your senses, he's already hovering over you, the proximity between you two frightening you a bit. His emotions are spilling over as he asks you in a raised yet shaky voice why you tried to leave him and betray his trust. You can't give him an answer, his outburst of anger, sadness and confusion overwhelming you. You don't need to answer though as your silence is enough for Obito to come up with his own answer to his own question. You're just worried about his safety, worried because you never received love from another human. He's right, isn't he? Darling, you don't have to be afraid or worried. He'll provide you with as many bodies as you need so you never have to starve and he will provide you with his love. Both of you were lonely throughout your life but now you have each other. You don't need anyone besides him anymore.

Shisui Uchiha

🍂 You despise humans. You've always despised humans for they killed your parents brutally and had no qualms to even harm you who was just a little child back then. You hate how pretentious they are, framing you as a cruel monster and a menace to their safety whilst they are the ones committing genocides, starting useless wars and murder more people than your entire family has ever done. They're the true monsters but of course they would never see it that way, instead thinking they are the only ones deciding the truth. You've spent years living alone, traveling from one place to another whilst hunting down people for food. A grim determination to survive for your parents the fire that fuels you til this day, even when a few Anbu are searching for you to hunt you down and possibly even kill you. You don't expect anything from their kind anymore, they're all just cowards hiding behind their excuse called justice and righteousness. Days of playing a nerve-wracking cat and mouse game finally ends when one particular member of the team catches you.

🍂 Any potential mask is hidden behind a mask of hatred and aggression as you stare at the man, his own face hidden behind a mask. You expect him to draw his katana, to use another katon on you to get rid of you yet he just observes you carefully. Another member of the Anbu eventually breaks the heavy silence, asks him why he isn't going for the kill. You aren't the only one shocked when the man, most likely the leader of the group, turns around and announces that he'll take you with him to the village. You're about to hiss at him that you won't let yourself get imprisoned when he reveals his face to you, young and handsome with red eyes staring straight into your own. Your brain turns foggy and you don't remember much after that. You only know that when you open your eyes the next time, you're in a cell with heavy chains restricting your movement. On the other side of the cell you recognize the same guy that knocked you somehow out together with an older man, his hat giving him away as the Hokage.

🍂 You refuse to be grateful to the man named Shisui for deciding to not kill you as you didn't strike him as an open threat. The clients were exaggerating things, he knew they were just terrified of the rumors that had clearly gone out of hand. He doesn't hold your angry behavior against you though as he knows already about the death of your parents, he can't blame you for having zero trust in anyone as you had to learn everything the hard way. Luckily Hiruzen thinks the same way as him and has decided to not kill you, against the will of some eldest of the council. Instead Shisui is in charge of keeping an eye on you and if you should harm anyone, he has orders to kill you. He doesn't want that so he always warns you, admits that he doesn't want to kill you since you aren't a bad person. You can only scoff, not believing a single word he says. He's just a human, you know how they are. He just wants to deceive you. You're bitter and negative, above all deeply hurt though and Shisui sees all of that. It somehow makes him want to prove to you that not all people are bad.

🍂 A small promise to himself to make you believe in some humans again. Shisui starts carefully and slowly to win your trust, being a pushover would be the worst thing he could be right now. A small quip here and there, convincing the council to give you some books or anything to not die of boredom inside your cell and slowly granting you with his help a little bit of restricted freedom. All those small seeds stretched over a couple of months slowly wear your guard down as you start listening to what he tells you and seem to look forward to his visits. You even join him in his jokes although you have a very dark and dry humor. Shisui's own feelings start changing slowly yet he hides it as he knows that he could be replaced as he might act on his emotions. The dark glare he gives someone if they suggest murdering you are instances where his true feelings reveal themselves though. A small part of him foolishly believes that he can somehow get this under control again. But the moment he actually manages to make you smile, a smile that lights up even the darkest corner of his heart, Shisui knows that he is utterly fucked.

Itachi Uchiha

🍡 You've always known that you might get killed for having to feed from humans in order to live. A thought that terrified you in your childhood has now become a calm acception with which you live everyday. You think there are worse people to get killed by when you see him for the first time. Calmly standing there and observing you from a distance where you were eating moments ago from the human. There's a silence lingering over the two of you as you just observe each other yet it's weirdly peaceful. When he turnd around though, no hint given about wanting to kill you, you call after him and ask him why he hasn't killed you. He pauses, head turning slightly back as he replies that you just do what you have to do to survive. He's heard about the stories of a ghoul residing in this area but he also knows about the fact that a lot of criminals have recently been disappearing from around here, people who have murdered people. The one you're feasting on right now is one of them.

🍡 The one you later on find out is named Itachi fascinates you. You've rarely met someone so serene and calm, he didn't freak out when seeing you nor looked at you with any hatred. Deep down you wonder if you'll ever see him again and fate seems to plan exactly that as you see him often around the forest where he seems to stay for a while. He doesn't mind your business and out of respect you don't mind his either although you long to talk to him once more. Strangely enough one day where rain falls down in heavy drops from the sky, your wish gets granted when you see him just standing outside, thoughtful eyes staring into the grey sky. You're captivated by the scene in front of you for a while only to come back to your senses when black eyes meet yours and he asks you politely if you'd like to join him instead of just standing there. Slight embarrassment to get caught staring is quickly replaced with slight giddiness when you two start taking a walk through the forest together, conversing here and there about things that come to mind.

🍡 From that day on, both of you start growing very close to each other. Neither of you two is very pushy and sometimes both of you just spend your time together in silence but it seems to be something both of you don't mind. In fact there's a weird comfort in the tranquil silence surrounding you two. Slowly both of you share stories about yourselves to the other one and neither you nor Itachi judge each other for their past. You tell him how you were orphaned at a very young age and had to kill people yourself and Itachi reveals his position in the Akatsuki and after a longer time of knowing each other, even the truth about his family and how he killed all of them except his brother. It's then that you understand why he didn't kill you the first time you two met. He deemed himself not worthy to judge you for your actions when he committed something much more hideous and worse. He becomes an emotional pillar for you just as much as you become one for him. You rely on each other.

🍡 Feelings start to blossom between you two, you just know that Itachi feels the same as you. You're hesitating though, unsure if a human and a ghoul should be together, especially considering Itachi's position. Although you have a hard time believing that Itachi is a criminal and killer. That all gets shattered the day you get caught by a gang of criminals and they manage to overpower you. You're beaten up and yelled at, typical words such as monster and death threats thrown your way but you're oddly calm. As one of them walks to you, an axe in his hand as he's about to behead you, you feel a twinge of regret though as Itachi crosses your mind. You close your eyes, wait for the embrace of death yet nothing happens. In fact everything happens so fast that you barely have time to process everything before everyone around you is almost or already dead and Itachi frees you from the ropes. You feel the slight tremors of fear and rage still going through his body before accusatory eyes glare at you, asking you silently why you would accept death just like that. You want to answer but when he presses his forehead against yours, Sharingan locked with your eyes, everything fades away.

Sasuke Uchiha

💙 Imagine Sasuke's surprise when he joins Orochimaru with the full conviction that the former Sanin wants him as his new body only to find out that he's one from two candidates to be bestowed with such an honor. There's someone else Orochimaru thinks would be a splendid new body for him and that someone is you. It isn't like Sasuke desperately wants to be the new vessel for the man, he has one goal and that is killing his older brother, no matter what. It's the notion that Orochimaru considers something equally powerful as his Sharingan that insults him and turns his attention fiercely to you, the one supposedly with even better skills. You're a year older than him and have been with Orochimaru for years now with him honing your abilities and skills to near perfection. You have a few screws loose yourself and fit in perfectly as you're everything but sane. You're introduced to Sasuke although you've already been informed about him and show only mild interest. Are you infuriating Sasuke on purpose?

💙 The Uchiha boy soon wants to fight with you, triggered with you brushing so easily over him. You aren't in the mood to do so yet Sasuke leaves you no choice, you realize that he'll attack you so or so. As the older person and the one more experienced with Orochimaru, you think that you should show the young boy his place. That fight serves as motivation for Sasuke forever after, a memory he will never be able to rid himself off. He doesn't know what he expects of you yet what you show him sets the base for his obsession later on. A ghoul is something he's only heard of from in horror stories and legends yet when your frightening eyes stare down on him, your wounds regenerating whilst his aren't, he realizes that in every legend is a sprinkle of truth. You leave him beaten in his room, telling him that he should respect you since he's the younger one, especially if he can't back up all his threats. For now he's nothing but a hateful boy who tries to hide his weakness behind aggressive words in your eyes. A humiliation that imprints itself deep inside his bones and heart.

💙 It's the start of Sasuke's obsessive fascination with you. As humiliated and angry as he is, he understands why Orochimaru would consider you as a potentially new vessel. You have abilities that no one could ever hope to learn or copy, your kagune and your regeneration only a few of them. Your diet doesn't bother him in the least and you don't feel ashamed for it either. After that day, Sasuke seems to follow you around like a little duckling, burning with zealousy to fight you again. Yet you refuse every time, make it clear that you'll only fight him if you deem him as worthy because as of now he clearly isn't in your eyes. Your skills are above him in almost everything as of now but you do watch him training whilst doing your own exercises with Sasuke keeping a close eye on you, analyzing him. With you in the same room as him though, he trains nonstop as he often hallucinates you watching him too. You might or you might not, you're a bit difficult for Sasuke to figure out.

💙 In a strange and twisted way he starts looking up to you so his heart is doing sommersaults when you finally signal him that you're willing to fight him again. The end result is a draw, both of you at the end of the fight on the ground with your curse marks activated. It's an improvement yet Sasuke is not satisfied. When you end up praising him for his performance, he feels strangely enough mildly better. From that day on, both of you train together as he trains you more in the arts of ninjutsu and genjutsu. Thanks to you being a ghoul, your taijutsu is already very good so you train him in that. You grow very close, only that you see Sasuke as your adorable albeit deranged junior whilst Sasuke sees you as an equal, as someone he wants to keep by his side. He's possessive and constantly tries to dominate you in order to change your view on him yet you brush it all off with an irritating yet delightful laugh. He won't lose you to Orochimaru though, he won't let you be that man's new vessel. Nor will he become his new body. After all he has to guarantee that you will never have anyone except him by your side.

[neonpropoganda]

I'm actually gonna cry.

The first time I've invested myself in a new show in ages and allowed myself to obsess over it and it gets fucking CANCELLED

I cant- I'm actually going to cry. I swear this always happens to the best shows. Maybe because they're not as generic and as appealing to a larger audience than other shows, but at least they're interesting. I'm.so sick of the same mediocre stories being told over and over again just packaged in a slightly different format, sure they're fine and they pass the time but wouldn't it be so much better if instead of 'passing the time' more shows were created for small unique audiences to enjoy with their full hearts? maybe they aren't as easy to find or made as fast, but when the right audience does find them, they impact that community just that little bit harder. As a species, we rely too heavily on empty plot lines and mediocre writing to pass the time because it's easier than living for ourselves. We care more about that than the media itself, which has led to entertainment companies creating 'easy' or bland shows instead of putting care into their creations to feed into our unhealthy habit.

I love media and how people can express themselves and share their interests and experiences through so many different forms but I just wish that the success of a show or any other creative work wasn't so heavily based on marketing to a wider range of 'customers' and more about the passion and connection that the right people can find through them.

Anywayyyss I don't know how I got into that rant all I really wanted to say is that I'm sad my silly little Greek mythology show got cancelled. I was really excited for season two </3 and ik that's probably to make room for a shitty boring show that a bigger amount of people might click on and netflix can profit more off of.

[autismprotocol]

Hey, sorry if this is long, but I really like what you guys are doing and have nowhere else to put my theories, so...

Firstly, sorry to be that person, but I actually think you mislabeled the entities for two episodes. Needles reads like an avatar of the slaughter to me. It's like Lietner said, the physical description is less important then the emotional or metaphorical. Needles' thing isn't "look at this scary trick I can do with my flesh body." It's "I am going to cause you intense pain at random by stabbing you with my needles. Please be scared of me :)"

I was also surprised you didn't mark Putting Down Roots as a filth statement. Illness, rotting alive, swarming flies, a deeply unhealthy romantic love. All reads as corruption to me.

Now let's get to my fun crack theory. Episode 7 almost reads to me like the point the powers breached into the new world. Think about it, hilltop road was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of artifacts and "people" (avatars) that map to many different powers (I counted stranger, slaughter, dark, filth, and possibly hunt among the artifacts present). The timeliness doesn't quite match up (we have a statement from the 1800s), but maybe the powers are capable of having retroactively always existed. Or maybe the fan theory that the entities are now the "hungers" that feed on obsession was true until the fears intruded into the world.

Omg thank you so much for the ask I absolutely love over analyzing this goofy lil podcast and i really wanted to have this board be a collaborative and community thing for all of us TMAG/TMAGP fans out there!

starting with the board corrections you pointed out you are absolutely right after reading this I ended up rereading the wiki entries about the Entities because its been a hot second since I've read up on those goobers and I've kinda forgotten how many little nuances that each one has. I had no idea how we missed the clear corruption tie-ins that were occurring in Samuel Webbers journal (Putting Down Roots) especially when you brought up his toxic relationship to his partner.

As with Needles before doing my reread about the fears I just assumed flesh because body modified with needles. but looking into it, sudden piercing needles more cleanly falls into slaughter.

I actually have this ongoing theory originated by my roommate and other blog contributor that the fears might have been scrambled when crossing dimensions. maybe because of this many minor powers have begun to branch out from the main 15 and with that hybrid avatars and entities have been created. With needles I think maybe they fall under the umbrella of slaughter and spiral because of the way they mentally toy with their victims. also could explain why needles has to convince the man on the phone that they're scary because this hybrid power may be new and people have not gotten fearful of it yet.

I'll be making those changes for next weeks board so thank you for pointing them out :D

on to your theory that would make sense especially since this episode (EP 7) is kind of serving as the catalyst for the story to shift into high gear. I think that if the Hilltop charity shop was the entrance point for all of the fears to enter the world it would make complete sense. Hilltop is the one place in the Magnus canon that people have reported traveling to different dimensions. also the date of the incident falls right about the time that Archives started early 2016 so the fears may have also gone back in time to when Jon became the Archivist in TMAs universe (since Jons death is the catalyst that forced them to jump dimensions.) I'm really liking where your theory is heading

also real quick if anyone has more info about the theory that Protocols world lived off of hunger and desire pre the fears appearing I'd love to hear more about that because I've never heard of the until now.

Again thank you so much for the ask I'm so happy you're liking what we're doing here and I hope you continue to share your thoughts and theories with this blog.

-Echo

[sorrowfulrosebud]

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: Yandere Skarlet headcannons with her human darling

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: Yandere, so please read with caution

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: mentions of murder, yandere and unhealthy behaviours, Shao Kahn mention

༒ First and foremost, Skarlet is your guard dog. Hands down, no questions asked. She is an attentive captor lover, and wants the two of you to have a happy life together.

༒ She is desperate for your approval. Her desperation and loyalty as her adopted father’s daughter shines through the relationship, trying her best to provide a stable lifestyle for you both.

༒ Skarlet does have a bit of a morbid obsession with your blood, I can’t lie to you. If you’re found misbehaving, she will knick you with her weapons to see your blood ooze. She hates seeing your blood when she’s… correcting… your behaviour. She would much rather you be a willing donor.

༒ Furthermore, she is not above using her magic to get you to behave. If you’re throwing a tantrum, she will use her abilities to make you frightened.

༒ INSANELY jealous. When she kidnaps you and brings you to the palace, she often gets Kitana to keep an eye on you since she knows Mileena would most likely try sniffing you out. She only trusts Kitana since she knows that she’s slobbering over Lui Kang.

༒ Despite her immense love for her father, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill him for you. She keeps you a secret from him, knowing he would kill you for “being a distraction”. Soooo, when Shao Kahn finds out, she claims you as a new test dummy for her powers. You make her feel somewhat human, despite her being a genetic experiment.

༒ She takes the best care of you, hands down. She is an attentive partner, but she is a little rough around the edges. I imagine she’s a lucid yandere too, so she knows that being kidnapped by Shao Kahn’s daughter would make anyone shit their pants so she’s very lenient.

༒ Skarlet just wants a more human like relationship. She wants to experience closeness and intimacy, to hold her darling’s hands and kiss them. She wants to experience domesticity, and learn how to relax instead of fight.

༒ She is wildly protective and keeps you on a very tight leash. She gets antsy and wound up if you’re not in her immediate sight.

“Angel? Where are you?” Skarlet called, scouring the palace for you. You were currently in the kitchen, sat on the counter as one of Shao Kahn’s chefs whipped you up a snack. It was surprising that Skarlet let you out of the room, but she did say that she cursed you so that your blood would boil to the point of explosion if you tried to leave.

“Angel?! Where- oh, there you are,” she sighed in relief. She walked over to you, hugging you tightly. She was careful of her powers, knowing she was quick to trigger when irritated.

“Oh, having something to eat, my love? We’ll eat in my chambers, we have many things to discuss,” she smiles as she pets your hair. The chef hurries up, handing you your food as Skarlet huffs impatiently.

The walk is long back to her chambers, her trying to prompt small talk with you. Your answers are curt and nervous, but she chalks it up to being shy with her since she’s your lover.

The door creaks loudly as it opens, light pouring into Skarlet’s bedchambers. She sits on her bed, petting the covers when she sees you stand timidly. You oblige shakily, tensing when her hand touches your shoulder. You don’t put up a fight when she gently pushes you to her lap, your head nestling deeply into her soft thighs.

She breathes deeply and contentedly, hands petting your head as she slowly feeds you the food from your plate. You couldn’t deny; the witch’s hands were pure magic. Your eyes fluttered as she smiled above you, feeling proud that the hands that cause damage and hurt are making you relax.

“I love you so much, my angel. I’ll kill anyone who tries to harm you.”

༒ And kill someone she will. If she even suspects that someone has hurt you, their entire body explodes before they have time to blink.

༒ If she’s in a bad mood, she is scary as fuck. She is grumbly and touchy, forcefully holding you to calm herself down.

༒ Overall, she’s a fairly tame yandere. She’s more lucid, but also incredibly protective and paranoid.

[mychlapci]

cybertronian weight gain means everything to meeeeeeee

i want cybertronians to be malnourish before and during the war and then once it's all over they go back home and finally so many mecha are able to get enough fuel in them.

i love it when weight gain is a sign of health and taking care of one's self. it's literally one of my favourite tropes of all time. literally nothing sexier than a character learning to feed themselves properly and their bodies finally at a good weight where it shows

i think blurr and sunstreaker are the best candidates for this. speedsters were intentionally deprived of fuel before the war because it made them faster and so blurr gets ordered to refuel more because he's at a dangerously unhealthy weight for his frame class.

and sunstreaker always gave up his energon to help his brother out because he could handle not getting as much fuel and sideswipe came first of course! sunstreaker's armour having to be refitted by a medic and he has such shapely thighs and a nice ass and a little bit of pudge around his waistline and tummy.

hmmm swerve would a good cook i just know it. he makes so much food for his beloved racer and always makes sure that he's refuelled on time.

it also helps that rubbing his spike and valve across blurr's new tummy just feels so good.

hmm so many mechs have to get their armour refitted because all that extra energon goes right to the tits. ratchet having rodimus sucking on his boobs just because they don't fit behind his windshield anymore. drift just going around the lost light barechested because primus gave him tits he's gonna show em' off!

magnus and megatron's boobs are big and saggy but so so soft. i bet cyclonus has a nice rack and tailgate likes fondling his big wife's tits at all possible hours of the day and i'm sure cyclonus likes tailgate's little boobs as well.

-burnt ice anon

I firmly believe a lot of cybertronians gain a shit ton of weight after the war because now they're fueling properly and aren't under so much duress. A lot of the speedster frames that were already super underfueled before the war now drink as much energon as they actually should and there suddenly getting fatter...

I do think Blurr has some issues with losing his perfect figure, but he's honestly only become more attractive to everyone around him now that his thighs have some real shape to them and his tummy's hanging out a lil bit. Besides, Swerve worships him all the same <3 and Sunstreaker's absolutely gotta get fatter, and i think he'd quickly realize that having bigger legs and ass looks good on him...

It's a titty renaissance after the war... so many mecha are getting fat in the chest area, pouches growing nice and heavy as they're suddenly filtering out a lot more energon than before. I know Ratchet's were already big, barely suited for his windshield, but now he has to get them milked a few times a day... Cyclonus is so old he's not used to his tits filling out with energon. They get bigger and softer and Tailgate is obsessed with them.

i do think Megatron's tits grow so much because he's also never properly fueled before. He never knew they could get this big. He has a hard time keeping them under his chest plate...