#i'll find whoever it is & fight them

[mimiso-soup]

i need to talk abt the yuri in nejishiki songs so badly. i already do it so much with friends, but i need the world to know

[be-xkyy]

How about the Yanderes training their little babies to be the perfect yanderes to keep an eye on their darling when they aren't around? And I'm talking them telling what you did down to how many breaths you take. Full on lil snitches to anything you do!!!

Hi dear anon, well I think everyone would have their kids keep an eye on reader in one way or another 🖤

Would the Yanderes train their children to watch over Reader?

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★

Masterlist

Yandere Farmer Link

Yes, this man would have his children watch you 24 hours a day. He would teach them from a young age to be completely aware of you when he is not around, he would train them to tell him everything, EVERYTHING, who comes home when he is not, if you talk to someone (whoever), who you call on the phone and he would even make sure his children inform him if you do something that he forbade you to do at some point and you did anyway thinking he wouldn't notice.

Every after he comes home with his older children following close behind after a long day of work on the farm, his younger children would already be waiting for him sitting on the porch steps, they jump to their feet when they see him approaching, they run up to him and start quickly telling him everything that happened while he was gone.

"Enough. Speak one at a time, we can't understand each other. So your mother was on the phone, huh? Well, everyone go feed the horses while I talk to your mother."

Yandere Cowboy Link

Yet another one who shamelessly makes his kids watch you, he finds it funny and might even joke about the fact that his kids watch you, he would call them "his little spies" but if you scold him he would tell you that it is a "cute" thing that his little ones care so much and that just shows how much he and the kids love you, he doesn't need anything else to convince you.

His older kids (four and five years old) come over to tell him everything you did that day, he listens intently while rocking his daughter (one year old) on his hip and kisses her chubby cheeks from time to time, he laughs as he hears his kids fight each other over who tells the "wrong" story, he ends up calming both kids down before they start fighting and get your attention.

"Come on, come on kids, stop fighting before mom finds out and scolds us all, how about we go see your beautiful mother and ask her what happened today?"

Yandere Dilf Link

I think in his case it's more about his worry, paranoia of losing you, something happening to you or you leaving him rather than really wanting to control you, his son and especially his daughters will tell everything about the day to their father since they hate seeing him so worried (he's a good father) if you are more reluctant to talk to him and still don't accept your new life, your children would try to keep their father in the loop.

When he comes back from work and steps foot inside the house his children would already be there ready to ease his worries about you, they would take him to the couch and he would start telling everything to their father who would relax when, he hears nothing strange or suspicious happened in his absence, he would pat his son on the head and kiss his daughters on the cheeks before getting up from the couch to look for you.

"Here you are, honey. The kids told me that today you planted the daisy seeds I gave you... I'll bring more for you tomorrow and if you want something special, just ask, okay, honey?"

Yandere Sugar Daddy Link

He has no shame as I said, he would have no qualms about putting security cameras all over the house so he can see everything you and the kids do when he is working in his office, he would even ask the kids in front of you what they did that day, what YOU did that day, even though he has already seen everything, of course. But he wants to see if they are honest.

His son is more vague with his answers, although the boy wants his father to feel proud of him, he does not want to betray you, his daughter on the contrary tells her father everything from what she did that day, what her brother did, what you did, what the maid did, what the neighbors did... she rants happily while her father listens attentively with a smile on his lips.

"Look at that dear, our little princess is quite an observer, she sees everything. And she would never hide anything from her daddy, right little princess?"

[psin314]

Angst you say? What types of angst were you planning for them??? Like what type of angst could these lovebirds have?! Will they break up??? Have an argument then one of them leaves for a contract and DIES??? LIKE WHAT ANGST!? DETAILS!!! ARE NEEDED!!!

okay. as you wish, anon!!!

full pic and explanation under the cut. tw very sad blood death very sad again

idk if it's canon or not…………….. i'll keep drawing them happy anyway.

the text is very messy sorry my english is ba*gunshot*

murat, 50, lucanis, 45. still crows, lucanis is the first talon, murat is his right-hand man.

at 49, murat was stabbed on a seemingly simple contract, he even hobbled home with a wound and almost gave lucanis a heart attack because murat acted as if nothing terrible had happened, but he could barely stand on his feet. he was stabbed close to the liver, close but not fatal. the fade prison did something to lucanis and after that he became more nervous, anxious or something, idk. overprotective, maybe. after that, lucanis said that's it, we will retire and move to the outskirts of antiva, away from all this. murat thought lucanis was joking and then realized he wasn’t joking at all. after a little fight, murat promised one year more okay, we'll solve this thefirsttalon problem and finally run away from here. oh and we'll get a dog, a cat, and a goat, whoever you want, my love. lucanis agreed.

10 months passed. they were either on a contract or on some kind of crow mission, but it turned out to be an ambush. they were ready for this, because there are attempts on their lives, like, all the time. but this time these guys were very well prepared and there were several times more of them. (maybe even spite couldn't do spite things and lucanis had to rely only on his skills. some kind of magical artifact.) after a short fight, lucanis' head was slammed against the wall and he was knocked out but was still conscious. murat killed this guy and the last one remained. and at the same time murat cut their throat, they stabbed murat in the chest with all their might with a terrible crunch. falling to the ground, they also pulled the knife out of murat. murat only had the strength to slide down the wall.

spite tried to lift lucanis but he couldn't, he kept repeating that murat was hurt. eventually lucanis regained consciousness and crawled to murat. he was holding his chest and looked really fucking bad. lucanis opened murat's collar and there was a deep wound with blood oozing out. the same blood was also pouring out of his mouth. lucanis said that he will come up with something right now, he will find help, murat just needs to hold on a little. he was panicking, not knowing what to do, he tried to cover the wound with both hands, but the blood was oozing right through his fingers. murat, with the last of his strength, said that he loves him very much and he is so sorry that he couldn't keep his promise. he covered lucanis' hands with his own. lucanis said that he doesn't give a shit about the promise, just live, please. but after these words, murat wilted and his hand slowly slid down to lucanis's wrist, and then hung.

lucanis had a very short stage of denial, because he had seen death many times and this was exactly it. at first he tried to lift him up, to carry him somewhere, but for some reason murat's body was now incredibly heavy, and it was as if lucanis had no strength at all. he tried to talk to him but he no longer answered. well… so he sat down next to him. he sat there for i don’t know how long. spite didn’t understand at all why the fuck lucanis was just sitting there and doing nothing. why didn’t he help him. probably spite is still somewhat confused about death, he doesn't fully understand the death of mortals.

i don't know what will happen to lucanis next, everything is so bad, it's horrible if you think about it. rook was his first, in many things. murat was his best friend, assistant, support. he was afraid that murat could be killed, but he wasn't afraid when murat was next to him, because together they can handle anything. and then this happens… plus spite harbored a grudge against him. he blamed lucanis for not saving rook. lucanis tried to explain to him that murat had already died and it was no longer possible to bring him back. but spite is spite, he stood his ground. and soon lucanis also began to blame himself. what he will do next, i can't even imagine.

the end!!

[l0vergirls]

take the reins

you've dug too deep, but there doesn't seem to be a downside to that.

batfam x reader

wc: 1382

a/n: i started watching mr. robot (plz no spoilers im literally on the 3rd episode) and fell in love with it and .. started thinking !!!.. & this is lowkey set up like the start of a series, but i'll see how it goes considering i have nothing plannef at all. .. pls do send asks about this story and this reader since i would love love love to expand on it hehe

It was as if time had stopped for a moment.

You found out a lot of secrets. Secrets that can put people behind bars. What do you do with those? Send in an anonymous tip to the rare non corrupt cop, of course. You like to think of it as being a non-violent vigilante. Instead of running around Gotham in a costume and beating the bad guys within an inch of their life, you sit comfortably behind your computer screen and dig.

You dig for anything and everything you can find on everyone you encounter. Why? Maybe it's the unrelenting feeling of needing control, or the fear of simply not knowing.

By breaking something down to its source code, you're baring it all; the rights, the wrongs, everything that makes or breaks you. You won't get caught off guard if you just know how something— someone works.

Sometimes, you find nothing noteworthy. Your neighbor in 405, for example. The first time you had passed her, she sneered at you. That was good enough reason to hack her.

The woman at 405 is Emma Davis, aged 35, 5'7, date of birth: May 15th. Studied at NYU, worked a desk job at some company in Star City before getting relocated to Gotham. Yeah, I wouldn't be ecstatic either. Brings home a different person every week. Occasionally smokes weed. Also your occasional hook up. Don't make decisions while intoxicated.

Emma Davis is just a run of the mill office worker, with the same vices as most people. Nobody special.

But this? This could get you in serious shit, if you aren't in for it already.

Bruce Wayne, date of birth: February 19th, 6'2, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, adoptive father of multiple children, and... crime fighting vigilante at night.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

It wasn't hard to connect the dots after uncovering the man behind the cowl; you figured all his children were Robins at one point. Even the dead one. Except the dead one isn't really dead, is he?

Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne— all crime fighting vigilantes. What a family. You wonder who else you can unmask.

Fuck, you need to go home. Doing this at a coffee shop was a mistake, but damn it, their connection was fast. Too many people, too great a chance of a breakdown.

Close all the tabs, all the windows, scrub yourself clean of all evidence of intrusion. Don't leave a trace.

Shut down the laptop. Leave.

The sun is still out, they wouldn't be around yet. Everyone knows they all work at the dead of night.

You drown out the meaningless conversations around you, and you're on autopilot, heading to the apartment that you call home.

<>

The Waynes pride themselves on their secrecy. Hiding their vigilante alter egos behind carefully crafted lies. They built walls as tall as the buildings with Bruce's name plastered across the front.

It was a little too late when Alfred Pennyworth received an alert from the Batcomputer. Alfred sent all the vigilantes a message, and they came running in. After all, a security breach is detrimental to all of them.

The butler found a location, The Last Drop. A café right in the middle of the city.

Bruce looked through all of the files, recordings, reports— everything. The hacker didn't take anything, and didn't make copies. He deduced that whoever it was simply read.

That's no good either. Someone out there is aware of who they are, who the man under the mask is.

"Alfred, pull up CCTV footage at The Last Drop at the time of the hack."

On the screen were the grainy videos of the café, with at least 6 different angles. It was fairly crowded, filled with busybodies coming and going through the door. With 7 people on their laptops, they could narrow down the search for the culprit. But not by much.

Until two figures left the café at the same time, approximately a few minutes after the breach, but neither of them were sitting next to each other.

It was one or the other.

Tyler Hess, banker. Went to school in the city, stayed in the city. Clean records, comes from an upper middle class family. Nothing of note.

[Y/N] [L/N], cybersecurity engineer at LabyrinthTech, and one of the more favored employees. Born and raised in Gotham, graduated college a year early, and by all accounts, highly intelligent. Clean records, but skilled enough to be the one behind the hack.

"Well, I think we found our suspect. What're you gonna do about it?" Jason bristled, apprehensive that this person knew all about him.

"'You'? What, you've got your own plan?" Dick retorted.

"Maybe. Not like I'm gonna hurt the little thing," he spat. It was invasive enough that you'd hacked into their records, he thinks a little scare is warranted.

Bruce interrupted, "No, I'll deal with this. They accessed our data for a reason."

<>

It was inevitable that one of them was gonna pay you a visit tonight.

After locking yourself in the apartment, you figured a quick nap would be a good distraction from it. And it was, for a couple hours. Upon waking, you walked into the living room and lo and behold, vengeance himself was standing in your apartment.

"Can't say I didn't expect this, really," you spoke carefully, avoiding his gaze.

He grunted, "Then you know why I'm here. Why'd you do it? What do you gain from figuring out our identities?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a shadow moving across your window.

"Nothing. I just got curious. All billionaires are shady, and they're all hiding something. You were, by far, the most suspicious," you let out a breath. "Don't worry, that's not what anyone else thinks, at least not anyone that can do what I do,"

You hear another voice joining the conversation.

"Do what? Invade people's privacy? You should really be careful where you stick your nose in, hacker."

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over. God, this guy's intense even through that helmet.

Jason Todd, aka Red Hood, date of birth: August 16th, date of death: April 27th, 6'0, occasional smoker, former Robin. Likes pot roast.

Batman— no, Bruce Wayne interjected, "Suspicious?"

"Might just be me, but I found it hard to believe the richest man in the world would be throwing so much money into this dump of a city without an ulterior motive," you look at one of the ears on his cowl, it was almost cute, "Every other rich guy did. Whatever money they put out, it came back to them ten times bigger. Nobody really felt for this city."

That was your angle? The two men went still at your somber admittance. Sure, Gotham wasn't the best city, but that's why they did what they did, wasn't it? They had the slightest urge to show you that they really did care. And perhaps show off a bit.

Jason shifted, "You did it because of a gut feeling?"

You shrugged, "It was right, wasn't it? Something was up, just not... in the way I expected,"

It wasn't everyday you uncover a vigilante that turned out to be Gotham's beloved billionaire.

"Anyway, congratulations on not being an entirely bad guy. 'm not gonna tell anyone," you murmured, "not like anyone's gonna believe me,"

You see Red Hood look at Batman, a silent conversation was, no doubt, occurring.

The two vigilantes head for your window— do these guys ever use the front door?

Bruce turns to you, "Try not to do it again,"

"No promises," you huffed. "But your defenses could use some work. Comms, body cams, and other recorded footage— they were just there."

Red Hood's helmet glinted as he tilted his head at you. You shivered.

"Right, won't do it again," and that was that.

It was like they were never here.

What a night.

<>

You scrutinized the letter in your hands.

A job offer for a position you've never interviewed for. At Wayne Enterprises.

Batman works quick, that's for sure.

The pay was good, very good. You reckon there wasn't a single complaint about that.

Hm, they're making sure you're under their watch. If you were a threat, you'd be easier to keep an eye on. Easier to control.

You weren't one to give up control, but potentially having access to the city’s… well, everything, was something too tempting to give up.

Looks like LabyrinthTech was losing their best employee.

[kings-highway]

haikyuu airport headcanons bc im in an airport. no particular order. shipping involved.

- Daichi has never missed a flight and somehow everyone manages to make fun of him for this. never forgets to pack anything. always finds his gate on time. "lmao loser," Suga says, missing 2 bags and lost as fuck across the airport. he will not make his flight.

- Hinata and Kageyama navigating an airport is nearly a crisis. They can never agree on the right way to go and especially during layovers will often end up outside of security. The first time they travel with Tsukki + Yama as a group it's like a goddamn miracle because they dont need to rush and everything goes smoothly.

- on that topic, Tsukki and Yamaguchi have travel down to a science. these bitches have checklists and schedules and just get in and out. Tsukki keeps the boarding passes and Yamaguchi counts the bags and they split snacks on the plane and just nail the whole affair

- Noya and Asahi are the most experienced travelers and have been to so many airports and you'd think this makes them good at airports and it does not

- Ushijima has never gotten through security without being searched.

- Oikawa likes airports an unreasonable amount. Bitch thrives in liminal spaces. "Lets go check out which stores are open," he says, as Iwaizumi begs him to let him sit down and nap during their layover

- Kenma has airport anxiety. "We're going to miss our flight. What if our gate changes?" What if there's a delay?" He does not like putting his schedule into the hands of an Airline. Rightfully so, he loses his luggage an obscene amount.

- Kageyama and Hinata fighting and causing a ruckus in the airport and security has to come over to talk to them

- Tendou and Ushijima are generally really prepared and on top of things, but they just seem to have the worst luck. They got stranded at an airport during a layover for like 14 hours and went through every stage of grief. It doesnt help that Ushijima is really practical and good at accepting circumstances ("I'll just sit here and wait") but Tendou is highly emotional ("I'm going to eat the next airline associate that tries to talk to me.")

- Daichi is often seen standing alone in airports. This is because no matter who he's traveling with, he's probably waiting for them to catch up.

- Aran thought he was a good and functional adult until he saw Kita's itinerary for their travel plans and how neurotic he was about making sure everything on time. Kita will pre-measure and weigh all luggage to know exactly whats going on. Looking at airport layouts days before to memorize what needs to be done.

- Atsumu and Osamu have never made a flight on time. The best they can hope for is sprinting across the airport at full-tilt. This is a common occurance.

- Oikawa makes friends wherever he goes so he doesnt mind long layovers, he'll just sit and chat with whoever is around to pass the time, but one time he did leave with a group to check out a store without saying anything and Iwaizumi was lost for 30 minutes

- Asahi has so much anxiety with airports. Too many people. Too many deadlines. Bad vibes. One time a guy in an airport gave him incorrect directions to a gate and he missed his flight and he has never recovered.

- Kuroo "Yeah we have tons of time" Tetsurou is a menace to airport staff and has never budgeted enough time.

- Tsukki is a master at packing efficiently and this is exclusively due to wanting to avoid others complaining. He can pull basically anything out of his carry-on to prevent whining on a 5 hour flight. Yamaguchi uses him like a vending machine.

- Daichi once got mistaken for an airline worker and ended up with a whole group of people he was helping find their gates

- Bokuto loves traveling and flying. He finds it so fun and exciting. This is probably why Akaashi hates traveling and flying.

- Suga secretly likes layovers because he secretly hates planes and cannot stand sitting still for that long. He always pretends it such a hassle to have to wait but its the best part of the travel day when he gets to buy himself a muffin and bother Daichi for entertainment.

- Ushijima, Daichi, Kenma, and Asahi are all team "No PDA in an Airport!!!!!" whereas Tendou, Suga, Kuroo and Noya are all team "We have 2 hours to kill let me make out with you!!!!"

- Yamaguchi has sooooooo many reward points. Tsukishima doesnt even know what he's doing to get them, he's just a master of good deals and specials.

- Mile High Club Members: Iwaoi, Bokuaka, Ushiten, and Asanoya

- Wannabe Mile High Club Members who cannot convince their boyfriends it'll be okay: Suga

- Wannabe Mile High Club Members that will NOT admit they think about it: Yamaguchi, Hinata, Kageyama, Aran

... well im boarding soon so thanks for reading ig

[howly]

headcanon: the boring perfect self control vampire bella thinks she has is a LIE and at one point she caught human scent mid-hunt and snapped. it made her so wild she had to be restrained to the point where things got ugly

i know edward would never dare to do it and meyer would never dare write it and in canon newborn vamp bella would be far stronger than him...

actually. you know who would be stronger than one young vampire? two old vampires. and who would act practical in a critical situation? emmett

imagine edward and bella heading out for a hunt and emmett being like "do you guys mind if i tag along? i feel like snacking". bella's a little mad at the prospect of suddenly having a third wheel (homegirl wasn't planning on just. hunting) but alice gets a weird hunch and goes "no, no, em should go with you" ok nostradamus. he's going.

fast forward they're in the mountain. bella finds having emmett third-wheeling is not half bad. in emmett's head, lowkey it's bella who's the third wheel after so many decades of him hunting together with edward. but nevertheless, it's so fun with her around. all is good until they catch the scent of an entire group of friends hiking just a couple of miles from here, away from all civilization. emmett and edward stop in their tracks, ready to turn around. bella, her guard down, loses it and stars running towards the group, so they have no choice but to charge at her. while strugging to keep her in place, they try to talk her down but she doesn't listen. she doesn't care, she's strong enough to fight them off, and she fights and claws and hisses and breaks bones of whoever gets in her way because there are so many pulses just a few minutes' run away from her and their scent is so sweet and burning and calling, calling, calling to her

while struggling to restrain her, emmett grunts "we have to disarm her". edward catches the image in his head and shouts "no! you can't literally disarm bella!". well, how the hell do you expect us to stop her from massacring all those hikers? we'll just put her back together afterwards. duh!, emmett thinks, and knows he has to act fast so he goes in while bella's busy yanking away from edward's grip and tears off a limb. or two. all 3 of them may or may not be screaming.

a few moments later edward's pinning bella to the ground, holding her face between his palms, forcing her to look at him. her thrashing is not so effective with limited body parts. part of him wants to yell at emmett but that's kind of low priority. he's holding on to the last of his composure while he looks down at bella's feral expression and chants 'baby. i'm so sorry but i'll give you your leg back after you calm down a bit. i won't be able to outrun you if you go chasing after those people now. please calm down. i love you. hold your breath'

just then she listens, stops breathing and her vision refocuses. for the first time she realizes she was on her way to slaughter a bunch of strangers and she broke the arm of the man she loves at least three times when he tried to stop her. she wants to open her mouth and apologize but that will require her to breathe and possibly go crazy with thirst again. so she stares back at edward's panicked eyes and nods at him, her own red eyes just as full of terror.

then she looks over his shoulder and sees emmett waving her severed leg in the air like it's a baseball bat. "hey, did you know that rose wears the same shoe size?"

[meownotgood]

as above, so below. / death sworn!viktor x reader, 18+, reader is fem bodied, reader uses gender neutral pronouns (but is referred to as 'farmgirl' once), mild violence / death, occult themes, blasphemy, power imbalance, size difference, fingering, riding, consensual mind control, mild painplay (viktor brands a sigil onto reader), praise kink, too much plot and feelings, death sworn viktor is hot and this is my explanation. happy halloween! word count: 16.5k

read on ao3

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I felt it again. Weight at my shoulder, honed talons digging in. The same pitch black feathers fluttered at the fickle edge of my vision. A hand tightened onto my neck, onto my soul, measuring each foolishly clumsy beat of my heart. As the invocation lost strength, so too did the raven evanesce. 

I am getting closer. Death is taunting me, stringing me along with His cold palm outstretched — because He knows, to any end, I will follow. 

The candle wax from the sigil burned my palm quite deeply. I'll search for some cloth bandages to wrap it in, lest the villagers see the marks and begin their endless chatter. Hopefully the farmgirl will not be too concerned. I must continue to exercise caution; I cannot afford any crucial mistakes, not when I am so close to unveiling the truth. 

They will all understand, in time. Death, under no circumstance should you doubt my steadfast faith. My fealty will guide me, and if it does not, I will gladly become acquainted with the cold jaws of the underworld. 

— V. October 29, 1618. 

— 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

The simple persistence of your pounding heart is not-so-simple when the air is thick with smoke, when the sky is dark and knotted with storm clouds, and when each heavy, quickened step slams your boots into the earth firmer than before. Running. You have to keep running, faster and further than those who might still be chasing you. 

Sticks and fallen autumn leaves crunch under your feet like the breaking of bones. Your legs ache. Your necklace sways with your steps: thin twine with a small skull fastened on the end, tied deftly between the eye sockets. It thuds against your chest, rivaling every pound of your heart. Thunder booms overhead, the weight of it shuddering through you, promising a bleaker fate. The air runs crisp with coming rainwater. 

You nearly trip over a large fallen log, stopping, gasping, as you hurriedly lift your cape to jump over. Shouts ring out from behind you; This way, in the forest! 

Your jaw tightens. You take the opportunity to discard your lantern, tossing it as hard and as far as you can into the bushes. You stumble into a run again, leaving the light behind. The light of the dull, contained flame, the distant lights of the town, and the threatening flickers of the fading lit torches. 

You are going to die. 

It's contradictory for you, really. For ages, amidst your journaling and your research and your rituals, Death never once scared you. No, it enamored you. 

Where others saw a cruel end, a violent finality, you saw a chance, a hope. A moth emerging from a delicate cocoon; a new form of beginning. Your town would never accept anything they deemed as heresy, but you knew Death was meant to be revered. The Gods of the living quake at the sound of His name, merely because they know they cannot fight. They'll never be strong enough to stop the fate that will one day befall each and every one of them. 

Those Gods no longer watch over you. Their favor was lost the moment Death opened His arms to usher you in. 

You want to curse yourself for acting so foolishly. You shouldn't be afraid. This was the fate you wanted, the fate you accepted. It just wasn't supposed to happen now. Not now, not to you, not to him. 

And there is a very, very strong difference between admiring, between watching the maw of a flytrap open to sever the heads of whoever steps close, and finding yourself waltzing into the snare. 

The thick forest thins into a clearing, adorned with large, ominous structures encased in shadow — and your vision blurs, your ankle catching on a twisted bundle of roots. Thorns scrape your skin. You're just barely able to catch yourself with your hands as you fall, but damp dirt still cakes onto your palms and your knees. You brush some on your cheek, when you clumsily wipe your tears with your knuckle. 

Wind whistles in your ears playfully, mockingly. It led you here, despite knowing you hadn't intended to come back. Of course, this wouldn't be your first visit to the gallows today. The soldiers following at your heels must've been hoping they'd drag you here themselves.

You push yourself back up onto unsteady feet. Reaching up, you pull your hood back over your head, and desperately try to regain your lost breath. Puffs of frigid, wispy air spill from your mouth with each heavy exhale. Your cheeks and your fingertips are freezing. The forest shakes, trees rustling all around you. The gallows are quiet, aside from the creak of old wood, and the sway and subsequent thump of hanging rope. For the first time in ages, you are alone. Really, truly alone. Perhaps the guards have finally lost you. 

This moment of respite does nothing but remind you of everything you've been running from. As the trees rustle and the stormy sky bellows, your feverish mind can't help but repaint the picture you saw here at sundown, just a few hours prior. 

Deep shadows cut into the spaces between the crowds of people. The gallows were frantic. Your clasped hands shook in front of you, your face obscured by the shape of your hood. Rays of dying light framed the display: shades of blood red, vivid orange. Your heart shook your ribs, your vision spun. Your ears rang sharply as the people yelled and chanted. Yet, you refused to look away, as frightened as you were, even as they brought him to the stage. 

You won't turn away, not from this. Not when your throat ached from the sharpness of blood and bile, the executioners cutting through his shackles and shoving him forwards. Even though it was foolish, even though it went against what he told you, your feet stayed rooted to the ground, unable to move if they wanted to. 

You prayed for the first time in years — to the Gods, to Death, to anyone. It didn't matter who, because none of them listened. So you watched, useless and wide-eyed as the guards secured the noose to the structure. As a priest chanted some speech about witchcraft and the Gods and the occult. As his breath caught, his gaze dulled, sparks left him like doused flames and then- and you… 

And you were powerless, as you were from the start, as you always have been. 

Your heart twists: a weak, wilted rose, pathetically curling in on itself. Gently, you reach into the pocket on your cape. Your fingertips feel the crisp, folded edges of the note Viktor left you. It's still there, thankfully. You'd hoped you wouldn't lose it in the chase.

You've no need to read it for another countless time. You can recall what it said by memory. 

It's done. I have tried, but I cannot fight this. 

Swirly, cursive letters filled the small scrap of torn parchment, forming hauntingly familiar handwriting, etched in blood red ink. They blended into scattered, barely-readable puddles, where your tears had already fallen to fill the page. Don't follow… they will search… find you again… I promise. 

I promise. You would never doubt his words, you never have. But it's difficult, it's painful. How are you supposed to believe him, when you already watched him die? 

With a shudder and another meager breath, your legs buckle. You fall to the ground, landing on your knees in a weak, futile heap. Your heart pounds, splintering from within your chest — like clusters of quartz and sharp shards of stained glass. 

None of this feels real. You touch your fingertips to your pinched temple, your mind whirling and pounding with nightmarish intensity. Viktor should be here. He still has so much to accomplish, this wasn't supposed to happen when you aren't ready to lose him. Gods. You miss him so, so much. 

Viktor is — was — your closest friend, your partner and your backbone. You wouldn't doubt if his name was etched into each notch of your spine. Honestly, you would've followed him anywhere, with bloodied hands, or with a bleeding heart. 

You were a farmer. A peasant, tilling the fields in your uncle's farm with pennies as payment. Your parents left nothing for you after they died, no bequests or last wishes, so you accepted the offer your relatives had left you — a free place of residence, in exchange for helping on their farm. 

It was a good deal. Your only deal. But it was plain. It was monotonous. You hated how each day felt the same, blending together until all of it was useless, unimportant, and easily forgotten. You wanted to do more, be more. Constantly, you longed for a day when your uncle would quit scolding you, when your illusory chains weren't so tight, when everyone in your town would stop spouting the same useless drivel, and finally open their eyes to the truth right in front of them. 

Viktor put a blissful end to your cycle of tedium. 

He came to your village from a country you hadn't yet heard of. You learned from the townspeople's gossip that he was an inventor, and a renowned alchemist in his youth. Although his studies are mostly kept private, as of late. A councilman had died not too long ago, falling ill out of nowhere, just for his body to mysteriously go missing. Viktor had come to your little town to go through with his own investigations. 

Once he was finished, it was onto the next village, to follow the thread of unexplained deaths that continued to lead him from region to region. You were the one who convinced him to stay. 

Viktor was intelligent. Far too clever for his own good, really. He was handsome. Captivating. Tousled strands of dark hair framed sharp features, tired eyes, and pretty, perfectly-placed moles. Pale skin accentuated crisp blue veins, rivers of cobalt that ran through his thin arms and delicate hands. Intricate rings with various symbols carved into their shape adorned each of his fingers. 

The first time you met, your gaze darted everywhere, unsure of which detail to focus on. You noticed the cane he kept at his side, the wooden handle carved into the elaborate shape of a raven's skull. His palm ran cold when he shook your hand. And when he spoke, introducing himself in a polite tone, his words fluttered through you like butterfly wings — carrying the lilt of an unfamiliar, smooth, intoxicating accent. 

To say you were smitten was an understatement. 

It was a bit foolish, in hindsight. Your farm work grew neglected, as you spent less time at home, and more days with Viktor. 

Far before you met him, to ease the monotony that riddled your day to day life, you spent a lot of time reading. You studied anything and everything you could find. You searched for solace in the journals about Death that you'd steal from the library, because neither the librarians nor your family approved of you reading them. 

Viktor was studying the same thing, examining Death's grand designs on his own time. Missing bodies, the phenomenon of fallen soldiers rising from the dead, tales of people who'd almost died and claimed they'd caught a glimpse of the underworld — all of it had to mean something. Occurrences like this are far from mere coincidences. 

You thought so too. From then on, you just… clicked. Each fragile moment felt important, every conversation with Viktor felt effortless, it felt freeing. Finally, you had someone who understood you, after ages of detachment, years of speaking to yourself in a journal because no-one cared to listen. 

Viktor read through each and every page of your notes, praising your findings. He excitedly murmured that yes, you've made so much progress, you should be proud. And this is precisely what he needs to take the next step in his research. If your notes were combined with his, surely the both of you could reach a breakthrough. 

And so, you were friends. Partners, even. You admired him, respected him. The both of you were close in age, and it was easy to bond over your shared ideals. Especially when the two of you trusted no-one more than each other. 

You worked together, furthering your research in secret, working on inventions as a front, while performing seances to try to speak with Death yourselves. 

Viktor drowned himself in his work, far more than you could. To a dangerous degree, sometimes. He believed in multiple planes of existence, that the end was merely a beginning. Now, it would seem like Death held more untamed power than he initially thought. Death is planning something, perhaps hoping to gather more followers, or to overthrow the Gods of the living. 

Those who did not worship Him would soon learn to kneel. This was the future Viktor truly sought. 

An end that planned to devour. A glorious future that flipped life on its head, blessing His followers with touches of soft rot and violent warmth. None of it scared him, so it didn't scare you. You trusted Viktor, and wherever he led you, you were prepared to follow. 

He knew his research was forbidden. Those in the village could never know the truth of what he was studying, and he intended to keep it concealed until the time was right. The strange happenings that had been occurring throughout the town already had people on edge. Any death-worshippers or cultists or witches, whatever the council wants to call them, will be dealt with as soon as they're discovered. 

Mercy wouldn't be afforded. Still, it was a risk he was willing to take. 

You both thought you covered your tracks well. Viktor never told anyone what he was studying — not a soul besides you. 

Perhaps it was because the inventions he made would've changed the lives of the less fortunate. The council are as selfish as they are precautious. Perhaps they were suspicious of him from the moment he came here, and if you hadn't convinced him to stay all those years ago, he'd still be alive now. 

Your heart aches, killing you from the inside before anyone else could do it for you. Blades of grass tickle your knees, sharp wind brushes your skin with all the gentleness of a cut from a knife. The trees whisper to the darkened sky, which answers with murmurs of loud, rolling thunder. Faint droplets of rain begin to patter onto your shoulders. Your bones run cold with a deep, freezing chill. 

By the time you arrived at his study, there was nothing that could be done. The door was busted open, his belongings scattered and toppled. There was no trace of him, nothing but the note he left for you, tucked into a stack of journals on the desk you once shared. 

Shakily, you breathe a slow, uncertain sigh, and you reach up to absently clutch your necklace. It does little to calm your budding nerves. You run your thumb over the notches in the bone, the surface damp with small raindrops: a raven's skull. The necklace was a gift, mimicking the motif that once adorned his cane. A present from Viktor to thank you for all you achieved together. 

So we match, he mentioned, placing the necklace into your palms, just barely brushing your skin with his fingertips. 

Where will you go now? You can't return home, your relatives surely know the guards are after you, and they won't hesitate to turn you in. Viktor hid your involvement as much as he could, but even if the guards only planned to question you, one look through his notes and journals and you would be finished. You can't take that risk. 

You heard that when he was captured, he never denied any of the claims they tossed at him. They were the fools, and they will burn for it, they will die for their single-minded beliefs. Death holds no mercy for those who dare to defy Him. 

But would Death allow a merciful end for his most devoted followers? A small part of you, battered and bruised, foolishly hopes so. 

Wind whips around you, and raindrops pelt your back and your skin. The sky splits with a fervent crash of lightning; your shoulders tense, as you fight the sharp, rabbit-quick beating of your heart. It thumps in your own ears, just as loud as the rock of the trees and the hammering of the rain. You can't stay like this. You have to keep moving, have to keep breathing. 

Once again, it isn't easy. You attempt to rise to your feet, but your legs tremor, unsure if they can carry you any further. 

Your mind wraps around to the same thoughts over and over again. To the gallows, to the pain in your chest, to Viktor. A sinking sensation fills your stomach, a mantra that repeats with the whisper of the wind: you aren't meant to be here. It digs underneath your skin, pleading a command to run, to get out as quickly as you can and not stop until you are far, far, far gone. 

You almost manage to move. You stare down at your knees, blinking, fighting against your misty vision. Your grip tightens on your necklace until your knuckles are aching. The storm echoes around you, tugging at the trees, howling through the gallows. Rain drips down your face to blend with your tears, mercilessly hitting your back to throb against your spine. 

If you were to get up, it would hardly matter. This is it. You have nothing left to return to. No-one left to fight for. You failed him, just as you failed all you believed in. Darkness seeps in, and the moon shimmers, as its crescent dips into the highest point in the sky. 

Perhaps all you can do is wait for the night to take you. 

Though, the darkness does not. Instead, it sparks. 

With your head tilted down, your gaze focused on the ground, you watch the rustle of the earth underneath you. Faint flickers of blue fire start as patient wisps. Curling at your fingertips, hardly allowing themselves to be noticed. Then, all at once, they begin to feed on the thin blades of grass, surging into flames that seek to swallow everything in their path. 

You hurriedly stumble back. You support your weight on your palms, before the fire can reach your knees. The gallows are scorching before you, all of their glory engulfed in a sea of deep blue flame. It defies reason, the sight has your heart lodging into your throat until it's practically choking you; the flames refuse to falter under the rain, causing the wood to creak and decay. 

Ash crumbles down and coats the dirt. A wooden beam at the top of the structure comes crashing down, hitting the ground with a deafeningly loud crack that rivals the resounding boom of thunder. 

Fire, there's so much fire, it's all you can see, all you can breathe in. The wind tosses your fluttering hood from your head. Blue flames ripple at the edges of your vision, reminding you of burning parchment. 

You can't move. There's nothing you can do but watch, listening to the pound of your own heartbeat as the flames continue to surge. Oh, you were wrong, so wrong. Your end was never meant to come at the hands of some insignificant soldiers. Right here, right now is where you'll finally crumble. 

Death has come to take you for himself. Fitting, for the two of you to die here together. 

As the gallows crumble, at the center of the clearing, a sigil inscribes itself into the dirt. It burns in the same shade of deep blue, scrawling a few feet in front of you to a careful, intricate pace. 

It starts at the outer edge, forming a circle encased by runes. They bear resemblance to runes you've studied, but none of them are decipherable. The mark shines brighter when it completes, forming a triangle at its center: the symbol for life at its apex, the symbol for death at its side, and a final, skull-shaped symbol carving into the last point. 

An inferno manifests from the symbol. Thunder splits the sky, the tempest tugs at your clothes and toys with your necklace — but the fire changes, the flames form a shape. A staff rises from the ground, lit by a radiant, glowing crystal, grasped by a large, armored hand. 

Blue smoke wisps ominously from the newly-summoned figure — A man? Is it even a person, could it be Death itself? The occult books you've studied told you that if one were ever to look upon Death, their heart would instantly cease to beat. But yours is still pounding, still knocking at your ribs and making your blood race. 

The sigil calms, giving off a dull glow underneath his boots. His figure is framed with a crimson hooded cape, much like yours. Bulky pillars of armor rest on his shoulders. An eye with a sharp, slit pupil curves from a line of smoke impaled into his back. It flickers over you, regarding you with something all-knowing. 

Surely he stands several feet taller than you, and from this position — you're cowering on the ground, your knees folded like a skittish baby deer's, your eyes wide and your breath catching — he practically towers over you. His staff hums from the weight of what must be unfathomably powerful magic. Panic laces through you, your lungs aching, your throat dry. But your head also spins with intrigue, with eagerness. 

Your research was founded upon hoping an event like this would happen to you. And here it is, a true being of Death, formed right before your eyes. Watching you, sparing you. 

So why, why are you still alive? 

The figure's head tilts. Raindrops, fewer in number, patter onto his head and tap against his armored shoulders. He's clearly gazing down at you. You aren't met with a face, nor with anything human. Instead, you're forced to stare into the intimidating outline of a glowing, skull-shaped mask. 

"I believe," His fingers drum against the length of his staff, and his voice echoes through your mind, drowning out the raging storm, converging with your own racing thoughts, "I urged you not to follow me." 

You freeze. Everything stops, until the skip of your heart in your chest is all you can hear. Your veins run as cold as an icy, frozen river. 

Oh. That's Viktor's voice. 

— 

Time seems to ebb away much faster when you know it has afforded you boundless infinity. 

For six months, I have been Death's herald, and with each passing day, I have felt the veiled web of power within me fester. I do not regret my decision. Flesh was nothing more than a weakness to be shed. But it is gradually growing impossible to tell where Death ends, and I begin. 

Vitality. Depravity. Desire. Every sensation burns within the fire that replaced my heart, forceful and inescapable. 

A part of me does fear the way Death has begun to evolve my mind and my vessel, but I believe my partner understands what I have become. Foolish as they are. 

My previous theories will need to be amended. The mind, the soul, and the body are separate, as well as equal. It is in the palms of another where the pieces that remain of you can truly coalesce. 

— V. Unknown Date, 1619. 

—

The solemn throne room, which once brimmed with beauty and life, now settles under the thick weight of darkness and demise, falling silent in the wake of your destruction. 

Large quartz archways crumble slightly, chunks blown off from powerful, laser-focused blasts of dark magic. Tall, warm columns of stained glass shine in every muted color, reflecting the bright light of the full moon. Grandiose statues and tattered flags line a pathway to a curving staircase, which leads to a noble, black-marble throne. 

Empty suits of armor litter almost every inch of the floor, to the point where you have to delicately step over them to reach the very center of the room. Steel swords and bows remain close by. And on the outer edge of the throne room, cowering in a corner, lies the charred remains of the king's robes, and his chipped, glittering crown. Death has claimed their bodies, along with their souls. The fate they befell here is hardly the worst in store for them. 

You gaze up, examining the intricate paintings laid onto the ceiling. They depict multiple figures. You recognize angels, with muted colors, harps, and fluttery dove wings. At the outer edge, there is the moon and stars, with a metaphorical illustration of Death — a satyr with six arms and four horns, shielding himself from the light. 

Amusing, to think that a handful of angels and a meager army of soldiers could stop what Death planned for them. For you and Viktor, the task was trivial. 

The knights will make strong servants. Lord Death will use them well, to build His steadily growing army. The king, on the other hand, will likely be punished — for ever believing he could escape his own grim fate. 

"Magnificent." A familiar voice lilts into your ears, thick with a smooth accent, echoing through your mind like the ripple of a rock thrown into water. "But of course, our purpose is not yet complete." 

You glance back towards him as Viktor admires the sea of destruction, a low wisp of flame idly twisting around his fingertips, before he casts it away with a flick of his index. The edge of his cape is slightly torn, singed from the aftermath of powerful flames. His staff glows gently, likely regaining the power it expended. 

This new form of his is… imposing. If you were someone who stood in his way, and if you weren't already used to this, the sight of him alone would make you fear for your life. He is tall — large enough that the top of your head barely reaches his chest, and your neck must crane to look up at him properly. And he is strong; his body is constructed from blue smoke and figments of dark magic itself, rendering him immortal, and near impossible to touch. 

Nearly. 

Viktor hums, and the threatening, armored eye that floats above his shoulder flickers, surveying the scene with quiet intensity. Death's Eye, the token that provides him with a great portion of power, and watches over while the both of you carry out Death's bidding. 

"I trust you are pleased with this outcome," Viktor murmurs, his tone cold and practical. "We will travel north next, as you demanded, and continue with further vanquishment. You will be informed when we reach our next target. Until then, Glory to the Underworld."

You nod, slightly nervous, bowing your head and neatly placing your arms behind your back as the eye flickers over you, next. "Yes- Glory to the Underworld." 

Seemingly satisfied, the eye shifts. Smoke dissipates from the line connecting it between Viktor's shoulders. Then, Viktor snaps his fingers, and the eye disappears without a trace. 

"There." Viktor turns towards you, and your gaze is met by his skull-shaped mask: fit with intricate engravings and two small divots, not-quite-eyes lit by twin flames. "We are alone." 

Fear does not course through you, even if it should. Instead, a small smile forms on your lips, pleased and eager, almost smug. As soft as it was on the day you met him. 

Once again, as if you had never once lost each other, Viktor is your ally, your partner. Your closest confidant — and yet, everything has changed. There are some things Death can take, but regardless of His strength and omnipresence, can never return. 

Viktor's form no longer resembles who he once was. The details you'd memorized have been cast aside in favor of a stronger, more formidable chassis. A means to an end, Viktor explained. The body matters less than the mind, and so it only made sense to destroy and rebuild it. This is only fitting, for one of Death's chosen Sworn. 

His voice is the same as you remember, when it lilts smoothly through your system. He still has the same sharp intelligence you once might've found yourself falling for. His memories, thoughts, and ideals are intact. Viktor was quick to reassure you of this, reminding you of the secrets only he would know. Your research would've told you to be wary, your notes reminding you that Death is greedy, and does not give up a soul once He has caged it. 

At some point, you stopped listening to those notions. It matters little to you. Viktor is yours again, until the earth crumbles, until the sky and sun burn out — and really, your meager, loving heart couldn't ask for anything else. 

Death is not an unjust sovereign. And so, in Viktor's own words, when he first reached the underworld, he was offered a choice. 

He was promised a chance at resurrection: a reward for his undying loyalty. But in exchange for power, your research partner would need to swear much, much more. 

He would be given power beyond anything he could dream of, a new body, a chance at revenge. All he must do is agree to complete His bidding, working as Death's right hand. Death would instruct Viktor with building an army, with reaping souls to fuel the underworld's lifeblood. Anyone who stood in the way of His vision must fall. Or, he could refuse, and instead embody what remained of his lost soul, as it gradually withered away into dust. 

It was a simple choice, really. Now, those who opposed Viktor's vision will not just bow to Death. They will also bow to him. 

From there, it would've ended rather simply. Viktor would have taken up Death's mantle, and you- You would be left to time, most likely. Another forgotten soul, drowning amongst the endless sea. 

But Viktor made you a promise, and it was one he did not intend to forget. 

The deal he proposed with Death came with one stipulation. His partner — you — would be spared, and if Death willed it, put to use. You are mortal, sure, but you were as dedicated and talented as he once was. With the assistance of a small fraction of power, you could become a worthy disciple. 

You would have nothing to fear, not ever again, Viktor promised. As long as you knelt close to his heel. 

And so, on that fateful, stormy night, you took Viktor's hand when it was offered to you, and became a fellow servant of the end. You left your town behind — all of them, everyone who had once forsaken you. Your village and the townspeople and your farm, deeply drowned in a sea of blue, fierce flame. 

There was nothing left for you, nothing but this. Besides, you had no doubts. For Death, for Viktor, you would do anything. If Viktor asked you to burn the world to the ground, you would swear to leave it in nothing but ashes. 

Your gaze flickers up from your feet, your thoughts roused as Viktor motions for you to follow with a subtle crook of his finger. And as though you would follow him anywhere, you trail behind with quick, eager steps. 

He leads you over the discarded bodies of the soldiers, guiding you to climb the room's centerpiece: its winding staircase. The long, laced edges of your dress brush your ankles when you carefully grasp and lift it, trying your best not to trip. Viktor leans his weight on his staff, uses it to walk, which is hardly needed, but it's still second nature. 

Your hands clasp in front of you, your dress gently swaying. You watch him set the staff aside, before he takes his rightful seat at the throne. 

He looks like he belongs in a throne, to you. 

For a moment, you fiddle with your thumbs. You glance away, looking at the discarded remnants of the old throne room. 

"That almost seemed too simple," You muse, brows furrowed together slightly. "Will all of humanity be this weak?" 

Viktor leans back. He rests his elbows on the arms of the marble throne, his large legs spread while he clasps his hands together: one armored, almost mechanical. The other delicate, with thin fingers and wispy edges. Soft plumes of mist spill from the gaps between his mask and his tattered hood. 

"Mortals are weak by nature," He explains, assured as ever. His voice echoes, syllables resounding against one another, and his fingers gently tap his own knuckles. "They blind themselves, and then ramble about the truth, without realizing they are still pulling wool over their own eyes. You know this." 

"I do," You murmur, breath catching at the sight of him. Your spine still tingles from the thrill of your victory. "We've seen it countless times." 

"Those men were especially amusing to destroy." Viktor huffs, something between a chuckle and a sigh, and large puffs of cerulean smoke billow from the gaps between his mask. "Men like that impudent king are not even worth the mana. He believed himself to be some form of prophet, only to begin begging to his worthless God once he knew he'd been surpassed." 

Then, Viktor laughs, low and maniacal, as his thighs part more to let him lean back even further. "Pathetic, was it not?" 

With his entire army felled, the king pleaded for someone to save him. Sweat beaded at his forehead, and his panicked eyes shimmered with a spectral glow, reflected in the light of Viktor's staff, pointed right towards him. The Gods did not intervene, like the king swore they would. Death did not lose, like his legion of false mages once prophesied. 

Rather, Viktor merely chuckled, and said nothing, before a single focused thread of magic reduced the man at his feet to dust and bone. 

Your spine shudders sharply. Anticipation settles onto your back, pooling within your core, hot as cinders. 

Thinking to yourself, you allow your gaze to travel across the throne. Old banners, lined with gold thread and embroidered with royal symbols drape beside the tall walls of stained glass. Intricate shapes are carved into the throne's smooth marble. A sun and moon, a cross of swords, and an ouroboros-like depiction of a wolf, and a lamb. 

"He was the same as every king and sovereign we have faced." You take a step forwards, your shoes clicking against the smooth stone floor. "Weak. Witless. Disappointing." 

Viktor watches silently as you approach; your fingertips trace the arm of the throne for a moment, studying the detailed runic engravings. Your gaze glimmers, jeweled and lovely, glittering across him — like prey, teasing the jaws of a predator. A smile crosses your features, one that radiates control. 

"They pretend they are capable of holding the world in their hands-" 

Your voice is kept low; with a palm on his shoulder giving you leverage, you slide into his lap, settling onto his firm thighs — spread as wide as the square throne will allow. 

You're barely whispering, now: "Even though they're toppled as easily as the rest." 

Your body is much, much smaller than his, but sitting in his lap nearly puts you at equal height. Your palms gently brush over the cold pillars of armor on his shoulders. You let your hand press to his chest, tangible and icy. Smoke wisps around your hand — hungry, possessive — as though it seeks to swallow you in. His head tilts, invisible gaze seemingly following your movements, regarding you with a lack of emotion you can't place. 

It would be impossible to tell what he's thinking by sight alone. The Viktor you remember would glance away, or perhaps let his brows furrow. He might coax you with nervous touches, or persuade you to move with careful, logical arguments. 

But this Viktor, frigid and magic-bound, a vessel for ruination — he stays silent, and leans back to offer you more room, his steel-clad hand grasping your side. His touch is as natural as it is unnatural. The clawed fingers of his gauntlet briefly press into your skin through your dress' fabric. His hand settles just above your waist, as though it were meant to be there, with all the familiar gentleness of an angel's winged embrace. 

Your heart stirs, pounding quickly as your body acts before you can think, pliantly leaning into his touch. Your throat feels tense, your skin warm, a newfound taste on your tongue fierce like sweet ichor. For you, it isn't enough. 

So, you press closer. Your long dress drapes over his thighs, smooth black satin against armor and miasma. Your fingertips find the rough edge of his mask, and they trace it with delicate intensity. Viktor's only reaction is to let his large hand travel down, his palm encompassing and squeezing your waist. This time, with a practiced, careful, knowing touch. 

Viktor is the most intelligent, perceptive man you have ever known. And he knows you, enough to make you certain he realizes precisely what you're playing at. 

Your dances always begin like this. You can't help but let a smirk pull at your parted lips. 

"Tell me," You're murmuring, slowly leaning in. Deep blue smoke begins to wisp around your figure, brushing against everything it can touch, but you hardly seem to mind. "Is there anyone who could possibly stand against us? Anyone worthy enough to threaten you- to defy Death's most loyal harbinger?" 

Viktor pauses for a moment, before speaking. 

"Humanity adapts when threatened. There are people to the north, who have begun to use tomes to teach themselves how to wield magic." 

You scoff, "Powerful magic?" 

"No. Not when compared to what we possess." Viktor's masked gaze regards you emptily, as you draw shapes with your fingertips onto the intricate curvature of his shoulders. "They may be difficult, but they will not be impossible. In the end, they'll be slaughtered like the rest. No soul is capable of succeeding against our absolution." 

"Viktor," You coo his name like a nightingale, "Won't Death be proud of us?" 

Of us. The both of you have come so far, from the foolish, loathed scholars you once were. Wouldn't the younger versions of yourselves be proud of how far you've come, of the power the two of you have gained? Or would they despise this, would they cling onto humanity the way you and Viktor have failed to? 

"He will be satisfied," A drag of his hand, gripping and guiding your waist, rocks you much closer to him. "Once the task he sent me to complete is fully accomplished." 

You sigh; his voice blends through you. Burning like light, syllables thick and reverberant. Gods, you can barely focus on his words anymore. 

Leaning forward, unable to stop yourself, your lips press teasing, idle kisses to the firm side of his mask, to fill the empty space left when he quiets once more. With another kiss, brutally warm, you're curling your fingertips into the ice-cold smoke that would be his face, you're gripping the underside of his mask tight. 

Frigidness bites at your fingers. His mask feels rough against your lips. You place playful imprints of promises you wanted to keep, of touches you wanted to inflict before there was this. 

When your lips could have pressed to soft pale skin and star-placed moles. When tender kisses could have led to firm touches, and hands toying where they shouldn't belong. Warm bodies pressing together with the warmth of liquid gold, like they are each other's vice. A time where the vision you had for the future and your studies and the frailty of life mattered less than each other, and — 

Viktor stirs. His free hand glides over the small of your back, making you arch and curve into him, but his armored palm grasps your face, roughly dragging it back. The smirk that beams across your face is wild. 

"Viktor-"

"Stay still." 

His echoing voice is firm — Your breath catches, but you oblige. 

"Dove." He tsks when you're silent, half-amused, faux-annoyed. The familiar pet name makes your heart twist and flutter. "Are you sure you want to do this here? You cannot wait?" 

You breathe a light laugh, your cheeks slightly sore from his stiff, squeezing touch. Gaze flickering, eyes slightly rolling, you hum, "Don't we deserve a reward? To- I don't know, to celebrate our victory?" 

"We?" Viktor chuckles darkly. His hand shifts, armor cold on your skin as he grips the back of your neck like you're a scruffed kitten. "You wish to be rewarded." 

Your head spins. Your whole body shudders, rich with a clear lack of restraint. The difference in power between you is staggering. 

Beneath his fingertips, you can feel the thrum of magic, necromantic and heady, pulsing at your throat. It courses through your mind with strength that aims to conquer. This sort of magic puts the fear of Death way deep in your stomach. Threads of soft smoke flush over your skin. Your veins tingle. The power you were gifted is not like this, not this forceful, not so carnivorous. 

And yet, even as everything within you shudders, instinctually flinching at the violent weight of rot against your skin, all you can believe is that he deserves to own this power. Viktor should satisfy himself with more, with as much as he desires. The two of you have fought for it, and now, you should get to enjoy it. 

For a moment, you think he has you pinned. But your beloved partner blesses you with mercy. 

"We won," He purrs; and there's such delicious contrast, between the mercilessness Death's closest apostle — Viktor, your Viktor — shows your adversaries, and the patience, the earnestness he extends towards you. 

"Those who dared to oppose us are dead. You did excellently, you are growing stronger. You were very, very good. Is this what you wanted to hear?" 

Viktor speaks close to you, allowing you to feel a frigid brush of smoke fanning out over your skin. His voice resounds through your mind and your eardrums. Your hands threaten to shake, each of his words carved especially for you. Only for you. 

"Yes- Vik," Your breath stutters, flowers in your throat budding with hunger, "Please." 

If he was capable, Viktor would certainly be smirking. A confident, assured grin, like the kind he'd flash after his intricate notes resulted in a successful hypothesis. Your heart pounds loud in your ears, his fingers idly curving over your neck, igniting a famine in your chest. Perhaps he knows more than he's letting on. Perhaps he's realized how terribly you've needed this. 

"Coy, aren't you? Asking so nicely." Viktor guides his opposite, magic-worn palm down your back, tracing where the ridges of your spine would sit. 

Your eyelids flutter, and you're sure it doesn't go unnoticed. You force yourself to breathe deeply, your lungs filled with the warm scent of him: of flame, and ash. 

"When we were Death's mere students, you were often receptive to positive feedback." He continues; his hand maneuvers, pressing his index finger underneath your chin to direct it. "But you were never this insatiable." 

The encompassing lilt to his tone tells you it isn't an insult. No, it sounds like raw, fierce fascination. 

"There wasn't time, we came so close to our goals and- and it just wasn't-" You cut yourself off with a quiet, barely-there gasp when Viktor's hand begins to carefully trail over your neck. Gentle at first, until you're reaching up, placing your much smaller palm over his own, guiding him to squeeze. 

"I just missed you." 

"I never left your side," Viktor counters, matching your gluttony when his thumb swipes over your pulse, the sharp, clawed digit grazing your skin. "I suppose this is what you missed." 

His touch? His voice? The threads of magic that form his figure brushing against your flesh, the divine press of your weak, mortal shape to his? 

Either way, he's right. 

Your blood pumps pleasantly, every facet of your willing gaze focused on him; on the magic swirling through his body, on his death-shaped mask as Viktor's vessel silently examines you. Vision blurring, you relax, allowing your veins to tingle and your head to go hazy. Your arms fall limp, and into his lap. 

The feeling of his hand around your neck makes you shudder with risk. It reminds you of the warmth that courses through your body in the heat of battle, of the delight when you're in the eye of an ongoing conquest. Of the dumb thrills that came when you were young and stupid, when you pushed the boundaries of your research, performing messy seances, unafraid to put your lives on the line. 

Now, all of your life belongs solely to him. 

Yes, you missed this. You missed Vik so badly when you thought you lost him — and oh, having him now makes you feel like you could do anything. You could rule together, if that's what he wanted. Viktor could destroy everything, and you would still follow at his side. An endless, fervent part of you wants to be powerless, because Viktor's hands wouldn't falter if they held your life. They wouldn't hesitate to press against you, with all of the pressure and heat of the sun. Or, they would bend you into submission, until you'd no longer have the need to think. 

Trust and desire make two halves of one whole — your desire speaks in echoes of his name, in every shape. And your trust burns like a suffocating flame in your chest, begging to be made his. 

"You're quivering," Viktor notes, although his touch doesn't waver, doesn't loosen. "Tell me what you are wanting. Your lips can still form words, use them." 

"Need you," You're sputtering, the lightest smile pulling at your cheeks, a playful contrast to the sternness in his tone. Finally, you take a nice deep breath, as his grip moves down the column of your throat to rest over the apex of your chest. "I want you, Vik- right here. Or would you prefer me to beg?" 

Your palms shift up to grip his shoulders again — your gaze on his, pleading, heavy. Your body presses closer, ever-so slightly. It's enough to force Viktor to take a low, deep breath. One that forms smoke, defies reason, choking him with desperation and destruction. With a potency that aims to devour. 

Viktor isn't the man you remember, you knew this when you first swore to join his cause. You would never forsake him, even if Death took him to heights you could not reach. Even if Death sought to become him, in a sickeningly beautiful way, in a way that warrants forbidden deals and dark magic and shallow graves. 

Gods, you would have done it all over again. 

You would've made the same mistakes, walked the same doomed path if it meant he would still return to you, just like this. Stronger. With ambition. Without the need for the pain or the hesitation that came with his previous body and past life. 

You've always found Death to be beautiful. Gentle like the slow wilt of deep petals, resolute like the soft cradling of a final embrace. When your village left you forsaken, the demise you glorified rose to save you. Viktor saved you. Death should be taken with palms outstretched. With an obedient body, ready to be reshaped. With a willing soul, with reverence, with worship — and this is exactly what you need, what you've sought to do. 

Death has always been a knife at your back, Viktor just knows how to guide the blade and twist it deeper. 

"Groveling is unbecoming. Exceptionally so, for the partner of Death's herald." Viktor's voice briefly wavers as he expends something of a sigh. "And it would hardly be necessary. I am already aching to take you." 

You grin, clearly pleased. Your fingertips trace up, gliding over the jagged curves of the armor on his chest. "Eager? Thought I was the insatiable one." 

Viktor, unshaken and controlled, avoids your question entirely. He holds your chin with his unarmored hand. His fingers are delicate, their edges foggy with faint smoke. 

His voice is a low rumble, resounding through every edge of your mind. 

"Do you trust me?" 

Yes, of course I trust you. You've spoken and penned and drowned in those words, countless times before. The relationship you once shared, whatever it meant, was built on trust. The two of you need nothing but your faith and one another. You trust Viktor's ideals. His judgment. His touch. You've never trusted anyone more. 

For Death, you would offer your life, you would embrace every sin, if it meant you'd be offered a knife to save you from the dark. For Viktor, you would become the knife, fighting for his heartbeat over your own, condemning the world and every soul on its surface if he told you it needed to be done. 

And for both, tied together, dangerously one, you'd gladly plunge the dagger of trust into your own chest. 

"I do," You nod shallowly, your gaze unwavering. "Don't hold back. Want you to be rough." 

Thin, glowing flames meet your eyes from beneath Viktor's mask. Carefully, he presses the thick, ice-cold end of his thumb to your pouty bottom lip, foreign sensations sending sparks through you like dying stars. 

Viktor taps your lip gently. "Open your mouth." 

If this was a dance, a carefully performed pirouette at the center of the dimly lit throne room, like countless royals have likely done before you, this would be the moment where you would have been held, and dipped down. Spun in front of everyone, with nothing to be done but brace onto his shoulder, hold on tightly, and follow. The rhythm would heighten, and you'd be left entirely at his mercy. 

Following his instruction, your lips part gently, slowly. Your eyes flicker across his face, never leaving where you're imagining his own gaze to be. His thumb eases in, and just barely presses against the end of your tongue. 

The first thing you taste is smoke. Ashen and ghostly, rich and familiar. It's like breathing air for the very first time. Magic thrums from the fuzzy edges that form his shape; tasteless, but strong, thudding through you like the weight of a panging heartbeat, melting into your veins like dark, lush blood. You swear your senses are washed out in crimson, as he waits for you to lick a thick, hot stripe onto the end of his thumb. Your gaze goes soft and eager then, silently pleading for more. 

To your brief disappointment, he drags his thumb from your mouth, unaffected when you whine. Then, to your delight, Viktor offers you his index, his middle, and his ring. He presses all three fingers to your lips, where you gladly accept, allowing him to shove them into your throat. 

"There," He murmurs, the slightest hint of satisfaction heavy on his tone. Cold, his fingers are cold against your teeth and your tongue when you struggle to suck on them. "You have such a precious, pliant mouth." 

Your only response is a muffled, pathetic hum. One hand finds his wrist, the other settles weakly onto his shoulder. He knows there's no way for you to reply, no option for a rebuttal to form when your pretty mouth is stuffed full. And with more strings of carefully constructed praises, he takes full advantage. 

"You are terribly obedient. Every command, stage by stage, piece by piece, you follow without strife." 

Viktor's fingers press in a bit deeper, making you grip his wrist much tighter. Tears bud at your lashes, your breath sharpens as you fail to stifle a whimper. 

"When Death instructs you to kill, you rend the flesh of whomever He chooses. When I compel you to heel, you settle at my feet." 

At his feet, near his side, in his lap, wherever Viktor wants you — because you are so, remarkably good. 

When you moan softly, threatening to choke, your thighs shifting in a pitiful attempt to rub them together, he drags his fingers back to give you a chance to breathe; a small act of kindness. Your breath catches, heavy and forceful. Your lips glisten with shiny drool. Slowly, once you're ready, he pushes them back in, and settles into a deep, steady pace, languidly fucking your mouth with his fingers. 

You're sure you'll never reach heaven. Not after everything you've done and sworn to do. But as your eyelids flutter, and your legs grow weak, your mouth sufficiently used, you swear this is the closest you'll get. 

"Death does not regret His choice to select you," Viktor assures, cold and composed. "He knows you are His perfect, loyal little disciple. He will be pleased with what you have done here, as am I." 

His fingers are pulled from your mouth slowly, offering you time to gasp and adjust. He holds your chin, taps his fingers against your cheek to make your skin slick with your own spit. A damp, desperate mess still wets your face, and he quickly brushes away the tears that still cling to your lashes with his thumb. Your heart tremors, the gesture all too tender. 

"Vik," You sputter, "Touch me." 

Now, it's his turn to listen. 

Viktor leans back against the throne, getting comfortable. Your grip steadies on his broad shoulders to keep yourself still, your fingers digging into the strong, bone-like frame of his armor. 

A hand finds your waist, trailing down. He pushes up the end of your dress, allowing his touch to carefully brush your thigh. Mere fingertips trace your soft skin; cold as ice, thrumming with magic that ricochets through you like lightning. He finds the blade you routinely keep strapped to your leg. His palm grazes the leather sleeve, and examines the labyrinth of engravings carved into the hilt. 

It's slow, teasing. Effortlessly calculated. Your dress bunches around your hips. Then, once you're drawn to panting breaths and shuddering sighs, he reaches up. With delicate motions, so gentle they contradict his very existence, he pulls at the strings of your corset, helping to untie them until it is loose. 

Your heart shakes your chest. Each light, purposeful touch of his hand against your spine has you reeling. Removing your dress is a swift process, from there. 

It unties as simply as the corset. You rush to pull the smooth satin from your limbs, and adjust to let it fall to the stone floor in a heap. 

Almost fully bare, you settle back into his lap, the cool air of the empty room brushing your skin. Pitch black armor frames his thighs, rough against your own graceful legs. The crow-skull necklace you keep close to your heart sways, tapping against your chest when you shift to get comfortable. Viktor presses a palm to the small of your back to ease you into position — spectral and hazy, settling against smooth, perfect skin. 

Low light envelops you, filtered through stained glass. It frames every curve, each of your blemishes and marks. Your whole figure shakes, forced on instinct to arch into his body, then his touch. Viktor's palm trails from your side to your waist, gentle, tenderly analytical. 

"Look at you," He murmurs, "You are a pleasure to admire." 

Everything within you melts, your body hazy and warm. His hand slowly trails your back, and your clenched jaw finally relaxes. 

"Viktor…" Your gaze is sparkly, you're clearly high on his words. "I asked you to be rough, remember?" 

Gentle fingers tap your skin, the way they would tap against his cane or his desk when he's lost in thought, but he continues with a non-response: "Come here." 

A palm squeezes your waist, guiding you forwards. Your arms wrap around him as you prop yourself up on his lap, knees splayed out over his large thighs. Your lungs practically ache with the weight of the heavy breaths you take in. 

His fingertips trace fiery touches onto your inner thigh. Knowing touches, because he expects the way you whine. He holds you tightly to keep you still once your legs struggle to hold your weight. You swallow, your veins set alight with a violent sense of need. 

"Patience. We can work our way up," He decides; his voice ripples within you deeply, rich with his accent, rumbling with an unearthly echo. Like a hand at your ankle, dragging you down into dark, murky, endless water. 

And you let him take you. 

You stay still as his hand moves, like a tamed pet, until his palm is brushing your stomach, making the knot in your core wind itself even tighter. Until practiced fingertips are gliding beneath the hem of your lace underwear, pressing between your weak legs, finding your waiting, needy entrance — 

Viktor scoffs. He lets go of a dark, deliberate chuckle, one that makes vapor billow from his figure. "But it would seem you do not need it. You are filthy." 

Your forehead falls, leaning against his own — against his mask — and you grip onto his shoulders, tight enough to make your knuckles ache. Wisps of magic brush your face, swirling around you, delighting in your exhilaration. And you are, you're a mess, your arousal wet and dripping as it gets his fingers slick; his middle and ring, this time. 

Despite his instruction, Viktor makes it so difficult to be patient. It takes everything in you not to press against him. Not to feed into your gnawing desperation, bucking your hips into his fingers and grinding on them until they're truly soaked. 

"I- Please-" You choke, barely able to breathe, "Want more…" 

"Is that so? You're in need of more?" Viktor parrots, only slightly mocking with his tone. "Selfish indulgence is rather effective at making mortals forget their place." 

Before your lips can even stumble out a yes, please, his fingers are altering their approach. Slick and determined, they find your swollen clit, flicking over it precisely; he's so close, it's so much. Your body aches, filled so thickly with desire it nearly hurts. Ecstasy licks at your bones, ravenous and all-consuming. 

When you jolt, stuttering through a moan, Viktor's free palm holds your shoulder to steady you. Your hands find the hood of his cloak and grip it tight. They ball up the crimson fabric, long nails digging in. 

Slow, easy circles onto your sensitive clit are all you're given. His palm begins to trace down once you're steady, exploring your collarbones. Brushing further still, to briefly fiddle with the necklace he gave you. 

The twine sits around your neck loosely, partially frayed. The skull has grown worn, faint notches now present on its surface. It's a soft, persistent reminder. You feel it tap against you when he lets it go, only for his large palm to splay itself over your chest, armor cool against your skin. 

You gasp, sounding overly shaky. "Vik-"

"Your poor heart is pounding," He interrupts, hand measuring each tender beat. Quickened and needy, as your heart thuds in your eardrums. "Letting go would prove so simple. So gratifying. You want your mind to be blank, so you might let yourself act on nothing but dumb desire. As all pathetic humans do." 

It would be easy — grinding against his cold, magic-woven fingers. Giving in to the throbbing, enthralling sensations while you pleaded for him to offer you more, to show you mercy. Clearly, Viktor has you exactly where he wants you. 

"If you must be reminded," Viktor continues; his newfound rhythm is practically merciless, his touch teasing your clit until you whine, just to drift to your entrance — warm and wet and waiting, but he doesn't press in. You aren't given what you want. Instead, he observes you silently, perhaps content to watch you struggle. He allows you to shudder, to whimper, your back arching as sparks weigh heavy in the curves of your spine. 

"You are in no position to make demands." 

"I'm not demanding," You gasp out, heavy sighs following the syllables. A faint and eager smile pulls at your cheeks. You know it's a game you'll lose, but it's exciting to play, all the same. "I'm begging." 

Viktor hesitates, savoring those words. The laugh that lilts into your ears is downright maniacal. 

"Tch, greedy thing," He scoffs. His fingertips press into your sweet, sensitive clit firmly, with all of the practiced precision you've been craving. "And here I thought you might finally be taught some restraint. You won't be satisfied until I fill you." 

Thankfully, he doesn't make you wait. 

Viktor shifts, dragging you a bit closer on his lap, running his middle digit over your entrance until you're a shivering, fragile mess. Like porcelain, you could break at any moment — but the press of his finger inside you, filling you, finally giving you a hint of blissful reprieve, feels as though you're being placed back together. 

Pleasure rolls over your body like a wave, crashing, drowning. His touch is cool, laced with dark matter. Pulsing with a strong thrum of energy that you can feel so intensely when he's inside you. Strands upon surges of Death's magic, within you, becoming part of you. Eating away at what remains of your soul until you are pierced, much like a rabbit struck with an arrow — delightedly, brutally his. Your vision goes fuzzy once his finger starts to pump. In and then out, to a slow pace, enveloping you in crests of white foam. 

"Viktor…" You murmur his name, broken and weak, and he drinks it in like fine wine; swallows it whole, reduces it to cinders. "Oh- Feels s-so fucking good-" 

You're quivering, from just one finger. Two would likely force you to break. 

"Foolish little lamb." Viktor delights in your subsequent shudder. Always so responsive to his voice, as if he'd given you a command. "Toying with Death, giving themselves, their body, their life. Their unshakable devotion." 

Still, Viktor drags the digit from you; your body falls into him, limp and small. You lean your head against his form, struggling to catch your breath. And at last, he gives you two — his middle, his ring, pressing inside you, filling you deliciously. 

"Death is- oh, fuck…" Your voice tremors, desperate, lovely-toned. Your cheek presses into his chest, wisps of magic pouring over your skin. "Death is my great savior, worthy of- hah- violent worship…" 

His fingers curl. They nudge your velvet walls, pressing a perfect tender spot within you, divine enough to make you wish this moment would last an eternity. "But I'm yours, Vik," You stammer, "Only yours." 

Flames flicker in your core, devouring you in their wildfire — and Viktor sighs, exhaling some soft, dreamy sound. He doesn't relent. He fucks you on his fingers until you're dripping onto him, to the echo of sloppy, wet squelches, your whines and each sinful noise reverberating through the large throne room. 

Your eyes flutter closed. You try to focus on the searing pleasure, getting lost in his touch, in the familiarity of him. Fleetingly, you imagine his face, whatever you still remember of it. His thick brows would be pinched, lips twitched up into a confident smirk. Honeyed eyes washed over with lust, while strands of his hair form a mess in his face, soft when your fingers run through. 

"Vik-" You tense, whining weakly. "I'm close…" 

The hand that reaches for you is ice cold. Gentle, at first, when smoke-filled fingers thread through your hair. Then, deliciously rough when they grab, dragging you back to make you face him. Viktor's expression can no longer waver. There are no eyes for you to stare into — and nothing to sate you, but the fire-filled depths of Death's herald, the end's abyss. 

And oh, how that excites you. 

"Do not let go," Viktor commands, although he punctuates it with a practiced caress of his fingers against your sweet spot. "I know you are capable." 

"No, no…" You're sobbing; you try to shake your head, but he keeps your face in a tight hold. "I can't- no, please, please…" 

You know Viktor, and even though you can't see the glint in his gaze, you can feel each determined press, pumping to a pace that has you throbbing. Gods, his stupidly delicate hands, his long fingers, somehow feeling even longer when they're filling you down to his knuckles. Your heart pounds, forcing your ribs to ache. You grind your teeth together, your jaw relaxing slightly when his thumb traces your shaky bottom lip. 

Viktor has you on the edge of shattering — but you will break when he demands it, or you will not break at all. 

"Missed you, f-fuck, oh, Vik-" Melting, you're going to melt as you stammer on, searching for some sort of foothold, anything to grasp onto. You shut your eyes tight enough to paint spots in the darkness of your vision. "Wanted this for so long, and when you were gone, when I tho-thought I lost you…" 

Another press, another persuasion; his fingers sheathe inside you until you're stretched around their thickness, a shuddery moan punched from your lungs. They crook and spread experimentally; he isn't even trying to make you cum, and yet it still feels so, so good. His free palm drifts down, and he lightly holds your neck, grounding you. 

"You will not lose me. We are destined to bring humanity to its knees, you and I." Viktor taps your neck, feeling your pulse — blissful, mortal, a sensation he's long since lost. "Fools will attempt to stand in our way, but they will be smothered in the ashes of their forebears. We will have what remains of mankind at our feet." 

"Yes, yes-" You can barely discern what it is you're begging for. His touch, his voice, perhaps for your release. Anything coherent dissolves in your mouth, until you're spitting up scattered petals of moans and whines — "V-Viktor, please…"

"Shh. We will not become severed, dove. Not ever again," Viktor hums, his tone rumbling through you, fiercely euphoric. "As I was dying, left to crumble in the underworld, I only thought of crawling my way back to you." 

Viktor made you a promise. For you, any will would be done. 

For you, the weight of Death and the wrath of the Gods would be worth it. All of this would mean something, something more than power. More than the gnawing ache to forget himself. 

When you were human, every moment meant so much. You had the nerve to put your lives on the line, but neither of you had the guts to admit this temporary life was much sweeter spent beside one another. The accidental touches, the brushes of hands, the glances that lingered. Days spent talking to each other through research notes, colliding with the nights you spent alone, counting and categorizing stars — it must've been important enough to hold onto. Soft words led to softer touches, and the need to just be close. At one point, you would have done anything to feel this, to feel him. 

And you're there, you're right there. 

Pleasure buds within you — a sea of stars, on the edge of imploding. But Viktor is always several steps ahead. 

The precipice you've been craving doesn't reach you, because instead, his fingers are carefully easing from your aching cunt, leaving you to throb around nothing. Your head instantly spins in endless circles. Everything is hazy, to the point where you can't decide where your ecstasy begins or ends, or heightens or fades; all you know is it wasn't enough. You almost cum, empty and teased, just from the fading stimulation mixed with the lack of it. 

But almost isn't what you need. 

You're given several moments to breathe. When you finally raise your head from his chest, his palm slipping from your neck to leave it bare, you're met with the same blank, Death-shaped visage. The only sign of a crack in Viktor's composure is the soft smoke that pours from the gaps in his mask, curling around your figure in spirals. 

"Breathe," Viktor instructs. His palm searches for your back, caressing gently, cooling your heated skin. "How do you feel?"

"Good." Your lungs are aching. Your voice is weak, shaking more than intended when it leaves your lungs. But even more palpable in your veins than the desire, is your warm, steadfast trust. "I can keep going." 

"Is this how you want me? Resting in my lap? Or perhaps on your knees?" 

"Like this," You murmur, certain of yourself. "I need you, all of you." 

All of him, and all of Death. Every fragment of his present and future, and the pact he forged to bind them. Whatever Viktor has become, you will embrace it. You'll let it haunt you, let it own you. 

Your partner cups your face in a frigid, ghostly palm, his touch light, barely tangible. Cold like frozen water and stagnant skin. You give in, allowing your expression to soften. 

Countless souls have been felled this way, by his hands, every adversary made to tremble at his feet. This is what he was made for. What he fought and studied and died for. To destroy. And you still lean into his touch, as though it aims to save you. 

From then on, you're hurrying, desperate, lifting your weakened legs to shrug off your underwear and toss it aside. Viktor brushes his thumb over your cheek once more before he lets go. He rolls his shoulders back lazily, while your hands move — a palm pressed to his chest, to his side, anywhere you can still touch. Another hand eagerly removing his loosely-fastened armor, before tugging at his loincloth to reveal his lap. 

You swallow so hard your eardrums crackle. You should be used to the sight of him — fat, dripping, incandescent. His cock radiates in shades of azure, definite and physical when you drag the pad of your finger from base to tip, despite the wisps of phantom flame that ripple over your hand like clouds. It has your heart lodging in your throat, pounding hard. 

You place both hands on his shoulders and lift, to which he grazes your waist with his palm, carefully helping you find your position. Not grabbing, not pulling. You can dictate the pace, he silently offers. So, you take your time, breathing first, waiting for your gaze to refocus and steady. The difference in size in between you is already making your head fucking whirl. 

Viktor was always tall, but his current form is formidable, bulky. In his lap like this, with his large hand dwarfing your waist, you must look small. You could easily be broken, pressed into any position. Could be held, or lifted, or shoved down while you're fucked. So weak and mortal and useless, when compared to his massive frame. So desperate, tossing your morality aside, so you can melt at the hands of a revenant, one of Death's all-powerful Sworn. 

And yet, it's his gentleness that truly kills you. 

Shifting, you lean into him on shuddery legs, trusting him to hold your weight. You move, until the tip of his cock can brush your entrance, soft like a kiss. You're already throbbing, already needy. The breath you suck in through half-gritted teeth is sharp enough to slice your lungs. 

"Pretty little dove. I have you," Viktor coos, his voice echoing through your mind like a shout into a wishing well. "There is no obligation to push your limits. We have infinite time." 

You nod. But you want to push them. 

You reach for his palm, pulling it from your waist to guide it up, up. It glides over your stomach, feels the space between your ribs, and settles against the very center of your chest when you press it there. His fingers are cool, still slick with your arousal. 

"Viktor…" You take a nice, deep breath. One he can feel, from the movement of your lungs to the skip of your heartbeat. 

Deathly familiar, you know exactly what you want, exactly what you're asking for. Perfectly in sync, indulging in the same sin, biting into the same piercing sweetness of the apple — this is where your dance completes. 

Your breath hitches as you finally sink down onto him; the thick head of his cock stretches you first, getting you used to the ache. It grants you a thick sense of pleasure, after you were deprived of what you truly needed. And you need to feel more. 

You hold onto him tighter, nails digging into his armor, while you ease down enough to take half of him. And oh, you're so full. Sufficiently stretched, throbbing around his thickness so eagerly, perfect for him and his shape. Magic thrums from Viktor's palm. The slightest tremor is present in his fingers as he leans back into the throne, breathing something of a pleasured sigh. Onto your chest, onto your skin like a brand, with your necklace pushed aside, he wills a symbol to inscribe. 

It burns into your skin with waves of rich, delightful pain. A circular shape is formed first, branching into the middle: a triangle, a skull over your heart, a seven-pointed star. 

Your mind goes woozy. You glance down, unsure if you want to watch the mark as it comes into shape, beneath Viktor's practiced fingertips, or if your gaze should stay stuck on the weak blue glow bulging your stomach, Viktor's length nestled half-way inside you. 

The mark completes, and you're no longer given a choice. 

Energy surges through you instantly, claiming every inch of your mind that it can. Intense, alive, and effervescent, the sigil starts strong, before the magic tapers out into a weak lull, like a storm fading into faint drops of rain. You drown, before you're able to breathe. Death magic carries sensations you're acquainted with, but it's entirely different to have it used on you. The force of its manipulation is directly controlled by the wielder, and Viktor has specifically chosen to apply little pressure. 

It feels like him. Thrums with pulses of him, flooding your chest with repetitions of his name, enveloping you just as intensely as the feeling of him inside you. Dark energy laces through your system. You are one, on this plane and the next, for a moment. The symbol scorches deep into your skin, proving you are his. Your head is woozy, your sensations heightened. 

You could break away, could fight the weak threads of baleful power that threaten to wrap around your neck. But with a deep, dizzy breath, you decide to let yourself succumb. 

Holding onto him weakly, your eyes roll back before they flutter closed. Pleasure runs rampant in your blood; you can only act on instinct. Every sensation blurs and melds, cold against warm, his body joined with yours — but your warmth is winning. Heat wraps around you, tightens on your limbs and spills into your organs. When your body becomes flush with his, filling you with all of him, you feel full, feel him throb inside you, like a heartbeat's substitute. 

Viktor trails his fingertips over the intricate angles of the scar, perfectly placed on your pretty skin, all-consuming. 

"You are-" He shudders, "Exquisite." 

He fills you so, so good. 

You can feel so much of him, pressed within you deeply. Fuck, he's so deep you feel like you can taste him, so big it has your lungs barely functioning. 

His name is in your heart, surrounding you like an embrace — in your veins like a sickness. The tender, bright, tangible version of him works into your every breath, some form of lingering energy, reminding you of the soft touches you always wanted. Soft skin, firm bone, a warm soul. But the power he's been given, the power he has over you lacks gentleness. It prods into your edges, blood-soaked and destructive. 

The swollen head of him nudges your sweet spot with every slight shift. To the point where you wouldn't have to move, you could just grind oh-so gently, and still find a smooth, soft release. Your mind is reeling, far too dizzy. 

"Eyes open." 

Viktor grasps your face, and you feel your veins surge. The mark on your chest glows, resonating with strength, with the instruction you've been given. It coaxes you. Persuades you in his voice to listen — your eyes will open for him. And they do. 

"Perfect," He praises. Your limbs tremor slightly, your lips parted as you gasp, eyelids drooping. He admires the lust in your gaze, pupils blown like new moons. "Very, very good." 

And the weight of his control forces itself into your mind without doubt, has you believing and telling yourself you are perfect, you are pliant, you are good. 

With the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, you can barely find your focus. Everything in you is strung tight, entranced and desperate. You're so weak, and it's so intense; you'd do anything to feel him thrust into you once, to hear the way he'd purr and scoff when you would fall apart just from that. 

Your eyes flutter, but your gaze doesn't move. It can't, not when you're allowing yourself to be swallowed by the sigil. Giving permission to have your throat caught in Death's — in Viktor's — sharpened jaws. You feel his palm move before you see it, his fingertips roaming every inch of you like it's something he owns, leaving trails of breathy smoke in his wake. 

Clearly, Viktor's composure is just fine. Even when you're tight around him like the world's sweetest vice, even when pleasure has returned within him to an unfathomable intensity, he has no need to waver. But you? 

As strong and as towering as a herald of Death could possibly be, and as weak and human as you are, you weren't built to take this much. 

Viktor believes differently. 

"Gods, you're fucking warm," He murmurs. There's an edge to his tone, from the echo of his words to the thickness of his accent that makes his voice sound terribly, brokenly human. "You were made for this. For me." 

His palm brushes over you softly, down your chest and to your waist, gripping there to steady your figure. You breathe in deeply, and Viktor caresses your skin with his thumb, in an attempt to ease your obvious tension. The sigil thrums, weakens. Loosens its hold to offer you a chance to escape. A chance you refuse to take. 

"Are you overwhelmed?" Viktor reasons; softness spills into you, so lovesick you'd almost forgotten what it could feel like. It is your softness, it has your name on it. "Or have we not yet found the limit of your resolve?" 

You shudder. "Not- ah-" It's hard to form words, when you're weak and cock-drunk and stuffed full of him, "I can- I can take it, want more, Vik…" 

"Excellent." Viktor leans back, settling comfortably into the throne. Flames flicker from beneath his mask, and you imagine how his gaze might drink you in. Admiring your small form as your chest gently heaves, like prey, when compared to him. Like a delicate little rabbit. "Take it, then. Take what you need from me." 

You've no need to hesitate. 

You start with slow grinds, your hands steadying on his broad shoulders, your weight braced against him. Your movements are faint. You keep him buried inside you down to the hilt, your arousal a glossy, wet mess on the base of his cock — but even so, every rock and pulse and spark of pleasure is relentless. 

The strength of the rune in your chest swallows you and you let it, allowing its influence to make you selfish; Viktor's heart tells you to take what is yours, to not stop. You listen. You circle your hips, and breathe a pathetic whine as his length learns every inch of you, while he watches you grind on him — like the pathetic thing you are. 

It's addictive, to watch you use him. Viktor grips your waist hard, tight enough to leave indentations of his touch, to hide the shudder in his fingertips. You're fluttering around him, and he doesn't even have to touch you. 

But when he does, trailing his hand up to your side and over your stomach, with all of the softness of someone who knows you, who has already long since memorized your shape — you sob, your bottom lip quivering. You are Death's perfect servant, Viktor's muse, delicate for him, only for him. 

"Viktor…" You're cooing, your voice breaking with another soft roll of your hips; are you the only one left who still remembers that name? "Want to- wanna kiss you…" 

He isn't sure if it's an empty plea, but still, Viktor presses his thumb to your mouth. Your lips are deathly soft, your breath foggy against him as you pant and breathe him in.

You litter the pad of his thumb with kiss after kiss. Your gaze is heavy, your tongue is wet and warm. His thumb smears your own saliva over your kiss-swollen lips. This tenderness is a form of devotion he isn't meant to feel, but you make it oh-so effortless. 

His palm drifts down to hold your chin. Your breath fans over the expanse of his mask, your bodies close. The mark hums, asking for entry. 

As you grind against him, slow and steady to tease the edge of your release, you wait for it to unfold you. Like a flower, like hands gently brushing your pages. Easily molded, your mind opens to him, desperation and all. He feels the same pleasure as you, a mosaic of sparks and perfect warmth bridging from your body to his. He drowns in your thoughts, as vividly as if he were dreaming them. 

He syncs with the pound of your heart, sees thin limbs entangled, touches pressed to pallid skin and pretty moles. His own reflection was almost something he'd forgotten. Your spine curls, and a soft whine is pulled from your mouth to vibrate against his thumb. You shift, taking half of him inside you, before you sink back down to fuck yourself on him. Pure, raw bliss drips through you like honey. 

And your thoughts reconvene. You imagine his touch, on your cheek, on your neck, on your thighs. The power that answers to him shudders within you in turn, as strong as the rot you can feel when you touch him; the end's form of devotion. 

You picture the throne room. The soldiers, easily felled. The king, humiliated. A soft touch, as you wiped the blood that still clung to his hands: crimson like roses. A firm, desperate jolt as you recall the way Viktor's adversaries would fight, would plead, would demonstrate how weak and pathetic they are, before Viktor effortlessly disposed of them all. 

Oh. You are sweet. 

Viktor laughs. He grasps your face, tilts it towards him. 

"I see nothing has changed since the day we met," He coos, sounding almost adoring, "You are still reckless. Ambitious. Obsessive." 

You gasp; tugging at your chest, you can feel every pull of the sigil, every press and caress of his phantom shape to your thoughts. You steady your palms on his chest as you lift, then grind, bouncing yourself on his lap, your soft skin rhythmically colliding with his firm armor. 

"Yes- hah, Vik-" Your throat is tight, your hands shake and grip him as hard as you can manage. "Love watching you win." 

The thought of it all, the thrill of the triumph, the devotion that comes with Death's praises and sacrificing souls — 

"Did it excite you?" Viktor trails his palm down your neck, fingertips searching for your quickened pulse. "Witnessing an army of fools perish, as Death claimed their pitiful souls? Watching me crush them?" 

It enamored you. 

From the moment you met him, you knew Viktor was right. All of this power finally at his fingertips, Death noticing his vision and granting him a rightful place at his side — it was only a matter of time. This is what you have always wanted, for Viktor to win. 

Perhaps you are his only remaining tie to humanity. Perhaps you, as a mortal, are no better than the rest. You'd submit if he asked you to, you'd give yourself to him, worship him. Just as the countless souls he's reaped have done before you. 

"Death will- He will be fed-" You're stuttering; your breath is sharp, beads of sweat forming to drip down your skin. "I'd never forsake Him, for- for as long as I live…" 

You grind against Viktor hard, desperate, collapsing, growing soft like a rose unfurling in sunlight. Leaning against his chest, you can only rely on clumsy bucks of your hips as you splinter, as you threaten to break, every tight thread within you inches away from being untied. 

"They'll all p-pay… they'll all fall at your feet… kiss the ground you walk on, fucking- beg for mercy…" Your voice is weak, and you're close, so close. "Please please please…" 

Viktor presses his cold palm to your chest, to the mark, forcing it to thrum with more strength than ever. Controlling, instructing, gripping your heart in two hands. His voice resounds through your mind with the weight of a knife to your chest. 

Fall apart for me. 

And you fall — fast, hard, instantly. 

The carnal force of the command, the surging fire of the spell that binds you, all of it pales in comparison to your blistering, syrup-rich high. 

Every edge to your precipice is forceful. You sigh through broken moans, grinding against him desperately to ride out each wave, gushing and fluttering around him. Your muscles tense in turn, before they fall limp. Strings of half-moans and bitten swears leave your lips, so slurred they could be mistaken for incantations. 

Your breathing becomes slow, hazy. You lean your arms on his shoulders, your head on his chest; his body, your anchor. Even in the wake of your high, you're still fluttering around his length, warm and twitching and needy. 

"Look at you." Viktor's voice takes several moments to register, and it takes you even longer to finally lift your head. You grow lost in the smoke that surrounds you, the coolness of his figure brushing over your skin, as soft as a breath. 

"You are stunning," He decides. His head tilts slightly to examine you, his index finding its place underneath your delicate chin. "Dangerously so." 

You whine weakly. Your thoughts are becoming dangerous. Despite still attempting to catch your breath, your gaze stays locked on where his would be, and you circle your hips on his still-hard cock — a silent plea for more. Aftershocks of pleasure ripple through your system. Your thighs are weak, shaking. They're barely able to hold your weight, and Viktor thankfully braces his armored hand on your side, clawed fingers digging in sharply. 

"Though, I believe we have reached a misunderstanding." Viktor caresses the mark on your chest, examining each individual scar, carved in his image. "Your fealty is exceptionally admirable. But you do not belong to Death. Every inch of you is mine." 

Those words sink into your stomach like a stone thrown into water. Your mind, your body, your end would be at his hand, you're sure of it. You could never ask for any other fate. 

He tightens his hand on your waist, and he takes back control. 

If it's more you want, more is what he's going to give. 

Viktor has every right to call you ambitious, but the word is certainly more suited for him. He was always driven, drowning himself in his studies, no matter the risk. Researching life's great departure was a talent for him, but he didn't achieve it overnight. He does not let obstacles stand in his way. There is nothing he can't surpass, no-one who could best him, no soul that could sway him from his conviction. Death admired that about him, as do you. 

There is something to Viktor that needs to improve, that longs to put adversaries in their place, that is always searching for a way to be better, to do better. To push limits, wherever they might stand. 

And the way Viktor fucks you drips with nothing short of ambition. 

There's nothing for you to do but hold onto him tight, as he drags you up and down on his cock with relative ease. Your voice splinters, your breathing rough and forceful. Every thrust bullies your sweet, oversensitive cunt, to the point where you are limp and weightless, entirely at his mercy. If you weren't used to your partner's tenacity, if you didn't know Viktor, you might've whimpered, might've pleaded through the overstimulated sparks in your core that you can't cum again. 

If only. 

Countless sensations envelop you; the frigid chill of his body, the warmth of your skin, the fluttering of your walls around him, used and still-desperate. You cover your mouth with your palm, although it does little to stifle your noise. Nor does it quiet the echoing in your ears, reverberated each time he eases deep inside you — slick, wet, filthy. 

It hardly matters to you how wrong it is to fuck him here. This throne room was once sacred, torn paintings and burnt flags and stained glass pictures surrounding you, depicting holy symbols. Meant to imply the Gods of the living are watching over. 

Part of you hopes they'd turn their divine gazes away from this, so they wouldn't see you falling apart. So they couldn't judge the way you envelop every inch of one another, your breath hot and your thighs spread as you give yourself to Death's all-powerful herald, taking all of him in turn. 

Viktor chuckles, a laugh that still shakes him for several moments afterwards. Twin flames watch as you bounce for him, your chest expanding and contracting, hair a mess in your face, eyes glossy like a doll's. 

"Ha… That stupid, useless, insignificant king," Viktor's tone sharpens, as though his teeth are gritting. A firm thrust into you makes you whine and arch further into him. "Do you think he's watching, gazing at us from his dark prison in the depths of the underworld, as we make a mockery of his throne? As we fuck each other like animals, after easily felling his entire squadron, with hardly even a lifted finger?" 

You can't help but sob. 

"Don't st-stop," You're hardly able to reply, hardly able to form words, let alone coherent thoughts. Not when Viktor is fucking up into you to his own brutal, steady pace, complying with your words before he's even heard them — not stopping, leaving you barely any room to breathe. 

"Please," You plead, "Viktor…" 

"Yes, tell them who you belong to." His voice pounds into your mind, with the force of a hammer and a nail, rich and commanding, terribly familiar. "Tell Lord Death and the Gods of the living exactly who is destined to rule over them all." 

Sparks surge up your spine with a vengeance nearly as strong as his own. 

"You, Viktor," You're begging, sobbing. Your words are thick with devotion, like they're words of worship, as if they could be prayers. "I'm yours… yours, yours, yours…" 

You hardly expect the full-body shiver that courses through him, putting his frame off-kilter, briefly bringing clumsiness to his pace. Your forehead leans against his chest, your spine arches. Your hands shakily glide over the tangible parts of his figure. His palm finds the curve of your waist that just begs to be held, gripping you tight. With composure. 

"If I could kiss you," Fuck, his voice is soft, reminiscent of a past life; his hips roll into you and you can no longer breathe, can't even think. "I would let my mouth memorize yours." Viktor presses his cold, smoke-ridden fingertips into your side — "I would want us to devour one another, until we are part of the same flame. I-" A sigh, a resounding whine from your own lips, "I could long for centuries to feel you beneath my ribs, like a second soul." 

Your heart pounds, shaking your chest, getting stuck in your throat. 

He's never considered returning to a human vessel, it'd have too many limitations, but when he looks at you, he wants nothing more than to touch you. To feel you without layers of finality in between, to dig his fingertips into your ribs and feel your heart beating, to burn himself on you like you're a pyre. Such desires are useless, distracting, human. And yet, and yet — 

"Vik-" You manage, "Harder." 

You want him harder, rougher, more. Your thighs ache, but you try to rock your body against his in feverish unison, meeting each press inside you with your own grind into him. 

With a broken moan, your eyes flutter shut. You are perfect, so otherworldly, so beautiful when you're at his mercy. Each soft stretch of what remains of him echoes with your name, consumes him and begs to take you, to claim you, to ruin you. Viktor groans, puffs of smoke expelling from beneath his cloak to settle on your skin, thick and humid. 

You take all of him, until you're full, until your bodies are one; the tremor to your thighs and the break of your voice tells him you're almost there. 

"Close," You pant, "Gonna cum for you-" 

"Beg for it." Viktor's words slur slightly, but they're tender, they're assured. They're desperate. "Tell me how much you need me." 

Oh, and you don't even need to be commanded. 

"Need you, Vik, need you so much-" You meet where his gaze would be with wide, doe-eyes, with fluttery lashes and faint tear drops. "Need you more than Death, need you more than breathing-" 

The room teeters around you, everything dizzy, your limbs weak. You only need a little more, one more spark, one last wave. Another grind of your hips to his, another press of his cock right where you need him, more friction and pressure lacing together until they're left to build, and build. 

"Viktor… Viktor, I'm-" 

You beg his name, chanting it like it's precious. Breathing it like a prayer, pleading to him like he is divine. Broken sighs and gasps hammer at your lungs. The world could burn out, could turn to ash in his wake, and this, and he would be all that matters. 

Flickering, his flame heart stirs; possessiveness takes over, as strong as teeth at his neck. For once, his soul — or the lack thereof — shines. He finds your cheek, holds it carefully, brushes his thumb over your skin with enough tenderness to make you ache. You are his, only his. 

Neither Viktor nor yourself can ever truly die, bound to servitude by the pact made to save you. So this, tender and hungry, is how you will reach the end. 

You blend into one another with fuzzy edges and tender grinds and soft gasps — becoming two halves of one whole. Heaven and the underworld, darkness and light, perfect reflections. Entwined divinely, with beautiful finality. 

Your body shudders, heat lacing through your every crevice. In the moment where you cum together, you can't feel anything but the pulse of him within you, can't see anything but hazy lines and smoke. Blue wisps surrounding you, within you. The azure glow in your stomach burns bright, before it gradually lessens. 

Breathing hard, you lean against him. Small against his shape, blissfully weak. Viktor doesn't attempt to move you, but he carefully works his hand in between you. His palm glides over your chest, presses to the center. The magic dampens, leaving your veins, and loosening its grip on your heart. Only the mark is left behind, his cool touch helping to alleviate the pain. 

"Little lamb…That's enough." Viktor's voice sounds sore, almost, not exactly human but reminiscent of the rough sharpness of wind. He trails his fingertips over the scar on your skin as he comes back to himself, before drifting down to hold your waist. "You've done so well." 

It takes you a few minutes longer to fully catch your breath, and even so, your heart pounds quickly and softly. You lift, and he helps you pull yourself off of him, adjusts so you can find a more comfortable position on his lap. Your arms find his shoulders, embracing him in something of a hug. Leaning into his much larger body, you let his touch and the mist envelop you like a grave. 

"You should rest," Viktor reasons, "Today was extensive. If you stay awake any longer, I'll be carrying you tomorrow." 

The throne room is empty and quiet. You grumble, but you don't protest when he grasps your face and lifts it to look at you. 

Your cheek leans into his touch, your eyelids heavy. "We're going north, right? Gods, it's gonna be cold." 

"Oh, you'll be fine. I'm sure you still remember how to conjure a flame." 

His hand slips from your cheek, and you grasp it carefully, placing a faint kiss onto his knuckle; still shaped like you remember. 

"Will you rest with me?" 

This form does not require rest, or sleep. Really, it wasn't meant to indulge in anything mortal. Perhaps it would be against Death's wishes to do so. Viktor's research once determined that a form like this would be detached from reality. Conjurations of Death do not have souls; they trade them, in exchange for a better body. They lack empathy, emotion, understanding. The basis of Death's strength sacrifices everything in exchange for irreversibility. Nothing else should matter. But — 

"Yes," Viktor answers, "Of course." 

— 

Death's opposition dwindles. 

It is uninteresting, truly. The earth is becoming barren, as more and more souls convene with his army in the underworld. Death has shown me visions. He is planning to soon take full control of this plane, to come with soldiers and deathriders to claim the last of the mortals. 

I believe our approach should be grander. This abundance of souls could be used as more than mere meat puppets. Death might disagree. But power, not the strength you gained on a whim, but the leverage you have grasped for yourself is a fierce, funny thing. 

My partner is one step ahead, because they already understand this concept. I have watched the darkness in their gaze grow, day by day. Yet, their light never falters, when they are looking at me. I am grateful to have them at my side. 

Our last adversary was difficult, but they felled them all on their own. They were the one to plunge their dagger into the fool's heart, returning his soul to the ground.

More will follow. Perhaps mortals. Perhaps Death's army. It matters not. Not to us. 

For dust they are, and to dust, they all shall return. 

— V. Unknown Date, 1619. 

[leighsartworks216]

Guard Dog

Sylus x hybrid!Reader

I got this idea and then struggled to write it for two weeks, as one does. As much as I like this au, I don't think I'll write another part to this unless I get like really inspired. Takes place with Raven!Reader in mind, but it can really be whoever

Warnings: hybrid au, intense, swearing, auction, violence, blood, non-sexual bondage, muzzles, torture, implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced abuse, guns, ambiguous/open ending, collar, hair-pulling, Sylus is cold and a bit mean (think first time we meet him in-game)

Word Count: 2,323 (oh fuck yeah)

Main Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

A dark sea of people stares at you, even though you can’t see so much as the light in their eyes. Their appraising looks burn into you. Melt into your skin. The auctioneer’s own nervous glances fuel your fighting spirit as two handlers drag you into the limelight.

You writhe and wriggle and squirm like a worm on a hook, with your hands securely cuffed behind your back and a muzzle strapped to your face. The collar around your throat chokes you as they pull on both of the chained leashes, tugging in opposite directions in order to settle you down. It doesn’t work. Unless they hope to drain you of oxygen for long enough to knock you out, it never will. And they won’t; they need these potential buyers to see you awake and alert, no matter how much of a hardship it is on them.

A gloved hand grabs your hair. Tangles deep into the strands, gripping by the roots tightly. With a kick to your back, you’re forced to your knees. And with a harsh backward tug on your hair, you’re made compliant, contorted with your throat exposed, unable to flee.

“Now this is a rare find you’ll never see anywhere else,” the auctioneer announces. “A Hybrid, a perfect blend of human and animal. This species here is none other than a Belgian Malinois. If you need a guard dog, this is just the thing for you! Now, bidding starts at 1 million.”

White paddles that shine in the darkness flicker out in the expanse. They’re hesitant to start, unnerved by the difficulty with which you were presented, but they quickly pick up. In mere minutes, you’re worth more than the crown jewels that came before, and still the numbers rise higher and higher. The auctioneer is flushed with energy. He barks numbers, calls out bids, as though it brings him to a high no drug ever could.

As the number passes 100 million, the bids slow down. Your fate is determined by two last relentless, rich assholes. A paddle goes up on the left, then on the right - back and forth. A war to see who gets to own you. To them, it’s nothing more than a game. You’re just a prize to be won. A pet to be kept in a pretty, gilded cage for guests to ogle at. A Hybrid, can you believe it? You’ll never guess how much it cost.

You struggle again, fighting against the fist in your hair even as your scalp burns with the pull. You refuse to let yourself be led to your destiny like this. Docile. Tame.

“One-fifty! Do I hear one-seventy-five?”

You jolt one way, then another. Your head jerks oddly. Air becomes a luxury as they pull at your collar much harder than before.

“One-seventy-five? One-seventy-five! Can we reach two hundred?”

Heavy boots thud as they run up the stage-steps. You can’t turn enough to see who it is. An enhanced cattle prod digs into your spine. Your body tenses as the electricity courses through your nerves. Steals your breath. Puts spots in your vision.

“... hundred… to the highest bidder… 109! Congratulations, Mr. Sylus!”

As though emerging from underwater, sound rushes in all at once. Polite applause becomes nothing more than white noise, grating on your ears. Three sets of hands raise you from your knees as you fight to shake off the lingering voltage in your system.

Even though you fought, destiny found you anyway.

Your feet stumble as they drag you along. Back to the kennel waiting for you just behind the stage, out of view of the crowd. They shove you inside. Cold metal bars stop your momentum, your shoulder hitting them hard enough to bruise. The door shuts with the click of a lock. As the wheels begin carrying you away, you sink to sit at the bottom of your cage.

You’re exhausted. You fought so hard - so hard - and for what? The outcome remained just the same. Reduced to being little more than property. A conversation piece. Every atom in your body screams for you to give up. Give in. Become the tame beast they wish you were. Follow every command without question, without hesitation. Do as you’re told, obey, and survive.

But you can’t.

As they wheel you to the parking lot, you get back up. You glare at the imposing man waiting there, leaning against his car. He’s entirely unfazed. He looks bored, even. You want to tear his throat out.

“Here you are, Mr. Sylus. Your Hybrid.” One guard steps forward with a little black case. They open it up to show the man. Four syringes, all too familiar, sit neatly lined up inside. “Complimentary of the House. These sedatives are the only thing able to calm it down.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

The guard falters. “Sir, I’m afraid I must insist. This creature is very dangerous and-”

“I’m aware.”

The silence is tense. The man quirks a brow, daring the guard to insist once more. Hesitantly, they close the case and step back. Does this man really think he can control you that easily?

“I… hope you know what you’re doing, Mr. Sylus.”

The guards step away from your cage, uneasy. Their boots skim the floor of the lot, devoid of anyone else, as they turn and head back to the venue.

The man, Mr. Sylus, meets your eyes. You can’t find a drop of fear in them, but you swear the right one glows slightly. Or maybe it’s just a trick of the light.

He shoves off from the car and steps forward until he’s face to face with you, separated only by steel bars. A smirk slowly curves his lips. “Do you want to kill them?”

You blink at him. He owns you now - shouldn’t he be expounding on all the ground rules and plans he has for you? Shouldn’t he be idly looking you over like a new centerpiece for the table?

He chuckles. “Yes? No? Maybe so?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before his attention is drawn to the keypad keeping you locked away. With a few easy presses, it beeps. He pulls the door open wide. With a lazy wave of his hand, the cuffs fall from your wrist, clanging against the metal flooring. The collar joins it soon after, chains jingling against each other loudly.

You look down at your hands. Free from their containment. Free to move and reach and claw. Red rings of torn skin still decorate your wrists, but it’s a minor inconvenience at best.

“H-Hey!” The footsteps stop sharply, then pick up once more, heading back in your direction. “What are you doing?! Are you crazy?!”

The man leans in conspiratorially. He’s enjoying this. Why?

“Do whatever you want with them,” he says. A glimmer of chaos dances in his eyes. He straightens back out, looking over your shoulder at the approaching danger. Yet he seems fully at ease. Even with you unchained and able to freely move. You could claw his eyes out. You could tear open his throat. But… he freed you, didn’t he?

As the steps get closer, your body reacts on pure instinct.

You shove yourself from the cage. He doesn’t so much as flinch when you nearly run into him while rounding the corner to face the threat head-on. You rush to meet them. Something feral within you takes over. Something that craves violence. Something strong enough to block out everything else around you and hone in on these four bastards.

Your claws tear into flesh. Blood pours onto the ground in wet splashes. Your nails rend muscle asunder, destroying the fragile networks of tendons and sinews. The first guard to die holds the cattle prod. It falls in a clatter and the others rush to pick it up. It bounces off your muzzle, deflected before it can hit your skin. The last guard pulls a gun on you. The bullet goes clean through your ear. They die a breath later.

You don’t feel the pain. Don’t feel the blood that drips from your ear to your hair. All you feel is the intense, visceral satisfaction of killing these fuckers. Standing over their corpses, covered in the gore, alive and free.

Well… Almost free.

You turn slowly back to Mr. Sylus. He’s unmoved by the display. Unperturbed by it all. You can’t understand him. Why would he go through all the trouble of buying you just to sic you on your own captors?

He nods toward the auction house. “You can keep going, if you’d like,” he says. “I won’t stop you.”

Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. You scowl at the man from behind your muzzle. You reach around your head, searching for the clasp or any sort of mechanism that unlocks it. The more you search, the more your frustration grows. It reaches such a fever pitch, you don’t hear him approach. The only thing you know is that his hand is suddenly in your peripheral. And the second his hand comes back from behind your head, muzzle dropping with it, you turn and bite him.

Your teeth dig in deep. Blood gushes into your mouth, filling your senses with copper and heat.

He rips his hand away with a hiss, but he just frowns at the damage that’s been done. You expect some retaliation; a flick, a smack, even just a few scolding words. But they never come. Instead, you watch with a distinct sinking feeling as the skin closes up, until no sign of the bite remains. The blood flakes away, drifting in the air like embers on the wind.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and stare in growing horror as that blood, too, flakes away. You can taste it in your mouth, acrid and bitter, slipping from your mouth as you try to lick the feeling off your tongue, until no trace remains.

“Feel better now?” he asks, unimpressed.

Your face scrunches up, baring your teeth. It’s an empty threat, now that you know he can’t be injured, but the desire to lunge forward and crush his jugular remains just the same. You wonder how much damage you’d have to do before he can’t recover. You’re careful not to turn your back to him again as you step around the bodies, picking up the gun from the one and a knife from another. You’ve never used them before, never been given a chance to, but you hope the sight of them will be enough to keep the man from getting so close to you again.

“You’re not the only Hybrid on the market,” he starts. He’s frowning, serious. You’d sure like to try out this gun on his forehead, at the crease between his brows. “Someone is breeding more and selling them in secret, just like you. You’re the only person who has any knowledge on where it could be happening.”

You glare at him. “And if I refuse?” Your voice is rough from disuse. You haven’t spoken in years. One of your limited forms of protest against your oppressors. This man - Mr. Sylus? He’s lucky to hear it.

He shrugs. “You’re free to go. But the second they realize one of their pets is on the loose, they’ll come back for you.”

He’s right, the bastard. Even back at the lab, if you managed to get loose for even a second, they were right on top of you. You’d never get far out in the real world. Not to mention, you have no way of surviving on your own; no money, no familiar faces, nowhere to go.

“If you work with me, I can give you shelter, food, clothes. Any resources you need.”

“Blackmail.”

“Incentive.”

“It’s just another cage.”

“If that was the case, why would I free you?” He nods back to the cage, still sitting open in the lot. His car is just behind it, black and sleek and ill-suited for the transport of a kennel like that. “As soon as I’ve found them,” he speaks again, voice low, “you can pick anywhere in the world to go and I’ll personally ensure your safe arrival and keep any interested parties off your back.”

You have two options: run away and get caught, or stick with Mr. Sylus on the off-chance he is telling the truth. Neither is ideal. Your life is on the line, after all. It’s a heavy bargaining chip, but it’s the only thing you’ve got to deal with.

Dread pools in your stomach, inky and thick. You’re freer than you've ever been. But now it sounds like you’re as free as you’ll ever be.

What choice do you really have?

You slowly step forward. Your head is bowed as you stare at the ground. Docile. Truly docile. For the first time in your life.

Does he understand the weight of this? you wonder. Does he know how long you’ve fought? How relentlessly you struggled and snapped and refused to give in, only to be off-leash and still choose to follow him?

You can only hope he does as he turns and leads you to the car. He holds open the passenger door for you. You stare at the luxury leather seat for a moment. You get blood all over it as you slip inside. He shuts the door behind you.

He rounds the car in no time and ducks into the driver’s seat. The car hums to life, startling you for a brief moment as you hear the engine purr and see all the little lights come on on the dash. He gestures loosely to the gun in your lap. “I’ll show you how to use that, so long as you don’t pull the trigger in here.” He flashes you a devil-may-care smirk in response to your confused frown. “You didn’t turn the safety on, sweetie.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @burningtrashgentleman

[quimichi]

↳˳;; ❝ MK1 CHARACTER INTROS ᵕ̈೫˚∗ - WITH SPIDER F!READER pt.1, pt.2

INFO: Had this idea where the reader is a spider, hybrid or drider? Whatever you imagine, they have spider like/string powers. Also, i apologize if some seem OOC or something, joined the fandom around 2 months ago and didn't play all of them so ;3

CHARACTERS: Ashrah, Baraka, General Shao, Geras, Havik, Johnny Cage, Kenshi x F!Spider Reader

Ashrah

Y/n: "I offer you a challenge, Ashrah. A duel of skill, and a test of our... affections."

Ashrah: "A dangerous game, Y/n. But I have never shied away from a challenge, especially one with such enticing stakes."

Y/n: "Let's tangle, Ashrah, weave our hearts in combat."

Ashrah: "A tempting offer, Y/n. Let's see whose heart is stronger."

Y/n: "Are you the predator, Ashrah? Or are you just pretending to be the prey?"

Ashrah: "Let's just say, Y/n, I enjoy playing both roles. And I'm quite good at it."

Ashrah: "Your webs are quite... captivating, Y/n. Are they as strong as they are beautiful?"

Y/n: "Strong enough to hold you, Ashrah. But I'd rather use them to draw you closer."

Ashrah: "You've woven a delicate trap, Y/n. But I wonder, who is truly caught?" Y/n: "Perhaps we both are."

Ashrah: "I sense a hidden desire within you. A desire I'm quite willing to explore."

Y/n: "And I sense a hidden passion within you. One I'm eager to awaken."

Baraka

Baraka: "Your webs are strong. But can they hold these blades?"

Y/n: "Strong enough to hold you, Baraka. And perhaps, strong enough to keep you."

Baraka: "You fight well. I...respect that. Let's see who is stronger...with respect."

Y/n: "A respectful clash? A rare and welcome offer."

Baraka: "Whoever wins this fight... they win the other too."

Y/n: "Excuse me what?"

Y/n: "Heard Tarkatans are pretty intense. You got any chill vibes?"

Baraka: "Chill what?"

Y/n: "You're strong, Baraka. But can you be gentle too?"

Baraka: "I can be as gentle as you let me. But I prefer when you fight back. It makes the reward sweeter."

Y/n: "Do you always get what you want, Baraka?"

Baraka: "Always. And I want you. Now. Will you make it easy, or do I have to take you?"

General Shao

Y/n: "The web tightens, Shao. Struggle is futile."

Shao: "I crush spiders. You are no different."

Y/n: "That axe looks heavy. Let me lighten your load."

Shao: "I'll lighten your life."

Y/n: "Tell me, Shao, do you dream of conquest? Or do you dream of being conquered?"

Shao: "I dream of domination. And you, little spider, will be my next conquest."

Shao: "Little spider, your webs are a tempting trap. I wonder if they're strong enough to hold a god?"

Y/n: "A god? Or just a brute with a big axe?"

Shao: "Such a beautiful distraction, little spider. I'll savor the moment before I… eliminate it."

Y/n: "Savor? I'll savor the moment you realize you've walked into my carefully crafted trap."

Shao: "Your eyes betray your desire. A desire I intend to exploit."

Y/n: "And your arrogance betrays your weakness. A weakness I intend to shatter."

Geras

Y/n: "Let's pause time, Geras. Just for a moment. To enjoy each other's company."

Geras: "Time is ever-flowing, but a moment of shared serenity is a treasure to be cherished."

Y/n: "You're like a walking history book. A really dusty one."

Geras: "Indeed. And within these 'dusty' pages lie wisdom and experience."

Y/n: "You're like a knight in shining… sand? Is that a thing?"

Geras: "A knight's armor is but a symbol. True valor lies in the heart, and I assure you, mine is…unwavering."

Geras: "Such vibrant energy. A shame it will soon be… extinguished."

Y/n: "Extinguished? I'm just getting warmed up. You're the one looking a little dusty."

Geras: "I find myself… appreciating the… unique perspective you bring to our… interactions." Y/n: "Unique? I'm just being me. And you're loving it."

Geras: "Our interactions, Y/n, are like adelicate dance. A graceful exchange of…energies."

Y/n: "Dance? I'm thinking more like a wrestling match. Winner gets a date."

Havik

Y/n: "You speak of freedom, yet you are bound by madness."

Havik: "Madness is my freedom, and soon, it will be yours."

Y/n: "I will weave a cage for your insanity." Havik: "A cage? How delightfully intimate. I've always wanted a personal audience."

Y/n: "You're like a bad rash, you just keep popping up." Havik: "And you're like a particularly sticky cobweb, I just can't shake you off!"

Havik: "Every strand you weave is a thread pulling me closer. You will be mine."

Y/n: "I belong to no one."

Havik: "I will paint the realms with your name, a masterpiece of devastation."

Y/n: "Ensure the paint is vibrant, Havik. I enjoy a good spectacle."

Havik: "I will dismantle reality itself, just to build a throne for you, my queen of chaos."

Y/n: "A throne built on rubble? How... fitting."

Johnny Cage

Y/n: "You mistake arrogance for skill."

Johnny Cage: "And you mistake beauty for... well, actually, you're right on the money there."

Y/n: "You're a has-been, clinging to past glories." Johnny Cage: "Has-been? I'm a timeless classic! Like 'Casablanca,' but with more roundhouse kicks."

Y/n: "You think a wink will distract me?" Johnny Cage: "Distract you? I'm hoping it'll make you forget we're even fighting. Unless you'd rather kiss and make up?"

Johnny Cage: "You know, I've always been a fan of strong, independent women. Especially ones that can tie me up." Y/n: "Oh I'll tie you up, Cage."

Johnny Cage: "I've got a balcony overlooking the city skyline, perfect for a late-night vibe." Y/n: "The city lights are a distraction. I prefer the sound of your heartbeat… as it fades away."

Johnny Cage: "Game room? Winner gets... a kiss." Y/n: "My kiss is venomous."

Kenshi

Y/n: "Your lack of sight doesn't hinder your perception, does it, Kenshi?" Kenshi: "I feel a pull, yes. A dangerous and alluring one."

Y/n: "Your senses are heightened, Kenshi. Can you feel the vibrations of my webs, or your own anticipation?" Kenshi: "Both, I suspect."

Y/n: "I'll leave a trail of silk, Kenshi, like a breadcrumb trail." Kenshi: "A surprise? I'm always eager for surprises. Especially when they're wrapped in silk."

Kenshi: "Those webs...they seem to whisper secrets. Perhaps they'll reveal your deepest desires?" Y/n: "My desires are simple. And they involve you."

Kenshi: "I sense a playful tension, spider. Are you trying to tease me, or are you just naturally irresistible?" Y/n: "Naturally irresistible, Kenshi. But a little teasing never hurt anyone… much."

Kenshi: "Are you daring me to try and escape, or are you daring me to try and catch you?" Y/n: "I'm daring you to try everything, Kenshi."

[gotaksboyfie]

Do a gender neutral about the serial killer reader ✌💖💖

bloody devotion

gif creds: @pranpat

pairing keum seongje x gn serial killer reader

summary recently you've felt eyes on you while you do your.. hobby. you can't pinpoint who it is, though. however, the owner of them makes himself known one day when he notices you struggling after you bite off more than you can chew.

word count 2.3k

warnings/tags murder, violence, gore !!! heed these tags

you walked the streets of yeongdeungpo pissed because of a bad grade on your test. realistically, an 86 isn't horrible but it was still far from your usual scores. your fingers searched for your cigarettes only to find that you ran out. well now you just had to kill someone, right?

you scoffed and looked around to see if anyone would pick a fight with you. that was your favorite method, pissing a wannabe gangster off only to lead them into an alley and leave their body for their little friends to find.

you fixed your mask and hid your hair under a beanie, then pulled up your hoodie. target number one was spotted, a yeo-il student walking around with a vape. you walked briskly past him and purposely brushed his shoulder hard.

"yo, the hell is your problem?" he grunted, turning around to see you. you looked back and hardened your eyes.

"get the fuck out of my way," you huffed, walking away and turning a corner. you knew the streets like the back of your hand and there was a dead end coming up soon. you heard him tailing behind you as you slowed your pace to let him catch up. hook, line, and sinker.

"you wanna fucking go?" he yells, huffing and puffing in rage already. seems like he has some serious anger issues.

you turned again into the alley, this time hiding in the shadows against the wall. you held your kitchen knife tightly, aiming it at torso level. you hear his steps speed up to try and catch up to you. (but maybe if you listened closer, you would've noticed that there were 2 pairs of footsteps.)

"i fucking got you, you fucker-," he was cut off sharply with a stab to his stomach. he instantly collapsed to the floor and you kicked his body further into the dark alleyway, completely out of sight. ripping the knife out of him, you squatted to his side as he laid crumbled on the floor.

he coughed and blood spilled out, "i'll fucking kill you," he said with no bite. he panted as he made an attempt to crawl away, but you swiftly stopped him with a stab to his calf.

"what's wrong? i thought you wanted to fight," you mocked him, twisting the knife around. his legs gave out as you sent the knife in and out of his thighs multiple times. scooting closer to his body, you could still hear him faintly breathing.

"still alive? that makes it more fun for me," you smiled underneath your mask.

trailing the knife up his spine, you pressed it hard enough to cut deep. he choked on his blood as he tried to scream, leaving a small pool near his face.

"gross dude," you complained. the metallic smell was growing stronger and you sighed. "you're no fun," you pouted, "give me something more at least".

sending another stab to his arm with a wet squelch, his eyes fluttered before they stared blankly and his body was still. "that was fast," you muttered. a chill ran down your spine as you felt someone watching you, and you turned back swiftly.

there was no one there, but your senses never betrayed you. someone was near, and they definitely saw the gruesome mess that you created.

huffing, you stabbed your victim one last time in his upper shoulder just for some stress relief, before ripping the knife out and wiping it clean with his shirt. it has to be the same guy from the last 2 people you killed.

you knew that someone has been watching you, but you could never see anyone nearby. whoever it is, they haven't reported you yet.

you tucked your knife into your backpack, and skipped out cheerfully. your "disguise" was still on, so there was no way of identifying you from an eyewitness perspective anyways. feeling much lighter, you went home after making sure no one was tailing you.

this marked your 5th murder, and you were finding it to be an extremely effective stress reliever. the police didn't even try investigating hard because it was always a street thug that you killed. they just figured it was something related to the gangs surrounding the area. after all, who would suspect you, an honor student, of all people to be a murderer?

a few weeks passed without much happening but you were starting to feel pent up again. it seemed like every little thing was starting to tick you off, but it was too soon since the last victim.

you needed to space them out to make it seem more like the gangs than one organized killer. also, you were getting paranoid about someone watching you. just one person leaking the slightest bit of evidence, and you could be locked up for years.

but today, you were feeling extra pissed. someone had spilled milk on your notes with no apology, and you had to use every ounce of self control you had to not choke them out right then and there.

then some other kids in your cram school wouldn't shut up, and you couldn't even focus on your studying. to top it all off, your neighbors dog just wouldn't shut up all night leaving you with barely any sleep.

you gritted your teeth and wandered around in your disguise again, hoping to find a lone victim. unfortunately, it seems like everyones in a group right now. you tsk and go to another street, getting more restless.

spotting a group of 3 guys, you decided to go for it anyway. that was the smallest group you've seen so far and you might go legitimately insane if you don't do something quick. you make eye contact with one of them then you walked right up to him.

"what the fuck are you looking at?" he said, sneering ar you. opting for a quick provocation, you quickly slap him and run away. you headed straight to your favorite alley, mostly because it had no cctv near and streetlights, but also because it was where you had your first victim.

"they went this way, fuck, go find them!" you heard one of them say. did all 3 of them come? it's fine though, they're unarmed and you have a butcher knife.

hiding in the shadows, you crouched down and waited for one of them to pass by, when you did, you sliced his thigh open and jumped up to swiftly attack the next guy.

unfortunately, the guy you just sliced is a loud ass screamer.

"fuck! call the fucking police! they have a knife- oh shit- hurry up and call 119 you bastards!" he screamed out, stumbling onto the floor. the two boys gasped and started running out the alley. you curse under your breath before stomping on his phone, ensuring he can't call the cops.

no- they couldn't escape- at least not now. sprinting after the faster one, you manage to graze his arm and make him trip onto the floor. you looked ahead to see that the third one was about to turn the corner out the alley when a loud smack could be heard, and he fell backwards onto his ass.

the fuck? you looked down to see the guy scrambling on his phone, and you kick it out his hands before he can dial anything.

"i'm sorry, please spare me," he starts sobbing while backing up, clutching his arm.

you glance back at the first person you attacked and he was still handicapped at the end of the alley. no need to worry about him for now. you swing the knife into his stomach before going to the third guy. he screams in pain before going silent, choking on his blood.

"he's still alive, just unconscious for now." a gruff voice said, and you looked up to see a man with glasses smoking a cigarette. "perfect for you to finish off, sweetheart." he says while grinning at you.

"who the fuck are you?" you raise your eyebrow at him. you just know instinctively this is the same person whose been present at your previous murders. you weren't expecting him to be so.. hot.

"keum seongje, at your service," he exhales some smoke before jerking his head towards the your other victims. the name is familiar to you, but you can't pinpoint from where.

"go have some fun. i'll move this one in further. don't worry about witnesses, i'll be keeping watch," he ends his sentence with a wink, making your heart stutter.

"thanks," you reply flustered. you don't know what to say. who would willingly help a serial killer? much less flirt with one. you glance back at him before going and finishing the job.

you decide to practice dismembering today, but you don't get very far because you can't go through the bone effectively. the first dude is already dead after multiple failed attempts, and the second is still barely alive. you nearly saw off his arm but you can't get past the bone. you sigh and pause, sitting and resting for a moment.

"theres a much more efficient way, let me show you." seongje steps forward from behind you and you tiredly hand him the knife. in one swift move, it's cleanly cut off. the victim hacks up some more blood before going limp. seems like getting his arm cut off was too much for him.

"there's still one more. wanna try for yourself?" seongje grins, displaying his teeth. you smile back even though he can't see your mouth, but it's visible through your eyes.

you approach the final guy and kick him repeatedly until he groans and curls inward. "wake up, i'm bored already." you scoff.

fluttering his eyes open, he gasps as he sees the two of you looming over him, especially you in your bloodstained attire.

"d-don't hurt me!" he pleads, crawling backwards just like how his friend did. the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, you suppose.

you laugh before kicking his chest down again. you sit on top of him to ensure that he can't get away and you look back at seongje.

"come here, show me how to do it again,"

seongje sits down next to you, uncaring of the blood splatters below him. his hands guide yours into a nice position. unfortunately the guy won't quiet down, and he keeps begging for you to spare his life or some stupid shit.

"oh my god, shut the fuck up already if you don't want me to prolong this further," you drop the knife on his chest to slap him across his face and he shuts up real quick when he sees the venomous glare seongje sends him.

"you wanna hold it at this angle, and make sure you have some room for your wrist to flick up and down," seongje mutters into your ear. his hands are on your arms, carefully maneuvering them. his touch is gentle, and his hands linger on you for far too long but you can't bring yourself to tell him to stop.

"like this?"

"that's perfect."

the praise sends shivers down your spine.

seongje guides you through the first arm the entire way, explaining everything to you. his lips brush your ear far more times than you can count. you can feel his body heat from how close you guys are, and it makes a small blush rise to your face.

surprisingly, seongje's technique works extremely well and it doesn't take long before you have a left arm free from its owner.

this time, you don't do anything about the screaming. this alleyway is secluded enough that no one (save for you and seongje) actually comes close enough to hear anything. another reason why you love this place.

seongje helps you with the second arm, but releases his hands for you to get some practice in. mid way through, your victim passes out from blood loss making it a lot easier to focus on seongje's voice. the sound is soothing, and you purposely ask more questions just to hear him speak.

you finish with some more chops to various body parts, releasing all your pent up anger. you exhale contentedly as you stare at the mangled body and take your mask off. you figured seongje wouldn't report anything since he literally just made himself complicit in this.

"why are you doing this?" you reach for a cigarette but soon realize you forgot a lighter. "fuck, do you have a lighter?"

seongje smiles again, and pulls out a cigarette of his own. lighting his up, he answers. "not every day you see someone violently murdering people, especially not someone as cute as you, sweetheart"

"you fucking stalking me or something? how'd you even find out anyway?" you put your cigarette in your mouth and extend your hand for the lighter. seongje steps closer to you instead and lights yours with his. you stare at him and raise your eyebrows, and he grins again.

"just had a hunch. followed you one day and i saw what i saw," seongje shrugs and steps closer to you, standing shoulder to shoulder with you. you guys smoke in a comfortable silence before you break it.

"so what's with the sweetheart?" you glance at seongje, only for him to already be staring at you.

"take a wild guess."

"are you crazy? you're interested in a serial killer?" you scoff and smile lazily. the idea is almost absurd to you.

seongje runs his tongue across his teeth, and exhales a puff of smoke. "been interested in you, you're just too much of a fuckin' nerd to notice. the serial killer bit is just an added bonus. it's hot as fuck,"

you gasp as you realize why seongje is so familiar to you, he goes to your school. you roll your eyes at the 'nerd' comment, "could've approached me like a normal person instead of stalking me around, y'know." your stomach erupts with some butterflies at what he said towards the end. seriously, who the hell thinks that?

"where's the fun in that? i like seeing you scared as you try to find me after your murders."

"you asshole," you knew he was doing that on purpose, why else would he make his presence known and then hide like a rat? still, you're glad it was him instead of someone planning to expose you for your crimes.

seongje flicks his cigar onto the floor and stomps on it, "you wanna get outta here? i've got a motorcycle."

you take a final hit of your cigarette before putting it out with your foot, "where are we headed?"

"anywhere you want, sweetheart."

you grin widely and lick your lips, "i could go for someone else to kill right now,"

seongje lets out an airy laugh. "three people not enough for you? some insane bloodlust you got there."

"someone was making me too stressed to go out and find more people these last few weeks. gotta make up for the missed time," it's an excuse and you know it, but you just want to spend some more time with seongje.

seongje puts his hands up in a mock surrendering motion, "as long as i'm not next,"

"pull the same shit again and you will be"

"yeah yeah, let's go before someone stops by." seongje starts walking to his motorcycle, glancing around for any potential witnesses.

you follow seongje to his motorcycle and wrap your arms around his waist. you rest your head sideways on his back, and you hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. now this was something you could get used to.

fin

a/n writing this was so fun i love this dynamic sm!! might write a part 2 💭 sorry for any spelling mistakes i'm not a good proof reader 😭 hope you enjoyed!

[calisources]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences and quotes have been taken from different media about starcrossed lovers or forbidden love, full of angst, some bold words, some nasty ones, possessive nature and letting someone use you as a replacement. So, some toxic energy in this one. Change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.

I love you,and I will love you until I die,and if there's a life after that,I'll love you then.

Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?

And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.

I'm falling in love with you.

I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. I have waited for this for such a long time. Consequences be damned.

These violent delights have violent ends.

 I’m only human. And you are …all-consuming.

Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.

I will never let you go, do you hear me? 

 will keep you safe. And I will find a way for us to be together.

If you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.

If you were any less the man you are, I would beg you to take me with you.

If you were any less the woman you were, I would beg you to come with me.

I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

This is lust.

She’s your very own forbidden fruit.

You said you didn't want this.

We all desire what we cannot have.

Have you noticed how the boy looks at you?

Do you think I didn’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?

You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.

We can’t do this on so many levels.

I can't even whisper her name, my heart would burst out of my chest.

But I would fight against the stars for you.

I have ruined your life.

Some lines you just don't cross. 

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?

The closer we get—the more I let you in…the more dangerous this gets.

Don’t you get it? You’re what everyone wants! But I’m not going to let them win.

Make it so I never have to dream about this again—make it so we can have this…forever.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

We were doomed from the start. 

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. 

You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.

Are you scared of me now?

You loved me - then what right had you to leave me?

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

One moment, you give me everything that I want, and in the next, you snatch all of that away.

It's hopeless. We can never work out.

The world didn’t want us together so I forged a new one where we would.

How could a peacock lust for a lion?

You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.

It's absurd how crazy love can make you...but even more absurd how stupid jealousy can make you.

 That you and I are meant to be together, but never meant to be.

Why does fate seem always to conspire against us? To deny us life's simple pleasures?

We'll meet after this war. I'll certainly find you wherever you'll hide. 

War makes fools of men and women wanton.

What offends you most, Father? That she's Catholic, or that she's poor?

If my father discovers you here, he'd cut off your little nuts and eat them. He can't stand you.

You tempress, I see you once and all I can think of is having you.

Feelings are forbidden, does not mean we cannot enjoy one another.

The more you deny me, the more I desire you. You are a plague in my mind.

Ever since we met, no one else can compare. 

How can I be with someone else, when I’m with them, it’s you I see.

You can have me, think of whoever you love. For tonight.

You can pretend I'm her/him. I don't care. I just want you.

[yikesmary]

DRUNK GIANT — kim mingyu x reader

summary: in which you have to figure out how to transfer your drunk boyfriend to the bedroom without causing major bodily harm. and he’s not making it easy for you.

notes: this was really fun for me to write so i hope you guys like it!

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Your cell phone blared loudly, waking you up from your slumber. Your first instinct was to ignore it until whoever was calling you gave up, but when you looked at the digital clock that was on the nightstand and saw it was 1:03AM, you figured it was important.

You picked up your phone and the contact name “Mingyu’s Boyfriend” was display across the screen. “Hello? Wonwoo?” you greeted, your voice groggily and your eyes still adjusting.

“Hey, I’m in front of the house and me and Cheol can barely get him through the front door,” Wonwoo said.

“I thought Gyu was supposed to sleepover at yours so you didn’t have to drop him off?” You asked.

“Well, he refused to get in the car unless we said we’re going to you. And we might as well do it since— Mingyu’s in the bushes,” Wonwoo said, cutting himself off and you could hear the rustle of the bushes in the background.

“I’ll be there in a second,” you said, standing up.

“This isn’t meant to rush you or anything, but we have to drop off Hoshi and I don’t know if Seokmin will be able to dodge his kisses the drunker he gets. And we’ve had to separate Dino and Seungkwan from fighting more times than necessary,”

You opened the front door to see quite a sight; Seungcheol was trying to get Mingyu up and away from the bushes that were in front of your house and Wonwoo was a moment away from running away. "I thought you guys took three cars?" You asked, hanging up on the phone.

"Yeah, well, Jeonghan and Joshua were the drivers of the two other cars. And you probably know how that went when they saw how drunk the others were," Seungcheol sighed.

You laughed, knowing how sneaky both guys were. "How did Gyu get this drunk anyways?" you questioned, seeing both Wonwoo and Seungcheol exchange a look.

"That. What was that?" You asked, pointing at the both of them.

"Mingyu may have challenged me to a drinking game..." Seungcheol told you, and you groaned since Seungcheol had the best tolerance for alcohol.

"So you're telling me you're the reason why my boyfriend can barely stand up? And why didn't you stop him?" You directed your first question to Seungcheol and then the second to Wonwoo.

"I couldn't find them in the club! I was too busy trying to stop Seungkwan and Seokmin from dancing on top of the tables," Wonwoo defended himself.

The three of you looked at Mingyu, who had finally noticed that you were there. "Baby!" He slurred, standing up on his own. But that didn't last long as he had stumbled into your arms once he was close enough.

"Gyu, why'd you have to challenge Cheol on drinking?" you asked, trying your best to adjust him, but considering he towered over you, it was difficult to.

"Could you put him on the couch in the living room? I'll take care of the rest," you asked the only two men who were sober.

They nodded, and each men took Mingyu's arm and when you opened the door for them, they put him on the couch. They weren't delicate with it either; they just plopped him onto the couch and he nearly slipped off if it wasn't for Wonwoo pushing him back.

Wonwoo and Seungcheol said goodbye to you and once they left, you were left with a drunk Mingyu, with the mission to get him to your shared bedroom.

"Baby, c'mon, you have to help me out here," you asked, but all he did was mumble and move his head.

"Kim Mingyu, if you don't help me right now... Something will happen!"

You were tempted to leave him on the couch and leave him there, but you would've felt guilty if you did. Also, there were countless times where he took care of you when you were sick or drunk, so you felt you should do the same.

"Gyu, I'm not above bribing you, so if you stand up and walk to our room, I'll give you kisses," you negotiated.

Once you finished your sentence, Mingyu's head snapped up so fast that you swore he nearly broke his neck. "Kisses?" he whispered, but it sounded more like 'kith' with how drunk he was and how his lisp came out.

"All the kisses you want, you just have to go to our room and lay in our bed,"

In an instant, like Mingyu gained a boost, he was able to stand himself up and dart to your room, the fastest you've seen him.

You shook your head and followed him, shocked at how easy that was.

"I wonder if Wonwoo were to offer kisses, if Mingyu would've done it,"

[after-the-end-times]

Not Just A Townie

~This was not the drabble I set out to write at the beginning of the night~ Rating: T◈Words: 2,21◈CW: Steve has low sense of self worth, Robin's just now realizing how low ◈Tags: Platonic Stobin, Robin POV, Secret Relationship Steddie, Lots of Emotions, Lots of Hugs, Sibling-like bantering, Bitchy Steve, Bitchy Robin, Retail Personas For @steddiebingo Square: Family Video Ao3

Steve smiled a friendly retail service smile at the two girls walking into Family video. "Welcome to Family Video, let me know if you need help finding anything!"

"Thanks."

"Sure"

They headed straight back to the wall of New Releases.

Robin poked him. "Go talk to them. They're pretty."

Steve glanced sideways at her. "Yeah no. Not interested. I mean, they're clearly not interested."

"You got that from thanks? They're pretty girls and you're a... not bad looking guy. Two plus two equals four, ergo go talk to them."

Steve turned to lean his hip against the counter, crossing his arms. "You do know dating doesn't work like that, right?"

"Really." She gave him a highly skeptical look. "I'm pretty sure it does. Otherwise, why flirt with whoever walks in?"

"That's to feel out the vibe. See if you click. It's not just, oh pretty, let's date."

"You know what? No. I'm gonna go talk to them."

"Oh! Good for you! Proud of you."

"Not for me! For you, Steviepoo"

"Ew, Robin, no."

Robin flicked his ear, he lightly slapped her shoulder, she jabbed a finger into his ribs, he flipped her hair, she went to-

"Ok, enough! What does the post-it note say?"

Steve heaved a sigh and recited in monotone, "'No slap fights. That means you, Steve and Robin. I mean it. No more customer complaints.' With three underlines under 'no more'. But, can I just say, you started it?"

"So? You could just not retaliate!"

Steve gave her a flat look. "I can't believe I used to beg my parents for a sister. Shoo. Go talk to the pretty girls."

She started walking backwards. "Oh, I will. Just you watch me."

"Don't trip."

"What?" She tripped. "Ow."

She popped up and spun toward him, sending a 'I'm watching you' signal and a middle finger hidden by a movie rack.

Robin walked to the back wall where the girls were holding up a couple videos, debating which to get.

"I see you've picked a couple good ones there. Is there anything I can do to help you decide? I'm Robin, by the way, and I have to say I've seen the one in your right hand about five times now, so, good choice!"

The brunette girl held up the movie. "Yeah? We've been wanting to see it, but didn't know this one had come out already." She held up the one in her left hand.

"Well, how about you check out the one you've been wanting to see. And perhaps my friend, Steve, over there can check out the other one and you could watch it with him? He makes the best popcorn."

The girls looked at each other and back at Robin. The blonde girl spoke up, "Oh, uh, no, I think we'll just see if it's still here next weekend."

"Really? You don't think Steve's a good looking dude? He's also really nice." She failed to mention the tendency for slap fights.

"Sure, he's hot," Blondie said. "But we're dating college guys these days? No offense to your friend, but-"

"We don't date townies." Brunette stated, with a little smirk.

Robin, honest to god, gasped.

She didn't remember the last time she gasped in offense like some southern mama, but this, she thinks, warrants it.

How dare they think they're above Steve.

Her face fell flat, switching to costumer service voice. "I'm sorry, but I believe those two videos are on a wait list. I'll just take them, thank you. I need to let the next people on the list know they're available. It's just store policy, you understand."

She walked back to Steve, holding her captured videos. She slid the movies under the counter, making a mental note to put them back out once the girls left.

"Sooo, how'd it go? Two plus two work out for you there?"

She flicked a glare at the girls across the store. "They weren't good enough for you."

"Awwww Robiiin!" He grabbed her up in a tight bear hug, wiggling her above the ground a couple times, before lowering her back down.

She slapped at his chest once she was free.

"Robin, it's chill, seriously. I can't really compete with the college guys a lot of the girls my age are meeting."

Robin gasped. Again. She's mildly horrified at herself.

"You listen to me, Steve-Marie, you're just as good as any of those college guys. You've saved this town. What have they done? Gone to class? Ugh! Stop looking at me like that!" She flicked his nose.

Steve twitched his nose and just kept gazing at her, love and amusement shining from his eyes and smile, for anyone to see. "Nope! You loooooove meeee!"

"You're annoying."

The girls walked back toward the front of the store, movie-less.

Robin gave a little wave. "Have a nice day! Sooo sorry about those movies. Not sure when they'll be available for you. You know, since all the townies are already waiting for them."

She continued smiling until they were out the door, dropping it once they're back in their car. Steve was smirking when she turned back to look at him.

"That's what got you in a twist? They called me a townie? I am a townie. Townie. Tooownie. Welp, word's lost all meaning."

"No, you're not, Steve. You're gonna get out of here, do something awesome."

"Why can't I do something awesome here?"

"Because! Because, it's Hawkins, Indiana. You belong out there. Somewhere they'll appreciate you! Ugh! Stop it with the face!" She put her hand over his eyes. "Why are you making me say nice things about you! You're you! You're Steve Harrington. Why would you stay here? Here?!"

Steve's smile slowly dropped, suddenly looking too serious and resigned. "Where would I go?"

She pulled her hand off his eyes, suddenly aware the conversation just went serious.

"Steve."

"Would it be so bad? Staying here? Maybe get a job somewhere I actually like? Get a little house with a yard? And just, build a life here?"

"What about the nuggets?" That got a small smile out of him, at least.

"There's other townies." The smile dropped. "Besides. I don't know if that's for me. Not anymore."

Her chest started to feel tight; she started this, she led them down this conversational path. "Steve."

"Hey, it's ok." He pulled her into a hug. "It's ok. You're gonna go off to college and you're gonna see the world. Just, maybe come visit townie-Steve, every once in a while, yeah?"

Silent tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking into Steve's vest. How could he be so resigned? Yes, there were a lot of good people just living their lives here, but- but Steve was- they all were, meant for more. How could they be happy here? How could he think she'd just go off without him?

He just kept holding her tight.

Finally, she pulled back, swiping angrily at her wet cheeks.

"Ok. Ok. Here's the plan. I'm going to defer college for a year-"

"No, Robin. You're not. You're going to college in the fall."

"Ok, Dad. No, I'll defer. I got into a few that I applied to. We'll use this year to get you in, too. Where'd you apply last time?"

Steve just looked at her.

"Steve?"

"Nowhere."

"What?"

"I didn't send in the applications. Told my parents I didn't get in."

"What."

"Where would I go, Robin?"

She blinked at him, she was so angry and sad and confused. She couldn't even form a thought, let alone a response. He'd just- But he was always so- How could he-

"Ok." She finally said.

"Ok?"

"I'll defer and you're going to update and send in your applications. If you want to come back here after we graduate, fine. But, we're leaving for four years first. Got it?"

Steve just looked at her, expressionless, it was unnerving, but she figured he was processing.

"Why?" He finally said, looking at her like he'd never met her before.

"What do you mean why?" She grasped his shoulders. "Because, you deserve to get out of here and experience more than what Hawkins has put you through."

Somehow, he was still expressionless, still just looking. She could always read him, his face usually betrayed every emotion, every thought. This was something new and Robin didn't think it was something good.

"No. Why would you defer? I'll just come later if you want. Why would you change up your life for me?"

Robin's chest was tight again. "Why wouldn't I?"

"People don't do that."

And there it was.

She could hear the silent for me tacked onto the end of that statement and it killed her.

Robin wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to hurt every single person who did this to Steve, who left him feeling like he had to give everything of himself while expecting nothing in return.

"Well, it's what I'm going to do. Ok?"

Steve didn't speak, just nodded, eyes finally filling with emotion. Robin pulled back him into a tight hug.

The bell over the door rang.

"Get out, we're closed!" She yelled without looking. "Flip the sign on your way out!"

She heard the thwap of the sign hitting the glass as the person did what she told them.

She did not hear the bell again. She turned her tear wet face just enough to see the door.

Eddie.

From his position, he could see Steve's face and Eddie looked gutted at what he saw.

Robin motioned him with a hand to join them. He was there before she could even let Steve know. His arms wound around them both, his head pressed to Steve's other shoulder.

She rubbed Steve's back, big up and down swipes of her hand, taking slow, deep breaths. Her tears finally dried up.

She heard Eddie's voice murmuring to Steve, too low for her to really make out the words, but she felt Steve nod against her shoulder.

And finally, Robin felt Steve take a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out slow.

Steve gave her one last big squeeze and pulled back slowly. She kept an eye on him, watching for...something, anything, she didn't even know anymore.

Robin just wanted to make this better for him, whatever that meant. She just wasn't sure if she was helping or hurting him at this point.

This Steve wasn't one she had a mindmeld with, she couldn't tell what he was feeling, let alone what he was thinking.

She watched as he turned to Eddie. Eddie, who was...awfully close, who lifted a hand to Steve's cheek and gently, slowly wiped under Steve's eye with his thumb, catching a stray tear.

Robin gasped.

Silently this time, thankfully, but that was her third gasp of the day and she was tired from so many emotional revelations in so short a time.

"Steve?"

He smiled, lifting his head to look at her. Purposefully, he lowered his hand, slipping it into Eddie's.

She wouldn't gasp again, but her hand still came up to cover her mouth. "Oh, my god."

"Is that a good oh my god?" Steve asked, eyes soft and a small half smile quirked across his tilted face.

"What? Yes!" Robin felt suddenly thrust back into her body, jolting forward to grab Steve's other hand. "Yes, it's a really good oh my god. I had no idea you were- and my mind's still reeling, but I'm so happy for you! And you, Eddie, obviously, but Steve's- well, you know."

Eddie chuckled low. "Don't worry, I get it."

Robin sagged in relief. She hadn't even realized she was so tense. She wants to go home.

"Can we go home?" She looked up at Steve, when did she look down?

"Yesss. Let's get out of here." He used his grasp on Robin's hands to pull her against his side, walking her back to the break room to get their stuff.

Eddie was writing something on the notepad when they came out.

"Hey babe, what're you writing there?" Steve said.

Babe

"Writing up your excuse for closing early."

"Yeah?" He slid one hand low across Eddie's back and tried to peek around his shoulder. "So, why'd we leave?"

"Computer issues."

"Simple. I like it. Though, what happens when it boots right up for Keith in the morning?"

Eddie grinned over his shoulder. "Yeah, he's gonna have a problem with that."

Robin ducked down to look under the counter, cords hung limp, coiling all over the floor.

"You might not have work tomorrow if he doesn't know how to plug everything back in. Also, there's the computer virus you valiantly stopped that he'll have to deal with."

Robin's eyes met Steve's, he raised one eyebrow, and she doubled over laughing.

She was laughing so hard she couldn't breath, she grabbed onto the counter to hold herself up. Steve caught her just as her knees tried to give out.

She leaned her head against his chest, trying to slow the laughter, trying to breath. Weirdly, she felt better. Lighter.

And maybe they still had things to talk about, emotions to work through, futures to decide, especially now that she knew to include Eddie, but she knew they'd work it out.

They'd be ok. Together.

[our-hextech-dream]

i haven't seen anyone fully articulate what i personally felt disappointed by wrt viktor's s2 persona and ending so i guess i have to do it myself even tho i'm bad at talking!! can someone who is better at this just read my mind and say it fancier and more coherently?

agency, the loss of

i have seen people already mention the way disability came into play at the end and what a wild choice it was for jayce - born able-bodied and healthy - to be the one to tell viktor - trapped in a body that was actively killing him - that actually your disability is a part of you and made you who you are and you owe everything to it. ... huh? jayce (by which i mean the writers), do you think without his disability, viktor wouldn't have still been a genius? yes, viktor is disabled - that's not even remotely what makes him a compelling character and power player. it is his mind not his body that makes him who he is. the fact that he had to waste almost his whole life fighting against that body to achieve anything is the entire crux of his frustration - imagine what he could have dedicated his mind to if he weren't constantly struggling to find a way just to survive another year, another month, another week, one more day. have you thought about it? because he has. so yeah that whole conversation, trash. bruno mars just the way you are ass one direction that's what makes you beautiful ass argument. viktor was not going crazy over cosmetic surgery, he was trying not to die.

but it strikes me as just one more expression of an overarching theme for s2 viktor - that of the complete and total loss of his agency. (more on a meta level than in the show itself, but also in the show!) i said after act 1 that viktor had died in that explosion and jayce was going to be chasing that corpse until the end, and i was correct. viktor bounced from one mindset to another, never seeming to have any consistent ideology of his own that couldn't be changed as soon as the plot demanded it. at any given point he was just kinda... wandering around, doing some random shit with the powers that worked through him. gone was the viktor who used his own hands and mind to influence the world directly, to bend it to his will. i always always felt this and i stand by it - taking viktor's abilities as an inventor and scientist away and turning him into some arcane mage jesus figure was a mistake and a disservice to his character. arcane said no this boy wasn't smart or determined, his ability to build and invent and seek and learn don't matter and never mattered, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and as soon as the arcane got its goop on him he just became the most specialest magic pixie dream boy to ever live and his own goals, dreams, ideals, morals, talents, skills, and hard work ceased to matter in any meaningful way. he never had to work to master magic to be able to use it to further his goals, because he immediately stopped having goals.

viktor became a non-character. he became whatever ideological and technological threat level the show needed to challenge to heroes and never more. he ceased to have any control or understanding over what was happening to him, rather he just gave up and decided to use his magic indiscriminately for whoever made the most convincing argument, a choice that would have been completely antithetical to his character up to that point if he'd still been alive. 'fuck zaunites, sure i'll turn them into robots so a foreign power can use them to attack and take over piltover and zaun, who cares. it's not like these are the people i've spent 30 years of my life trying to protect and save.' <- something viktor would never ever ever have agreed to! ever! no matter what! they have played us for absolute fools.

ambiguity, the loss of

the thing i wanted the most and was expecting because of the way viktor's original lore was set up was that the series would end with viktor and jayce unreconciled and with mutually exclusive worldviews, both fully believing they were right and the other was misguided but not evil or irredeemable, setting them up for future conflict. this felt like what was being set up when arcane made it a plot point that jayce was being convinced to turn hextech into weapons while viktor started getting unethical and unhinged with the experimentation. they both had good reasons to do what they did - and i'm absolutely not going to insult jayce's intelligence by claiming he was just manipulated into it by anyone, give me a fucking break - but the point was that both of them were doing something the other thought was misguided and dangerous. and they also felt that if they could just make the other person see their completely logical and rational pov, they could fix the divide between them and make up and be best science buddies again.

but then at the end arcane completely gave up on viktor having any belief in his own ideals. it just turned into 'aw actually he was just lonely all along and none of that science stuff or difference in morals or worldviews mattered bc he's got a buddy now and he's completely unequivocally on jayce's side. :)'

it was like. insanely selfish. as in, self-centered, concerned *only* with the self. the viktor i liked, and the one i wanted to flourish and hoped arcane would canonize, was someone who was entirely dedicated to zaun, to righting the wrongs of piltover and helping the people in the way he thought best - no matter what jayce or piltover thought about it. an ambiguous villain, just like all the other really well-written ones in arcane.

accountability, the loss of

viktor killed people. not sky, who was an accident despite his fixation on her; i'm talking at least a hundred or more zaunites during his stint as the machine herald. he ripped their minds out and made them play house with him, then turned them into weapons of war for ambessa's siege, and all of those people - primarily sick, desperate zaunites - died. this was always the entire crux of the conflict between (league) viktor and jayce giopara. viktor was willing to destroy people and use their bodies for his own gain unapologetically because he thought what he was doing was a blessing and the people were better off under his control because they would never feel fear or anger again. agree, disagree, depends on your view of free will and human nature, but the fact is that everyone who came to viktor hoping for a chance to be healed so they could pursue their own dreams and lives had those dreams and lives ripped away from them and they never got justice or even a single scrap of acknowledgement from the narrative.

in arcane, the horror of viktor's actions just... fade away into the background. viktor and jayce waltz off into magicspace together, leaving viktor's dead, ruined victims for piltover and zaun to deal with. he doesn't return their minds or bodies, he doesn't even seem to remember or care about what he had just been doing to other sentient living human beings. he's not sorry, he doesn't feel regret, he got what he wanted (a friend) and fuck everybody else.

because the narrative just shrugs and handwaves and says no no forget all that it doesn't matter it was just the hexcore or whatever, viktor becomes a flat, uninteresting character. he loses the depth that villains like ambessa and silco had, villains who had their victims validated by the story, who faced challenges in their arcs specifically because of the people they had hurt despite thinking they were doing the right or noble or most important thing. and not just the villains! even the heroes had to wrestle with the people they stepped on on the way to their lofty goals. but not viktor. he just floats away scot free, completely blameless, having no affect on the world and the world having no affect on him.

on arcane's status as the new canon lore and the Implications™

reminder that arcane is somehow supposed to tie into the world of runeterra at large, but now viktor and jayce both have been seemingly entirely removed from it. if it only mattered that they knew the people we'd already seen them interact with, okay, i guess. but that isn't the case. they both have a ton of connections to other champions - from regions other than p&z even - that haven't been introduced and don't have any plausible explanation for how they could have met in the past, which means they should have been set up to meet somehow in the future. implying that jinx escaped and has gone traveling the world is the perfect way to incorporate her in-game relationships with people like lux - she could have met her while traveling! but jayce and viktor don't get that plausible continuation of their story and development of further relationships - they just disappear out of existence. (ambessa also has this problem because they killed her, but unlike jayce and viktor she does have a huge amount of unexplored backstory where she could have spoken to (for example) swain and hwei and shyvanna at some point.)

note 1 - jayce and viktor are so old that they don't have any voice lines in game when meeting other champions. but other champions who are either newer or who have had voiceover updates do talk to them, which is how (aside from the old lore) you can infer that they do have relationships with other champions including ones who weren't in arcane.

note 2 - maybe riot actually doesn't care and none of the champions are really supposed to know each other or be involved in each others' lives canonically, they just have random quippy voice lines that imply that. which would fucking suck. having the lore of the game have no impact on the game itself and vice versa would objectively suck. if the characters talk to each other on the rift and say something interesting, i want that to have meaning. i want to be able to extrapolate the state of the world and the relationships between the characters from the things they verbally say with their mouths. i'm not arguing about this. the voicelines should be seen as the most high irrefutable canon that there is for the game because it is the ONLY source of lore in the game itself.

anyways there's my bible i guess. i miss evil laser robot viktor i want him to perform unethical brain surgery on me (fixing my adhd but also turning me into his personal puppet attack dog) and then give a weapon to a child so they can kill their bullies.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 6

Source for pic

Trouble 6

Word Count: 4648

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Dead Animals Mentioned; Reader in a terror-like state; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I really thought I wasn't going to get this chapter out this weekend! I had a very tough week and I really wanted to share something good with you guys. I hope you enjoy it.

Masterlist

You can't sleep. 

Not only because the room is still spinning around you - a sensation that only gets worse when you close your eyes - but also because you can't stop replaying what happened. 

Zoro's lips, Zoro's breath, Zoro's firm grip. Zoro, Zoro, Zoro. It all comes back to him. 

You suppress a squeal into your sheets and cover your face with them, your feet kicking the comforter while you grin maniacally. You feel like a teenager in love. 

Oh… 

No, not love. It's too soon for that. But it's a heavy crush. And damn it, you want to act on it right now. 

Why the hell did your alarm start blaring out of nowhere? You don't even have an alarm set, the rooster is enough as a wake-up call. 

Stupid phone. 

And damn criminals. You were about to kiss again, but someone had to commit a crime serious enough to drag Zoro back in. Damn drunkards. 

A heavy sigh parts your lips as you emerge from beneath the sheets. You try closing your eyes again, and just when you're fighting vertigo, your phone buzzes. 

Your heart skips a beat, and the silly grin finds its way back onto your lips. It must be Zoro. You unlock it and squint against the bright light before dimming it. 

Unknown: You looked gorgeous tonight, Kitten. 

What? It must be a wrong number. You ignore it, ready to lock your phone again, trying not to feel disappointed, but it buzzes again. 

Unknown: You're a happy drunk. Makes you loose. You're cute. Too cute. You attracted too much attention.  Unknown: But it's okay. I took care of him just for you. Can't have any other men ogling what's mine, can I? 

You sit up, trying to figure out the meaning behind the texts. They can't be meant for you. 

You: Wrong number.  Unknown: Oh, no, Kitten. I've got the right number.  Unknown: Sleep tight, Princess. I'll keep watch. 

You delete the texts and block the number from your phone. What a creep. Definitely the wrong number. 

But you can't seem to shake that familiar unease in your stomach. Nor the way your heart is thumping against your ribcage. 

You keep telling yourself the texts weren't for you. Lying down, you close your eyes, willing sleep to come fast. Somehow the walls feel closer, the air seems staler, your clothes tighter. 

All giddiness is now gone, and though you wish Zoro would say something, you fear hearing your phone buzz again. 

Even if it's the wrong number. 

Right? 

-*-

Morning comes too soon, and now you're rethinking your life choices. You shouldn't have drunk that much. 

“Shut uuuuuup!” The pillow muffles your scream, but even if it didn't, it's not like the rooster can hear you yelling at it. 

With a heavy sigh and a low grunt, you get up, ready to start your morning, dreading all the chores since your head is still pounding and your throat feels drier than the desert. 

You don't even recall the texts you received yesterday, they're so far back in your mind that they seem like a dream. You still feel the faint brush of Zoro's lips against yours, though. 

It's not until you open the door to go outside that the eerie events of last night swim back to the forefront of your pounding head. There's another box waiting for you. 

You hesitate, your hand hovering over the handle of the door and your feet staggering backwards. Should you just ignore it? 

Biting your lower lip, you take a tentative step out onto the porch, your eyes scanning the property, almost expecting something - or someone - to jump out. 

Your eyes fall back on the package. It's crumpled, and there's no ribbon. It also seems dirtier. Is it…? Blood? 

It can't be. 

Clenching your teeth and taking a deep breath, you kneel down, acting braver than you actually feel and ignoring the trembling of your hands as you open the box. 

You're not sure if your scream actually leaves your lips or if it only stays in your head. But the incessant pounding of your heart is so loud that it's all you can hear. 

There are two bloody eyeballs staring right at you inside the box. 

-*-

“You think they're a match, Cap?” Zoro raises the plastic bag upwards so it catches the morning sun. The eyeballs, wet and glassy on their surface, stare back at Zoro, a lifeless dullness in the irises, though blood still lingers on them. 

“Unless there's someone else with missing eyeballs, Roronoa, I'd say they're a match.”

Zoro's deadpan look doesn't seem to faze Mihawk one bit as he looks around the scene, coordinating his team. 

“Why here?”

Mihawk’s gaze falls on the vast scenery, a slight breeze dishevelling his hair as a hawk glides effortlessly in the sky. Then he looks back at the coin-operated binoculars, where tape still sticks from holding the eyeballs in place, his team still busy gathering all evidence before disrupting the scene further. 

They're at the overlook. 

“It seems like they were sending another message. What do you reckon it is?”

Zoro hands the bag over to one of his colleagues and steps closer to the binoculars, his gaze landing downwards, scanning the town's buildings, the beach in the distance, and the Ferris wheel from the fair. 

His department doesn't have detectives, they're too small, and Mihawk is a seasoned cop. They never had enough crimes - or crimes grisly enough - to justify it. But Mihawk - even though he'd rather die than admit it - has taken Zoro under his wing, so, when an investigation comes by, Zoro acts as a lead investigator, even if he's not officially a detective. 

And Mihawk likes to test him.

“I'd say it means they're watching. Or something like it.”

Mihawk hums appreciatively, his eyes still scanning the vast horizon. “I agree. But I would delve even further.” He gestures with his hand. “The overlook was not randomly chosen, I believe. If that was simply the message, they could've taped the eyes to any given binoculars, and the message would come through, right?”

Zoro nods, his gaze landing on your father's farm, and he feels a slight clutch at his chest. “The overlook has a view of the entire town.” 

“Exactly, Roronoa. They're not simply watching. They're watching everything.”

-*-

Fake. They're not real eyeballs. They're plastic eyeballs smeared in red paint. 

But damn it if they didn't give you a fright. 

Who the hell would even consider this a practical joke? Usopp? Luffy? Would any of them do this? Most likely they wouldn't. Their jokes are usually more of the childish kind, not the scary kind. 

With a grumble and a snarl, you shove the gift into the trash can and push it to the back of your mind. 

Freaking gifts. 

Your phone buzzes as you take the first step off your porch, and you freeze as last night's texts slip their way into your mind again. 

Another buzz. 

You swallow hard and take a deep breath. It was just a wrong number yesterday, it doesn't mean it will be another creepy message again. 

Right? 

You try to ignore the way your hand trembles as you reach for your phone or how your heartbeat races. 

Zoro: Hey, Troublemaker. Making trouble? 

A sigh escapes your lips as you sit down on the first step of the porch, both your hands clutching your phone tightly while the sense of dread washes away and a small smile paints your lips. 

You: Not yet! Just got up. You?  Zoro: Didn't even get to sleep yet 😴 Got tangled in a weird-ass case. I'll fill you in later.  You: Later?  Zoro: Got any other plans that don't involve me? Should I be hurt or worried? 

You smirk, the ghost of his lips still tingling on your own, along with the promise of a continuation. 

You: I marked out ‘complete unfinished business’ on my schedule after last night.  Zoro: You did, did you? I'll make sure to get some sleep first, then, since I plan to take my time with you. 

The smirk gracing your lips after you're done exchanging texts remains plastered on your face the rest of the day. 

-*-

“But I just worked an all-nighter, Cap!” Zoro grunts, his hair still disheveled from sleep. 

“And now you're fully rested, Roronoa. Johnny had an emergency, Yosaku is on vacation, and I need you to cover his shift. You can have tomorrow off.”

Fuck. 

“I have plans today.” The sheets fly away from him when he kicks them, though the gesture does nothing to curb his frustration. 

“Yes, I just told you what they were. Besides, Lucci is awake at the hospital and stable. You need to check in on him. I'm hanging up now. I hear enough complaining from my daughter, I don't need it from you either.”

“Fuck!” Zoro curses loudly as he drops the phone onto his bed, raking a hand through his hair to try and chase away the sleep. 

He usually doesn't mind doing extra shifts. He likes the work, and it keeps him busy. But he doesn't usually have dates planned. 

And he really wanted to continue that kiss. 

With another sigh, he picks up the phone again and starts heading towards the bathroom. 

Zoro: Hey, Trouble. Sorry, Cap just called. I need to fill in for a shift. Guess we'll have to postpone our unfinished business for another night. 

It takes you a few minutes to answer back, and he uses them to get ready and slip into his uniform. 

You: Really? 😟 And I bought some really good sake, too… 

The groan he releases now comes from the depths of his soul. Being with you and drinking sake have to be two of his favourite things in the world. 

You: It's okay, Zo. We'll have other opportunities to spend time together!  Zoro: Yeah, you're right. Stay safe, Trouble. 

-*-

Stay safe. 

You smile and sigh, sinking into the cushions of the couch. You had finished your chores earlier to grab that sake for Zoro, taken a nice bath, and were just about to start cooking dinner for two. 

“Well, dinner for one it is.”

Getting up with a grunt, you head to the kitchen and decide that dinner for one might as well be a bowl of cereal. You don't even notice your phone buzzing until you sit down and reach it. 

Unknown: Did you like my gift? 

Uneasiness sets your heart pounding against your ribcage as you drop the spoon back into the bowl with a soft clang and a small splash of milk. 

Gift? The eyes? 

Shaking your head, you delete the text and open a streaming service, searching for a mind-numbing show to shake away the edge. 

Unknown: I don't want anyone to look at you like that, Kitten. Unknown: You're mine. 

Delete, delete. Block. 

You turn the phone screen down and stare at the device as if it’s about to sprout legs and jump at you. It has to be a mistake. Those texts aren't for you. 

Unknown: Cereal is not a proper meal, sweetheart. You need real nourishment.  Unknown: I don't want you to get ill. 

“Fuck.”

The chair scrapes against the floor as you get up abruptly, stride to the front door, and lock and bolt it. You draw every curtain in sight, making sure all locks are in place. But not even all the security measures in the world seem to calm your racing heart. 

“It's a mistake. It has to be. Someone's messing with my head.”

You pace the kitchen after putting the cereal bowl into the sink, the food nearly untouched as your stomach roils and churns in revulsion. 

Unknown: It's not a mistake, Kitten. I'm here for you. You're mine. 

You nearly drop the phone this time as a cold wave of fear rushes through you. Darting your eyes around the room, you half expect someone to jump from the shadows. Everything seems alive, just waiting to pounce at you. 

A hiccupped sob shakes you from your momentary paralysis, and you fumble to unlock your phone again. With shaking fingers you scroll to Zoro's thread while your eyes still dart from every nook and corner of your kitchen back to the screen. 

“Come on, come on.” You whisper as your lungs constrict and the air seems heavier. You start to type, not wanting to call Zoro and disrupt his shift, even though it feels like something he would want to be disrupted for. 

The buzz from your phone makes you gasp and swallow a shallow scream. 

Unknown: Don't tell the cop, Kitten. This is our little secret.  Unknown: You don't want to misbehave, do you? 

No, no, no! This can't be happening. 

Your fingers hover on the letters and you take a deep breath, continuing your text to Zoro. 

Unknown: Don't hit send, Sweetheart. You don't want me mad.  Unknown: Who do you think made your precious cop go to work today? Who do you think made him be dragged to the station yesterday? 

What? 

Your legs give out and you slump on the floor, knees pulled up against your chest as you hug them tightly. 

Unknown: Do you know how easy it would be to lure your hero cop into a trap?  Unknown: I don't mind hurting him like I hurt the other one. 

Other one? 

Unknown: Maybe you haven't seen it yet, Kitten. 

And then there's a link to a local newspaper website. You hesitate, every creak of the old house making you hyper-aware of your surroundings. You still click on it. 

Gruesome crime in the Calm Belt. The police are still baffled as to who could have maimed Rob Lucci, local shipwright, with such a heinous crime. He was found last night after a party without his eyes–

You close the link, the taste of bitter bile rising up your throat. The gift, the fake eyes, Rob Lucci… it was all their work. 

Another buzz draws your attention, and you blink away the tears to clear your vision. It's a picture. 

Unknown: The things I do for you, Kitten. 

You know you shouldn't open it. Your thrumming heart and the coldness rushing through your veins are living proof that you shouldn't open it. 

Yet you do. 

And as you gaze at Rob Lucci’s pained expression, his eye sockets hollow and dripping blood, his mouth drooling while hanging open and at a big, tanned and veiny hand holding two bloody eyeballs, you can no longer stop your stomach from heaving and retching all over the kitchen floor. 

It's your fault Rob Lucci ended up like that. 

And if you tell Zoro about what’s happening, he could be next. 

-*-

“Atchoo!” Zoro sneezes and runs one hand over his nose. 

He's pissed. 

Lucci didn't remember shit from last night. Nothing useful, anyway. Someone stabbed a needle into his neck, whispered a cryptic: ‘You should've never have looked at her’, and next thing he knew, he was in the hospital. 

At least he wasn't awake when they took out his eyes. Could've been much worse. But Zoro didn't tell him that. 

Useless Lucci couldn't even say who ‘her’ might be referring to. He just said he’d hit on a lot of girls at Franky’s party. It could be referring to anyone. Maybe Khalifa, he'd mused, since he'd been hovering over her until the ship docked. 

Zoro felt a bit guilty about the relief that washed over him, the implication about Khalifa leaving you out of this gruesome business. Then he left Lucci to take his painkillers and rest, requesting that an officer keep an eye outside Khalifa’s apartment until someone took her statement in the morning. 

But what's got him even more pissed is the fact that he was looking forward to spending more time alone with you, seeing where you could take things. 

But since he has to take over Johnny's patrol, he can swing by your house for five minutes. Just to see you. Then maybe he can focus on his job instead of the way your lips felt brushing against his. 

Or how stupidly giddy he feels because you wanted to kiss him back. 

That has to mean you like him too. Right? You don't seem like the type to just lead him on. He knows you, and he doesn't think you've changed that much. 

Parking in front of your house, Zoro steps out of the car and raises an eyebrow. There's still a bit of light outside, why are all of your curtains drawn? It doesn't seem like you… Then again, maybe it's because you're all alone in your house. 

With a shrug, he climbs the steps two at a time and knocks on the door. You don't answer so he tries again, trying to shove his apprehension down. You're fine, he talked to you about two hours ago. 

You're fine. 

-*-

You're not fine. 

You hear a car approach and instantly know it has to be Zoro. You barely hold down a sigh of relief, but as soon as you get up, ready to open the door and jump into the safety of his arms, your phone buzzes relentlessly, text after text, without pause. 

Unknown: Don't tell him anything.  Unknown: Don't let him suspect.  Unknown: Don't even think about letting him touch you.  Unknown: I do not make empty threats, Kitten. I don't want to hurt him, but I will.  Unknown: Don't tell him our little secret. 

Your throat dries up and you swallow back a sob. Crying won't help. Nothing will help. 

Zoro could help. 

But you can't tell him. You won't risk his safety. 

Another insistent knock startles you, and you get up swiftly, stopping by the hallway mirror to try and disguise your tears. 

You can't do anything about the fear in your eyes, though. 

Unknown: Don't disobey me. I do not want to punish you. 

You shove the phone into your pocket, and just as you're about to unlatch the lock, Zoro pounds harder on the wooden door. 

“Hey, Trouble, are you okay?”

Deep inhale. You just have to fake it. 

“I'm opening the door, Zo, calm down.” Too shaky. Your words are too hiccuped and weak. 

He'll notice. 

The door swings open, and you try to focus on Zoro's chest instead of his eye. 

“Damn it, I was already considering breaking the door down.”

You force a dry chuckle as he leans on the doorway, a devious smirk on his lips, even though his brow raises slightly when you don't meet his gaze. 

“That's exaggerated.”

“Is it? I wouldn't put it past you to fall down the stairs, or burn yourself, or get trapped behind some furniture. You're that clumsy.”

This time, your chuckle is even drier, and he notices it. Zoro takes a small step forward, his hand reaching as he lifts your chin so you look at him. You flinch, and your phone buzzes in your pocket. 

“Trouble?”

“I'm fine! I just… There's food on the stove. I have to… It’ll burn.” Weak voice, weak excuses. Another buzz, and you pull away from his touch. 

“Is something wrong?” Zoro's eyes dart behind you, inside the house, half-expecting to see someone there. 

“No. I'm just tired. That's all.”

-*-

Tired, my ass. 

You're fidgety, jumpy, and scared. You don't even meet his gaze. The fuck’s going on? 

Zoro tries to get past you, but you block his path. You don't want him inside? What's going on? 

“Do you need help with something? I can spare five minutes.”

For a second, your gaze meets his, and Zoro's heart skips a beat. It's almost as if you're reaching out to him, seeking something. But it's fleeting, and you drop your eyes back down, your body trembling slightly at the same time he hears a faint buzz - your phone?

“No, I'm fine. Everything's all right. You should go.” You take a step back and start to close the door. 

Was it the kiss? Did that mess things up? No, it couldn't have been, or you wouldn't have flirted back with him over texts in the morning. It has to be something else. 

“Bye.” You whisper, but the word doesn't sound final. It sounds like a plea. 

Zoro's hand stops the door, and he reaches again, this time making sure you meet his gaze by holding your face with his hand. 

“You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?” 

-*-

Yes! Yes, you want to tell him so badly! Stay, protect me, help me. I'm being watched, I'm so scared. 

You'd say all of it to him in a heartbeat. Just his presence is enough to make you feel safer. 

But the insistent buzz in your pocket tells you he can't stay. You don't know who the person on the other side of the texts is, but you already know enough to believe his threats. 

You can't risk Zoro’s safety. 

You can't. 

“Come on, Zo. Of course I would. I'm just a bit under the weather, that's all.”

Tired, food on the stove, under the weather? Shit. 

You should just stick to one excuse and run with it. He's never going to believe you like this. 

His hand feels hot against your skin, and so strong. A safety line. And you want to keep him there for as long as possible. 

Unwillingly, you raise your hand and cover his, forcing a smile on your lips. “I'm fine, really.”

He squeezes your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin softly. “You sure?”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

With a shaky breath, you fall back, pushing yourself away from him. 

“Yeah, talk tomorrow, okay?”

But you don't let him answer and close the door. You can't pretend anymore. Not when hot, wet tears are burning your eyes, not when your heart is pounding madly against your ribcage, not when your legs give out and you fall to the floor. 

Your hands fly to your mouth and you stifle your sobs against them. It's only when you hear Zoro's car driving away that you reach for your phone, where a mountain of texts stares at you. 

Unknown: Don't let him touch you, Kitten.  Unknown: Tell him you're fine.  Unknown: Tell him you don't need him.  Unknown: You only need me.  Unknown: What did I say about him touching you?  Unknown: Move away, Kitten!  Unknown: You're being very naughty. This won't do.  Unknown: I'm very displeased.  Unknown: That's it, move away. Close the door.  Unknown: Good girl. All is well.  Unknown: You're mine. No one can touch you.  Unknown: No one will touch you.  Unknown: All mine. 

You don't quite know how long you sit on the cold, hard floor, staring at the possessive, disturbing texts. 

You don't quite know how this situation escalated so fast and so far. 

You don't quite know how to feel or what to do in order to escape. 

All you know is that you feel trapped. 

And so, so scared. 

-*-

You don't sleep, even though you locked all the doors, all the windows, and checked them all three times before climbing into your room. 

And even there, you lock the door. The one door you never once locked in your life. 

You spend the night curled into a ball, trying to disappear against the headboard. Flinching at every little sound your old house makes. Every shadow looks threatening, every sound is overwhelming. 

You can't do this. 

You can't be controlled by an invisible threat. You need to tell Zoro. 

You make up your mind. As soon as you get up and take care of the animals, you'll march into the police station and speak to Zoro and his captain. If the police know about it, Zoro is going to be safe. 

He has to be. 

You can't face this alone, and you need him. He'll know what to do, how to find who this man is, how to make this stop. 

Zoro will know what to do. 

-*-

The knocks on the door follow the rooster’s call by around fifteen minutes, and you raise your brow. 

Everything seems less menacing with the morning light. The shadows are no longer threatening since they're brighter, and the sounds are merry, instead of haunting. 

And now that you’ve decided to tell Zoro about your torment, the fear seems far away. 

But you're not expecting anyone this early. “Who is it?” Your voice sounds hoarse and distant. 

“It's Ace, Princess, open up.”

A sigh of relief parts your lips as you unbolt the lock. “Morning, Ace. Want some coffee?”

He looks a bit worried, a single line furrowing his brows as he scratches beneath his ridiculous cowboy hat. “Later. I got started earlier since I have a morning shift at the station, and I waited until I saw you were up, but one of the cows is sick. I called the vet, and they should be here any minute now.”

“What? Oh, no!” You love those cows, some of which you've known your whole life. So, you grab an apple from the counter and close the door, following Ace into the barn. 

Texts, phone, and worries, all forgotten inside the walls of your home as something else takes the forefront of your mind. 

-*-

Ace leaves a bit before his shift starts, but the vet arrives quickly. The sick cow is one of the younger ones, and you spend the better part of the morning with her and the vet, taking a break to make some sandwiches for both of you to serve as a meager lunch while trying to fulfill the rest of the chores and still care for your poor sick cow. 

For a moment, your heart constricts, the thought of losing an animal a weight hanging heavy on your shoulders, but it passes the moment the vet sighs with exhaustion and assures you that the cow is fine. Tired, battered, and hungry, but fine. And she will live. 

You offer some refreshments to the vet since the afternoon sun is already starting its descent in the sky, and it's only after the vet leaves and you sit in your kitchen, tired and weary, that you pick up your phone, which had been forgotten inside the house for most of the day. 

Dread spreads its tendrils across your veins, sending icy chills through you as you stare at the screen. 

Three unanswered calls and half a dozen messages. 

All from Zoro. 

Zoro: Hey, Trouble, just wanted to check in with you, but you must be busy. Call me back.  Zoro: How are you feeling? Still haven't called me back, need anything?  Zoro: Shit, Trouble, I was selected to go on a week-long training retreat with other cops from other stations. It's random and mandatory. The commissioner pulls one of these every now and then. I'll be unreachable. Call me back, will you? 

Unreachable? A week? 

No, no, no! 

You fight the urge to immediately call him as you skim through the other texts. 

Zoro: I'm about to leave, Trouble. I tried calling you again, still nothing. Is everything all right? I can't leave the station now. Call me!  Zoro: Okay, I just spoke with Ace. I hope your cow is feeling better but this is really the last chance to speak to me before I leave. For a week.  Zoro: Be safe, Trouble. Call Nami if you need anything, will you? 

Shit. 

He's gone. Just like that. 

The phone stares at you mercilessly from the table, as if taunting you. Why didn't you bring it with you outside? You needed to speak to Zoro. You wanted him to know. You wanted his help. 

Now you're all alone. 

And someone is watching your every move, making you feel small, trapped, and scared.

Unknown: Don't worry, Kitten. He may be gone, but I've got you.  Unknown: I won't let anyone hurt you.  Unknown: You're mine.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium

Chapter 7

[neteyamssyulang]

★ The Chase ★

★ 800 Follower Special ★

★ Pairing: So’lek x Fem human reader x Eetu x Neteyam aged up ★

★ Summary: With the 3 males in rut, you were unfortunately caught in the middle of it.

★ Warnings: Dom Neteyam, Dom So’lek, Dom Eetu, Sub reader, Jealous males fighting over you, P in V, Mentions of knotting, Slight dub-con?.

★ Word count: 1,361 ★

★ Tramslation(s): Tawtute -> Human, Paskalin -> Honey, Kalweyaveng -> Son of a bitch, Makrr txanfwìngtu -> Later losers, Yawntutsyìp -> Darling,

★ Taglist: @tallulah477 @quicktosimp @ikeyniofthetayrangi @itchaboi-itchyboy @aria-tempest @anemonelovesfiction @loaksulluyswife @kia-wolfie @tallulah477 @kariz-stark

"Simple, whoever gets to her first, can knot and pump her full."

Those were the only words that raced through your mind as you ran through the forest, you knew they were close, knew it was only a big game for them as the taunting started, "Can't run forever little tawtute!" So'lek shouted somewhere off to your left, "Cmon baby, just one little taste" Eetu chuckled, off to your right.

Too busy trying to figure out where the third person was, you ran into a hard chest, falling back onto your ass. When your gaze lifted your heart dropped, Oh shit- he was standing right there in front of you, completely unfazed by the look of fear on your face. His eyes were dark and he had a mischievous smile on his face.

Slowly he crouched down till he was at eye level with you,"Gotcha paskalin" he smirked.

Immediately you backed away but were met a pair of long legs blocking your path, gulping you looked up to see Eetu standing there grinning. "Hey baby, thought you could get away huh?"

Neteyam hissed "Back off man! I got to her first!" He pushed Eetu back who growled, his tail thrashing behind him. Before he had a chance to say something back, So'lek appeared snatching you up "While you two bicker, I think I'll just take her and go"

So'lek took off running as the other males ran after him "Bro she's mine!" Neteyam shouted, "No she's mine! You kalweyaveng!" Eetu retorted, shoving Neteyam into the nearest tree.

Eywa help you right now, for these men were going to be the literal death of you.

Luckily So'lek had somehow managed to lose the other males, unlucky for you though since now your back was flush against the forest floor with him above you, rutting into your tight pussy like his life depended on it, his ears twitching at the beautiful moans leaving your mouth.

Your nails scratched at his biceps as he left wet sloppy kisses along your neck "So tight, so perfect.." he murmured in your ear.

His left hand stayed by your head holding himself up while his right traveled down your stomach, he stopped when he felt the buldge prodding against your tummy, a smirk plastering on his face "Feel that tawtute?"

When you didn't answer, too fucked out to really register anything he pushed down on it. Your eyes rolled back and a scream left your lips as you gushed all over his cock. So'lek grunted feeling your tight walls convulsing around him.

Your eyes finally fluttered open only to see four pairs of golden orbs staring at you and So'lek from the darkness "S-so'le- ah!" You whined feeling his fangs sink into the flesh on your neck, his pace quickening.

You could feel his thick, veiny knot prodding at your hole begging to be let in. Before he could knot you though, a clap sounded to the side of you both.

A deep growl rumbled through So'lek as he unlatched from your neck turning his head to face Eetu "Sooo, what? You thought we wouldn't find you?" He scoffed.

So'lek hissed, flashing his fangs "She is mi" "Until she's knotted she is free game " Eetu interrupted.

Neteyam finally emerged from the darkness quickly snatching you from under So'lek, taking off back towards the village "Makrr txanfwìngtu" he laughed.

You both got pretty far before Neteyam couldn't wait any longer, he pushed you up against a nearby tree, pulled his tewng to the side and slammed into you starting a rough pace.

"Ne-nete!" You mewled clawing at his back, he groaned angling his hips so that with every thrust, he hit your sweet spot. "Your mine y/n, do.you.understand?" Each word punctuated with a semi harsh thrust.

"Yes! Fuck! Please Neteyam!" You sobbed feeling your climax approaching, Neteyam moaned feeling your walls clench around him, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, scenting you.

You didn't have to open your eyes to know Eetu was watching from the shadows, Neteyam must've known aswell by how a deep growl rumbled through his chest "Your too late Eetu, she's mine!"

Eetu only smirked walking up to you "You are not going to knot her 'mighty warrior'" , "Watch me" Neteyam hissed moving his hips faster trying to push his knot inside you.

Your mouth fell agape as your breath came out in short pants, "See that? She wants it" Neteyam chuckled breathlessly. Having enough, Eetu grabbed you while shoving Neteyam away in the process. "What the fuck?!" , "Better luck next time" Eetu shouted while taking off.

Dear eywa, please let you survive this torture.

Eetu ran till he made it back to the omaticayan village, quietly making his way towards the kelku he was staying in for the time being.

Bursting through the flaps he set you down before turning to tie them shut. Your legs wobbled a bit but you kept your balance while your arms moved to wrap around your exposed body. "E-eet-" "Save it" he hissed, turning back around to face you.

His large frame towering over you as he moved closer "Do you know how long I've waited for this yawntutsyìp?" He asked placing his left hand on your cheek, "How long I have waited to feel that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock?", "How badly I’ve wanted to knot you" His hand now moving down to wrap around your small neck.

"Eetu please.. think about this.. you will break me if you knot me" you tried to reason with him, but he wasn't having any of that.

He let go of your neck, moving away. Slowly he untied his loincloth, letting it fall down to his feet "Come here little one" he beckoned you over with two fingers.

Shaking your head no, you chose to walk backwards instead, away from him. A loud growl rumbled through the kelku "You want to do it the hard way? Fine by me"

Eetu lunged at you, shoving you down onto the makeshift cot as he climbed ontop of you. One of his large hands wrapped around your throat while the other went to cock, guiding it to your still slick entrance.

With one swift thrust he plunged his entire length inside, coaxing out a scream from you."Fuuuck" he groaned, his eyes closing for a second to collect himself as his ears flattened against his head.

Slowly he began moving, his eyes opening only to lock onto yours. Tears pricked at your eyes threatening to fall as his pace only increased.

“Your mine, and only mine” he panted, leaning down to capture your lips with his, you could only moan in response, your nails digging into his sides.

A loud commotion sounded outside the kelku, coming closer and closer. “You aren’t knotting her she’s mine!” Neteyam hissed, pushing So’lek trying to be the first to make it to the kelku.

“I had her first! If anyone is going to knot her it’s me” he retorted, shoving Neteyam into a muddy puddle.

Eetu broke the kiss scoffing as he heard them bicker outside, he released his hold on your neck leaning up to get a good look at the mess you had become.

Your eyes were half lidded, mouth partially agape with drool running down your cheek, eywa you were so fucking gorgeous to him. But you reeked of Neteyam, leaning back down he nestled his face into the crook your neck, hoping his scent would overpower the other males.

After a few more thrusts you felt his knot poking at your entrance, your hands weakly went to his chest pushing at it “D-don’t..” you pleaded with him.

“Eetu don’t you even think about knotting her!” So’lek shouted, trying to find a way inside the kelku. “Too late for that” he grunted, forcing his knot inside, locking the two of you in place as he painted your gummy walls white.

His orgasm triggered your own, Eetu hissed feeling your walls convulsing around him, his tail instinctively wrapping around your thigh.

As you both catched your breath, he managed to roll the both of you over so that now you layed on his chest. “Rest my little human, you’ll need it” he chuckled breathlessly, rubbing your back soothingly.