#silent hill leg monsters

[lemonspades]

She's so helpful in the remake isn't she?

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

The Silent Hill 2 remake reminds me of just how much Silent Hill caters to the individuals that are trapped within it. So I wonder what someone like Viggo would see.

[mirasmata]

Mutant Gummies Batch 2

Another batch of lil muties, this time featuring:

Pattycakes

Tails for ears is sorry she can't hear you (inspired by a comment on furaffinity)

Silent Hill legs monster

Isn't this just a regular fish?

[luwupo]

Idk who invented Silent Hill but it gave me Sid from Toy Story vibes

[demonlordcosnime]

lets play silent hill 2 remake part 21

[whimsyvixen]

And you're expecting me to run away from him?

Silent Hill: Homecoming (2008) | Platform: PC

[whimsyvixen]

𝔼𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕪 𝔹𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕤

Silent Hill Fic Rating: 18+ Pairing: Pyramid Head x Female Reader Synopsis/Excerpt: His helmet had jerked your way, the sudden movement making your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn't look away from him, mouth agape at the towering menace. You didn't understand how, but you felt him peruse your form--nausea hitting you when he let out a guttural growl and headed straight for you. WARNINGS/TAGS: Dark fic, rape/noncon elements, extremely dubious consent, explicit content, blood play, heavy NSFW, teratophilia(?), monster/human, choking, dacryphilia, rough sex, unprotected sex, forced orgasm, tummy bulge, creampie, very obvious size difference. ⚠️ READ THE TAGS: Please be aware this work contains content that the reader may feel uncomfortable with or otherwise triggered by. DO NOT READ if bothered by tags (no minors). ⚠️

A/N: I had to make sure to finish this one before Halloween! Sorry for the long wait, you guys! I got no tricks with me so I'm just going to hand over this little treat right here ! 🍬

You hid beneath a large table, hands over your mouth to control your breathing as the floor shook. You could feel your heart beating intensely, the organ wanting to burst out of your chest as pure terror seized you when the footsteps paused near your hiding spot.

He was right in front of you. The only being you encountered in the desolate town of Silent Hill.

The monster.��

~

He had emerged out of an alley, swarmed by bugs as he trudged his way through, his massive frame freezing you in place. His head was encumbered by a steel frame, pyramid in its shape and heavy in appearance if his tortured groans were anything to go by. His scarred torso and bulging arms were bare, showcasing the immense power he held as he dragged a massive knife behind him.

You couldn't contain your gasp when you caught sight of it.

His helmet had jerked your way, the sudden movement making your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn't look away from him, mouth agape at the towering menace. You didn't understand how, but you felt him peruse your form--nausea hitting you when he let out a guttural growl and headed straight for you.

Fuck!

You bolted then, nearly tripping over your own feet in your desperation to get away from him. With the amount of blood soaking him and those unnerving growls, you weren't willing to take a chance and find out what he would do to you. Too afraid to look back, you continued running in the abandoned town, losing sight of where you were as you tried to find somewhere to hide. 

What buildings you could make out were old and rundown, their windows smashed and doors creaking ominously. They would not provide you with the cover you needed. You could faintly hear him behind you, breaking into a cold sweat when you turned your head and couldn't spot him in the dense fog. 

When you caught sight of the abandoned school, your lungs felt like bursting and your legs ached from overexerting yourself to run. Your body needed to rest before you collapsed from the fatigue. It was a large enough building that finding you would be a tasking ordeal for the monster. Perhaps he would give up his search for you and allow you to find a way out of this hellish place. You could only hope that you lost him earlier and he wouldn’t know where you crawled off to. 

Running up the steps to the entrance, you were met with the despairing sight of chains wrapped around the steel doors. 

“No, no, no…” you pleaded, grabbing onto the chains in hopes they were loose enough to open the doors. Luck was on your side, because they were– chains pulling taut around the doors, opening just enough to allow someone to squeeze through with some difficulty. Struggling to wiggle your way through, you pushed with all your might and breathed a sigh of relief when you fell inside. 

Taking deep breaths, you looked around and tried to make sense of your surroundings. Needing to squint your eyes to adjust seeing in the dark, you could see a narrow hallway with dirty and rusty lockers lined along the walls. It was an uncanny sight, the broken down doors of the classrooms and splintering wood of the floor making you realize how decrepit this place was. It was so unkempt and old that you flinched when the floorboards creaked with every step you took. You felt like dying every time the floor protested your weight and critters ran spooked by the noise.

The hall turned a sharp corner to the left, more lockers and doors appearing on either side of the walls as before. It was then you noticed the broken elevator, the metal frame twisted in sharp angles and torn cables dangling from tears in the ceiling. If there was an elevator here, then that must mean there was a way up! 

Not caring this time about the noise you made, you hurried to the end of the hall trying to see if you could find some way to get to the second floor. If you could just get there, you would have the advantage of viewing who (or what) was below you on the ground. Maybe even spot a route or path out of this place. Passing by the restrooms, you nearly gagged when a putrid stench hit your nose. The buzzing of flies and roaches in the area made you squeamish, your face scrunching into a disgusted grimace at the dirty facilities before continuing your trek forward.

Finding the stairs was a much harder task than you expected. Faced with multiple locked areas of the building, you were forced to backtrack and navigate through other sections of the building to find another way up. It seemed like a dead end everywhere you turned. 

Just when you were about to give up, you finally spotted stairs leading to the upper floor. 

“Finally,” you muttered in exasperation. Your turtle neck shirt was damp with your sweat, clinging to your body so uncomfortably that you would definitely need a shower soon. Placing a hand on the cracked wall nearest you, you took a breather, closing your eyes as you tried to get your energy back up again. 

“Just a little bit more. Don’t give up yet.” 

Forcing your aching feet to move, you headed tiredly towards the stairs. Once you reached them, you walked up to the landing, turning left to continue climbing forward when you noticed something. 

“You have got to be kidding me?!”

A disbelieving look crossed your face. In front of you was a dilemma that nearly made you scream in frustration. The only way to the upper floor was barricaded with chairs and tables, furniture piled up haphazardly along the second set of stairs as if to ensure no one could get by it. It effectively put a stop to your plans. 

Maybe you could climb over the obstruction? No, you couldn’t risk something falling out of place and crushing you with its weight, causing you harm in the end. You thought about using the railing to skip past the hurdle of furniture, but hearing the creak of the brittle handrail when you held it had you rethinking that idea. Placing your hands on your hips, you tried thinking of how to get past this obstacle. Maybe taking it apart little by little would help?

Seeing as you had no choice, you started dismantling the barricade one chair at a time. The tables were too heavy and had your arms shaking from the effort of pulling them so you left them for last. Once you piled up enough chairs to give you room to move one of the tables, you shook your hands to prepare them to take the brunt of the weight. 

While you were busy with this task, you didn’t know you damned yourself.

What you didn’t know was when you squeezed through the gap of the entrance, your sweater caught on an edge and tore a strip of the pink cloth. You didn’t know it was like a beacon, its vibrant color contrasting from the dull and bleak setting of the school. You didn’t know he held it in his bloodied hand, bringing it to his hidden face as if to smell you. You didn’t see the shudder that went through him. You also didn't see him bursting through the shackled entrance of the school, breaking the chain to pieces as the steel doors lay bent beneath his foot.

However, you did feel the building shake following a loud crash. 

Startled at the muffled explosion, you released the legs of the table you were holding, crouching as you looked around wildly. The echoed sounds of doors being forced open could then be heard even from a distance. Lockers were slammed and torn off the walls, the clash of metal producing an awful screeching sound that resonated across the empty building.

What?! What was that?! You panicked internally, palms sweating as you hid behind the railing. What could’ve made that thunderous sound? Was it him?! It couldn’t be, could it? Trembling with fear, you realized you were a sitting duck. You couldn't go back the way you came or you’ll risk facing what caused that loud commotion.

When you heard a familiar growl, you couldn’t stop the tiny sob escaping your lips. It was HIM! When his steps edged closer to your location, your eyes wandered desperately around your cornered space and spotted a clothed table at the bottom of the stairs. Running down the stairs, you all but crawled beneath the table, tucking your feet in as you tried to make yourself as small as possible. You didn’t have any other option. The cloth provided you with enough cover to pull off not being seen and you could only pray you weren't found.

Eyes wide with fear, you held your breath when he turned the corner, the floor trembling with every heavy step of his boots. You could also hear the scrape of the giant sword he dragged with him, the shrill sound hurting your ears. You nearly bolted when you heard the locker doors being opened one by one before getting slammed shut.

Oh God, please, don't let him find me. Please, please, please. You shut your eyes tightly, clasping your hands against your mouth as you tried to keep as quiet as you could. The corner of your eyes teared up, a lump in your throat wanting to give way to sobs of distress the closer he got.

~

His trudging steps slowed as he surveyed the area. 

Pyramid Head tilted his head curiously, his helmet creaking with the action. He didn’t know where you hid but he could sense you near. When he pressed that piece of fabric to his helmed head, your intoxicating aroma set his nerves of fire, twisting his mind into a lustful haze–the urge to pillage and kill you getting stronger by the minute. 

When he heard that soft gasp earlier in the alley, he was stunned by your feminine form mere meters away from him. You were a small thing compared to him, the top of your head not even reaching his chest. Whatever surprise he felt was momentary, desire quickly flooding his veins as he drank in your lovely shape. How long since a pretty thing like you entered this infernal domain? How easy would it be to subdue you and make you a slave to his lust? What sounds could he coax from those wet lips of yours? His member twitched to life beneath his withered skirt, the thought of possessing you clouding his mind with lascivious images of your naked body beneath him.

When he took a step towards you, you ran like a frightened lamb.

Watching you turn around to flee– the distance growing between you with every passing second– Pyramid Head gripped his weapon tightly, anger consuming him as he followed right after you. 

As if he would allow you to escape him. 

He would take you. Tarnish that soft flesh and desecrate your soul until you were nothing but a bloody heap beneath him. 

He just needed to catch you first. 

Opening the lockers one by one, he couldn’t suppress his frustrated grumbles when you weren’t there. Where were you? He shifted his attention to the familiar clutter of furniture on the staircase, noting how neatly some chairs were piled in a corner–knowing that the times he’s ventured here, the chairs were never tampered in such a way. 

Realizing how close he must be to capturing you, he started up the stairs, dropping his weapon without a care as he tore down the barricade in a frenzy to find you. 

When his search proved fruitless, the veins in his arms and neck became more prominent from his fury. WHERE WERE YOU? Blind with rage, he smashed his fists against the broken furniture and the rotting walls, tearing everything in his wake as he roared loud enough to make his helmet vibrate violently from the sound. It hurt enough to cause him to rupture something and bleed, trails of blood dripping down his neck to mix with the blood of his other victims.

As he stood breathing heavily on the landing of the stairs, trying to shake off the cloud of anger consuming him, a faint creak was heard downstairs. He twisted his body to look behind him, crazily observing the area where he heard it from. 

There was a lone table. The once white cloth adorning it was an ugly shade of brown, time not being kind to as it had torn holes ruining it. He could care less about the useless piece of cloth. What had his undivided attention was the dainty fingers that could be seen poking out beneath it. 

There was a moment of silence before he charged down the stairs. 

Gripping the sides of the table, he flung it across the hall, old wood shattering to pieces when it smacked against the railing of the stairs. He paid little mind to the destruction he created, his focus landing entirely on your meek figure below him. A look of horror crossed your face, mouth open in shock as you stared up at him. A rumble of contentment echoed within his helmet having finally found his prize, quickly dropping down to his knees to grab you and pin you between his legs.

It didn’t take much to overpower you, Pyramid Head sitting on your thighs to lessen your squirming. Bunching the pink fabric in his hands, he tore your sweater apart like paper, your startled scream doing little to deter him. His bloodied hands groped the exposed flesh hungrily, smudging your torso with the red substance as you shrieked in disgust. The way the softness of your tummy gave under his firm hands had him addicted. He loved how weak and pliant your flesh was.

Your mounds were a sight too, spilling off the cups of the small band around your chest. He tore that off easily too, your bust jiggling from the action and making him groan at the sight. Much to his pleasure, he saw your skin pebble with goosebumps, the cool air of the room turning your nipples into tight buds.

His hands moved, thick fingers stroking over your breasts to test the doughy texture. You gasped, arching from the pressure, unknowingly pushing your chest against his palms. Much to your chagrin, the rough pads of his fingers sent a fire bolt careening from your nipples and through your quivering belly to ignite heat into your core. You bit your lip, ignoring the sensation as you tried shoving his hands away with your feeble strength. When he tugged harshly on the tips of your breasts, you let out a pained whine, the kittenish sound sending a shock of pleasure down his spine. He wished to tear you apart, bathe in your essence as he drank up your tortured cries.

He was reluctant to pull his hands away from you, your body smeared in a beautiful canvas of blood, but his need to fully claim you could not be denied.  Pyramid Head removed his hands from your breasts with a final rough squeeze, shifting one to rub his erection to alleviate some of his need, while the other hand trailed down to caress your clothed hip possessively.

He was bewitched by you, reverently stroking your skin with bloodied hands to dirty your purity. Shielding your breasts from his view, you were a vision with your head turned to the side, choking on a sob as you realized that despite how your mind protested his brutish touches, your body betrayed you when slickness dripped between your thighs.

At war with yourself, you didn't pay attention when his attention turned to the last article of clothing preserving your modesty.

Easing up on his weight, he shifted his body down to tug at your black jeans. When the tight fabric stuck around your hips, he grew irritated at the minor inconvenience. Before you could voice out a protest, he roughly flipped you over onto your stomach, shock coursing through you when he tore the denim to shreds at your sides, dragging the rest of it down your legs and taking your panties and shoes with them.

You could feel the heat in your face at the state of your nudity. He caressed your ass then– forcing an undignified yelp from you at the offensive touch– squeezing the globes on either palm, his nails digging into the fat hard enough to leave lasting bruises on your unblemished skin. 

"N-no! You're hurting me!" 

You hissed between your teeth, sharp aches blossoming from where his fingers pressed on your ass. You shivered with disgust when the blood on his hands dirtied your globes, matching it with the mess of your front.

Brushing a calloused finger along your vulva, he was met with the heat of your pussy. It had your body jerking to attention, the blood draining from your face in an instant. When he tried to insert the bloody finger inside you, you shook erratically, your hands scrambling for purchase on the floor to get away from him. 

Tired of your antics, he twisted you to your back, uncaring of the yelp that left you when the back of your head hit the floor with a loud thud. Holding you down with one hand around your neck, he nearly choked you as he began pulling impatiently at the fastenings of his long skirt to jerk himself free with his other. His body shook with excitement, enticed by your naked flesh even as you begged sweetly under him. 

He paid little mind to your frantic scratching on his arm, the pain miniscule when compared to the hard throbbing of his cock— the twitching member pulsating so strongly that it had his mind blazing from the painful pressure, a groan of distress escaping him the longer it was kept confined. Pain that would only be soothed once he was encompassed by the tight walls of your pussy. 

~

The state of your mind went into a panic when you saw it. What lay between those muscled thighs was a monstrosity. It would bring you nothing but pure anguish and misery, the way it could barely spring upward with its heavy weight. Accompanied by an equally heavy set of balls and prominent veins lining the length of it– it was more of an instrument of pain than that of pleasure, meant to punish and brutalize those that fell victim to it. 

A whimper left you before you started thrashing in earnest, clawing away at his arm to get away from that. 

"LET GO OF ME! NO! Y-YOU CAN'T-!" 

You didn't care that he could snap your neck in a second, didn't care that he could rip you limb from limb or crush your head with his bare hands. Those were much better options than the alternative he was hellbent on pursuing. 

What the hell?! How can he be that bi-!!? Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt monstrous hands grip your knees and pull them apart savagely, screaming at the painful ache in your pelvis following the rough motion. He knelt between your spread legs, his large thighs forcing you open and leaving you unable to close your legs.

"W-wait! Wait! Think about what you're doing, please?! It's not possi-?!" 

The blunt head of his cock tapped your entrance, the pearl of precum mixing with your wetness as he tried to nudge his way in. His size proved too much for your smaller frame, his dick sliding up your vulva in a failed attempt to penetrate you. The insistent push of his hips had you holding your breath, body freezing in place when the head of his cock threatened to breach your cunt only to slide along your labia once more. 

The rough motion had you panting, the repeated nudging on your clit causing your pelvis to twitch from the erotic stimulation. You couldn’t stop your body’s reaction to him, a pulsating heat shimmering beneath your skin. Taking a glance down, you shuddered at the sight of his cock sandwiched between your spread lips. It had your feminine channel burning for him despite your fear of him. Shame accompanied your arousal as you felt more of your natural fluids coating the underside of his dick and flowing down your ass in rivulets.

While you lay gasping at the dizzying sensation, you were ignorant to his growing agitation when he missed his mark again. He raised your hips higher, giving himself a better view of your leaking hole before grabbing his wet shaft with one hand and lining himself up once more. This time he was determined to properly defile you.

Your eyes fluttered open when he adjusted you, looking up at him in confusion as you tried to clear your mind. The momentary pleasure he had given you was obliterated in a second when you felt the press of his cock head stab its first inch inside your dripping pussy. 

Like a bucket of cold water hitting your face, you shrieked when the reality of your situation set in. Flinching from his touch, you tried twisting your hips away from him hoping to dislodge the stiff cock from its journey inside you. 

"No! You won't fit!"

Bucking your hips uselessly, you failed to realize that your swirling hips moved pleasantly around the tip, a dribble of cum shooting out of his cock to coat your insides– making you gasp when you felt it and him shudder strongly at the feel of your sweet cunt. Seeing how you were so lubricated for him, he repositioned himself above you, bracing a foot on the floor while keeping the other leg bent at the knee. Grabbing the back of your knees, he pushed them forward near your head, effectively placing you in a mating press of sorts.

Not giving you any time to protest, he thrusted half of himself in one diligent push.

You yelped at the sudden pain, eyes nearly popping out of your face as you felt your pussy stretch beyond its limit. Glimmer of tears rushed to your eyes, the pain making your mouth wobble as he pulled away– the drag of his cock against your inner walls nearly causing you to faint– only to cry out when he thrusted back in with more force. More of his cock violated your sore insides, rendering you a screaming mess as he continued to plunder your wrecked form. Too scared to look at the damage between your legs, you pushed against his firm stomach, pleading for him to stop or he'll kill you. 

A sharp jab into your swollen flesh had you crying out, arching your back as tears trailed down your face. No manner of preparation could’ve made his passage bearable, the stark difference between his gargantuan size and your regular size evident as you struggled to accommodate him.

He took you like a brute. Not caring about your distressed wails.

It hurt.

Maybe the pain was making you delirious, but beneath the agony, there was a thread of pleasure seeping through the cracks. You refused to believe it, the thought of your body betraying you in such a way nearly crumbling you.

…

…

 Then why were your hips moving timidly alongside his?

~

His hands bit into your sides, Pyramid Head lifting your lower body off the floor to smack against him, driving the rest of his cock inside your spasming pussy with a low groan.

It was a tight fit. 

Once the entirety of his throbbing cock was seathed inside your warm heat, he took the time to glance down at you. You were a sweaty mess of blood and tears, pained gasps emerging from your trembling lips as your body twitched uncontrollably from his claiming of you. Your entrance was stretched taut around his engorged cock, the blood smeared on your pelvis making him wonder if it was yours or from him. 

He was immune to your choked sobs, not feeling the least bit remorseful of his violent taking of you. Rather, he was pleased you survived. Many didn’t make it past this stage, but you proved to be a pleasant surprise. 

The snug walls of your cunt suddenly clenched around his dick, nearly making him cum on the spot. 

He pulled his hips back, hissing when your walls clamped down on him, making the task difficult before driving forward with purpose. Before long, your soaked entrance made his movements easier, his dick sliding much faster inside your straining pussy. Pained cries turned into soft mewls, your hips eventually moving in tandem with his with every brush of your clit. 

He paused midthrust to stare at the bulge in your tummy in fascination. It was a ghastly sight– the way your lower belly distended from his cock penetrating you. He pressed on the bump in an inquisitive manner, jolting in shock when your channel clenched around him erratically, a stream of fluid splashing on his lower belly following your loud shriek. 

The shock was momentary, Pyramid Head rubbing your secretion between his fingers to play with the strings. Bringing them beneath the helm of his helmet, he was overtaken with the smell of your lust. Even though you couldn’t meet his gaze, you could feel him staring at you in a hungry manner. He gave you little time to be embarrassed, hunching over you to place your legs above his elbows, spreading you further and spearing into you with brutal thrusts.

He couldn't stop the rapid succession of thrusts, driving into you faster and faster as his release built up with every plunge inside you.

~

You twisted helplessly, opening your mouth to voice out your pleasure as fire spread throughout your body. His fierce pace had you writhing wildly beneath him, shaking your head at the growing tension in your stomach– signaling another approaching orgasm. You didn’t want him to stop. Your womb clenched with every harsh jab of his monstrous dick against it, the pressure escalating with every second of your ruin.

“O-oh! Please, please, please–!!” You sobbed, not knowing if you wanted him to stop his rough onslaught on your poor body or begging for more as his hips collided violently between the juncture of your thighs. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed along the hall, your passionate cries and his low groans forever imprinted on your mind. Your legs grew tired, falling lax on either side of him, unable to keep up with his vigorous pace. 

He used you like nothing more than a cocksleeve, molding the shape of his cock in your tight pussy, his sac slapping lewdly against your ass.

It became too much. 

Your mind went blank when the knot in your belly finally snapped, letting out a scream of completion when intense heat spread throughout your shaking body. Your vaginal walls gripped him tightly, trying to milk him for all his worth, the sudden tightness forcing a growl to emerge from him. Tears escaped you, the painful pleasure driving you mad in his embrace.

White lights danced behind your eyelids, your orgasm turning you into a puddled mess of ecstasy even as he continued to ravage you.

The last thing you felt before closing your eyes in exhaustion was a scorching heat filling your insides, calloused fingers rubbing the bump in your tummy in wonder.

❣️��❣️Thank you for reading~! ❣️🖤❣️

I got another treat for my dear followers! You gotta know I'm posting NSFW Art to go with my fics as well~ (*^ ‿ <*)♡

🎃Happy Halloween, you guys! Stay safe out there!🎃

Full NSFW Art here ---> (⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Pyramid Head! Ghost

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Dubious Consent, Stomach Bulging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Size Difference, Size Kink, Manhandling, Kidnapping, Punishment, Possessive! Ghost, Dark! Ghost, Implied Female Reader, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Pyramid Head! Ghost finds you wandering around Silent Hill, desperately searching for an exit. 

You’re the first proper, living thing he’s come across in a long time, so he decides to take you for himself.

Pyramid Head! Ghost plucks you from where you stand and throws you over his shoulder like a rag doll.

You don’t fight him, unsure of his intentions with you. He didn’t attack you on sight like all the other monsters did, but when you hear the way he growls at you, feel the way he grips you with his thick fingers pressing between your legs, you’re certain they aren’t pure.

Pyramid Head! Ghost keeps you in a building he knows to be clear of monsters, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe. On the contrary, when you realise what he intends to do with you, you wish you were still outside fighting for your life.

Pyramid Head! Ghost has a nigh-insatiable sex drive – something you discover when he comes to you, lumbering with the weight of his erect cock and engorged ballsack, and takes you in his hand like the doll you are.

Pyramid Head! Ghost uses you as his own cum rag, abusing your body by furiously rubbing you along the length of his shaft until you’re slick and coated in pre, shortly followed by thick ropes of semen that stain your clothes and leave you wet in places you’d rather not think about.

He likes to think of it as marking his territory. Of letting all the other monsters know that you’re his.

Pyramid Head! Ghost has, of course, attempted to use you as a fuck doll, too, though he’s only ever managed to force little more than his bulbous, leaking tip inside you, both you and your body crying out for him to stop when you feel him filling you, telling him you can’t take any more. And he’d have ignored your pleas were it not for the fact he can actually see himself bulging within you, your body choking around him as you sob and beg for him to pull out.

Despite how barbaric he is, Pyramid Head! Ghost doesn’t intend on breaking you. Not just yet, anyway.

You’re no use to him dead, so he leaves you intact for now, instead lodging what little of himself your body can take and stroking his length until he cums, hard and deep, inside you.

His load is hot – uncomfortably so – and so unimaginably heavy that it leaves you limping and leaking for days afterwards.

Pyramid Head! Ghost never lets you wear pants or underwear when he’s done with you. He enjoys the sight of his seed leaking out of you and the bump in your stomach too much.

Pyramid Head! Ghost especially enjoys making you lay before him and spreading your legs so he can see you dripping, a puddle forming between your legs. He’ll push down on your bump, too, feeling his cock twitch when you yelp, his cum squirting out of you and leaving a spray of white translucence across the floor.

You weren’t his first outlet in Silent Hill, but you are his favourite. Hence, he never lets you take a break, using you almost daily to satiate the throbbing between his legs, the primal urge to breed.

More often than not, after making thorough use of you, Ghost has caught you holding your swollen stomach, your skin tender and stretched, as you moan in discomfort.

Pyramid Head! Ghost wonders, briefly, what it would be like to give you one permanently. To embed within you his offspring – something aside from you that he can call his own in this barren wasteland.

The idea becomes something of a fantasy for Pyramid Head! Ghost, and, when you’re secured inside your makeshift home with no hope of escape, he goes out and finds baby clothes, bringing them back to you as if to show them off. To make his intentions with you clear.

The only way you’re avoiding this fate is if you’re incapable of bearing children. Otherwise, Pyramid Head! Ghost absolutely rawdogs you until the viscous ropes of semen he’s pumped into you takes, leaving you weeping and sweaty and his from the inside.

He picks you up and literally holds you upside down afterwards, leaving no way for you to escape your destiny with him whilst doing everything in his power to ensure your pregnancy.

You can feel his semen gushing out of you even then, trickling from between your legs up your abdomen, your chest. Milk tears when they reach your face.

Pyramid Head! Ghost does nothing less than coo over you once you begin to show, not letting you walk anywhere, bringing you maternity clothes, destroying any and all monsters that dare to come near you.

He holds you against his chest, too, letting you use him as your bed on cold nights, and cradles you in his arms. Stares with what could be adoration down at your swelling tummy.

He can’t deny how his chest tightens when he hears you sobbing, though, the sheer weight and size of his child inside you causing you nothing but pain as Pyramid Head! Ghost uses you as his incubator. He hadn’t accounted for the fact that perhaps your fragile human body would struggle bearing the offspring of something as massive as himself.

Pyramid Head! Ghost does what he can to alleviate the pain, oftentimes with him letting you ride his shaft until you’re satisfied or groping the area between your legs until you cum, your orgasm a momentary distraction from your eternity with him.

Pyramid Head! Ghost will never let you go. Especially once you’re with his child. And he can’t imagine just stopping at one, either.

Pyramid Head! Ghost won’t stop until this town is rebuilt in the image of your family – everything he could never have when he was alive.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sea Monster x Reader

In the spirit of Mermay, I come to you with a slightly different approach: an octopus hybrid, dwelling in the dark depths of ancient waters. :) Hopefully close enough to the sea monster you imagined, @wally0117

Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, monster romance, reader likes sharks (a lot); inspired by The Shape of Water and My Octopus Teacher; photo from Whalebone Magazine

He’s always been aware of humans, naturally. Observed them from the beginnings of time, from the very first rudimentary attempt of a boat that crossed his waters. Though he can only guess how these creatures exist, how they breathe, how they move. What arrives in his depths is always a corpse of some sort. Bloated, decaying carcasses, rarely intact, whether chipped by fish or by time. Everything else is left to his imagination.

Until today. The fish are restless, the currents are stronger. Something must be happening above, stringing him along curiously. His many legs sway in tandem, opening and closing, as he investigates the source of interest. His pale white eyes narrow to a mere squint, unused to the light of the surface levels. At last, he finds it: a human.

Yet this one is unusual. Intact - save for the bleeding wound - and unlike the washed-out, cadaveric blue tint he’s normally accustomed to. He notices a twitch of the limb and it dawns on him: this one is still alive.

You wake up with a violent cough, thrusting out the leftover liquid that had invaded your lungs earlier. You clearly remember drowning, so how did you end up on shore again? The answer reveals itself rather quickly: a monstrous creature, albeit humanoid for the most part. The upper half resembles a man, but the torso ends in thick, enormous tentacles, now flopped onto the sand, surrounding your body. You search for the creature’s face, framed by translucent tendrils that seem to replace what you’d expect as hair.

“Thank you”. He scans your features and remains silent. Does he even understand human speech? After a moment of consideration, he looks ahead, surveying the water, then returns to you, giving you a nudge. He most likely wants to know how you ended up in that situation to begin with. “That’s, well…”

Conveniently enough, the monster has brought you back to your little camp, so you reach for your backpack and pull out a book. Of course, no words can ever replace the image itself. With renewed enthusiasm, you open your encyclopedia and turn it towards the man, showing him a photo of a sand tiger shark, tapping on it excitedly. “I was looking for sharks!”

Ever since the bizarre, life-saving encounter, you’ve been returning to the same spot most days. And without exception, the monster will be waiting for you in one of the neighboring caves. Judging by the pellucid, pale skin and his reluctance to be in the light, you guessed early on that he might be a creature of the depths.

One that has been around for a long time, it seems. Once he understood your interest in sharks and other aquatic animals, he developed a liking to play guide for you, silently touring you through forests of kelp, hidden caves, labyrinths of reefs and hills. He knows where the animals linger, and they don't scurry away when you approach. You've never dreamed of being so close to them, staring into their eyes and tracing their fins as they swim past you, unbothered and relaxed. The monster will gaze at you from a distance, amused by your passion.

On ground, you’ve begun your own little experiment: can the octopus creature learn sign language? You didn’t need long to discover how intelligent he is, mimicking your gestures with flawless ease, instantly memorizing the meanings, the connections, the implications. He seems to be terribly delighted by this newfound tool of communication, often asking you questions with earnest curiosity.

Ah, yes, the questions. It makes sense that he’d want to know more about humans, though his interrogations are rather…particular. Specific. It’s less about humans as a whole, and more about you. How long have you been swimming here? How deep can you actually swim, with or without aid? Might you have a family waiting for you back home? A mate, perchance? No? Interesting.

"My vacation will end soon", you sign with pursed lips. He tilts his head. "Leaving?" his webbed hands gesture, somewhat uneasy. You nod. You can discern a glint of melancholy in his eyes. Eventually, he resumes: "Would you like to see my home?" Your eyebrows raise in surprise. His home? Down there? Was such a thing even achievable for a human like you?

The plump suckers attach themselves to your skin, one resting over your mouth. "Do you trust me?" You cast one final glance over the underwater abyss, a black hole trapping all light and matter. You shake your head in approval. Without hesitation, he plunges over the cliff, pulling you after him and into the yawning void of darkness. His form glows eerily, and his movement is swift and elegant. You can tell this is his land, his territory. You would've been dead a long time ago.

He releases you on the wet stone, inside the air pocket of a cave. You need a few moments to overcome the wave of claustrophobia pressing against your lungs. As you catch your breath, you recall your long path from the surface. It would be impossible to make it back out again without your friend. A cold shiver runs across your spine. "Have a break, and I'll show you everything else afterwards", he gestures with a smile. "How long will it take? I don't want to walk back at night", you explain.

Silence. You stare into his empty orbs, awaiting a reaction. There's not a sound, not a gust of wind, not a shred of light. "You're not going back", he finally answers.

You see, he's done a fair amount of research himself. He doesn't need an encyclopedia to figure you out: how you breathe, how you move, how you exist. In fact, he is rather confident in his ways of helping you adapt to a life spent together. He would've never brought you down here if he wasn't certain of your survival. His grin widens in anticipation, a strange warmth enveloping his innards at the mere thought of it: a future with you in it, right here. However, one question remains, a cheeky, perverted detail that has been on his mind from the moment he met you, yet he could never investigate it properly.

How do humans mate?

[cleolinda]

I am really impressed that people are mostly voting for “easy,” because I truly thought everyone would be like TO BE REAL GAMER YOU MUST CHALLENGE YOURSELF. Not that the “standard” voters think that; I was tempted by the Sense of Pride and Accomplishment, and “Start on standard and see how it goes” is a good compromise. I think I just feel bad that I’m going in knowing so much strategy about this game after watching professional streamers get their asses beat into the ground by leg monsters.

I love mobile games, but I have never played a Real-Ass Video Game before, not even as a kid. Later this week, I’m gonna bite off way more than I can chew and scream the whole way through it. I’m setting puzzles on standard. What level should I set the combat to?

[08luvmailz]

★ ﾟ๑ I'D DO ANTHING JUST FOR ME TO SEE YOU AGAIN ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you visiting him ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ୧ ⊹ ࣪ second part ／console me, and then i'll leave without a trace ──⠀ angst to fluff , set on ep7 of s2 , depictions of self harm , bullying , graphic scenes ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ i got sick ... so i couldn't finish writing yesterday. please do make some requests <3

reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja

For an entire year, she had tried everything to make herself feel whole again.

For someone, so bright — her smile had become rare, something she stored away in a locked box, fearing it would shatter if she opened it.

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed above her, and the cold linoleum floor echoed each step as if the empty school itself whispered her name. Every corner held eyes that whispered behind tilted heads; every passing shoulder carried a story she used to be part of. She walked through that river of eyes like a stone sinking silently, carrying the weight of whispers in her chest.

She remembered how it felt at first, when the quiet ache had swelled like a balloon inside her ribs. She had tried to stretch it with excuses – busying herself with homework until her hands cramped, munching down snacks until her stomach ached, even jogging until her legs turned to jelly – anything to squeeze out a little satisfaction.

But nothing made the emptiness truly leave. It was like trying to fill a black hole with water; every drop vanished before it could make a ripple. In class, she doodled nothing except the back of her mind on the margins of her notebook: a heart that wouldn’t fill, a mouth that wouldn’t smile.

During lunch, while others crowded around tables trading jokes and laughter, she found a quiet corner.

The cafeteria lights and clatter of trays felt distant, as if she watched it happen in someone else’s dream. She chewed slowly on her rice, its dull flavor on her tongue.

She wondered if they were wondering why she ate so slowly, or thought she must eat quickly to stay strong. In her head, she counted the seconds between bites, hoping to feel any sensation more than the gnawing void inside.

She would glance on the table near her, It was the table they used to sat on. But she quickly disregard the gnawing pain of memories her brain kept locked in.

She heard the rumors.

Kids at her locker thinking she couldn’t hear, imagining her knuckles bruised from something they didn’t understand, lips curling into cruel stories.

She was the shadow stretching long across the hallway’s bright walls – not quite human, not quite monster. Some were scared to approach, afraid she might lash out with hands that had, one time, raised to defend something small and precious.

Each morning felt like climbing a hill she could never reach the top of. Even the sun casting light through her kitchen window failed to warm her insides. Her reflection in the mirror as she put on her uniform was a girl with tired eyes, the kind that quiet mornings and too many secrets give you.

She wondered if the corners of her mouth had forgotten how to go up. On some mornings, she pinched her palm with her nails just to feel a flash of anything real, a proof that she was still there and not just an echo.

She often thought about who she used to be, or who she wanted to be.

Sometimes, in rare moments alone in the afternoon, she would hum a tune she once loved, and for a breath she’d almost believe everything would be okay again.

But when the bell rang and the hurried footsteps as the hallway became empty, reality clung to her again like a cold coat. She straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, tried to make herself small and unnoticeable so she could disappear into the background.

It was easier this way – so people wouldn't come closer anymore.

As the year dragged on, she built a quiet routine of coping.

Some days, after the final bell, she would find a hidden corner of the library and bury her face in a book, leaning into the paper and print so she could hold a whisper of someone else’s story.

Other days, she walked home along side streets, feet crunching on gravel, head down so that the roofs of houses blurred her vision and no one would say her name.

At night, before sleep stole her away, she sometimes imagined a dinner table where just once someone passed her plate without a warning glance. Those dreams faded by dawn, leaving only the morning ache.

She watched the other students as if from behind glass. They passed her in the halls—heads held high, friends jabbering shoulder-to-shoulder. They worried about tests, cram schools, summer vacation or going out.

Sometimes at night, late when everything was dark and the house was empty, she touched the scars she kept hidden on her wrist. They were faint lines, as if she had cut herself just enough to feel. Enough to remember that I’m here.

The ache in her stomach and heart became the same longing, and she ached to feel anything but hollow. Yet morning would come, as it always did, and she would tuck those memories back inside her ribcage and wear her uniform once more.

She was careful now.

Careful to walk in the center of the corridors so no one had reason to crowd her. Careful to keep her voice low if a teacher asked her a question.

She preferred to blend into the pattern of her desk in class or the gray cement wall outside the school, so that anyone might forget she was there at all. She told herself that being invisible was the least she could offer the world.

Sometimes when she passed a reflection in a store window, she stared at the girl who looked back with hungry eyes and wondered if that was her, really, or just another stranger pulling a cart alongside the frozen aisles of life. She envied how warm and bright her classmates appeared in her imagination, as if they wore their warmth and hunger on their tongues without any effort.

She started learning how to ride Suho’s motorcycle a month after everything happened. Not because she had a reason. Just because sitting still made her feel like she’d disappear.

It wasn’t easy. Her hands weren’t made for handlebars or throttle grips, and the engine always roared too loud for her quiet head. But she kept practicing. Around the block, then across the neighborhood, then down the same roads Suho used to ride when he was still—

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She just keeps riding.

Sometimes she visits his grandmother first, carrying grocery bags that dig red marks into her palms. They don’t talk much—just share the silence like old friends do. She helps clean, picks up the mail, waters the plants that Suho forgot to before everything fell apart. And then, like ritual, she visits the hospital.

She doesn’t bring flowers anymore. That stopped after the fifth week. Now it’s just her, a quiet chair, and Suho’s breathing. She talks sometimes, about nothing. About school. About how the vending machine’s been out of her favorite drink for a week straight. About the bike.

She took the job to keep her mind busy. A delivery service. Something that paid just enough and asked for nothing back. Using Suho's helmet that's too big on her because she couldn't used the pink helmet he brought for her, a schedule, and a willingness to keep going even when you’re tired.

She took the job because she wanted to make up for what she didn’t do—what she should’ve done back then. Maybe if she earned enough, it could at least cover Suho’s expenses for a few months. So when he woke up, he wouldn’t have to think about wasting time trying to make money again. He could just rest, catch up with everything he missed.

That was the idea. That was a brilliant plan.

Oh, how wrong she was.

It was hard to juggle everything—school during the day, taekwondo classes after, then deliveries until late. Her body ached more often now. Sleep became something borrowed, not earned. And sometimes, when she stared too long at her schedule, she wondered how Suho managed to do it all.

Then she let out a bitter chuckle.

Right. He didn’t study much.

He tried��she remembered that. Showing up to class with tired eyes, scribbling half-hearted notes, pretending to care when the teacher called on him. But studying was never the plan for him. He wasn’t built for libraries or lecture halls. He was planning to survive. To make a living. To take care of the people he loved, even if that meant running himself to the ground.

Now here she was, retracing his steps. As if mimicking his life could somehow bring him back. As if it could undo what happened.

But the truth was, she wasn’t doing this because it was right.

She was doing it because she didn’t know how else to grieve.

She was doing it to remember that she still lived for him—the only one.

It wasn’t like she suddenly believed in responsibility or wanted to prove something to her parents—they didn’t care either way. They nagged her about it at first, asking why she had to deliver food like some desperate kid. She told them she was trying to live like an adult now.

That was a lie.

What she really meant was: I need to do something that hurts a little. Something that makes me feel like I’m still here.

She picked up the helmet, looked at the old bike, and thought, If I could ride it well enough, maybe it would feel like Suho was still beside me.

At times, when she was in the saddle delivering food, her route veered past Sieun’s old neighborhood before she could stop herself. The engine’s hum would carry her right to the curb beneath that familiar streetlamp where they once sheltered from rain.

She’d cut the engine and sit in silence, remembering how he held the umbrella too high—as if standing close was its own kind of risk. She’d force a small, aching smile, tell herself it was only a shortcut on the map.

Other days, she’d pull up behind a low brick wall, park the bike with a screech, and leap off, ready to startle him. But in her memory, his voice would reach her first: “Too loud,” he’d said, never bothering to turn around.

So she’d shake off the pain, clip her helmet on again, and push forward—deliveries waiting, regret left to catch up on its own.

Most of all, she rode just like Suho used to—late into the evening, weaving between streetlights and memories. Each package she carried was fuel for her guilt, her promise to cover weeks of missed chores and unspoken goodbyes.

She was learning to ride the weight of her grief as surely as she learned to handle the throttle: both made her body ache, but at least it meant she was still moving.

She remembered, when she smiled at the mirror for the first time in a long while.

It wasn’t a triumphant smile—more like a small, crooked thing, half-formed and unsure, but there nonetheless. The bathroom was filled with the sharp scent of drugstore dye, gloves stained with streaks of artificial chestnut. She worked in silence, dragging the brush through her hair, clumsily but with care, as if repainting herself would somehow peel away the weight she carried on her shoulders.

When she finished drying it, the strands fanned out like paper—too soft, too light, the color warmer than she imagined. Under the cheap lighting, it almost looked orange. She stared at her reflection, blinked once, and let out a short, surprised laugh.

She looked like she was wearing a wig. Like a stranger trying on someone else’s softness.

She remembered when the three would glance at her when she questioned them if she would look good in a light brown haired color. The two nodded and Beomseok complimented her with a thought, then Suho—that bitch.

Said, "If you ever dyed your hair. You would look like wearing a wig"

She chuckled to herself that a kick was met on his face after he made a comment.

And yet... something about it made her pause. Not in shame. Not in regret. But in that fleeting, suspended moment where grief and girlhood blur.

It didn’t fix anything. But it made her feel like maybe she could try again.

Even if it was just hair.

Even if it was just for a second.

Then, it started.

The bullying.

The girls started again, their voices high and biting, a chorus of yapping dogs circling, teeth bared but too afraid to bite. Each word they threw at her was a stone, meant to make her crack. But the cracks were inside. The outside? The outside was numb, cold—so cold it almost felt like she wasn't even there. Not until the bathroom, cornered between the walls, did she feel the heat of her own anger rising.

Not at them.

No, not at them.

At herself.

She hated how she'd let it get to this point. How had she become this quiet thing—this thing that let them talk, let them push? If it were the old her, she'd have torn them apart by now. Fists flying, voice roaring. She would’ve been the storm they couldn't handle. She would’ve shown them what it meant to not be afraid.

A year ago, she would have struck first—fists flying before thought. She would have tasted the shock in their eyes as blood bloomed on her knuckles. But that girl was gone. Now she stood still, back pressed to cool porcelain, heart hammering a fierce rhythm against her ribs.

But not now.

Now, silence was all she could afford them. Giving them her attention, her energy—it felt like losing, like handing them the power to keep dragging her back into their pit. So, she waited. Let them bark, let them jeer.

She was waiting for the one to make a move. She could feel it coming. The sharpness of her breath, the way her lip trembled under the weight of what she wanted to do.

The fluorescent light hummed overhead, and the walls felt too close, as if they meant to press her in. She looked at them—low laughs, the scrape of heels on tile. Shadows swept across the stalls, narrowing in on her.

They surrounded her: girls with cigarettes dangling from their lips, eyes bright with cruelty. Their words stung—whispers of psycho, freak, worse. Each insult landed in her chest like a stone.

Her lips were dry, chapped beneath the heavy lipstick, so bright it almost hurt to see. She imagined, for a moment, what it would look like—if that lipstick were smeared with blood. Her blood or theirs, it didn’t matter. The thought of wiping it off with their mocking laughter, of seeing them eat their own arrogance, was a sickening sort of satisfaction.

The laughter, the cigarette smoke curling around their words—it all burned her. She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to react. But the fantasy? The fantasy was enough. They'd never know the rage coiled inside her like a snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But that moment never came. And she realized, standing there, that maybe it never would. She was a prisoner of her own calm.

She paused, breath steadying, and Suho’s voice cut through the noise in her head. “If they corner you, don’t let them control the space. Use anything around you. Make them intimidate you.” Not her teacher’s drills—Suho’s words, like a lifeline.

She straightened her spine. Every inch of her stood tall: shoulders back, chin up, eyes locked on the ring leader. The others fell silent, startled by the sudden shift in the air. She moved forward, step by deliberate step, until she was toe-to-toe with the girl who’d cornered her.

Her voice was low, rough from disuse—but clear.

" You done spouting bullshit? "

The hallway seemed to hold its breath. The girl’s smirk faltered as a tremor of hesitation rippled through the circle. And for the first time that day, She felt something bloom behind her ribs—not fear, but a fierce, electric calm. The world had tilted back into place. She owned this moment. And they knew it.

The girl scoffed, a bitter sound curling from her lips like smoke. Her voice trembled, mechanical and unsure, stuttering as if caught between fury and fear. “What did you say?” she asked, trying to hold the edges of control, to wear confidence like armor—though it barely clung to her.

“You just keep talking,” she spat. “Saying things you don’t even understand. You’ve got the ego of a man compensating for something small—so small. Always acting like you're above everyone, but you’re nothing more than a coward in a mask.”

Her anger was wildfire now, unchecked and consuming. She moved fast—too fast—reaching out to strike, to make the moment hers again. But the other girl was faster. Calm. Cold. She caught her wrist mid-air, twisted it hard.

There was a snap—sharp, sickening.

A breath caught in the girl’s throat.

She screamed in pain then came the kick, swift and brutal, sending her stumbling backward, wounded pride trailing behind her like a torn ribbon. She hurled in pain clutching her hand as she lay on the ground.

And then—silence.

She had the space she needed. A clear path to run, to disappear, to let this be over.

But she didn’t move.

Not yet, she isn't done.

They circled her like wolves, four against one, grinning with the kind of confidence that came in packs. Cheap perfume, chewing gum, and bad intentions hung thick in the air.

The first came charging, wild and loud. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and swept a leg out low. The girl hit the ground with a thud, her pride landing harder than her body. As another was baffled but lunged—fists swinging, rage without form. She caught her wrist mid-swing, twisted, and sent an elbow into her ribs. The sound that followed was breathless, raw.

The third tried to out-think her. She went low, hands reaching for ankles, but didn’t see the spin. A heel cracked across her jaw with the grace of violence learned in silence. She folded, crumpled, still.

The last girl hesitated.

She could’ve run. Could’ve walked away with just a bruise to her ego.

“Don’t,” she warned, softly. Like mercy.

But pride struck first, than being humble.

She attacked—and in seconds, she was face-down, her wrist bent behind her back, the ground cold and unforgiving. Her face met with the cold disgusting floor where many student stepped in.

She exhaled.

She looked at them with no compassion, she knelt and plucked a crumpled cigarette pack from one of their jackets. Held it up between two fingers like something dead.

“Pick them up,” she said.

No one answered, nor moved.

She exhaled with a look of annoyance.

She stood over them, still as a statue, the echo of violence humming in her bones. Around her, the bathroom was silent save for their ragged breathing—tile cold beneath scraped palms, smoke clinging to the walls like ghosts.

“PICKED THEM UP!” she shouted, voice cracking through the air like a whip.

It boomed off the tiled walls, reverberating through the stillness. The room swallowed the sound, but it stayed there, vibrating in the bones of those crouched on the floor.

They moved slowly, heads bowed like scolded children, fingers fumbling for the torn paper and crushed filters. One by one, they gathered the pieces.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

"Eat it." she commanded at them, as the other stare at her in fear. Others obeyed too quickly afraid to have more blooming bruises on their faces.

But the one who had confronted her—the first to strike, the first to fall—didn’t look away.

She sat against the tiled wall, cradling her broken wrist with the other hand, eyes burning with fury. It wasn’t fear in her face—it was defiance. Pride refusing to kneel, even in defeat.

Blood at the corner of her lip. Breathing sharp. Hate alive in her throat.

She walked toward her—not rushed, not cruel, just deliberate. Controlled. Her knees bent with a soft thud against the tile as she knelt before the girl. A single cigarette still burned on the floor, its ember a fading eye. She picked it up between her fingers, unflinching as the heat kissed her skin.

“Still holding onto that pride?” she asked, almost gently.

She caught her face in one hand, fingers gripping her cheeks, steady and strong. Thumb pried her mouth open.

“No more talking.” She murmured at her, and smiled at her. Sickingly.

The cigarette went in.

Smoke. Ash. Pained gasped. Burning tongue. Silence.

She watched her chew it—eyes wet, teeth grinding through heat and paper and humiliation. The taste of defiance turned to ash on her tongue.

She held her gaze the whole time at her. Chewing at her own pride.

Then she let go.

Her fingers slipped from the girl's face like a dying breeze. And then, without fury—only finality—she slapped her. A clean, echoing sound that cracked through the heavy stillness like a gunshot in a chapel. No rage in it. Just closure. She rose to her feet, slow and composed, the chaos behind her shrinking as if it had never touched her.

At the door, she paused.

The air in the bathroom was thick—smoke curling like ghosts above the flickering light, blood and ash staining silence. The girls were curled inward, pain folding their bodies like paper. Eyes wide, throats dry. Beaten, but still watching.

She turned to face them one last time.

“Tell a teacher,” she said, voice low but thunderous, coiled with quiet venom. “And it won’t just be my fists or my feet kneeling to your faces.” Her eyes swept over them—each one trembling, pride shattered and stinging beneath the skin.

“I’ll make sure you can’t even look in the mirror without choking on what you see.”

A breath.

“I will kill you.”

No screams. No theatrics. Just that promise—quiet and unshakeable.

Then she stepped through the doorway and disappeared. The door slammed behind her with the force of a verdict. The lock clicked shut, sealing the room like a tomb.

She walked slowly, each step measured, as though the weight of her own actions had yet to fully settle. Her heartbeat still echoed in her chest, a steady drum beneath the skin. The rush, that surge of power, still coursed through her veins like fire, bright and consuming.

But she remained composed.

Her breath, though quick, was steady, like the calm after a storm. The chaos of the bathroom—those faces crumpled in pain, the smell of smoke and defeat—was already fading into the periphery of her mind.

Her fingers, still tingling from the force of the slap, brushed against the cold metal of the doorframe as she passed. Her body knew what it had done, but her mind? Her mind was already someplace else, already turning over the pieces like a puzzle that had just been solved.

She didn't regret it. Not in that moment.

She didn’t need to look back.

She just have to keep moving forward.

Its been a year.

After endless of orders, knocking on doors, she fell asleep face-down on a half-finished worksheet, the highlighter uncapped and bleeding neon yellow into the page.

When she slept, she was impossible to wake—like the world could end outside her window and she’d sleep through the fire. It had become her escape, her only silence. But not tonight.

Her phone rang loud and sharp, slicing through the quiet like panic often does. She stirred, groggy and annoyed, until her eyes caught the caller ID: Hospital.

She blinked.

Hospital

Her heart didn’t stop—it collapsed.

She answered without thinking, her voice breathless, the fear already creeping up her spine. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was formal, wrapped in professional indifference. “Hello. Is this Dokja-ssi’s phone?”

Her breath hitched. Something about the tone felt wrong. Off. Too careful. “Yes—yes, this is her. I’m Dokja. Why? What’s going on?” she asked, already standing, legs shaky, the panic flooding her veins.

“There’s been a complication,” the voice replied, each word like a crack in her chest. "Patient Anh Suho, is in a critical condition, Unfortunately, Sieun-ssi responded but he didn't came. Are you able to come?" The nurse voice replied.

For a second, time slowed. Then it shattered.

She didn’t respond. The call had ended. Or maybe she had ended it. She couldn’t remember. Her limbs moved on instinct. She didn’t change clothes. She didn’t think. She just ran.

She ran like she did the night everything fell apart.

She ran like apologies could catch up to prayers.

She ran like her heart would stop before she made it.

She ran even if her tears wouldn't stop streaming until her eyes became blurry at the sight.

She called and called Suho’s grandmother, but the line rang endlessly. The silence on the other end pressed against her ears like grief.

When she burst through the hospital entrance, breathless and wild-eyed, she was met with chaos—blurred voices, sharp lights, the dull smell of antiseptic, and somewhere behind it all, fear.

A nurse met her halfway, calm hands reaching to steady her. "Dokja-ssi? "she asked gently, guiding her to a seat. She nodded, unable to speak.

Then everything came too fast— loud shouts, jarring footsteps.

Too real.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. She just stood there, rooted to the floor as the world blurred into chaos.

Through the small square of glass, her eyes locked onto the scene like it might disappear if she looked away. Suho’s body, too still on the stretcher, wires snaking across his chest. The defibrillator pads were already in place. The sound of machines echoed even through the door, shrill and unrelenting.

She saw the moment his heart flatlined.

The jagged spike of the monitor became a flat line.

"He's in cardiac arrest!"

Doctors shouted orders she couldn’t understand, but her body translated their panic anyway. Hands moved fast, efficient and desperate, as if time could be bribed to give them more.

His chest lifted—once, twice—under compressions, and she could barely hear the nurse behind her asking her to sit down.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

All she could do was stare at the blinking lights, watching as they flickered like dying stars in a collapsing sky. He had always burned so bright. And now—Now he was fighting to stay lit.

Tears clung to her lashes, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Not when he was still in there. Not when he might still wake up.

She placed a hand against the glass.

“Suho,” she whispered like it was a promise. Like her voice could reach him where machines couldn’t.

She didn’t know how long she stood there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been forever. Time twisted itself into knots.

All she knew was that she had never felt so helpless.

Inside, the doctor called for another round. The paddles pressed to his chest.

Clear.

His body jolted.

She flinched.

Her knees gave out before she even realized she was falling. The cold linoleum kissed her skin, and her fingers clawed at the base of the emergency room door—desperate, aching, as if she could tear through it and pull him back with her own bare hands.

“Suho,” she choked out, once, then again—until his name was no longer a name, but a prayer dragged through broken sobs.

Her body folded in on itself. Shoulders shaking, forehead pressed against the wood like it could listen. Like maybe if she stayed close enough, he’d hear her crying and come back just to scold her for it.

She wailed quietly at first, then louder, all the grief she had buried beneath discipline and duty unspooling in the rawest of ways. She gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, nails digging in until her knuckles turned white.

Her voice cracked, mouth trembling as she whispered, “Please… please don’t go.”

No one answered.

Only the muffled chaos of the emergency room beyond the door. The soft buzz of machines still fighting to keep him here. The frantic shuffle of shoes and fabric and sterile urgency.

She quickly kneeled, blood in her throat and prayers in her lungs. Asking the universe, begging God, “If you're here, save him.”

Not long after, the noise settled. The beeping of machines, the shouting of doctors, the chaos in the emergency room all blurred into a dull hum as Suho’s heart slowly found its rhythm again.

She sat there, knees still trembling beneath her, as a nurse gently approached her. She had no words to offer, no comfort to give, but the way she placed a steady hand on her shoulder said enough. It was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

“Suho’s stable now,” the nurse said softly, but her voice was still kind, despite the exhaustion that clung to her like a second skin. “He’s in critical care, but the immediate danger has passed.”

“His vitals are steady. We’ll monitor him, of course.” The nurse’s tone was reassuring, but she couldn’t shake the cold dread that clung to her, the fear that, at any moment, everything could tip back into the unknown.

The doctor stepped in next, his presence steady but brisk, offering the facts as they were. “His heart stopped for a few moments, but we were able to stabilize him,” he said, glancing at the monitor and then at her. “We’ll continue monitoring him closely for the next few hours. He’s strong. He’ll pull through. But it’s too early to say much more.”

She nodded, the weight of his words settling into her bones. But her mind couldn’t quite rest on the relief; it was tangled in the knots of everything she had felt before this moment, the panic, the helplessness, the feeling of losing him before she even had the chance to understand what he truly meant to her.

She managed to speak, though her voice felt foreign. “Can I see him?”

The nurse and doctor exchanged glances. The doctor nodded. “Just for a moment. He’s sedated, but we’ll allow a brief visit.”

As they led her to Suho’s room, She felt her legs heavy, like she was walking through water. When she reached the threshold of his room, she stopped, standing there in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The sight of him—his face pale but familiar, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the monitors—was almost too much to bear.

But she stepped inside. Slowly. Quietly. As if afraid that if she moved too fast, she would wake from this nightmare too soon.

There, in the quiet hum of the hospital room, she sat by his bed, her hand carefully brushing through his hair.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

All she could do was stay. And wait.

"You scared the shit out of me, you bastard." Her voice cracked, soft but heavy with the weight of everything she had felt in the past few hours.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips, her fingers trembling as they lingered on his hand, still warm, still steady. The tears she had held back now fell freely, pooling on the edges of her lashes before they slipped down her cheeks.

"I thought... I thought I was going to lose you," she whispered, the words raw and honest, the fear she hadn’t known how to voice finally spilling from her. "I didn't know what I'd do without you."

"You always make me worry, don’t you?" she said, her voice quieter now, almost a fond reproach, as if she was talking to herself more than to him.

The sterile room felt colder now, quieter, but her presence by his side warmed the space. She could almost pretend that things were normal, that this moment was just one of those fleeting, quiet moments they used to have—when everything felt right, when there was nothing but them, no chaos, no questions. Just the quiet hum of being together.

"If you scared me like that again, i will kill you." she murmured, her hand brushing over the cool fabric of his hospital gown. "Please, wake up."

But silence was the loud answer.

Soon, she would hear his voice.

Again.

Soon she left the room, as the doctor checked his vitals.

She stepped away from the cold, sterile walls of the waiting room, seeking solace in a quiet corner where she could break without being seen. Her breath caught in her throat as her body trembled, each sob a sharp, painful release of everything she had held back.

She pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it was useless. The grief, the fear, the desperate prayer to some higher power—she couldn’t contain it any longer.

"Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please, don’t take him too."

She was lost in her own panic, until her gaze lifted, and through blurred eyes, she saw them.

Three figures in the distance, standing near the entrance of the waiting area.

Their presence felt like a strange disruption, their calm demeanor a stark contrast to the storm inside her. She quickly wiped her tears away, forcing herself to steady her breathing, her chest still tight, aching from the earlier rush of emotion.

She couldn’t show them the cracks. Not now. Not here.

Her eyes darted to the sound of heels clicking against the floor, the sound sharp and confident as it drew closer. Without even looking, she knew.

She recognized the familiar cadence, the polished, poised steps of someone who had a presence that filled the room. And when she heard the words, soft yet piercing, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over.

“Sieun,” his mother’s voice echoed, a quiet, clipped tone that made her blood run cold.

Her heart stopped for a moment, suspended in time. She didn’t move. She didn’t dare.

She had to stay still. To breathe. To keep herself from trembling at the sight of his mother, at the thought of Sieun.

As the woman turned, disappearing into the hallway, the rest of them—those familiar figures from long ago—remained.

She heard those words again, echoing in her chest like a cracked bell, "Don't worry. He's stable now."

But “stable” felt hollow—an empty promise carved from glass. It pressed against her ribs until she could hardly breathe. Stable meant he had already teetered on the edge.

Stable meant the world had nearly slipped him away once, and could do so again.

In that moment, the corridor’s light blurred into silver dust, and every step she took felt haunted by the question: What had broken him, and could she piece him back together?

Her legs moved before her mind could catch up, standing up as the need to know, to understand, burned through her chest. She walked toward them, each step hesitant but determined, her feet carrying her forward as if they knew the path she needed to take.

When she reached them, her voice was steady, but the question she asked felt like it came from someone else, someone too broken to stop herself.

“What happened to Sieun?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hoped it didn’t sound as fragile as it felt.

Her eyes caught theirs, scanning each face, searching for a truth that had eluded her. And for a split second, in that fleeting moment, she realized how deeply she had missed them, how much she had needed to see them. But all she could focus on was Sieun. Where was he? Was he okay?

They met her gaze, each face shifting with something—pity? Worry? It was hard to tell, but she needed to know. She had to know.

The first met her gaze for an instant—his head shaved close, eyes hard—before he looked away. The second hunched forward, hood drawn tight, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his knee. The third leaned back, arms crossed, but his glance flickered to her like a startled bird.

“Who are you?” the one wearing a blazer asked, voice cautious.

Her throat constricted. “I—” She forced the words out. “I’m just asking if he’s okay.”

“Why do you care?” the first boy challenged, sharp eyes narrowing.

“I was his friend,” she whispered, voice thin as spun glass. “Please… just tell me.” They exchanged hesitant looks, the silence stretching between them like a wound.

“We weren’t there,” the boy with folded arms finally said, each word weighed by uncertainty. “Someone brought him in. He… hasn’t woken up yet.” She bowed her head, letting the news settle like snow in her chest.

The boy with a fur jacket on as his voice softened, almost a murmur: “You close to him, then?” She blinked at him, She didn’t know how to answer him. Are you close to him? — the question wasn’t cruel, just curious. Simple. But it rattled something. She would've said we are, once. It would’ve been easy. Natural.

But they weren’t.

Not anymore.

So the silence stretched for a second too long, and she could feel it waiting — the question, the boys, even the fluorescent lights buzzing above. “I was,” she said. Quiet. Honest. Maybe too honest. She didn’t know what else to say. Nothing she could say would explain it anyway.

The words hung in the air behind her as she walked, not really expecting them to understand.

The three boys watched her go, but none of them tried to stop her. It wasn’t like they could.

As she neared the hallway where Sieun’s mother had disappeared, the heels clicking sharply on the tile floor were unmistakable. The woman, tall and dressed in black, walked with a certain kind of authority, but there was something fragile about the way she moved — like even the weight of her own footsteps might be too much for her.

She didn't hesitate. Her legs carried her forward, and before she could second-guess herself, she was standing at the door where his mother had entered.

By the time she reached the door — the same one his mother had disappeared through — her hand was already on the frame, fingers trembling.

She leaned in.

The glass was small, but clear enough to steal her breath.

There he was.

Sieun. Still. Pale. Wires crawling across his skin like questions with no answers. Machines blinking quietly beside him, a soundless rhythm of worry. Her stomach turned. Something inside her dropped.

Her breathe hitched.

Him too?

And she didn't even know.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes before she could blink them back, stinging sharp and sudden. Not just because of the sight. But because it felt like some invisible thread had snapped — and she hadn't even realized it was still there until now.

It hit her like a quiet betrayal.

She used to pride herself on noticing things—on knowing when people were hurting even if they didn’t say it out loud. But this?

She hadn’t known a damn thing.

She didn't know what happened.

There was no warning. No signs. Just a body behind glass. A boy who once walked beside her now laid out like a question without an answer.

Her chest ached. Not sharp, just hollow.

She wondered if he tried to reach out. If he hesitated before deleting her number. If he thought about her at all.

Would it have changed anything?

Would she have come running sooner, if she knew?

She didn’t even know what floor he was on until she heard his name from someone else's mouth. And now here she was, heart pressed against glass, breathing in grief like it was her fault she didn’t notice him slipping.

She didn’t notice the door open. Not until a voice sliced through the haze, sharp and clean like a blade pressed too close to skin. “What is it?” The woman’s tone was brisk—businesslike, wrapped in steel—but not cruel. Not yet.

And for a moment, she couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. She stood there, breath caught halfway, spine tense like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be.

What was she supposed to say? That she was standing outside the room of a boy she hadn’t seen in months, one who used to walk beside her like a shadow, now lying still behind glass like a stranger? That she didn’t know why she was here, only that her feet wouldn’t let her go anywhere else?

But none of that would sound right. None of that would explain the tears she hadn’t wiped away, the guilt tightening her chest, the ache of realizing she was too late.

“…What happened to Sieun?” She asked the question again, but it felt heavier this time. More desperate.

The woman paused.

Sieun’s mother glanced at her, with a mask of recognition.

“You...” Sieun’s mother said softly, her voice filled with the weight of years of distance. “You’re the girl who visited us... a year ago?”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

“I was,” she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman paused, studying her carefully. There was something in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or understanding—something that made her feel exposed in a way she hadn’t expected.

Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

But at her first question, her jaw tensed — a small, silent betrayal of everything she refused to let slip. There was a flicker in her eyes, something restrained and quiet, like a dam holding back too much water. She gave a slow shake of her head — not dismissive, not angry — just tired. The kind of tired that lived in the bones, not the muscles. The kind that grief makes permanent.

For a moment, the hallway felt too still. The soft mechanical murmurs behind the walls seemed distant, unimportant. Time hung suspended in fluorescent light and stale air.

Then, finally, Sieun’s mother exhaled — low, controlled, as if she could force herself to stay composed with nothing but breath.

“He’s in a bad state,” she said, and the words landed with the weight of something half-buried. “Unconscious when they brought him in. He got hit by a bus, thankfully it wasn't that critical. But the doctors are trying. They’re doing what they can.”

The ache hit without warning — a sharp, invisible thing that cracked down her spine like lightning. She didn’t know when she started shaking. Only that it hurt to stand still, and it hurt more to listen.

She wanted to ask more. A thousand questions pressed behind her teeth, begging for air. But none of them mattered. Not right now.

“Do you... want to see him?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice softer now, like she understood what it meant to be left behind by someone still breathing.

“Yes.” Her voice came out too fast, too fragile. “Please. I— I need to.” The older woman gave a quiet nod and turned, her steps slow and heavy. And the girl followed, unsure if her knees were steady enough to carry her through the weight of the moment.

Behind every step was a memory. Behind every breath was something she wished she’d said.

But ahead… ahead was the hope of seeing him again — and maybe, just maybe, a chance to fix what time and silence had fractured.

“Are... are you a friend of Sieun’s?” Sieun’s mother asked, her voice faltering slightly. “I always believed something must have happened... between the two of you.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, a sharp reminder of the distance she had put between them, a distance that had been as much her doing as anyone else’s.

“I used to be his friend,” she replied, her voice faltering, unsure of what else to say. Sieun’s mother’s eyes softened for just a moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a kindness in the way she spoke next.

She steps slowly toward Sieun's room, her heart racing in her chest, and each step feels heavier than the last. The guilt still lingers, but she pushes it aside, forcing herself to focus on the present. She can’t afford to think about the past anymore. Not now.

The reality of what’s happening hits her—she’s finally facing Sieun after all this time, after everything that’s happened. She doesn’t know what she’s going to say, or if she’ll even be able to say anything at all.

But she knows one thing for certain: she has to be there for him, even if it’s just in silence.

The sterile smell of the hospital room fills her senses. The sound of beeping machines and the soft rustle of sheets are the only noises that break the stillness of the room. She looks at him, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. His face is peaceful, but his body is marked with signs of his struggle.

It’s hard to look at him—he looks so fragile, so far from the boy she used to know. She’s reminded of all the things left unsaid, of the friendship that was lost, and the connection that never truly faded, even when she thought it had.

His mother gave a small nod, saying nothing, only shifting slightly to offer the empty seat beside her.

She sat down, the chair cold beneath her, the air colder still.

Silence erupted in the room—not hollow, but thick. The kind that fills your lungs until it’s hard to breathe. Machines hummed gently, steady and indifferent. But everything else felt still, like the world had paused just outside these walls.

She didn’t look at him right away. She couldn’t. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

She heard sieun's mother sighed softly, a mix of relief and lingering worry in her voice. “The doctor says it wasn’t critical, but his nervous system was affected. He’s been having trouble...” Her voice falters a bit.

“...trouble sleeping.” Her voice barely above a whisper, heart racing at the realization. As she finished Sieun's mother sentence. Her eyes widen in surprise, as if a flash of recognition crosses her mind. “Did Sieun tell you this?”

She shakes her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, though it’s drowned in the ache of regret. “No, I haven’t talked to him... not since he switched schools.” She glanced at her lap, fiddling at the edge of her t-shirt, afraid to look at her.

A pause, her gaze softening, yet heavy with understanding. Her voice becomes quiet but firm, almost as if she’s been waiting to say this. “The moment I saw you standing at our door... I knew you had a connection with him. I don’t know what happened between you two, but I could tell you meant a lot to him.”

She is struck by her words, her heart sinking in guilt. She bows her head into her lap, the tears threatening to spill over. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, not with all the emotions swirling inside her, not after everything she wished she’d done differently.

Her voice lowers with empathy, a soft sadness in her words, as she takes a cautious step closer. “Sieun’s always been reserved... He’s never been good at opening up, especially when it matters the most. That’s how he is... always locking everything inside.” She paused as she glanced at the girl's appearance.

She trembled, shoulders tight, voice barely holding beneath the weight that had sat on her chest for far too long.

“I... I let my pride get in the way,” she whispered, each word splintering against the silence. “I didn’t talk to him when I had the chance... I should’ve, but I didn’t. I thought he’d be fine—like he always is. I told myself he’d figure it out. But now—” her breath hitched, “now he’s in here, like this. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close.”

Her hands lifted, covering her face as the tears finally broke through, warm and merciless.

She hated herself for waiting. For hesitating. For thinking there would always be more time.

The silence they once shared now felt like punishment. A distance she could’ve closed, but didn’t. And now the air between them was filled with wires and machines and too many what-ifs.

If only she’d said something. If only she hadn’t let fear speak louder than her heart.

Now, it might be too late to say any of it at all.

Her voice was calm—steady in a way that only someone who had learned how to carry pain without letting it break them could manage. It reached her like a soft touch, like the kind of comfort that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard.

“It’s not your fault,” she said, not accusing, not dismissive—just honest. A breath left her lips, weary but full of knowing. “You can’t predict everything. Especially with someone like Sieun.”

She paused, as if weighing her next words with care.

“Sometimes... people need to fall a little. Walk into the dark by themselves before they can find their way back. That’s not on you. You can’t carry that alone.”

The words lingered in the quiet, gentle but undeniable. A truth that she hadn’t let herself believe. She had been so sure it was her failure, her silence, her pride that led to this—but maybe... it wasn’t all hers to hold.

Then, softer now, almost like an offering:

“If you were once his friend... maybe you still are. Maybe that hasn’t changed. It’s not too late. He’s been through more than we know, but maybe—just maybe—seeing you now will remind him... that he’s not alone. That someone still cares.”

And in that moment, the she felt something shift—not the ache, not the guilt, but the helplessness. It didn’t fade completely. But it loosened just enough to let hope slip in.

She feels a sudden rush of uncertainty—an ache that rises to her throat and threatens to pull her under. Should she stay? Should she leave? What right did she have to be here, after everything?

Her pride claws at her, whispering that it’s too late. That she should walk away quietly, like she always did. But something deeper—something older and softer—fights back. The part of her that still remembers his tired eyes, his rare half-smiles, the way he tried even when no one else saw it.

Regret crashes against her chest like a wave, but it’s no longer paralyzing. It’s a reminder. Of time wasted. Of words left unsaid. Of the cost of silence.

She glances at Sieun’s mother, who doesn’t speak—just waits with that patient, knowing gaze. Her breath stutters, but her feet don’t move. Something has shifted. The guilt is still there, heavy and sharp, but now it’s tethered to something else—resolve.

She can’t go back. She can’t undo the past.

But maybe... she can be here now.

Maybe this is the moment that matters.

For a moment, the room is silent again. The machines continue to beep steadily, and the she wonders if Sieun can hear her. Wondering if maybe, deep down, he knows that she’s here, that she’s trying. Her eyes start to blur with tears, but she blinks them away.

She stands by his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she places them on the edge of the bed, as she closed her eyes and whispered.

"I'm sorry, Sieun-ah"

The next day felt like a blur.

She quietly steps into the sterile hospital room where Suho still lies, unmoving. She finds solace in the mundane, almost as if speaking about ordinary things could bridge the chasm of everything that had happened recently.

She talks to him, her words flowing easily, the way they used to when everything was simple. She tells him about her day—how the schoolwork felt heavier than usual, how his grandmother seemed well despite the worries she had about him. And she mentions Sieun too, his mother, how strange it felt to walk that line between regret and the need to reconnect.

“I saw his mom yesterday,” she continues, her voice softer now. “She said he’s not critical... but his nervous system’s been hit harder than I expected. He’s having trouble... sleeping. I didn’t know, Suho... I thought I was the one to blame for everything.”

She doesn’t expect an answer, but the words feel like they needed to be said.

She pauses, blinking away a few tears, but laughs softly to herself as she recalls the comforting words of Sieun’s mother. “She said I wasn’t the cause of it... that people sometimes have to go through things alone before they come back. I guess... I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The quiet hum of the machines fills the silence as she sighs, her shoulders slumping as though the weight of it all is settling in. She leans back, taking a long breath, her exhaustion creeping in after days of emotional strain.

Her eyes flutter closed, and before she knows it, the chair becomes a quiet refuge, the steady beeping from Suho’s side becoming the lullaby she never thought she’d need.

Her hand, instinctively, rests on Suho’s, and in the quiet of the night, she falls asleep. It’s not the restful sleep of peace, but the kind that brings temporary relief—a brief escape from the chaos of everything around her.

And even if it’s just for a moment, she finds some comfort in the familiarity of the space, the stillness, and the softness of hope that maybe, just maybe, things will begin to heal.

She stirred awake slowly, but didn’t move. The heaviness in her limbs wasn’t from sleep—it was from everything else. Her head remained rested against the hospital bed, her hand still loosely curled near Suho’s.

The room was dim, still caught between the fading night and the gentle glow of morning.

The door creaked open quietly. She heard it but didn’t open her eyes. Part of her wanted to turn, to see—but she stayed still. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was both.

Then, his voice.

“Suho… I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her breath caught in her throat. That voice, distant yet achingly familiar, dragged her right back to every moment she spent waiting—for answers, for closure, for him.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, her fingers twitching slightly.

And then, the second wound.

“I’m sorry, Dokja-ah.”

It was said softer, like a ghost brushing past her.

She heard the shuffling of shoes, the sound of someone about to leave. Her pride could’ve let him walk. Her anger, too. But grief, time, and the ache of everything unspoken pushed her forward.

She sat up slowly, eyes still fixed ahead, and her voice—tired but sharp—cut through the sterile room, as the machine beeping echoed.

“Took you a year to say that?”

The footsteps paused. Silence stretched—long enough for her heart to pound in her ears.

He froze.

The sound of her voice—raspy, fragile, but laced with something unmistakably raw—stopped him in his tracks. He faced her, still seating on the chair faced forward. She didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

Her eyes stayed on Suho, like she was still guarding something, or maybe just trying to keep herself from unraveling.

A long silence passed before she finally turned her head, just slightly. Enough to see the outline of him in the soft light.

Her gaze didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. It just held.

“I waited,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Not for an apology. Just… something. Anything.”

Her hand brushed lightly against Suho’s, grounding her. She didn’t want to cry. Not again. Not in front of him.

“But you disappeared,” she continued. “Like none of it mattered. Like we didn’t matter.” Her voice wavered, but her words stayed steady. “You don’t get to walk in and say sorry like that’s enough.”

She wasn’t yelling.

She didn’t need to.

Her silence hurts the both of them.

She looked at him then, fully—and for a moment, he looked like the boy she used to know. And someone else entirely.

Still, her next words weren’t bitter. Just… tired.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Sieun.”

And beneath it all, she meant it.

Do you even know what you left behind?

He stood there, caught in the doorway like someone who didn’t belong in the scene he'd wandered into. His hands twitched at his sides, empty. Always empty when it came to her. And yet, somehow, this felt heavier than any fight he’d ever taken.

Her words didn’t cut—they lingered.

Hung in the space between them like mist over a lake he was too afraid to step into.

He wanted to speak.

He wanted to explain.

What could he say that wouldn’t sound like an excuse?

So he just looked at her.

The way her shoulders curved inward now. The way her voice cracked like a fault line trying to stay closed. The way she kept glancing at Suho—as if he were the bridge between them. As if he was the only one allowed to still believe in them both.

He swallowed the guilt, thick and sharp. “I didn’t know how to come back,” he said, barely above a whisper. “And when I finally did… I wasn’t sure I deserved to.”

She didn’t respond—not right away.

But her looked says it all, "You didn't even try?"

So he took a step closer.

“I didn’t stop caring,” he murmured. “I just… didn’t know how to carry it without breaking.”

"You think I didn’t notice, but I did," she said, her voice low, not shaking, not angry—just tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in your bones, where no sleep can reach.

She let out a breath, almost a laugh, but it was hollow.

"I just didn’t want to believe it. So I made excuses. I told myself you were busy, or overwhelmed, or just... thinking things through. I waited. I gave you space. And you took it—so much space there was nothing left of you. No message. No call. Not even a goodbye. Just... absence. You left, and I stayed behind trying to stitch something back together that I didn’t even break." Her hands were still clenched at her sides, but her shoulders had slumped slightly, the weight of it all pulling her down again.

"Do you know what that feels like?" she asked, not looking at him now. "To lose everyone, one by one, and then have you—you—just disappear like you were never part of any of it? Suho ended up in a hospital bed. Beomseok vanished like smoke. Yeong-i stopped answering. And then there was just me. Alone. And you were supposed to be the one who stayed." She turned her head toward him, finally meeting his eyes again.

"I waited for you. I waited so long, and it got quiet. So quiet that it hurt. I’d stare at my phone for hours. I'd start typing something to you and delete it before I sent it. I’d run out of reasons to pretend like it was okay, like you were coming back. But I still hoped. Isn’t that sad? I still hoped." Her voice wavered now, just a little. But she didn’t let it fall apart.

"I kept asking myself, what did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? Should I have asked more questions, held on tighter, yelled, cried, anything? I was folding myself into pieces trying to find the version of me you wouldn’t walk away from." Her breath caught, but she blinked it back.

She didn’t cry.

She didn't want to anymore.

"And now you're here, and you look sorry, but sorry isn’t a time machine. Sorry doesn’t put things back where they were. Sorry doesn’t tell me why you thought I couldn’t handle the truth when I was already surviving the wreckage you left behind." She took a step back.

"You left. You made that choice. And I lived with the silence. Don’t come back now and act like you were the one hurting."

She stood now, walking past the bed until she was closer to him—arms still at her side, fists clenched.

She shook her head, a bitter laugh slipping past her lips before she could stop it. It sounded smaller than she expected. Tired, too.

“I waited,” she said, the words sitting heavy in her throat. “Every day, I waited for you to come back. And when you didn’t… I started to hate you. But worse than that—I hated myself.”

Her voice thinned, the way it does when something old and buried rises too fast, too sharp. Like the weight of it had finally lodged in her chest and was pressing, hard.

“Because I kept thinking—if I’d just opened my mouth. If I hadn’t let my pride win. If I’d said anything instead of staying silent... maybe we wouldn’t be here. Standing like strangers, pretending we used to be something more.”

Sieun looked pale, like the guilt in his chest had found its way to his face. He looked like he wanted to reach for her, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now. Like he meant it, but didn’t believe it was enough.

She looked at him, hollow-eyed.

“I don’t need your sorry,” she said. “I needed you.”

The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt deafening—like the aftermath of a scream. Like the room itself was holding its breath.

She turned away and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket, pretending the motion was casual. It wasn’t.

“If you’re going to leave again,” she said quietly, “just go now.”

“I’m not—” he stated.

“Don’t promise me things,” she snapped, too fast. “You’re not good at keeping them.”

That stopped him. His gaze dropped for a second, shame flickering across his face. But when he looked up again, something had changed. His eyes weren’t defensive or desperate. Just steady. Heavy with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know,” he said. “I know you did. You waited.”

He stepped away from the door, not closer to her—but toward the weight between them. Like he was choosing, finally, not to run.

“You think I didn’t want to come back?” he said, his voice quiet. “I did. Every day I told myself—just one message. Just one call. But then I’d remember the way you looked at me the last time. Like I’d already broken something important.”

She opened her mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to agree—but he kept going.

“I couldn’t face Suho. Or you. Or who I used to be. Because after everything fell apart, I thought it was my fault. I thought I ruined everything. And maybe I did.”

There was no anger in his voice. Just weariness.

“I told myself staying away was cleaner. That I wouldn’t hurt you more by showing up broken. But the truth is... I was just scared. Scared of being the one who couldn’t fix what he shattered.”

She didn’t speak. She just stared, hands clenched at her sides, like letting them relax might make all of this too real.

“I thought forgetting would be easier if I stayed gone. But I didn’t forget,” he said. “I just kept losing parts of myself, until there was nothing left that felt like enough.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His words came steady, quiet—but sharp enough to cut.

“I couldn’t face it. I told myself I was protecting you, giving you space, whatever lie made it easier to breathe. But the truth is—I was a coward. Not the dramatic kind, not the ones who run screaming. The quiet kind. The kind that slips out the back door and convinces themselves it’s mercy.”

He looked at her then, really looked—like maybe it had taken this long to let himself.

“I thought if I stayed away long enough, you’d stop needing me. That you’d forget whatever version of me you used to count on. That you’d move on, and I could pretend I didn’t break anything.”

She didn’t say a word. Her jaw was tight. Her eyes were red. But she listened.

“I saw Suho in that bed,” he went on, softer now. “I saw you next to him. And I realized how much I missed. How much I left you to carry. Alone. You always carried everything so quietly—I think I convinced myself you’d be okay without me. But you weren’t. And I wasn’t okay without you either.”

He took a step forward, not asking permission. Just letting her see that maybe—for once—he wasn’t hiding behind silence.

“I’m not going to make promises. I don’t think I have the right to anymore. But I will say this: I never stopped thinking about you. And I was wrong. You didn’t deserve that kind of silence. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were the one left behind.”

“I’m not here to undo it,” he said, voice low, steady. “I know I can’t. I know showing up now doesn’t erase anything.”

His gaze lingered on her—the shine in her eyes that wasn’t light, but tears; the shadows beneath them carved by sleepless nights; the way her hair had grown longer, falling like silence across her shoulders.

She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. Not in the way the world defines it, but in the way sorrow shapes someone who kept going anyway.

And it killed him—

That he was the reason her eyes were wet.

That her sadness wore his name.

She stood there, shoulders tight, something trembling at the edges of her expression. She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or fall into his chest and tell him to hold her like nothing ever broke. But all she could say was, “Then don’t leave again.”

He looked at her, really looked—no flinching, no turning away.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not if you want me to stay.”

The moment his words settled between them, she didn’t think—she moved.

Two steps. Three.

She crashed into him.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders with a desperation that trembled. He froze at first, caught in the sheer force of her pain, then slowly—gently—his arms came up, holding her like she might disappear again if he let go.

Her voice broke between sobs against his shoulder. “I hate you… for disappearing from me.” Her fists curled into his jacket like she wanted to push him away and pull him closer at the same time.

“I hate that you left without a word. I hate that I waited. That I made excuses. That I let you take everything with you.” Sieun didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against the top of her head, grounding her in the way she didn’t know she still craved.

"I know" he whispered into her ear, as his hands rested carefully on her waist, "I hate myself too."

Her crying wasn’t loud—but it hurt. It was the kind of crying that sounded like years of swallowed grief cracking open in the arms of someone who once knew her heart.

And in that hospital room, with the beep of Suho’s monitors humming steady in the background, it was the most honest they’d ever been.

No more pride.

No more what ifs.

No more sleepless nights.

No more wondering.

No more pretending.

Just them.

The two of them.

And maybe Suho too.

Just them—tired, broken, but finally, finally not alone.

The sobs had quieted into soft sniffles. She didn’t let go at first—but Sieun gently pulled back, just enough to meet her eyes. His voice still low from everything that had been said. "I have to go."

She didn’t flinch. She just blinked, slow and steady, like she was trying to brace herself for something she already knew. “They’re waiting for you, aren't they.” she said to him.

That made him pause. His brow pulled in, confused. “Have you met them?” She nodded once, wiping gently under her eye with the edge of her thumb. Her voice softened, raw at the edges. “They remind me of Suho, Yeong-I and...Beomseok before.” She whispered like a broken tale.

There it was—the way his shoulders dipped, almost imperceptibly. Something in him shifted. A ghost passed between them. And for the briefest second, something rare flickered across his face: a smile. Small, hesitant. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it curled faintly at the corners, like it was trying.

Like it still hurt.

“You want to meet them?”

The question sat between them like glass. Fragile. Waiting.

She looked down, flexed her fingers once, then met his eyes again.

“Do you want me to?”

The air shifted—just slightly. It was still thick with history, but the weight of it wasn’t unbearable anymore. Something in it had softened. And for once, there was no panic in his silence.

He didn’t rush to answer. He just breathed.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “I think I do.”

She took a breath of her own, the kind that comes from choosing to stay, even when the past clings to your ribs. Then she stepped forward—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed, not quite touching, but near enough that warmth moved between them again.

“Then let’s go,” she said.

So they did. No grand declarations. No clean endings. Just two people walking slowly through the quiet, side by side, carrying what couldn’t be fixed—but not alone this time.

They stepped into the lobby, their fingers still loosely threaded—barely holding, but not letting go. The world outside the hospital buzzed with fluorescent hums and distant footsteps, louder now, clearer somehow. And yet, the quiet between them was no longer something sharp. It was calm. Steady. A kind of peace.

Sieun’s pace faltered when he saw them.

Jun-tae stood with a gaze filled with worry. Go Tak was next to him—always alert, the crease between his brows softening the moment his eyes landed on Sieun. Baku sat on the bench, knee bouncing restlessly like he’d been trying not to bounce off the walls entirely.

Jun-tae noticed first.

“Sieun,” he said simply.

Go Tak straightened, the edge in his posture lifting slightly. “You okay?”

Sieun gave a small nod. His voice was low, but there was something solid in it now.

“Yeah. I'm pretty sure.”

He didn’t elaborate, but none of them needed more than that.

Jun-tae gave a tearful confession, she smiled at him. He was a nice kid. Then this guy—stands up and pats him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Saying that he doesn't need to worry about Sieun at all. Go Tak offered a small nod, concern folding quietly into relief.

“Took you long enough,” he said, voice just above a murmur.

This guy, Baku.

He stood with all the dramatic energy of someone who’d been holding back a performance, like the entire hospital lobby was his stage and he’d just found his cue. With a flourish only Baku could pull off, he patted Jun-tae’s shoulder—a casual gesture that somehow still managed to be loud—and then turned, eyes narrowing like he’d spotted something scandalous.

His gaze dropped to their hands—still loosely laced, still warm from all the unspoken things they hadn’t let go of yet. Baku’s eyes darted between them, growing comically wide. He pointed, slowly, accusingly, like he’d uncovered a government secret.

“WAIT—SIEUN—YOU—SHE—YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Sieun blinked.

She blinked.

The hand-holding, still soft between them, hadn’t quite registered until that exact moment.

Sieun looked down at their hands like he was just now remembering he’d been holding hers. She didn’t let go, though. Neither did he.

Go Tak rolled his eyes with a sigh. Jun-tae chuckled softly even with tears brimming his eyes.

But Baku was already mid-spin, arms out, voice raised dramatically.

“Can we just take a moment to appreciate this development? Sieun! With a hand-holding—a hand-holding!—in public!”

Sieun groaned under his breath.

“It’s not like that.”

She lifted her chin a little, trying not to smile.

“We’re just close.”

Baku gave them both a slow, skeptical once-over before the corners of his mouth curled up into a knowing grin.

“It’s like the confession scene in Slam Dunk,” he said, voice dipped in exaggerated awe, clutching his chest as if overcome by the sheer romance of it all. “You know—when Rukawa says nothing but it’s everything? The hands, the silence, the undeniable tension—ah, iconic.”

She laughed at him, “…Rukawa never confessed.”

“That’s the point!” Baku cried, throwing his arms up. “The beauty is in the restraint! In the mutual understanding! In the unspoken emotions shimerring beneath the surface!”

Go Tak sighed, clearly done with this.

No one bothered correcting him again.

The group moved on, steps falling into rhythm. The jokes kept coming, the teasing never quite biting. And between all of it, their hands stayed where they were—still laced, still sure.

She smiled as she watched them—three boys tangled in their usual chaos, laughter sparking like old warmth in a place too quiet for too long. Her voice came low, almost a sigh dressed in fondness.

“Wah… he really is like Suho.” She murmured quietly but enough for Sieun to hear. At the sound of her, Sieun turned. His gaze found hers, lingering—not with surprise, but something quieter. Something like recognition. “You’re leaving?”

She nodded, the edges of her smile softening. “I should. I’ve been here too long… and you’ve got company now.” But he was already moving before she finished, closing the distance like a reflex he hadn’t forgotten.

“I’ll walk you out.”

The three looked at them, and just let them be.

They stepped into the hall together, silence pressing gently between them—not heavy, not awkward, just full of all the things neither of them had the courage to name.

Then, from behind them—

“YEAH, SIEUN—TAKE CARE OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” Baku’s voice rang out, unfiltered and obnoxiously proud.

Sieun didn’t miss a beat.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

He stated, but his eyes glint at him. "Back off"

Baku grinned wider, unbothered. “So I can ask her out?” A sharp thwack cracked through the air as Go Tak smacked the back of Baku’s head, exasperated. “You idiot.”

She laughed, quietly.

And Sieun, for a moment, almost smiled too. He grasped tightly to her hand as they walked side by side.

The automatic doors slid open in front of them. The cold outside air kissed her cheeks, sharp and sobering. Sieun stepped out beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes cast toward the horizon like he was searching for something that hadn’t quite arrived yet.

They walked a few steps in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, but close enough to feel the presence of one another.

“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said quietly, watching her breath curl in the air like smoke. “But it felt hard to leave.”

Sieun looked at her. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

She nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “I didn’t know what I wanted to say when I saw you again,” she admitted. “But it was never about the words, was it?”

“No,” he murmured. “It was about showing up.”

The silence this time wasn’t heavy. It hung between them like a thread, soft and delicate, but strong enough to hold something unspoken.

She paused near the curb, the edge of where she had to go. He stopped with her.

“Text me,” she said again, barely above a whisper. “Even if it’s just one word.”

“I will.” This time, she smiled—not wide, but real. She took a step backward, eyes still on him.

“Take care of them, okay?” He nodded. “I will.”

And when she turned to leave, he didn’t stop her—not out of apathy, but trust. Trust that she would turn around if she ever needed to, and he’d be there.

Sieun stood beneath the washed-out glow of the awning, the light pooling softly at his feet. He didn’t call her name. Didn’t move. Just watched as she walked into the night, her figure slowly swallowed by shadows and streetlight.

She didn’t look back. Not at first.

But a few steps before the crosswalk, she stopped. The kind of pause that wasn’t hesitation—it was decision.

Then she turned.

Her eyes weren’t bright with tears, and her expression held no drama. Just a kind of quiet knowing. She walked back toward him, deliberate, steady. When she stopped again, it wasn’t hesitation—it was declaration.

From her pocket, she pulled something small.

Then—flick—the arc of motion was smooth, unceremonious. It landed in his hand with the soft clink of metal.

A black punch ring.

Sieun blinked down at it, the cool weight settling into his palm. He didn’t need to ask why. Her voice came low and firm, laced with something fiercer than sadness. “You can’t possibly win with just a ballpen, Sieun-ah. I don’t know what you’re fighting for… but you better win.”

And just like that, she turned.

No goodbye. No glance over her shoulder.

Only the echo of her footsteps and the charged silence she left behind.

Sieun stared at the ring, the hard curve of it pressing into his lifeline.

And then—just barely—a smile found its way to his face.

Not joy. Not hope.

But the kind saying that he was ready.

Ready for her.

Reay to face it all.

After all, he is a hero. A weak one.

♡ note ───── I'd do anything just for you to be mines again. I felt sadness pour into me. When you became a stranger, I knew that you'd be leaving me. Then you became a danger, I felt sadness pour into me.

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, this would be the last part <3 Probably there would be another one but in S3

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy @trasshy-artist @cassieeelim @myouiwp @dutifullyannoyingstrawberrie @rexxiiia @aple-piie @sarangs-world-02 @enhacolor

[saklasnabal]

Samarie, Lolita?

Yeah, this art is based on my hunch about Samarie being the Uterus doll again. 

Originally, this was just supposed to be a drawing of Samarie as the album cover of “In Utero”, but then I decided to put up my other ideas that I left before:

I did yap about Samarie being a Uterus doll, but I didn’t yap much about Funger’s sun god Amon and Valteil.

(This was just drawn because I felt like it.)

Samarie’s moonscorched form, "Dysmorphia", bears striking similarities to the Uterus Doll:

No left eye.

A four-fingered right hand and a plain left hand.

Right leg dominant over left.

Are depicted as pregnant.

This shared feature of pregnancy ties directly to the phobia they evoke: teratophobia, the "fear of monsters and fear of bearing a malformed child." This phobia perfectly suits the Uterus dolls, who give birth to malformed offspring, making it a fitting fear for them to embody. Samarie, as “Dysmorphia”, summons ghouls, which are notably “malformed.” These ghouls align with the concept of “malformed child” as they are creations of “Dysmorphia”. So the game acknowledges the actual second meaning of Teratophobia “the fear of bearing a malformed child”, through the Uterus Doll being explicit, but for Samarie it is subtle (I say subtle, but I don't think it is too subtle because, when paying attention to Samarie's moonscorched form, both her arms are rigid and her legs are slender, and there's no sign of plumpness. Her belly is noticeably strained and stretched out, which made me suspect that she was pregnant for a long time. However, I just couldn't find the right words to express my suspicion clearly). Continuing on further, the game avoids fully defining teratophobia, only reducing it to “fear of monsters and malformations”. So, methinks, it is to obscure information, specifically may include details about Samarie, by subtly implying that Samarie’s dysmorphia stems from “malformations”, it leads players to interpret her dysmorphia as simply resulting from perceived bodily inadequacies. When in actuality, Samarie’s dysmorphia may have been rooted in complete defilement leading to a fear of birthing a malformed child. Specifically why she's pregnant, has to do with Valteil. 

First, let's address Amon, the so-called sun god. In truth, Amon isn't actually the sun god; in Egyptian mythology, he's known as the "hidden god" because he represents abstract concepts related to air, he is “being everywhere but unseen”. Ra on the other hand was The Sun God, known as "The Self-Created One", Ra was seen as the supreme creator and a powerful force associated with rebirth and incarnation. He was believed to have emerged from the primordial waters of chaos, creating himself and the cosmos through his will alone. Amon only became the sun god when he merged with Ra, they represented both the visible and invisible aspects of existence, A Supreme being. 

The Sun God Amon in Funger is shrouded in mystery, reflecting Amon's symbolic association with the hidden and the unknown. This mirrors the enigmatic Sun God in Silent Hill, often referred to as "Her". In Silent Hill, young girls were abducted by The Order to serve as vessels, in attempts to impregnate them with the Sun God. Similarly, Samarie, who appears as a fully developed version of the Uterus doll, is kept in the Ninth Circle, it may represent a comparable fate for the naturally gifted children. This explains why the Uterus dolls are called as they are, because much like in Silent Hill, these children became wombs.

Alessa Gillespie, later known as Heather Mason, became the vessel for the Sun God after her mother, Dahlia, used her as a surrogate to bring the deity into existence. Throughout Heather Mason's journey, the Halo of the Sun frequently appears. This crest, associated with the religious organization, symbolizes "resurrection" and the "cycle of rebirth". Given that Samarie is the fully developed version of the Uterus doll and is still alive by Marina's Ending B, it suggests that the pregnant bellies of the Uterus dolls were not merely a result of Valteil's perversion but rather part of his study of the cycle of rebirth itself, connecting it to the Sun God. In other words, Valteil was creating beings with extremely short lifespans that could literally rebirth themselves, emulating Ra's ability to rise again after dying each day and his quality as a self-created deity. Samarie’s masturbation ability could indeed be tied to the Sun God's creative power. Some myths suggest that the Sun God, as Atum, created himself through an act of masturbation, with the hand he used symbolizing the female principle inherent within him. Butttt, this could have been placed by Valteil to exploit, much like how in Lolita, Humbert agreed to marry Charlotte Haze to exploit his position as Dolores’ stepfather for his own sexual obsession. Valteil despised the notion of his creations outliving him, maybe it's because he wouldn’t remain in control of his creation indefinitely?  Since Valteil is based on Valtiel, of courseeee, it was barely spelled like an offbrand Adidas, anyways Valtiel was responsible for Heather Mason’s cycle of rebirth. This is symbolized by his act of turning a valve, a gesture that represents the cycle of rebirth, Valtiel appears to have little concern for Heather herself, focusing instead on the god that slumbers within her. However, unlike Valtiel, Valteil seems to exploit the the Sun God for his own purposes. The Uterus Dolls maybe akin to "nymphets" (a term that Humbert uses to justify his attraction to children, “nymphet” means: a sexually precocious girl barely in her teens, also a sexually attractive young woman), is something Valteil sought to perfect, eternal yet fleeting. A purely immortal being would escape his control, while a being that aged was a no-go. To maintain control over this concept, he had to create a being that was simultaneously mortal and immortal. Perhaps Samarie, much like Lolita, was an idea—a construct. It's worth noting that "Samarie" is an alternative name for Magdalene, as both names mean "towers" and refer to cities in Israel—Magdala and Samaria. The name Magdalene is a nickname for Mary as well, meaning "Mary of Magdala", in this way, Samarie can also be seen as a nickname for Mary, tying her to a comparison with Dolores Haze, "Samarie" serves as a nickname for "Mary" just as "Lolita" serves as a nickname for "Dolores". Furthermore, both Dolores and Magdalene are unfairly viewed as sexual figures when, in reality, they are not. Continuing, to retain control over this idea, Valteil forced a child into the role of “Samarie”, by dehumanizing the child into a living object. This child would live briefly and then rebirth upon death, ensuring the torment allowed Valteil to remain in absolute control. As Humbert himself said, "What I had madly possessed was not she, but my own creation, another, fanciful Lolita—perhaps more real than Lolita; overlapping, encasing her; floating between me and her, and having no will, no consciousness—indeed, no life of her own."

Samarie's Radiant Soul is deeply tied to her connection with the Sun God, who sustains her existence as a consequence of Valteil’s actions. Her body, symbolically aligned with Ra, positions her as an ideal vessel for Amon, much like Alessa Gillespie’s role in her story, Samarie is "The Mother of God". The events of Termina may be part of a carefully orchestrated ritual designed to merge Samarie with Amon. Thus, Samarie’s presence in Termina is not truly for Marina; her purpose is bound to Amon's birth.

Adding to the idea that Samarie wasn’t truly there for Marina, maybe the only reason Samarie follows Marina, is that Marina might be Valteil’s descendant?

The only similarity I can compare is their facial appearance, so I decided to draw Valteil from a frontal perspective, rather than viewing him from a top-down angle with his head tilted upward in   the official art. This perspective makes them look a little similar. Perhaps, Samarie’s obsession with Marina is less about love and more of a triggered fear response from Marina’s appearance, because it reminds Samarie of Valteil, so she feels the need to appease. To cope with this fear, Samarie interprets her actions as love, avoiding the uncomfortable truth behind her behavior. 

Marina might be dealing with Samarie because the "Humbert Humbert" in her family tree, Valteil, set off a chain of events whose consequences have spiraled out of control over time, ultimately falling on Marina to address. Methinks, this is a family matter: the problem originated with Valteil, the ancestor, and was perpetuated through his bloodline as subsequent generations continued to stoke the flames he first ignited. As a result, everyone in the lineage is burdened by the sins of the family (It makes me wonder if Marina’s father was the one responsible for sequestering children to the ninth circle. I mean, the logic is so simple: where would the Vatican easily collect children? The orphanage, of course. People wouldn’t bat an eye trying to track down missing kids because, hey, they’re orphans—no family, no one looking for them). Following that narrative, Samarie barely possesses any autonomy in her life, her feelings for Marina aren’t genuinely her own but stem from a deeply conditioned fear of Valteil (It's as if Samarie had to read Valteil's mind to figure out what he wanted, paying extreme attention to his desires to avoid being hurt even worse. Now, she's applying that same behavior to Marina, because every time she looks at her, she sees Valteil). Valteil completely altered her body with a very specific appearance, meaning the name, "Samarie," isn’t even her name, it's from the person she was specifically altered to. This forms the core of her dysmorphia—she feels disgusted by an identity she never chose yet has no choice but to live with. Due to being forcefully granted the ability to rebirth herself upon death, it forces her to back to the form she bitterly hates. She is, in essence, her own malformed child, forced to bear in her swollen belly the identity imposed upon her—a reality she deeply despises. Thus, she is “Dysmorphia”. 

 Methinks again—MEEEETHINKS AGAIN! In Samarie’s narrative, she plays two roles: one is “Lolita,” and the other is “Dolly” For the first, “Lolita” is the loud one, the one that is always heard in the room—she is the delusion. Suppressed under the screaming of “Lolita” is the lady of sorrow, “Dolly,” who I believe speaks this line: 'If I were to die the same day as her… There's something poetic about it… It will be alright.' Initially, this reinforces the perception that she is obsessed with Marina, willing to die on the same day as her. However, a subversion emerges when Samarie says these words directly to Marina. Beneath that distorted framing, “Dolly” still exists—a broken, exhausted individual simply longing for an end to her suffering. Perhaps her ultimate desire is to die in peace with the identity of “Samarie,” the person she was forced to live as. Then, the narrative switches back to “Lolita”: 'You must know it too, Marina! But don't worry. We will die together.' This makes her obsession with Marina feel inconsistent. It feels like Samarie recognizes her slip—the brief emergence of "Dolly"—and quickly reverts to “Lolita”. 

The words above this, makes me think back to the nature of Samarie killing Father Domek. Perhaps she killed him because he reminded her of the one who abused her, Valteil? I did mention that Marina's battlesprite is based on Claudia Wolf, and it seems to me that Marina herself is based on Claudia Wolf, particularly in the way they both think about their fathers. Both utterly hate their fathers, yet they become upset upon their deaths. Claudia Wolf’s father, Leonard Wolf, and Father Domek also behave in a similar way. They both demean their daughters at first but soften their tone when they sense something is going wrong with them. Leonard Wolf’s statement, “She’s a fool, but she’s still my daughter,” perfectly summarizes how Father Domek acted. Additionally, Leonard Wolf was a massive religious fanatic, so Father Domek may share similar traits, this would explain a line from Marina’s backstory: “You had a suspicion that your father had something to do with this. He had always been too obsessed with blood magic, and you had learned that there were too many rites that demanded the blood of your loved ones to work.” Both Father Domek and Leonard Wolf are also antagonistic towards their daughters' pursuits, Leonard hates Claudia’s pursuit of Paradise, believing the non-believers are unworthy, and for Father Domek in this line: “Your father had always been antagonistic towards you and your pursuits.” The very reason Claudia deeply resented her father, Leonard, was due to his abuse—beating her and yelling at her whenever he believed she was being irreligious in his eyes, maybe Father Domek did the same to Marina, this would further add depth to this line from her backstory: “Just the idea of getting away from your condescending and stuck up father was enough to make the decision, not to mention the obvious benefits the Vatican City would have to offer.” 

GOINGGGGG BACK TO SAMARIE, SINCE ALLLLL THOSE WORDS ABOVE ABOUT MARINA SERVE TO CONTRIBUTE TO MY PONDERING—YES, PONDERING!—OF THE NATURE BEHIND SAMARIE’S MURDER OF MISTER DOMEK. PERHAPS, PERHAPS! THIS VERY DYSFUNCTIONAL RELATIONSHIP MARINA HAS WITH HER FATHER REMINDED SAMARIE OF VALTEIL AND HER?  Since Samarie couldn’t fight back against Valteil, she kills Father Domek who reminds her of Valteil to feel a sense of catharsis for her powerlessness. However, once she commits the act, there is no gratification. Instead, it intensifies her memories of her relationship with Valteil, particularly the isolation that forced her to become dependent on him. Samarie's statement that Father Domek was a vile man with a glimmer may actually refer to Valteil, but she desperately conceals this truth by playing onto the narrative that she’s obsessed with Marina, avoiding any direct reference to herself. So confronting her with accusations like, “You did it on purpose? What’s wrong with you?!” or “Your tears won’t bring him back to life” pushes her over the edge, due to the conflicted feelings about Valteil, because she was groomed, so these remarks nudge her to think about it more which drives her to lash out in fury, methinks.

So, putting everything together, here’s how the events unfold: After Valteil’s reign fully wanes, Samarie is left to grapple with the aftermath of abuse. In her desperation, she seeks out the outside world, having been isolated for so long under Valteil’s control. However, Samarie is triggered by Marina’s appearance, which bears a striking resemblance to Valteil—probably Marina's own ancient grandpa. Marina's appearance serves as a painful reminder of Samarie's relationship with Valteil. To avoid confronting this truth, Samarie convinces herself that what she feels for Marina is love, rather than a triggered fear response caused by Marina's resemblance to Valteil. To reinforce this delusion, she begins stalking Marina and gaslighting herself in the process. Through her stalking, Samarie learns about Marina’s dysfunctional family and discovers her strained relationship with her father. This further triggers Samarie, as it reminds her of her own relationship with Valteil, who ultimately faded away and left her behind. This realization threatens to unravel the narrative Samarie has created to avoid being triggered by Marina’s resemblance to Valteil. Because Marina’s appearance reminds her of her trauma, and her father becomes another reminder, her carefully constructed house of cards starts trembling, and Samarie knows she must act fast to keep it from collapsing. Enter Mr. Domek—the perfect scapegoat. In her twisted logic, Samarie decides that for her delusion to survive, Domek must disappear. He becomes more than just a person to her; he turns into a projection of Valteil. Unlike Marina, Domek doesn’t look like Valteil, which makes him bearable enough for Samarie to focus all her pent-up rage on him. So, she makes her move: Domek really has to go. Through this Samarie creates yet another narrative—the idea that “I did this all for her”—to rationalize her actions, when in truth, she simply cannot deal with her trauma. However, even after executing her plans, she finds no satisfaction. Desperate to maintain her fragile narrative, Samarie convinces herself that her actions are acts of devotion to Marina. This fragile mask begins to crack, especially when she claims that Father Domek was a pig who deserved to be melded with the church walls. In truth, her rage is directed at Valteil, who worked within the walls of the Vatican, not at Domek himself.Samarie remains the same broken "Dolly," still trapped in Humbert’s grip.“At the hotel, we had separate rooms, but in the middle of the night, she came sobbing into mine, and we made it up very gently. You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.”

But hey, that's just my take, eh? I love Samarie! She's like a giant bug lady I can study. I want to think of her more than just as a stalker, even if it seems far-fetched, especially the idea I had before—that before becoming the Uterus Doll and being renamed ‘Samarie,’ she might have originally been a child named Willem:

It’s about how Samarie’s human-form battle sprite, when turned sideways, aligns closely with the drawing of Willem meeting Pocketcat. Both the original Willem and Samarie wear long dresses with sharp collars and thin ribbons. Their right arms are pulled back while their left arms are extended forward. Similarly, their right feet are positioned forward, and their left feet are set back. Neither of them ever shows their left ear. Samarie’s right ear is visible, but her left ear is covered by her hair, emphasizing the importance of being on the right side. In the original Pocketcat book, Willem is depicted facing only to the right. However, in the second Pocketcat book in Termina, Willem is shown facing left, yet his left ear remains unseen, hidden by his hair. Still, this interpretation might be far-fetched and overcomplicates things further. 

The one thing I’m certain about Samarie, is that she is the Uterus Doll. My monkey brain caught onto a pattern for her Moonscorched form—it just clicks. (Pattern recognition! Woahhh, monkey, monkey!)

[blu3n]

@blu3n - me

"Maybe he was never a monster, just a boy that no one knew how to save.'' - @blu3n 🪐

⊹ 💬 · I tried something different, I know I don't usually write like this, I just loved it

@anitalenia - sooooo perfect

Imagine being murdered, believing until the very end that someone would come to save you. And when you think they’re looking for you… you realize you’ve already been replaced by another Robin.

He dies knowing he was never a priority to anyone. Never.

He dies, fully aware that no one was truly by his side after his death.

They were there, asking for his help. Begging him to come back. To accept the place he had silently pleaded—time and again—not to be forgotten.

Not to stop looking for him.But they replaced you. Discarded you.

And when that consumed you, he exploded.

The anger, the memories, the way he died… it all came back a sharp blow.

And for a moment, he thought:

"It should’ve been Batman who died.”

Because he needed to understand. To feel what Jason felt.

Even though, deep down, he knew he didn’t really want that. Not truly.

There were nights and nights of him asking God—or whoever might be listening.

Asking for someone.

Someone who would stay. Who wasn’t afraid. Who wouldn’t run.

Someone who wouldn’t judge him, wouldn’t use him.

Someone who, after the worst night of his life, would still be there. Waiting.

Even knowing he didn’t deserve it.

He wanted it.

He wanted a happy ending.

Even though he hated clichés.

But he wanted it.

He just didn’t want to be seen as a monster.

He just wanted to be seen for what he really was:Someone who’s still trying.

The Hill neighborhood felt like a Refuge.

After returning to Gotham, Jason chose to live in “The Hill,” a neighborhood that, despite its hardships, offered a sense of community and relative safety. The area had been affected by the “Joker War,” but the residents came together to protect it, creating a place where Jason could find some semblance of normalcy and purpose.

In that neighborhood, there was a place he used to go: Café Literary Refuge. It had the best coffee in the city—always the same people, the same environment, the same smell, and nothing ever changed.

He liked to go there after a day fighting criminals. It was always the same… until he saw you.

He didn’t know what to do when he saw you for the first time.

The first time he felt something so pure—something he didn’t even know he could feel after everything that happened.

You were like an amethyst, so beautiful he could barely believe you were real. It wasn’t just your appearance—it was the way you smiled, so gentle. To him, the world seemed to slow down around you.

He was so nervous just to walk up and place his usual order, but even with his legs nearly giving out, he went.

— Good morning, what’s your order?” you said with your kind voice. That was enough to make him take a few seconds just to process your words.

— Uh…

Why the hell was his voice stuck? Why couldn’t he just speak? What the hell is this?, he thought.

— Well, if you’re unsure what to order, feel free to check the board—no rush,” you said again. And honestly, he thought about hesitating just to hear you speak more.

— The usual,” he tried to say, sounding deep and mysterious—more gruff than usual.

— Uh…

When he saw your confused and unsure look, his chest started pounding so hard his hands began to sweat.

— Just give me an espresso, please.

He wanted to punch himself for the awkward mess he had made.

— Okay, that'll be $7.00.

Jason paid for the coffee and sat in his usual spot, but today… his attention wasn’t on the book. No matter how many times he tried to read it, nothing kept his attention more than the desire to turn and watch you—your polite way of treating everyone. Maybe you were faking it. Maybe you were a great actress.

But that smile—that damned smile…

Jason’s fingers traced the scar on his face as he stared at himself in the mirror, breathing in deep, trying to calm down.

It had been a while since the scar—a constant reminder of what he suffered at the Joker’s hands—affected him like this.

All that therapy, all the support, all the positive self-talk… and here he was again. Back to square one.

His reflection stared back mercilessly. Dark circles under his eyes. A scowl on his face. The scar, running from the corner of his lip up the side of his head. A white streak in his hair. Jason was intimidating. Scary.

He shook his head at the thought of romance. That would never happen. He was a damn scary killer with serious anger issues. How the hell could someone like you love that?

He thought cruel things about himself.

His brothers would probably laugh at him if he told them about you.

Say you’d never look at him, that he was… weird.

And maybe, deep down, he believed it. He had always been the shadow, the mistake, never good enough.

And you—so light, so normal—probably wouldn’t see him the same way.

He was used to being discarded, used, left behind.

What could he offer someone like you?

Still, he went there. Every day. Just to see you.

Never said much, never really got close. It was safer that way.

He didn’t want you to see the real him—a broken boy with trauma he still didn’t know how to handle.

He’d never say it. Never say he wanted more. That the simple act of seeing you smile made him feel a little more whole, even though deep down, he was falling apart.

But he’d never confess.

He couldn’t.

The fear of rejection was bigger than the desire to be near you.

The fear of showing you who he truly was—someone with a past that couldn’t be erased, someone who didn’t know how to be loved without losing himself.

So he stayed. Quiet. Every day.

Hoping that, by some miracle, you’d notice what he never had the courage to say.

Sometimes he even prayed you'd start a conversation, because he wouldn't know what to say himself.

Things started slowly, like they were coming out of a romantic cliché.

You started remembering his favorite order.

— Your… espresso, no sugar, right? I thought today you deserved a cookie, on the house.”

That surprised the hell out of him. No one had ever done that.

Why the hell are you doing this? he wondered.

Still, he loved it.

Inside, he thanked you for it.

And after that day, he’d say it wasn’t easy dealing with someone like him—but having you there made it worth it.

God, he remembers when you tried to hug him. It was awful—he didn’t know how to hug well.

He was so afraid of hurting your small body compared to his.

But gradually, his tense muscles began to relax, the tension in his body fading.

His breathing steadied, his heart slowed.

He leaned into you a little more, soaking in the comfort you gave him.

He didn’t know how, but there he was—hugging you as tightly as he could.

He didn’t believe in God or anything divine, but he thanked whatever might be listening for letting him have you.

He thanked the universe that you existed…

God, he loved you so much.

He told you about his past while looking into your eyes, watching to see if you’d judge him.

But all you did was place a hand on his shoulder and say comforting words, offering your beautiful smile.

In that moment, all he wanted to do was cry and beg—plead—to God not to take his happy ending away.

If it was a dream, he prayed to be left in a coma.

To die with your lips pressed against his.

— Please… please stay,” he said, not looking into your eyes—but he said it to you.

He wanted so badly for you to stay, even with all his flaws, even thinking he didn’t deserve any of it.

“If I’m with you, whether we fall or rise, I’ll be with you,” you said, looking into his eyes.

You loved him… so much.

Jason—just as fast as his heart—lifted his gaze and looked into your eyes, trying to find a trace of a lie.

But he found none… only compassion and care.

— i … fuck, I love you."

He never thought he’d say it, but he did.

And when you said you loved him too, his eyes filled with tears. But this time—with you—he allowed himself to cry.

Closing his eyes, he hugged you, holding onto everything he had a right to when it came to you…Because in the end, he didn’t want to be feared.

He just wanted someone to come back for him.

@blu3n - My English is not that good, but I can understand.

[multific]

Home

Pyramid Head x Reader

A/N: My first Pyramid Head fic! Hope you enjoy and let me know if you want more!

He was mad. The one thing, the most important one was missing.

He arrived back and put his sword to the side when he noticed. His little Angel, his everything was gone.

You were gone and he couldn't find you.

He was mad, beyond mad, he was ready to burn Silent Hill down, again, just to find you.

He had an idea who took you. He had a very good idea who took you and he will set fire to the rain to get you back.

He marched back out with his sword in hand, his heavy steps echoed through the entire building which you called home. 

You on the other end were thrown into a room, well it was more like a cell. They tried to torture you for information.

They didn't know where you came from or who you were, but you didn't say a word. They didn't need to know that you lived with the mightiest beast of them all. 

He loved you and you loved him, it was a simple relationship. Even if he didn't talk, you understood him perfectly.

You still remember when you first saw him how scared you were, you surely thought this will be the end for you, you accidentally stumbled across the town and were thrown into this hell of monsters.

You assumed these people didn't know what you meant to Pyramid Head, but they will find out real soon. 

You weren't even there for more than a day, yet they took you out almost hourly to ask you the same stupid questions.

"How did you get here?"

"Is there a way out?"

"HOW DO WE GET OUT OF HERE, BITCH?!"

Always the same stupid questions, but no matter how many times they hit you, you never answered. You could tell they were new, their hiding place was so obvious.

You didn't even tell them your name when they asked.

They didn't deserve to know.

Then you heard the steps, they threw you out, hoping for the beast to claim your soul but all of them watched in awe when you ran into his arms.

Upon seeing your injuries, especially the ones around your wrists, he saw red.

You didn't watch. You only walked away back to the hotel you called home.

But you still heard their screams as you walked away.

You arrived home, Pyramid closely followed you as you watched him sit down on your bed, his size making the bed bend as he patted his leg. Knowing what it meant you headed to sit down in your usual place.

"I was home when they got me. I didn't leave, I think they saw me through the window."

You felt his arms tighten around you.

You were scared but you also knew that he was going to save you, it was only a matter of time. 

He lifted his other hand and ran his thumb over your injured wrist.

"It doesn't hurt as much as you would think." you said, trying to reassure him.

He slowly nodded.

You moved slightly so your head can rest on his shoulder, trying to slowly relax and get some sleep.

He held you so close and secure you fell asleep almost instantly.

To others, this place was hell, filled with monsters, but to you, it was home. 

A home where your love was.

Taglist: @fleursirvart​ @greenarrowhead​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @sincerelyfan​ @theoneanna​ @aestheticsandmarvel​ @rororo06​ @castellandiangelo​ @destynelseclipsa​ @spilledinkindumpster​ @capsiclesdoll​ @puknow​ @alwayshave-faith​ @alex12948​ @lxdyred​  @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl​ @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek​ @praline357​ @trshngyn​ @avengers-r-us​ @violet-19999​ @top1bbgloak​   @manduse​   @jacalineiscomingforyou​  @mandoloriancookie​ @noname2246​

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

[velvet-paradox]

Secured (Part Two)

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader Length: Medium Warnings: NSFW, typical violence, strong language.

ENJOY!!!

Now, König lives by two codes. He is very much a stickler for routine and process.

The first is moral; he's not a heartless monster you know? Even if he might be labeled as such by some choice deceased individuals.

And his own code of ethics. 1-43. How he treats people, prisoners and pets, the look of trying to make himself less massive to children who usually hide behind the leg of a careful parent.

He doesn't even know if you have children for that matter.

You haven't made a stir all night or morning for that matter, sound asleep and with good reason.

König himself was exhausted, staying up all night in that lounge chair, gun out and ready, resting against the hot meat of his thigh.

Eyes on the door, flitting about the windows before going on another patrol. He had time for tea, at least there was a kettle under the cupboard that he could pull out something to warm his belly in this house and a phone call to his mother so she wouldn't worry. Like most parents, it doesn't matter how old you are, you're always their baby.

"Be careful out there, my boy. You know I fret about you on these missions. I thought I told you to settle down."

"I'm fine, surely. I have to protect someone and I aim to do it, after things die down I'll come home."

"Well you better! And in one piece too!"

He made another cup of tea while enjoying the sunrise, like you'd said, a run to the store would definitely be in order and there was no damn way König was going to have you locked up in the safe house without him. König did not disobey orders. He had only once in boot camp. Big mistake.

He heard movement while he scribbled a list of basic necessities when he heard you rousing to life up there. The house was silent, save for you shuffling from your chosen room to the bathroom along with an exaggerated yawn before closing the door.

….

You're sweating, holding on to the pull down handle of the SUV as König drives, as erratically as possible through the valley. Your little squeals and grabs at his his bicep only spur him on to drive faster, the engine going as hard as its' currently rode. Keeping you safe.

"Hold on, schnecke!" König he recites, forcing your head down as a bullet whizzed past his side mirror.

What was meant to be a thorough stick-to-the-list grocery store run in town had turned into a car chase in town, through town and up and out into the hills.

"I'm sorry König," you whine and hold on, looking behind you at the weaving matte black Charger veers and edges closer and closer to the bumper. "I just wanted to make you some French Toast!"

" 'tis not your fault, Y/N. Look under your seat and hold that for me will you?" König asked, veering off into a clearing, rotating the wheel as well as looking in his side mirrors and rear view to see just how much separation he was gaining. The engine roared again. A shot rang out.

"Is this a fucking shotgun?!" You screeched, doing your best to hold onto the barrel, scratched and dented weapon.

He tsked you, pushing it into your lap before reaching out his long arm across the SUV's console, gloved hand gripping your right shoulder with surprising agility keeping you stead as he spun the wheel again with the palm of his hand. A true pro.

"Just hold on to it!"

You whined as he shoved the vehicle into reverse. Dirt and grass kicking up behind the pair, an unknown passenger had ducked their head out of the window, a gun pointed straight at you. Your bags of groceries shook in protest of these maneuvers, a can of something rolled out from beneath your feet.

Not a chance.

He yelled for you to get down, which you did instantly and no one would blame you. König screeched the vehicle to very sudden stop, the top of your head hit the glovebox, he snatched the gun from your lap and kicked open his door.

Incensed and not at all afraid, even without him wearing his bullet proof vest, just a half zipped up thermal and military grade pants, he hopped out, marching towards the Charger.

The passenger attempted to open the door, but that proved to be useless as König kicked it closed and shot the man in the face. Blood, innards, brain matter splattered like pancake batter. Your shrill scream was muffled by his hood, he kept his eyes trained as he moved about the vehicle without a flinch. The driver hopped out and aimed their gun at him only to suffer the same fate, one cock of the gun and it was over.

He made sure the coast was clear before handling their bodies, dragging and piling them up in the trunk before locking the doors and getting back into the SUV with you, still cowering at the floorboard, hands over your ears.

He patted your head twice, his blue eyes going wide when you shrieked, as if you didn't hear him, smell the iron on him, the gunpowder or feel him jostle the cab of the SUV.

"Just me, schnecke."

"You killed those men," you shakily said once you pulled down your hands, eyes wet, mouth agape before pulling yourself up and back to your seat. "Without a second thought."

"What was I supposed to do? let them take aim at you, nein. You are my top priority. Now put your seatbelt on."

König didn't leave any room for you to question him any further of his actions, he noticed how you looked behind, over your shoulder at the debris and what was left.

"You've barely touched your chicken." König asked through a mouthful of biscuit and honey, watching you silently move and arrange some of the food on you plate.

"Not much of an appetite." You snarked back.

Yes, you had to help him bring in the groceries and yes you were still coming down from the car chase, hair sticking to forehead like spider webs, blood probably pumping out of control through your veins. You kept wiping your palms on your thighs and looking around the kitchen after helping him shakily fill the pantry for the foreseeable future.

König simply answered your lackluster demeanor with a grunt as he cut up another piece of chicken, popping it into his mouth without care and you noticed.

"How can you eat like this?"

"Like what?"

"What the fuck do you mean like what? like this! You just," you made a low growl, the kind death metal singers can make before throwing up your hands. "You just killed two people!"

"They were a threat." König answered once more with a shrug, poking at the steamed asparagus.

"You put their bodies in the trunk!"

"Where should I have left them then? in that open field like mice, an easy treasure hunt? Nein, the trunk is the best place for men like that."

You shook your head in disbelief. "How do you even know--"

"I have dealt with them in the past," He replied, ducking a drink of beer beneath the mask. "Trust me, schnecke, their deaths were loooong over due."

He watched you screw up your nose, your shoulders relaxed a bit and you took your first bite of the prepared dinner. Even if it was a bit cold.

"I filled out a field report, you told me not to let her out of my sight so I will not be--"

"What for? field report." Horangi asked, confused in the middle of the night. Only the car chase through town had made just a little bit of traction, made a fuss but nothing much else was said. Leaving the Charger in a location König coordinated in his brain, he's good at that, stupid good actually. Attention to detail and all that. Horangi wasn't too happy.

"There may have been an incident."

"Is Y/N okay? is she hurt?"

"Nein Nein, she's fine, a little shook up," König explained, will he laid in his foreign bed, hood off, shirt off, ankles crossed. From his room he could see across the hall to yours, your door slightly ajar. He couldn't see you but he was now aware of how your feet sounded when you got out of bed, how softly you'd wrestle with your sheets, he kept his hood next to him in case you got up to use the bathroom.

"Shook up from what?" Hong-Jin asked again, this time with more earnest.

"We had a little run in with a couple of guys, I handled it. You may need to send out a caravan though. I've got the coordinates."

"Jesus man," he heard his boss sigh and click his tongue into the SAT phone receiver. "Where is it?"

You complained, rightfully so, putting back the fallen soldiers that were your groceries. Thankfully the farmhouse has a lot of brush, near the edge of a dense forest to hide the SUV, he had you help break branches, covering it up with leaves to his liking. As small of a town it was, getting caught by the local, rural police was not on the top of König's list. ….

"Seven!"

"Eight!"

"Nine!"

König sat at the kitchen table, cloth and oil out, cleaning his weapons as you for the second time this week, had become stir crazy and to expel your energy, had taken to running around the entire farmhouse. He sat outside on a weathered bench when you first made your suggestion, Horangi hadn't heard anything come up about Eden but some leads and loose threads.

Cooped up in these walls was already making you spiral.

"Ten!"

The little rush of wind from your running swayed the floral curtains at the either side of the kitchen sink, König shook his head and examined his handy work. He could time your rounds, the gentle ticking of his analog watch on his watch.

He waited. And waited some more.

König straightened his slouching back, shoulders back, ears tuning into your running feet.

Nothing. All was quiet and König swore even the nature ceased to make a peep.

König readied his second gun, taking out a fresh magazine from his tach vest, rolling it around in his hands without even so much as a glance, he knew he weapons like the shape of his cock. He crept towards the door, ears still waiting to hear anything from you, one hand out reached for the antique doorknob.

"Where ya' goin'?"

König whirled around on his heel, startled beyond any path of any reason. There you stood, just as spooked, with your hands up in submission.

"What are you doing?!" König barked, slowly lowering his gun at his side.

"I got tired," you shrugged and walked into the kitchen for something to drink. "I just sat on the porch for a bit jeez."

"Don't do that again."

"Aww we're you worried about me?" You poured yourself some red Kool-Aid you'd made the night before, chucking in a few ice cubes as well. You made it mainly for yourself, you encouraged him to try the stuff but watching you put tablespoon after tablespoon of sugar into the jug… quite questionable.

"I told you, Y/N; you are my top priority."

"That's not really answering my question now is it?" You tipped your cup towards the bulky man, locking the door for the rest of the night, making sure the backdoor was also secured.

….

Days blurred together, König didn't care much for small talk but he was enjoying your company and PowerPoint (minus an actual laptop) talking points about cephalopods.

"Did you know there's like over 800 different species of them? just chill little guys at the bottom of the ocean!"

"Their super smart, some in captivity have been to escape their enclosures!"

"Wish I could be a nautilus and just swish away." You even made a swishing sound, wiggling your fingers as if you have tentacles.

Fascinating stuff.

On your exploration on day five of being in hiding, you'd found a bottle of stashed vodka. The devious grin the produced on your face should've been criminal, the smile reached well up to your eyes as you wagged the bottle in his face. Hands busy with cleaning his gun at the kitchen table you two had had tea this morning.

The tracking sound of a record player instantly took him back to his boyish days, dancing with his mother in the living room to Fleetwood Mac. As he was just now.

König raised his head when you began humming, cracking the bottle without a glass, you took a shot straight from the bottle, wine-o style. You coughed but started to loosen up, he watched the curves of your body move and twist about the room, spinning and drinking and he hand his fingers crossed you didn't vomit all over the place.

"You want some?" you asked in sing-song voice, Dreams making you dance closer to him, your little finger pointing to the bottle in your other hand to the easy late 70's beat.

"Nein."

"I don't like to drink alone." You pouted.

König put down his things, steepled his fingers and held them below his chin. "And yet here you are."

"Oh come on, at least dance with me then."

"König does not dance, my dear."

He bit his lip behind the mask, you narrowed your eyes but you didn't seem upset more like… challenged.

"Does König do dares?"

"I don't know. I haven't been dared to do anything in a long time."

"Ah," you said with a smile, taking another wincing shot of the spirit before holding it out to him across the table. "In that case; I dare you to drink some and dance with me."

It was awkward at first just standing there, a behemoth of a man in a living room far too small, while you shimmied around him, stamping your feet to The Chain, clapping your hands when he snuck a drink of several behind his mask.

"I dared you to dance! can you hear me up there?"

"I don't know how and this is silly."

"I like silly!"

You spun away from him, wiggling your hips, jostling your head back and fourth, getting a little drunk, letting go. He wondered about your life, were you always this jovial, were you ever nervous, other than dealing with a break-in of course. He couldn't picture you being a wallflower.

Suddenly your hands were on his waist, he yelped and nearly dropped the liter of vodka.

"Unhand me woman."

"Just move a little bit, sheesh. Will it kill ya' to have some fun? Like this."

He'd just swayed maybe two times before there was a sudden knock at the door. You gasped and König instinctly moved you behind him, shielding your frame. Another set of knocks made him feel unsettled as no one, knew you were there. A nosey neighbor? perhaps. König mumbled for you to go into the kitchen pantry and hide, not to come out unless he came to collect you.

He waited until you scurried off before he grabbed his gun from the kitchen table, holding it behind his back.

"Whose there?"

There a suspicious pause before König barked out the question again.

"Open up, it's me." Horangi's voice sounded on the porch, no peephole he took his words just to be safe, he took the safety off in case Horangi were being held hostage with information of their whereabouts.

König undid the latch, carefully so.

Horangi came in like a tornado, a handful of pictures in a manila envelope, speaking quickly in Korean.

"Slow down!"

"Where is she? the girl? I told you to keep a trained eye on her! K--" Hong-Jin shouted.

"She's here, she's in the pantry."

Horangi jerked his head back, surely a questionable expression on his face. "Why?"

"We didn't know who was at the door! no one knows we're--"

"Have you been drinking?"

König cleared his throat and set down his gun at the table, joining whatever pictures he'd laid out next to it. "Just a little."

"And music? having yourselves a little party are you?" Horangi shook his head as König stomped to the pantry, he knocked twice.

"You can come out now."

"Is it safe?"

"Ja ja, you're safe as a schneke."

"Are you sure?" You asked.

"Just come on out here."

Horangi tapped at a picture from the envelope, the others splayed out beneath it. There was a man walking to a café, tall, street clothes, shifty looking eyes. Another one of the same man, a little on the blurry side getting into a gunmetal grey Dodge Challenger.

"Do you know this man König?"

"Nein."

"Hey, that's Keegan!"

They both turned to look at you with curiosity.

"You… how?"

"He's my neighbor." You said with a shrug.

"Your neighbor?"

"Yeah. He moved in across the hall… three weeks ago maybe. Pretty nice guy."

Tagging: @powerfultenderness @riotakire @missalwayshungry

[the-fiction-witch]

Sweet Monster

Media - Wednesday(Netflix) Character - Tyler Galpin Couple - Tyler X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 15 / Dark Subject Matter's Word Count - 1589

The room at the very top of Willow Hill felt like a prison cell. It was sweltering, nearly suffocating on scorching days, with the heat seemingly trapped by the stone walls that rose up like silent sentinels. These walls, cold and unyielding, were fortified by three-inch-thick metal plates bolted together. The floor was a bleak expanse of heavy concrete, worn and scratched by claws.

A few blue-hued LED lights were embedded in the slanted ceiling, casting an eerie glow that hummed softly.

Minimal was an understatement when describing his living conditions, it was as if he were a relic of a dehumanizing experiment which in some ways… he was. The only furniture was a narrow bed, its thin sheet painfully stitched directly to the mattress. A small, utilitarian toilet was crammed into one corner, equipped with a sink perched precariously on top, not even a holder for the paper. His water was dispensed from a grimy tap into a single, dented metal cup. Meals arrived through the bolted door and pushed through in a bowl like a mishearing dog.

Typically, Tyler was granted the bare minimum of freedom within this confined space, allowing brief periods to move about his enclosure. But the thick collar around his neck was a constant reminder of his captivity, delivering sharp jolts of electricity whenever he ventured too close to the walls, the door or whenever the staff simply wished to watch him squirm. The oppressive heat clung to him, saturating his skin with sweat, while the thin, hospital-issued sweatpants were all that he could bear to wear.

However, today felt different. They came for him early in the morning, the harsh fluorescent lights cutting through the fog of sleep and wrapping around him like a vice. Without a word, they dragged him from his bed and shackled his wrists to the wall, the cold metal biting into his skin. He understood this grim ritual all too well; it meant a visitor was coming.

Tyler’s heart raced with uncertainty. It definitely wasn’t his father, the man had made that painfully clear. Instead, he fervently hoped it would be Wednesday. Just the thought of seeing her sent a thrill of longing through him. He yearned to inhale the familiar scent that clung to her like a whisper of freedom. Maybe, just maybe, he could reach out and touch her skin, if only for a fleeting moment, and feel alive once more amidst the desolation of his existence.

"Galpin. Best behaviour?" The guard barked, The man's broad shoulders and steely gaze made it clear this wasn’t a request, but an order. And Tyler knew the punishment if he didn’t obey.

Tyler swallowed hard, he remained silent, choosing to keep his head down and avoid drawing any unwanted attention.

"Got a nice visitor today. You got ten. No more." The guard said. "She's a pretty girl.”

Tyler just nodded.

The guard swung the heavy door open, allowing the visitor to enter. However, it wasn't the expected figure for Wednesday.

Instead, Y/n stepped in hesitantly. She shuffled across the threshold in her muddy brown boots, which were caked with remnants of the outdoors. Her dark green tights clung to her legs, dramatically contrasted by the intricate black ivy leaf patterns of the fishnets layered over them. She wore a pair of slightly rumpled brown shorts that sat comfortably on her waist, paired with a loose-fitting green blouse that billowed softly with each movement. A brown cardigan pushed up to her elbows. Her long hair, usually flowing freely, was tied up in a messy bun held together with her signature ivy crochet hair ties.

As she entered, her large, expressive eyes shimmered with a hint of defenselessness, appearing almost tearful under the dim lights of the room.

Tyler felt a wave of disappointment wash over him at the sight of her, but a spark of curiosity ignited within him. He couldn't help but wonder why Y/n had chosen to seek him out.

"You have your safety, little lady?" The guard asked,

Y/n nodded, “Thank you,”

The guard carefully pulled the heavy door shut, the sound of its creaking hinges echoing softly in the dimly lit room.

She met his eyes and sniffled her tears, "Ohh you poor thing, what have they done to you…"

Tyler looked away from her,

“What is it?”

“Where is she?”

“Who…”

“Who? Who do you think?!” He snapped,

She jumped back trembling a little,

“Where is Wednesday?”

"I take it… You're not excited to see me."

Tyler scoffed, "What do you think?"

"I… Figured you'd want company…"

"Company, yeah. Not yours,"

She silently began to cry. "I'm sorry… I-"

Tyler noticed her crying, and a hint of guilt washed over him. He looked at her again, his expression now softening the slightest bit. "Where is she. Tell me.”

“She’s gone, Tyler.”

“Gone?

Tyler's eyes widened at her words. he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Gone… she was gone. "Gone? like gone from Nevermore? Or…" he asked, his voice hoarse. he hoped against hope that it was just a misunderstanding.

She nodded, "She left, she went home."

Tyler felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He couldn't believe it. Wednesday was gone. away from Nevermore, away from him. the thought of never seeing her again felt like a punch to the stomach. He let out a shaky breath, trying to process this information. Tears welled up, "Why… why did she leave?" he finally managed to ask.

"She didn't want to stay at the school, so when her parents came she convinced them and they took her home."

Tyler felt a pang of loneliness wash over him. He couldn't understand why Wednesday would leave, why she'd abandon him here, alone. After a moment of silence, he looked up at her again, his gaze filled with despair. "Did… did she say anything about me before she left?"

"I asked her, if there was anything she wanted me to tell you…"

he clenched his jaw, taking a deep breath, his grip on her hand still tight. "What did she say?"

"She said… No. There's nothing I need to tell him."

Tyler felt those words like a knife to the chest. He knew Wednesday was never one to express her feelings, but hearing her say those words… it stung. He couldn't help the look of disappointment that crossed his face. He looked away, trying to hide the hurt that he felt. The pain in his heart took over. After a moment of silence, he managed to force the words out, "…not even… a goodbye?"

She shook her head, "I’m so sorry Tyler…"

Tyler felt tears start to burn at the corner of his eyes, his heart breaking into a million pieces.

“But… I’m here,”

“Why?” he asked,

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

"I… I just wanted to see you, to come check on you. I…I miss you."

Tyler's heart thumped at her words. "You… missed me?" he asked softly,

She nodded stepping closer. "Mhm, I used to see you so much with the girls… Now you gone I… I miss you. I… I find myself sleepless worrying over you,"

Tyler was taken aback by her words. He found himself looking at her again, the way she worried over him tugged at his heart. "Why do you care so much?"

"I worry about you." She nodded, "I know this place… Isn't good for you."

"what do you want me to do, huh? you come here, worry for me, make me feel guilty. What do you want me to do?!"

"Nothing! I don't want you to do anything!" She told him firmly, "I… I just want to see you, be whatever little help I can be for you,"

"what… what could you even do for me, huh? I'm locked up in here." he spat, “I. Don’t. Want. You. Here.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t still come,” She said, "I'm happy to visit, every week if you want me to." She suggested, "I could bring you food, books, anything they'll let me really." She smiled, "I just want to … Help Tyler. Make this place… A little less horrible."

Tyler paused, stunned by the extent of her words. He stared into her eyes again, conflicted between shoving away her kindness and soaking it in as much as possible unsure when he’d get any again. "You… you'd do that for me?"

“Of course,” she nodded,

he tried to swallow down the emotions that were rising in him but couldn't fight them. "Why would you go through all that trouble for me? I… I don't deserve it," he said honestly,

"Because you’re my friend." She smiled,

Tyler felt a lump in his throat as she called him her friend. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the emotions that swirled within him. "My friend…"

Before either could say another word the guard opened the door once more, “Times up. Come on, little lady.”

She nodded sheepishly, “I… I’ll come back, next week, if you want me to?” She asked,

Tyler stared at the ground, his heart racing as he searched for the right words. The weight of the silence hung heavily in the air, and he felt a knot tightening in his stomach. After a moment of hesitation, he realized that even the simplest response would be better than remaining quiet. He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away, not when so much was at stake. With a deep breath, he finally opened his mouth, “Okay…”

She smiled softly, “Bye Tyler.”

“Bye… Bye Y/n…”

The guard firmly grasped her arm, guiding her through the dimly lit corridor. With a resounding clank, the guard secured the lock behind her, leaving him alone in the cold, stark chamber once more, the silence enveloping him like a shroud.