#wait is this yandere?

[meo-eiru]

Where do you think you are going?

[harmonysanreads]

as Sunday's canon wife, what do you think about a reader who, whenever sitting or just near Sunday, gently takes a glove off of his hand and just holds the bare hand. when he looks at you in question you give a smile and he asks himself why he loves you but then smiles back because you're adorable.

maybe you'd even push your fingers through the gaps in his gloves instead-

(also I am yet to play the quest so ignore this if it's out of character for him)

With each passing day, I feel like we share a telepathic connection Zuri, because I was JUST about to make a post about Sunday and his gloves :o

Hear me out, white gloves in particular have symbolized class and cleanliness. For someone as tidy as Sunday moreover, they're an inconsequential part of his daily life. I hc that he even carries extra pairs with him just in case. And for that man to take them off himself or to allow someone else to do it, is a big deal.

Sunday is touch starved, which he didn't quite realize until he met you. It's not that he's been deprived of them, but the touches he's had to exchange were meaningless formalities and they never permeated the barrier of his gloves. You are the only one deserving of that privilege, so whenever Sunday shares a moment with you without external interferences, he makes sure to take off his gloves — actually, that's not enough, he'll even wash his hands before touching you ; you shouldn't come in contact with the filth that he regularly deals with.

The very first time you held hands without any restrictions, Sunday couldn't go for more than a few minutes because he felt like he was seeing stars. Please don't misunderstand, he likes it!Just give him a moment to process all the feelings. He sincerely hopes you won't quit with your advances thinking he's uncomfortable, but if you do, at least he'll know that you respect his boundaries ; way to go, making him fall harder.

But now arrives a different problem, Sunday loves feeling your touch with his bare hands so much that he craves for it even in public settings. But he has an image to maintain and he really doesn't want to deal with more barrages of back handed comments on his apparent “favoritism”. Please don't go holding hands or being touchy with anyone else in the meantime, he isn't as put together as appears inside.

[wttcsms]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ you know i'll take you there

ᝰ.ᐟ shinsuke isn't too happy after your little escape attempt, and he makes it known. (fem!reader)

word count 2.5k content contains mating press, creampie, yakuza au, yandere themes, dubcon, praise kink, pet names (good girl), depictions of violence (not towards reader) author's notes sorry for lack of context; this is meant to take place after this fic concept

Shinsuke Kita doesn’t flinch when he pulls the trigger on a gun. 

The recoil doesn’t even register for him; when you do something for so long, eventually, it just becomes second nature. Like the mechanical movements you do when you brush your teeth, or the way you can tie your sneakers without having to actually look at the laces — shooting someone in the head is a mundane thing for Kita, for his line of work. He does it so often, has practiced it ever since he was a young boy, that what he does after is muscle memory. He removes the handkerchief from his suit and wipes the tiny splatter of blood that ended up getting on his cheek. He folds the sullied handkerchief neatly, tucking it away in the inner pocket of his suit. He makes sure the safety on his gun is in place, and he nods for Aran to drag the dead body away. 

When Aran takes his leave, the still-warm corpse in tow, the only people left in the room are Kita and a very scared young man. 

One of these men will be leaving this room, and the other will be hoping for a death as swift and merciful as the flawless execution Kita just delivered. 

“I told you there would be consequences,” Kita doesn’t taunt his victims. He’s not the type to do so. Cold and calculated — his own gang considers him to be a robot, and for the longest time, Kita agreed with them. But that was then, and this is now. Now, Kita has a reason to drag out his torture. Now, Kita understands what it’s like to find his very reason for existing. His purpose isn’t to lead one of the biggest yakuza families in the underground criminal world of Japan. His purpose is to devote his very being to you, and vice versa. 

So imagine how heartbroken he felt when he caught you trying to escape from the farmhouse he built for the two of you. And this man, a low-level runt in his group, had been foolish enough to give in and help you. 

“Please, sir, I wanted no part in the escape! She begged me, she—”

“She’ll receive her own punishment. I value fairness, after all.” Kita interrupts him, sounding as cold as the blood running through the young man’s veins. He’s frozen in fear as he tries to stammer out more excuses, more explanations, more promises to do better in the future but—

—there really isn’t much of a future for him. Not one that he’ll be happy to live in, at least. Kita is fair; having you slip away would have killed him internally. So now, Kita has to kill this man internally. Crush his spirit. Make him dream of death, dangle death in front of his face like a treat to a dog, but never, ever allow him such a kindness. 

(Kita is a fair leader, but very rarely is he kind. 

Kindness will get you killed. 

The boy dumb enough to help you — he’s kind.)

Kita retrieves a knife from one of the inconspicuous cabinets in this room. The fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling casts a warm glow over the both of them, but the blade of the knife reflects back the light, makes it shine in the poor boy’s face. He flinches. 

“Do you remember?” Kita asks him, turning the knife as if to inspect it from every angle. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters out, sounding breathless. He might be on the verge of a panic attack. That’ll make things messier than they need to be. 

“Do you remember what hand you used when you held hers?” Kita clarifies. He sounds calm, but the sight of another man holding your hand had him seething. Even now, it takes everything in him to not plunge the knife right into this young man’s heart, to twist the blade ‘round his insides, make him hurt like how Kita hurt when he witnessed it. 

“It was your left hand.” Kita answers for him. “Fortunately, you’re right-handed. Surely it won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you after I’m done sawing it off.” 

Kita’s chopped off a few fingers and one hand before, but never has he attempted to do it with a medium sized knife. A knife with a purposely dull blade. 

He smiles faintly. Sometimes, it can be fun to break routine and try new things.

You’re in bed by the time Kita returns home. He’s back later than he expects; it turns out, his little experiment with the dull blade is very, very messy. Maybe with practice, he’ll perfect that, too. That boy still has another hand to spare, after all. 

Feeling satisfied with himself, Kita starts humming gently as he makes his way to your shared bedroom. Before you, Kita never bothered making unnecessary noise. He rarely listened to music, but now—

The sting of your betrayal has lessened considerably. Kita isn’t even upset with you anymore. It’s normal for couples to fight and want to storm out on each other, but what matters most is that at the end of the day, he’s coming home to find you warming his bed. 

In his line of work, simple pleasures aren’t usually so sweet. 

You don’t stir when he joins you in bed, the mattress dipping just the slightest bit due to the sudden shift in weight, but he makes his presence hard to ignore, even in your slumber, when he presses his chest against your back, his lips nipping gently on the soft skin of your ears. 

You whine, your eyesight blurry as your eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re instantly aware of Kita’s body covering your own, and when he feels the subtle shivers of your body, the both of you know it’s not because of the chill of the air conditioner.

He makes a tiny grunt of disapproval. Even after all this time, you’re scared of him? Silly girl — he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

Well, nothing that would hurt you too badly. 

“Did ya have a good dream?” He asks you, breath warm against your ear. 

You swallow hard, not brave enough to shift your body. Ever since the truth came out, the fact that sweet Shinsuke is more than just an average overworked businessman but is a yakuza crime boss, things have never been the same between you two. Kita is nothing if not persistent, though. He still cuddles up against you, he still whispers sweet nothings in your ear, he’s still affectionate and downright loving in every action he does towards you. 

He knows not to expect an answer from you, especially when he plays with the bottom hem of your silk nightgown. “Wish ya would tell me what goes on in that pretty little head of yours.” 

You can picture him frowning; as perceptive as he is, you know that he prefers hearing your thoughts directly from you. 

“What happened to Goto?” You dare to ask, and the air seems to shift in your bedroom. 

Kita is gripping the soft flesh of your thighs, his hand large and imposing, rough with calluses and forever red with blood. You never really learn, you suppose, about how there’s a time and place for such questions. 

“Goto received his punishment.” Kita answers calmly, voice steady but cold. “And I nearly forgot about yours.” 

Liar. You want to call him out, but you at least have enough self-preservation to bite your tongue. As if Kita would ever forget. It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since your little escape attempt. 

Kita adores you, loves you, because in a world of greedy, nasty, spiteful little creatures, you are kind and caring and full of the sugary sweet goodness he’s always going to have a taste for. It’s why he’s not surprised when you ask him, 

“Is he… alive?” 

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Is that what you’re really worried about? Goto, over the broken heart of your husband?” 

When you don’t answer, Kita tightens his grip on your thigh, contemplating his next move, before he lets his hand travel to the apex of your thighs, his knuckles brushing against your bare cunt. He’s pleased to find out that you’re still his obedient, sweet girl, following his direct order of going to bed without a bra or panties. Some nights, he’s so tired, any excess fabric is a hindrance. 

“If you have a heart, you’ll tell me what happened to him.” You mumble, trying to ignore the way your body craves for Kita’s touch. Before the truth of his second life came out, you were an addict for him. No one has ever touched him the way he’s touched you, and even now, when you want to ignore him and try to remind yourself of what an awful person he truly is, you can’t.

There’s a traitorous part of your heart and soul that still longs for Kita, no matter the truth.

“It’s because I have a heart that I didn’t kill him.” Kita isn’t lying. The torture was for his pleasure, sure, but he knows how upset and inconsolable you would be if you felt like you were responsible for Goto’s death. The register of his voice lowers as he speaks again, though. His warning leaves you frozen in fear.

“If his filthy hands ever touch you again, I’ll kill him.” 

There are a litany of reasons why you find yourself in the position you’re currently in: wanting, waiting, whining for Kita. Fear, for one thing. You feel compelled to do whatever he wants, considering the sheer difference in strength and power between the two of you. But try as you might, it’s hard to ignore the tiny, nagging voice in your head that lulls you into a state of docile desire. Kita’s always taken care of you, right? You were in love with him, for fuck’s sake. And as you ride his fingers, content to wrap your warm, wet heat around three of his digits as he chuckles at your wanton display, that nagging voice reminds you that you still do — love him, that is. 

Three fingers buried deeply in the warmth of your cunt is enough to make you forget about the events leading up to tonight. He withdraws his fingers, much to your displeasure, and you whine out for him to continue with his ministrations before he shuts you up by forcing you to suck his thumb. You can feel the rough skin of his finger on your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks, treating this situation as if you were about to suck his cock, and your tongue laps at the pad of his thumb before he removes it from your mouth. 

Without any preamble, he’s back to burying his fingers into your pussy, his thumb — wet with your saliva — pressed firmly against your clit. 

“Do you wish it was my cock filin’ you up?” He grunts out, rubbing mercilessly against your clit as you continue to writhe against the bedsheets. Your cheeks feel warm, blood rushing up to your chest and face, and you bite down on your bottom lip, knowing your answer. A shameless, pitiful yes. 

“You’re so beautiful, so sweet, so kind.” In his world, kindness gets you killed. Kita’s no different from any other man in his line of work, and it’s why he’s ravaging you right now. Pumping his fingers in and out of your slick hole, making a mess of his fingers, of your pussy, of the bedsheets, of you. It’s why every time he brings you to your climax, you cum violently. You’re letting out a string of stuttered, fractured fucks mixed in with sharp intakes of breath and Shinsuke’s, and you buck your hips wildly against his fingers, pushing his digits even further in as you cum. 

With your mind hazy from pleasure, your brain scrambled from sleepiness and an intense orgasm, Kita wastes no time pouncing on you. There’s no chance for you to beg for him to wait, and you register that this must be your punishment.

Shinsuke is going to fuck you without any of his normal restraint.

He slides in your sopping wet cunt in one sharp thrust, burying his thick cock deep into your warm, snug hole. He likes having a routine, he likes having set boundaries and rules, he likes being a man of practicality. But right now, he’s fucking you like a wild beast. All you can do is just take it; take his relentless thrusts, his anger, his need to dominate you, to remind you who you belong to. 

“Open up.” He demands, his voice rough and thick with desire. You comply; it’s so easy, considering that you haven’t been able to hold back a single moan as he has his way with you. He spits directly into your mouth, watching the way his saliva sits on the surface of your pink tongue. He doesn’t need to command you to swallow, because you do, savoring the taste of him.

He makes you look him in the eyes as he fucks into you relentlessly. One hand is gripping your hip, practically crushing you as he pounds into your pussy. You’re so fucking wet that the sounds of him moving in and out of your cunt are so lewd, so loud. The inescapable burn of pain and pleasure, the sensitivity of your cunt having to endure his insatiable lust, has you moaning like a bitch in heat. 

“Shin— Shinsuke! G-gonna cum!” You squeak out, and it only motivates Kita to double down. He holds up your legs, your limbs burning from the stretch as he continues to get rougher with his movements. You’re looking at him with a dazed, fucked out expression, and he has the audacity to let out a chuckle. 

“There’s my good girl.” He praises you, spitting into your open mouth once more. 

With your legs trembling and the foggy haze of pleasure clouding your head, you greedily, happily accept his praise. Your legs press tightly against his sides, and with his spit in your mouth and his cock drilling into you with even sharper movements than before, you cum. 

Kita lets out a grunt of approval as he finishes inside of you, a load of hot seed pouring deep inside of you as he keeps your legs folded, his hips pressed against yours, as if he wants to plug you up with his cum. He kisses your forehead that’s glistening with sweat from the heat of his body colliding with yours; it seems the two orgasms he wrung out of you have taken its toll on your body. You’re a pliant, fucked out little mess — his pliant, fucked out little mess. 

“Good girl.” He murmurs sweetly. “I love you so much.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to say it back. He just pulls out his cock a bit before thrusting back into you. This action causes you to let out another long, drawn out moan. He’s absolutely relentless, and as tired as you are, you realize that you don’t want him to stop.

(Pity that you’re not capable of speech at the moment.

Because you would have told him that you love him, too.)

[darkestspring]

Yandere Conquerors ( Visenya / Aegon / Rhaenys) and third wife reader.

"I don't need a third wife." Was the words Aegon once said, and never once had he thought that he'd regret speaking those words.

Not until he met you. You. You. Lovely you.

You were Torrhen Stark's eldest child, a lovely thing that had both beauty and brains, not to mention your inclination for spoiling your direwolf, loving cooing at it as you went off to hunt with the beastly thing.

Aegon had never felt himself want for something so much, not since the conquest began. He wanted you, so desperately. he wanted to tangle his fingers in your hair and hear you giggle as he devoured you whole.

He glanced towards his sisters who were both stuck staring at you, not a single trace of envy or jealousy on their face. Rhaenys' cheeks were flushed red, not from the cold Aegon assumes, and Visenya's eyes were filled with a look of utter fondness, which was rare. Visenya hated people more than she liked them.

You stood there, laughing as you threw balls of snow between you and your brother, Brandon.

A loud laugh left you, happiness making your eyes light up as the snow started to drip off of you as it turned into water. "No fair! I wasn't expecting it!" You pouted at your brother.

Brandon laughed, "That is why it was the best time to attack, my dear sister," He took notice of the three before you did and straightened up.

"Dear one." Torrhen called out to you, gesturing you closer and you raced closer.

"Father, welcome back!" You greeted him with a smile before gazing over at the trio of targaryen's and the smile on your face nearly falters but you'd been taught strictly by your mother.

"Welcome," You spoke softly, bowing your head softly. You'd been given the news and you didn't particularly care about going from a princess to a lady. It let you play in the snow with your brother, so you were fine.

"This is my daughter." Torrhen introduced you to them and you smiled up at them.

"It's an honor." Your murmured softly.

"Lady Stark, the honor is solely ours." Visenya took your hand into hers before the other two could even reach out and placed a kiss on the back of your gloved hand and your cheeks flushed bright red at the gesture.

Aegon had determined he was damned by the gods in that moment, he wished he could eat his own words. He needed to find some way to marry you. He was a king now, he could very well do that but Torrhen didn't look like he'd very easily let you go.

"You should visit us on Dragonstone!" Rhaenys spoke softly, leaning down to gaze at you with a smile. "We'd be happy to have you there!"

Torrhen had the odd feeling that he was watching three vultures flock around his daughter. No, that was absurd, it was well known throughout westeros that Aegon refused to take a third wife. Yes, he had no reason to worry.

[l0vergirls]

cw: age gap, size difference (ish), bordering on sugar daddy too tbh, nsfw kinda,

there's just something about an older man that absolutely fucking towers over you, but is so sweet and so gentle. to everyone else they may seem far too intimidating to even approach, but if they only tried a bit harder, they'll unveil a whole other world of love and affection.

he adores how small your hands feel in his, and how you have to crane your neck up a bit more to look up at him. he revels in how soft your lips are, and imagines how his must feel against yours. whether he's shaved that day or not, you'll always savour the taste of him, his hands wandering your body before settling on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer against him.

feel free to use his card too, what's his is yours after all. so don't be surprised to find a shiny new necklace on your nightstand, or an expensive dress laying in your bed. don't pay too much mind to the new set of lingerie (in his favourite colour) that he'd laid out for you.

do you feel how much he loves you? just let him take care of you, let him shower you in his love. he can treat you much better than other boys your age can, he can teach you so much more than they can.

oh darling, don't be shy, let him hear the pretty noises you make as he expertly ruts into you; his experience showing in the way he hits just the right spots that have you seeing stars.

he's yours, just as much you're his, right?

[bloodywankers]

tw. yandere, forced pregnancy, mentions of nudity, toxic relationships, implied murder, not proofread (pls tell me if you see any typos), 1.4k words

You knew your husband wasn’t normal. You weren’t a fool, the avoiding gazes of people around you, the nervous stutter of every waiter and service person that approached you, the hesitance of new aquintaces when they had to shake hands with you, all of it under his watchful gaze. It was hard to ignore.

If you had to put a finger on when it started, you’d blame that one time years ago, when you were both still young, much younger than you are now at least. When you complained about that one classmate that always got too handsy, about his annoying jokes and obnoxious personality, all under the guise of “a joke” as tasteless as it might have been. You knew he wasn’t fully okay in the head, even back then. It was by no mistake that you found yourself complaining to him of all people, sure he was a bit more reserved than now, a bit more hesitant at the thought of potentially committing a crime but all it took was a fluttering your eyes at him a few times and he offered himself up for you, he had never been the smartest of the buch after all.

When you heard news that the classmate had apparently dropped out and been seen with injuries beyond what any sane person would inflict, you knew who to blame. But you wouldn’t, maybe your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe couldn’t grasp the concept morality back then. But a guard dog that shows such loyalty couldn’t possibly deserve punishment. It was then when you cemented future by his side. He wasn’t all too bad, you thought, if you could avoid any and all contact with the opposite gender, even with women you could never make him feel unwanted. He was needy and big and scary but extremely gullible, at least when it came to you– as long as nothing sparked his jealousy, he was beyond reasoning if that were to happen.

There were times where you cursed at yourself for your past decisions, namely when you found small splatters of blood on his clothes that you assume were too small for him to notice, or when another person you had been unhappy with (but never voiced this in front of your husband) disappeared entiorely from your life. A dog that goes and bites all those that approach its master is no good at all.

Selfish and evil as you may have been, you were still human and the thought that your mere presence could ruin someones life took a toll on you so you started to retreat into your shell, to avoid going out as much as possible, much to your husbands pleasure who started coming home on time and didn’t drift off somewhere in the middle of the might anymore. Your relationship almost started showing a semblance of normalcy.

You had started feeling exhausted as of late, too tired despite your schedule full of nothing. It was strange, you started losing appetite and under a constant spell of lethargy, too tired to do anything beyond maybe brave the journey to the bathroom when necessary or to the kitchen if your husband wasn’t home to do it for you. Then started the cravings, so strange that you doubted even a pregnant woman would have them.

That’s what you thought, until night you managed to wake up just in time to see your husband rummahging through your drawer, the small sheet of what you could only make out to be your contraceptive pills in you hand and another one that looked eerily similar (that one wasn’t yours, you were sure of this since you were down to your last sheet).

You instinctively closed your eyes again before he could turn to you, waiting until morning when he was gone to work to check your drawing, only to find one sheet. It was then when things started to click, your period had been a few weeks late, you hadn’t been particularly alarmed since it happened sometimes but now you felt fear sink in as you rushed out in your car to the nearest pharmacy. The drive felt eons long when combined with the ever increasing feelings of dread that you were experiencing but you almost wished you could go back to that time as your clothes were tossed to one side and the bathroom door left slightly ajar, you were too rushed to have cared about those details as you stared at the two lines on the test.

‘No no no no no no no no no.’ You couldn’t think clear, you werent ready to be a mother, you didnt want children, there wasn’t a single motherly bone in your body.

You took back what you had said earlier, you were most definitely a fool. Why did you think he’d never do something like this when hes probably already done enough to secure his place in the 8th circle of hell just for you.

“Darling, I was looking for you-” Your husband said gleefully, pausing as he fully opened the bathroom door, finding you sat with a pregnancy test in hand, a few other ones already tossed around you, the unmistakeable positive already visible on them. And yet, as if he had no hand in this, he feiged ignorance, acted worried as he approached you.

“What’s happened here, what’re you doing, dear? Are you alright?” He kept asking these questions as he slowly neared you.

“Get away from me, don’t touch me!” You screamed, you were crying at this point and he was left at an arms length. That was when his entire demeanor changed, the almost idiotic smile of his nowhere to be seen as he let out a frustrated sigh.

“I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. If anything I’m surprised it took you this long, you’re quite the slow one aren’t you, love?” You probably would’ve launched the nearest object his way in any other situation but you couldn’t tell heads from tails in your current predicament.

“Why would you do this? Was what we had not enough for you?” You couldn’t help but ask in a moment of clarity.

“How coy, I wonder where this side of you was when you asked me to do all those terrible, terrible things.” His smile felt cruel, especially so when you realised that you were the dog if anything, he had always been the one to hold your leash, not the other way around.

“You dug your own grave, we couldn’ve had what most normal people have but you chose not to, you used me until your heart was fulfilled and in the process, you dug yourself deeper and deeper. The fact that you didn’t realise any sooner says more about you than me.” He finished, before hoisting you up, ignoring your cries as he removed what little you had on and placed you inside the bath. It had become a routine ever since you started feeling sick but today you couldn’t help but feel disgusted by his touch, alternating between sobs and protests as he cleaned, his grasp much harsher than usual, you weren’t sure if it was because he no longer had to uphold the persona he had you believing in up until today or because of your protests.

“Aren’t you curious, what you’ve been eating in place of your birth control lately?” He asked in the midst of washing your hair, the glint of excitement in his eyes only adding to the psychotic expression of his.

You couldn’t bear to ask, looking away in hoped that he would at least grant you this much. “Aww, I was hoping you’d want to, I’ll tell you ayway. It’s a sedative of sorts, I started with low dosages so you wouldn’t get alarmed. Don’t worry, it’s nothing strong enough to harm the baby.” The mention of the baby had your stomach twisting again. You felt exhausted from crying, letting him dress you, moving you around almost like a ragdoll until he plopped you on the bed, joining you soon after he showered and changed himself. Engulfing your smaller figure into a hug as he went on and on about the baby.

“I’ll get some books on parenting for you, we need to make sure our baby doesn’t turn out twisted and skewed like their mommy. Don’t you agree?”

[rainba]

Here it is... The fic where Luka kidnaps both his darling and Kairos.

TWs/tags: human furniture, dubcon, kidnapping, slight depiction of violence, pet play, NSFW, mind break, cucking (?), dark content, use of shock collars

Reader is GN, however, there is one paragraph where the reader is gendered. The asterisk* will mark the paragraph with afab reader, and the one in parenthesis is amab. :3c)

MDNI! 18+

In one previous post, I mentioned that Kairos and Luka do live in the same universe and city– and in a few other posts, I mentioned that they’d never share their darling. If one of them tries to kidnap darling, they’ll just report the other to the police. 

Then another idea came up, a way that Luka could circumvent that predicament: Luka figures that Kairos would instantly report him if he kidnapped his darling. So… In order to stop that from happening…

Luka would kidnap both you and Kairos.

Luka’s house is definitely big enough to keep both of you. In the beginning stages, he’ll keep Kairos locked up in the attic while he keeps you in the basement. The basement is much cozier– meanwhile the attic is all dusty, hot, and muggy.

Between you and Kairos, Luka will be much, much nicer to you. He’s (quite literally) obsessed with you, so of course you get the better treatment. He cooks your favorite meals and feeds them to you by hand. He gives you plenty of water and always showers you in attention– sometimes he’ll even place a TV down in the basement and let you watch random stuff. You know, just so you don’t get too bored. He wants you to feel at home–! When you learn to accept your new life, he’ll spoil you rotten.

But for Kairos..? Luka is absolutely brutal.

Luka will rub in the fact that he beat Kairos in “winning you.” He’s simply just the superior man– the superior partner. Luka loves you too much to ever let you go. After all, you're the only person that has ever made him feel anything at all. And he really drives in the fact that you belong to him, and that Kairos will never have the chance to even touch you.

Luka will walk circles around Kairos as he mocks him relentlessly.

“Nobody is looking for you.”

“You’re pathetic. Disgusting freak.”

“They’re all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kairos will scream, squirm, and cry as much as he possibly can– but nobody can hear him. Luka is right: nobody is looking for him. Kairos doesn’t have any family. He doesn’t have any friends. He’s stuck in this hell forever.

To keep Kairos alive, Luka gives him his leftovers. He dumps it onto the dirty ground and drags Kairos next to it, commanding him to “eat up.” Kairos is forced to pathetically writhe on the floor and eat without his hands– all because Luka refuses to untie him. As for water, Luka forces Kairos to drink out of a dog bowl.

Most of the time, Kairos can’t hear anything. Luka’s house is eerily quiet at night. And during the day, Kairos can sometimes hear the sounds of children laughing and playing outside, or he’ll just hear Luka casually going about his day as if there aren't two people locked up in his house.

It’s torturous.

Over time, Luka will get you to warm up to him– call it stockholm syndrome kicking in, if you will. Or maybe you already loved him and he just needed to build trust with you. Either way– you eventually upgrade from the basement to his bedroom. And that’s when things get infinitely worse for Kairos.

He’s not just listening to Luka going about his daily routine now– no, now he has to also listen to the two of you fucking multiple times a day. The way you’re moaning out another man's name… The sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall… Kairos finds himself choking and sobbing as he’s stuck tied to the chair. Sometimes he starts to dissociate and pretends that he’s somewhere else.

Most of the time he pretends that the two of you just got married, and he’s playing out different scenarios of honeymoons in his head.

After a few more weeks or months go by, Luka will grow bored of keeping Kairos tied up in the attic. If he’s gonna keep a hostage, he might as well put them to good use. So what does he do with Kairos?

He uses him as human furniture. Forces him to also be a pet.

You’re horrified as you watch Kairos crawling around the house with a gag in his mouth and a leash attached to his throat. If Luka feels bold enough, he might even have the words “Luka’s Bitch” decorated on the collar. Oh– and it’s not just a regular collar, either. It’s a shock collar.

Any time Kairos acts out and disobeys Luka, he earns himself a shock so powerful that it causes him to seize and collapse onto the floor.

…This entire time, you thought it was just you in the house. You didn’t know there was another person. You’re not alone.

It makes your stomach churn.

And Luka encourages you to use Kairos as furniture as well. Use him as a footrest, use him as a table or a chair– do whatever.

Over time, deep down, incomprehensible and guilty thoughts begin to appear in Kairos’ mind. Things that made him once want to throw up now make him feel… Funny. He’s so happy that he gets to see your face again–!! He’s finally reunited with the love of his life, it’s just a shame it’s under such horrible circumstances.

Kairos doesn’t mind if you use him like furniture. It’s okay if you do it. But he loathes it when it’s Luka who’s using him.

The difference between you and Luka is like night and day. While Luka berates and degrades him, sometimes even depriving him of basic necessities, you always sneak around and give Kairos lots of love and extra food. 

Kairos always breaks down and cries in your arms when you show him kindness– he’s so very thankful for it. But be sure that Luka doesn’t catch you. If he sees you being sweet towards Kairos, he’ll harshly punish Kairos and then fuck you right in front of him. Every time.

Kairos always feels so pathetic as he's forced to watch you getting ravaged by Luka. The way you're moaning under his touch... The hot, sticky sound of Luka's cock sliding in and out of you... All of this happening while Kairos is tied down and unable to do a thing. He's so fucking hard, and there's nothing there to relieve him. Luka punishes Kairos if he dares to look away.

In order to gain more privileges, both you and Kairos need to work to gain Luka’s favor. If the both of you prove that you’re capable of being trusted, he might give you more freedom. He’ll let you look out the windows every now and then– might even let you use the kitchen. He's much more open to giving you privileges than he is to giving Kairos any.

Except, of course, he always hides all of the sharp objects in the house. He doesn’t want you two to have access to weapons. And if you try to poison him even once, he’ll immediately make the kitchen permanently off limits when he's not around to watch you.

Also, over time, another funny thing happens. Luka doesn’t really like punishing you outside of sex- he'd much rather shower you in rewards. He’d rather save the roughness and punishments for more intimate settings. After all, he’s trying to earn your love– not make you hate him. So, what does he do instead?

Every time you act up, he’ll drag Kairos by his leash and punish him in your stead. After all, he knows that you care about Kairos and his wellbeing, so he uses that against you.

Oh, you just tried to break out of the house? You tried to poison Luka? Well, that deserves a proper punishment. Luka will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as he brutalizes Kairos. Whips him with a belt, kicks him in the stomach, takes away his food privileges for the next 48 hours... It’s horrible.

And in a way… This would cause Kairos to start policing you, too. Which is exactly what Luka wants. Kairos really, really doesn’t want to get punished. I mean, deep down, he’s absolutely happy that he gets to take the beating instead of you– it’s like he’s your hero!! …In some weird and twisted sense. But also, he really doesn’t want to get punished, so… Please don’t act out.

However, when the months keep rolling in, Luka will slowly warm up to Kairos. All of the punishments will grow less severe– and sometimes, Luka just lets you all off with a warning. It’s obvious that a big change has happened when instead of Luka just fucking you in front of Kairos, he lets him join in on the fun.

Except Luka doesn’t really want to touch him– so, he’ll let you touch Kairos instead. It’s what Kairos always wanted– Right?

Kairos should thank him. 

Luka will tie his arms behind his back and keep him firmly locked to a chair, completely naked. Kairos feels so ashamed that he’s hard– but god, he can’t help it. He’s so excited to finally be able to touch you, his darling, the person that should’ve always been his–!

And Luka will make sure it’s enjoyable for everyone. Luka will strip you of your clothes, but he might put you in a cute pair of thigh highs, just for the fun of it. Luka will grab you by your hair and push your face into Kairos’ lap as he utters one phrase, “suck it.”

You’ll do as you’re told– you don’t have much of a choice. Kairos’ eyes instantly light up as you wrap your lips around his sensitive cock.

Finally– his dreams are coming true…! 

Sort of.

As you suck him off, Luka will lift your ass into the air and he’ll fuck your tight hole. He’ll keep his right hand on your hip while his left hand grabs the back of your head, lacing his fingers into your hair. He doesn’t care if you can barely breathe– he’ll shove your head all the way down on Kairos’ dick as he bottoms out inside of you. Occasionally, he’ll lift your head up and lean in to kiss you on the lips.

It’s all so hot– but ultimately, it’s all for you and himself. Luka will always make sure you cum, that’s his top priority. His second priority is to make sure he gets to fill you up. As for Kairos? Well… Luka doesn’t care all that much.

If Kairos doesn’t cum? That’s too bad. It’s Kairos’ own fault that he didn’t come undone. But if he does cum? That’s alright too. 

However, don’t expect Luka to make you stop sucking. Kairos will be squirming in his chair whining like crazy as you overstimulate him, his body trembling from the sensation, but you can’t stop until Luka says you can stop.

The second scenario is much more likely to happen than the first. The moment Kairos looks down and sees your fucked-out face choking on his length… He’ll cum right on the spot– every single time, without fail.

After the first instance of Luka letting Kairos join in the sex, he earns a lot more privileges. He can finally sleep in the same room as you two–!! But he’s not really allowed to rest on the bed. He’ll be forced to curl up and sleep on the floor– but hey, it beats the attic any day, right?

Luka also takes off Kairos' shock collar. Since Kairos has proved himself to be a good boy, he's now allowed to roam around freely. Hell, sometimes Luka will pet Kairos and give him some praise. It... Makes Kairos feel strange, but in a good way.

Kairos is also now allowed to cuddle you sometimes. When you’re simply sitting on the couch and trying to relax, Kairos will immediately hurry over to your side and rest his head in your lap– desperate to feel even an ounce of affection from you. He might ask you to stroke his hair and kiss the bruises Luka left on his skin.

* If Luka is at work and Kairos knows there’s no cameras around, he might beg to suck on your tits– you know, for comfort reasons! It would really make him happy to have them in his mouth– it would be therapeutic, even.

((And if you’re a guy, Kairos will instead beg to frot you. While it’s a lot more dangerous and the punishment for getting caught is heavy, Kairos is willing to risk it all. Don’t worry–! You can just sit there and relax; Kairos will be the one doing all the work with his hand.))

You know how stressful and traumatizing this whole situation has been for him… He needs to be comforted so badly… So.. Pretty please?

In some sick and twisted way, over time, Kairos grows to like the way things are– perhaps his mind does this as a way to cope. He tries his hardest to find all the positives in living this kind of life:

> He gets to spend every minute of every day with you!

> He doesn’t have to worry about talking to strangers.

> He doesn’t have to work and maintain a job.

> He doesn’t have to cook and clean for himself.

The list goes on. Kairos gains all of these benefits, and all he has to do is give up most of his basic human rights and submit to another man…!

Okay, Kairos still admits that is pretty bad. But… At least he has you…! That’s all Kairos really cares about in the end!

For Luka? He’s satisfied with the way things are. Not only does he not have to worry about Kairos ratting him out to the police, but now he has both the love of his life right by his side and a fun little pet to take his stress out on. 

So… Everyone… Wins? In the end? ❤️

[merakiui]

PLEASE. please. if you would be so kind to give us some more stalker ex scara... the first time I saw it it just changed my brain chemistry, and I desperately need more </3

>:D thinking a lot about stalker ex Scara, but you get really drunk and he's the only one left to look after you......

(cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, alcohol/intoxication, toxic ex scara, modern college au, connected to the previous stalker ex scara concept)

Just,,, the fact that he's been so good and sweet ever since he casually slid himself into your friend group and you're not sure if you can trust him, yet here you are being completely, utterly, stupidly vulnerable in front of your very unstable ex. orz

Kuni's not one for parties; in fact, he'd much rather spend his precious time doing quiet, comfortable things with you (cuddling is so much healthier than drinking, after all! <3). Unfortunately, you allow your foolish friends to talk you into attending these brain-rotting parties so you can get drunk off your ass, and he can't let you attend them by yourself because there are too many risks. If you got too comfortable with Venti or Kazuha or even Tighnari while drunk, Kuni would never forgive you. >:( he's worked too hard cultivating this friendly image for himself, and he isn't going to let you or anyone else ruin it.

But right now everyone else is too inebriated to do much of anything, and he hasn't touched the drinks ever since he arrived, instead choosing to anchor himself to some forgotten corner of the room. He sulks and broods in silence, a scowl plastered to his face. He's just barely tolerating it for your sake. It's because he loves you that he's doing any of this. Soon you won't even need any of these troublesome friends. Soon you'll just have him, and he's all you really need. It was like that when you were growing up, after all. Even though, as painful as it is, you don't seem so codependent, so swept up in romance... You're so independent now, no longer the shy, fearful thing from the final few months of your relationship with him. He'd be impressed if he wasn't trying so hard to isolate you from each of your friends. It's a challenge when he's trying to tiptoe around Heizou's sharp, witty perception or Venti's proclivity for knowing everything about everyone despite no one knowing much about him.

But he endures. He's gone years without you; this is nothing.

If you were smarter, you'd know not to trust a word he says. That kind, soft smile he's perfected for this act is not to be believed, especially not when he's using it to assure your friends that he'll bring you home safe and sound. Heizou has his doubts because it's late and you can hardly walk a straight line, but he's tipsy just like the others and it's hard to deliberate like this. Besides, when has Kuni ever let the group down? :)

He takes you back to his dorm instead because Albedo's not home and he has the entire room to himself. While you meander clumsily over to his bed, kicking your shoes off and shucking your jacket in the process, he watches. You have no idea how much he depends on you, how much he admires you, so much so that it surpasses love and lust entirely. Without you, he's nothing. Or that's what he thinks because for the majority of his life he's felt empty and sub-human and so alone. But now you're here, and you can fill those empty spaces in his heart and give him a reason to keep living.

You don't seem particularly fazed when the bed dips under his weight. Rather, you blink sleepily up at him when he leans over you, gingerly reaching to help you out of your sweater. You're too drunk to protest or struggle, and you feel so dizzy every time you open your eyes. It's difficult to remain fully conscious when sleep is tugging at your body, pulling you under. You don't even realize he's fit his mouth on yours until his tongue is pushing past your lips. You manage to place your hands against his chest, intending to push him away, but you're so exhausted and tired. They fall to your sides, useless.

Kuni sits up and smiles at you. He says something about you being dumb and cute... or something about how your friends are fools. You don't really catch all of his obsessive murmurings when your attention is waning. Clothes are torn off; he kisses you a lot. You're not sure if you're reciprocating, but it certainly sounds that way when you're whining beneath him, arching against sodden sheets, your breaths coming in pants and huffs each time he ruts into you.

He doesn't have to worry about anything. Right now, it's just you and him in a corner of the world, locked away from everyone who might try to take you away from him. It's not like you'll remember much come morning. You don't need to anyway. It's better if you're lost and bewildered. That way he'll be able to craft a story to suit his fancy. You'll believe it. You'll have no choice, and Kuni knows how to tell very believable tales.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* The Wishing Hole (Yandere x GN!Reader)

Warning!! This is not a romance, read at your own risk CW: LONG, Dead Dove, abuse, murder, trauma, manipulation, masturbation, mutilation, unhealthy relationships, obsession

"Have you heard about the hole?"

Part I

"It's right over here!" Miranda theater-whispered to her friends as she led them through the black woods. Their flashlights bobbed in the darkness, the only light visible to the trio of twelve year olds as they trekked through the thicket. (Reader) gripped onto their envelope tightly, fearful of leaving sweat marks on it.

They had been staying the night at Brian's house when Miranda brought up the hole. A local urban legend by that point, the story of a hole that granted wishes. Brian had chastised Miranda for believing a story so stupid, but still followed her and (Reader) when they snuck out to grant their wishes.

"How do you know where it is?" He nervously hissed.

"Abby's sister Rebecca has a friend who found it. Over here." Miranda spoke as though it should have been obvious why she knew where it was.

(Reader) could do nothing but hope. They hoped hard, over and over again, wrinkling the papers in their fist as the yellow light led them to their future. All they could do was beg the universe to grant their wish. For the hole to be real.

The trees thinned and opened, revealing a small clearing with a very deep hole dug out of the earth. It was a normal looking hole, but in the dark of a moonless night to a group of children, it was ominous.

Their muddy boots all stopped a good foot away from the edge. The ground didn't look stable.

After taking a shaky breath, Miranda threw her envelope into the hole, squeezing her eyes shut as she focused all her energy on the wish written inside the letter she tossed. Brian thought about arguing, calling out his friends for littering, but instead copied Miranda, throwing his wish in as well. (Reader) felt adrenaline shoot to their finger tips as the anxiety tried to rip through their veins and escape their skin. Their packet was thicker than either of their friends', and fell harder as they chucked it in with all their strength.

The only future (Reader) wanted was nearly impossible. It would take divine intervention to get that happiness. "What did you wish for?" Miranda asked Brian behind (Reader).

"I want to know what I want to do."

"That's it?"

"What'd you wish for?"

"A hot boyfriend, who's gonna love me, and marry me."

"Well, when you're trapped in a marriage with three kids, I'll be doing what I love every day."

Miranda groaned loudly, refusing to get into another argument with her best friend. She instead looked at (Reader) who was still focusing on the hole. "What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

Their eyes seemed to be seeing something the other two couldn't see. Large pupils fixated on nothing, still filled with enough anxiety to cripple an adult.

"Someone who loves me.."

"Ugh, not you too.." Brian's voice melted into the background, almost unintelligible in the dense air. The contents of the wish filled (Reader's) head to the point that nothing else could be heard.

• 15 years later •

Another failed date.

Dark rings permanently decorated the underneath of (Reader's) tired eyes. The perpetually single adult slid down against the wall, too exhausted to continue standing. There was nothing particularly wrong with the guy, but he just wasn't "the one" for (Reader). He was boring and awkward, rambling about his job and future plans, bragging about his hypothetical future fortune. Nothing he did was bad enough for (Reader) to guiltlessly label him a douche, but nothing about him was their type.

They pulled out their phone, looking at the dark haired man on their wallpaper for a second too long before opening up their messages with their date. (Reader) typed up a quick message to thank Rich for the date, but that they didn't see it going any further.

The phone was tossed to the side as (Reader) struggled to stand, grabbing a beer from their fridge as the phone began chiming from the linoleum. Texts rapidly coming in were ignored by (Reader) as they cracked open their first drink for the night.

His unread messages echoed through (Reader's) shoebox apartment.

The weary adult wondered how their therapist would react next week at their appointment. It wasn't realistic for an adult to fixate on a wish they had made as a child, but just like all those years ago, (Reader) knew deep in their bones that there was no happiness for them if they couldn't have that wish come true. Rich was attractive, in an average sort of way, with straight brown hair cut a little too short for the shape of his brow. He had nice lips, (Reader) thought, but couldn't imagine kissing them.

The beer tasted like lightly bitter water. Not a promising sign; it tasted like they would need something stronger. On the way to the living room (Reader) noticed their bedroom door had some dirt on the white paint, like someone had pushed it open with filthy hands.

(Reader) felt an anxious jolt to their system. A familiar pain they hadn't felt in a long time. They pushed open the door, timidly entering their own room like a stranger nervous to be caught. But the room was empty.

"So, how'd your date with Rich go?" Adam asked hopefully. The same trio of friends since primary school sat in their local diner. It was a monthly ritual, gathering for brunch to force themselves to keep in touch. They tried to hold the meeting every week, but with work scheduling it was impossible. Adam sat with his husband, Jon, across from Brian and (Reader). Everyone had changed so much as they got older, but that was to be expected. No one can stay a child forever.

(Reader) sighed before sipping on their milkshake. Adam knew exactly what that meant, and groaned, just as dramatically as when he was a child. His hair may be shorter, but some things stayed consistent.

"What was wrong with this guy?"

"Nothing!" (Reader) replied defensively. "He just... wasn't my type."

Brian pushed up his glasses. "Maybe you should lower your standards."

"Brian!"

"-I mean, it's good to have standards, obviously, but people are real people, not characters in a book. No one is going to match your description of a perfect partner, because people aren't perfect, ya know?"

(Reader) stole a glance at their phone, admiring the black haired man behind the time. "You can say that, because your wish already came true. Both of yours."

Both Brian and Adam looked ashamed and a little uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact and fixating on their meals. Jon almost went cross-eyed trying to understand what (Reader) was implying.

(Reader) stood, tossing a couple bills onto the table. "I have to go, I'll talk to you guys later."

"Okay, have a good day! Text me when you get home." Adam said warmly, hugging his dear friend tightly while trying to shape his face into a happier expression.

"I will. Bye."

Brian gave up a small side hug, grimacing.

Jon waited until (Reader) was out of sight before asking "Were they talking about that wish you guys made as kids?"

The bespectacled young man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes."

"I know what Adam wished for, but what did you and (Reader) wish for?" When he mentioned Adam's wish, Adam rolled his eyes playfully and they nudged each other lightly. Their whole relationship was practically diabetic for Brian, who still after all these years didn't get the appeal in romance.

Brian adjusted his glasses again, clearing his throat. "I wanted to know what to do with my life." And he had found that calling. The summer before high school he discovered a YouTube channel centered around ornithology and sent him on a strange spiral of bird mania. His friends and family thought it was a temporary fixation that he would lose interest in after a year or so, but his newfound fascination guided him all the way through college, landing him in an animal husbandry profession taking care of cranes at (what Brian considered to be) a humane zoo. "(Reader) wished for someone to love them."

"Well, I believe there's someone for everyone. It takes some people longer to find 'the one' than it does for others, and (Reader) seems like a great person, so I'm sure they'll meet someone that fits their childhood ideal."

Although Jon meant well with his words he could see the discomfort on his husband's and Brian's faces, their eyes either focused on their drink or plate.

They never read (Reader's) wish.

But over the years the two friends had begun to piece together a picture of the kind of man (Reader) wanted.

It was a complete breach of trust, looking into a friend's past, going full internet stalker mode to investigate into the secrets (Reader) wouldn't divulge. And what they found...

Was a lot.

They didn't know how to open the conversation with their third musketeer, since the facts and speculations were all obtained without (Reader's) knowledge or permission, but if Brian and Adam were correct in their understanding of what (Reader's) wish was, they genuinely wanted to help (Reader).

They also knew where (Reader) was going. But even that was impossible to confess.

Because at that moment, (Reader) was in their car for their monthly four hour visit with the greatest man (Reader) had ever known. It was unfortunate scheduling, but (Reader) couldn't compromise the day for either party. Keeping in contact with their friends was important for their mental health (according to their therapist) but this meeting was more important to (Reader) than practically anything else in their life.

Metal fencing and high beige walls appeared through the trees like a fairy tale castle. Instead of an evil dragon guarding the entrance, however, there were armed guards. Still every bit of evil in (Reader's) eyes.

"Welcome back, Mx. (Reader)." The usual security officer greeted grimly. Before he could ask for identification, (Reader) already had it out. Although they had met many times throughout the past decade, it was still a formality required by law. The two filled out the necessary paperwork while only offering tight smiles. He opened the gate for (Reader) to drive in and park in the visitor's lot. (Reader) always felt the cameras on them whenever they entered this "castle".

Officers emptied (Reader's) pockets and scanned their body for metal. There would be no physical connection at all, but they still needed to take precautions.

(Reader) was led through the lifeless grey halls towards visitation. Each step made their heart race and fostered the smile on their lips. Approaching the room with squeaky broken stools and bulletproof glass relaxed their faux grin for a genuine tranquility. There were no other visitors at the time.

The stool creaked under (Reader) as they gently eased into the old thing, staring at the window. Shortly after they sat down, the man from their phone's wallpaper, now with more silver hair than black, shuffled in on the other side, smiling softly as he sat across from (Reader). They both grabbed the phones.

"Hi Dad."

His dark eyes with pupils so large that without direct light made them look black had deeply etched wrinkles decorating them that folded deeper as he smiled. When Donavon McElroy was arrested, the news outlets focused on his eyes like some kind of Kubrick film, fixating on how you could just see the evil in some people. It felt as though the only person in the entire country who could see how loving Donavon's eyes were was (Reader).

"Hey kiddo. I've missed you."

"I missed you too." There were only four hours of visitation allowed per month. "Have you been getting my letters?"

Greasy ringlets of hair tumbled to the side as he cocked his head. "They're still the highlight of each week." Donavon didn't blink often. Even though the lights always hurt his eyes, no matter how dim they were, he seemed like a mannequin, refusing to blink and miss a second of his precious child's face. "How have you been since our last visit? I know you said in your letters that you're still going to therapy, which is good, very good.. how's that going for you?"

(Reader) felt their smile dip a little. "Well, it's going. I don't really like my therapist, but I know it's just because I don't like what she has to say. Even if I change doctors, they'll still say the same things."

Donavon nodded understandingly. It was like that at first for him as well, receiving psychiatric treatment while in prison. "I didn't like being told that my line of thinking was.. wrong. I knew that logically my thinking was, of course, obviously wrong, but it didn't feel wrong, so having a.. professional tell me that was upsetting."

"But it's important that you continue with it. And I'm very proud of you for continuing with it."

(Reader) laughed. It was a sharp scoff of a laugh, but not spiteful. It filled their chest with hot lava to hear someone praise them for doing what they've been doing since they were ten years old. Because it was difficult. Even if (Reader) continuously told themselves that this was the bare minimum. It was still difficult.

"She has me out in the dating world." (Reader) slumped a little, only slightly enough that no one but Donavon could tell the change in their posture. "Which is.. not fun."

"It can be fun. Does that carnival still come? There used to be a traveling carnival, a pop up fair, that would set up in a parking lot of a small store in our home town, really cheap. That could be a fun first date. Tiny ferris wheel and gravitron. Elephant ears." The two adults smiled widely thinking about it, but neither of them were picturing it as a date. His smile melted when he realized this. "I wish I could have taken you there."

(Reader) imagined a different life, one where they were in his care instead of their mother's, eating pastries the size of their head and getting sick on possibly dangerous attractions in a small parking lot. Their mother never took them, but they knew which pop up fair he was talking about, riding past it on the bus many times in their life. "That sounds like it would have been fun.."

".. but like I said, dating can be fun. As long as your being safe." (Reader's) dad's smile bounced back. "What have you done so far that hasn't been fun?"

"Well, I went out for dinner. Guy named Rich. He was, uh, decent. Talked a lot. Mostly about his job, and goals."

"Sounds career focused, that's good."

"Eh.." They shrugged, eyes drifting.

"What was wrong with him?"

(Reader) sighed. "Nothing. He was.. competent. Seemed like a regular guy. He just.. wasn't my type."

Guilt began to crawl through the folds of Donavon's brain like bugs infesting his conscious. He knew it was all his fault. Everything. But if he said that out loud, (Reader) would deny it, argue and fight it. "Well, there are plenty of fish in the sea."

"There's also plenty of trash."

Donavon pointed a finger at his kid warningly. "There's also sunken treasure. Don't give up hope."

"I don't need someone to be happy.."

"That's true.. but something tells me that when you weren't actively dating around, you weren't being content with the single life, and that's why your therapist is having you go out there. That.. maybe you were still waiting around for something that you shouldn't have, instead of living life to the fullest while alone."

The two became uncomfortably silent. This happened nearly every month. "I just want someone who loves me."

Donavon swore he could cry at that moment. "I'm sorry for-"

"Don't apologize." (Reader) cut him off. "Don't apologize for being a great dad."

"I wasn't. I wasn't a great dad. I'm-"

"-don't-"

"-a monster, (Reader). Kiddo, please, just listen to me. I'm sorry for the things I've done. The way I went about.. I wasn't in my right mind.. what I put you through was not okay. It was not, and will never be okay." He leaned forward, wishing to break through the glass dividing them and hug his kid. "I'm so sorry."

(Reader) softly responded "You're the only person who ever loved me."

"And you deserve better than that."

'No', (Reader) thought, 'there is no better than that.'

"Let's change the subject, please." (Reader) closed their eyes, forcing away the tears. "We never have enough time, and I don't want to spend the entire day focusing on sad shit."

Donavon took a shaky breath. "Okay, kiddo.." he mulled over for a second what to talk about before cracking a smile, one wide enough to show off his missing canine. "Remember Eddy?"

"Your old bunk mate?"

"Yep."

"What about him?"

"He got stabbed."

The sentence was so short and sudden that it shocked (Reader) into snorting, bringing back their genuine smile. "What? When? What happened?"

From the door an older guard smiled sadly, away from view. Donavon was liked by nearly everyone, both by the guards and the other prisoners. It was always a shame, getting to know someone who was supposed to be an evil bastard, and learning that they were just a great man who needed help. Plenty of the older guards understood that (Reader) would forever look at them with disgust and mildly veiled hatred. Because Donavon was (Reader's) hero, and the guards were just wardens unjustly holding him captive.

Their conversation continued without pause, filling the empty room with sounds of parental love and warmth. The guard at the door loved being there whenever it was time for (Reader's) visit with their dad, because it really was an incredibly beautiful and emotional scene every time he was present, but he also hated being the one on duty whenever (Reader) came, because he had to be the villain to say "Time's up" when their four hours were over.

"Mx. (Reader). Donavon."

(Reader's) eyes drooped, darkening under the shadow of their eyelashes. "Already?"

"Unfortunately."

The guard had been there so long, he remembered when (Reader) was a child, and would cry and scream whenever it was time to leave, begging him to let their daddy out.

Donavon smiled comfortingly. "Thank you for visiting me, kiddo."

"Of course."

"Maybe in another decade they'll let me have physical contact visitation." Donavon chuckled, only half serious with his hopeful statement. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too. Don't forget to write."

"I never do."

They both stood up, hanging up their phones painfully. It was the worst time of the day. His chains shook around his wrists as he waved goodbye. He never hurt a single guard in his time incarcerated, but it was a formality, a requirement, due to the nature of his crime. It didn't seem to matter how good his behavior was. Even though the guards trusted him, according to the law Donovan was still to be treated as a monster.

After being guided back out of the room, through the halls, and out to the parking lot, (Reader) finally felt like they could breathe. The air that was stolen when the guard ended their visit with their dad was greedily sucked up outside the stifling building. They finally looked at their silent phone, seeing a dozen messages from Rich. Or, who's number (Reader) assumed was Rich, since they had deleted his contact as soon as they woke up that morning.

Most of the texts were pleas for a second date, or an explanation for what he did wrong. Some of them were insults.

(Reader) sighed, deleting the conversation and blocking his number before getting into their car, allowing tears to silently fall down their warm cheeks. All that they wished for was for someone to love them, and no one would ever love them like their dad did.

The drive back was just as miserable as it was every month.

And just like every month, the tears didn't stop until (Reader) pulled up to their apartment. It was a long day, where the good moments weren't long enough, and (Reader) was ready for another beer. It wasn't Sunday, but it was their Sunday, which meant that they couldn't stay up drinking all night.

But it felt as though they had just popped open their can when someone started pounding on their door, angrily and frantically. (Reader) cursed not being able to afford to live in an apartment that had a controlled door to the building, living in a cheap one that had the stairs on the outside of the building. Which meant that there were no security measures to prevent just anyone from coming straight to (Reader's) unit.

They set the alcohol to the side and made their way to the door. The banging only stopped when the person on the other side heard (Reader) unlocking the deadbolt. A slightly sweaty man with brown hair too short to be messy stood impatiently.

"Rich?"

The slightly younger man shrugged sharply, jutting his head to the side with an attitude as if to say 'No shit, who else?'

"Are you going to let me in?" He asked impatiently.

"Uh, no?" (Reader) furrowed their brow. "How'd you find where I live?" They were too confused to even be mad or scared.

"It wasn't difficult; literally everything is online." Rich responded as though (Reader) was a fucking idiot for even asking. The disrespect was shocking, a severe shift from how he acted during their date. He shifted abruptly as though he was going to charge (Reader), so they tightened their muscles, holding the door closer to their side, which earned an aggravated huff.

"What are you doing here, Rich?"

"Well, you owe me an explanation after you ghosted me after our date the other day." His tone made it sound so obvious.

(Reader) scoffed, almost amused. "No I fucking don't."

"I was the perfect gentleman on our date considering the circumstances, you and I had a good time, but then you ghosted me? And I just want to know why." The emphasis on the 'considering the circumstances' included a wave, motioning to (Reader's) body. (Reader) didn't know if he was insinuating that their body was a problem, or if it was their gender expression, or if he just had high fashion expectations that (Reader) didn't live up to, but the little hand movement finally ticked them off.

"Okay, you're done." (Reader) tried to close the door, but Rich was stronger than he looked, and effortlessly pushed them back into their apartment and entered. (Reader) didn't fall, only stumbled, wobbling to regain balance as Rich casually closed the door behind him, pacing his hands on his hips.

"So, what did I do wrong?"

"You mean before you broke into my home?"

"I did- don't be fucking dramatic, I did not break in. I just want to know, I just want to know what I did wrong."

(Reader) slowly backed up, mentally picturing the apartment behind them to figure out where their closest form of defense was. "Nothing. It just didn't work out-"

"BULL SHIT."

"-you weren't my type."

Rich stuck out his jaw, clicking his tongue. "That isn't a reason."

"Yes, it is-"

"That isn't a reason to be a fucking dick."

'How far behind me is my knife block?'

Before (Reader) could make a move their front door violently flew open again, slamming loudly into the wall. Both Rich and (Reader) whipped around at the jarring noise.

A man stood in the doorway.

His skin was so caked in dirt and muck that his yellowish skin was almost completely painted over. Long, black hair curled due to the oil, hanging down and sticking to his gaunt face. Between the shaggy locks black eyes glared unblinkingly.

"Who the fuck is that?!" Rich nearly hollered, retreating closer to (Reader) out of fear, unable to tear his eyes away from the modified weapon in the intruder's hand.

Warmth spread throughout (Reader's) entire body; the god of love releasing a cage of butterflies into their body.

"He's here to kill me."

Part 0

Eight year old (Reader) tugged on their oversized long sleeve shirt. It was rubbing against the bruises uncomfortably. Everything about their body felt uncomfortable lately.

Their mother was late again.

Mr. Haley sighed loudly for the umpteenth time, looking at his watch as though it was (Reader's) fault their mother hadn't picked them up yet. It was warm and humid, and the sleeves of (Reader's) shirt were sticking to their arms. Despite the heat, Mr. Haley wouldn't allow (Reader) to wait inside, instead standing at the entrance of the school under a tree. (Reader) was the last child at pickup, aside from the children outside on the field for after school sports.

"Is your mom working late again?"

(Reader) didn't answer, instead watching the man walking into the nearly empty parking lot who seemed to be staring at (Reader) and their teacher. They couldn't tell exactly from how far away he was, but he didn't get any closer, keeping to the entrance, partially hidden behind a sign.

"Do you have anyone else I can call? Grandparents?" His kind voice was strained, exhaustion melting his patience.

The man suddenly ducked away from view, and shortly after (Reader's) frazzled mother sped walked into the lot, storming closer to the building. (Reader) left to meet her half way in an attempt to calm her down, but their teacher followed.

"Good afternoon, Ms. (Name)-"

"(Reader), c'mon." As soon as (Reader's) mother was close enough she immediately spun on her heel to leave again, ignoring the teacher.

"Ms. (Name), this is the third time-"

"I know!" The woman snapped, stopping abruptly, causing (Reader) to bump into her side. "I'm sorry."

"-the third time this month."

"I said I know!" She whined, throwing up her hands. "I couldn't get out of work, it wasn't that long!"

"After school activities are almost over. It's been almost an hour-"

"Don't be a dick, okay, I'm twenty minutes late."

"School ended forty minutes ago."

She crossed her arms. "So not an hour."

"Almost an hour-"

"So not an hour."

Mr. Haley sighed in defeat. He tried again, however, he was interrupted by the woman grabbing (Reader) by the arm and dragging them out of the parking lot. Her nails dug into the scabs on (Reader's) arm.

She spat out curses towards the teacher as she dragged her kid down the road towards the bus stop.

"Fucking asshole- and I told you that I was working late!" She turned her frustrations on (Reader), squeezing their arm painfully before releasing them, making (Reader) lose their balance.

"I'm sorry, Mom.." (Reader) quietly apologized, already shrinking in on themselves, head hunching into their tiny shoulders.

"Jesus, stop flinching like that. You look like I beat you or something.."

It was true, she never hit (Reader).

She just grabbed them.

Grabbed them by the back of the shirt, the front of their collar, the arms, wrists, and all parents smack their kids on the back of their heads, that's not hitting. It wasn't her fault that (Reader) bruised so easily. She didn't even hit them.

The city bus pulled up to the stop.

"Kevin's coming over for date night, so when we get home, make sure to do all your homework in your room. I'll bring you dinner and some snacks, but the adults need some alone time, okay?"

"Okay?"

"Okay!" (Reader) loudly responded, wringing their shirt in frustration.

(Reader) liked their mom when they had popcorn nights, when they made a bowl of popcorn and sat down to watch a rented movie together. But most of the time? (Reader) hated their mother.

They hated the way she dismissed them. (Reader) never seemed to be a priority in the woman's life. It didn't even feel like she hated (Reader). (Reader) was just nothing. They didn't receive hugs when they were scared, didn't get kisses when they were sick. And it wasn't one of those cases where you can't remember a single good memory because you're mad; (Reader) couldn't recall a single time their mother ever said the words 'I love you' to them.

She said it to Kevin though.

When they arrived home, (Reader) immediately went to their room, closing the door and flopping onto their mattress on the floor. They didn't feel like doing their homework, and decided instead on a quick nap. It wasn't like their mother was going to check in on them and see how they were doing anyway.

Maybe their dreams would bring a nice family for them.

CRASH!

A loud smash of glass and something heavy falling onto the thin apartment floor woke (Reader) up. They didn't know how long they were out for, but the sun was still up. (Reader) nervously bolted off the mattress and onto their feet, teetering in the middle of the room.

There was a quiet choking sound that liquefied into a gurgle before silencing.

(Reader's) handle slowly turned and their door was softly opened. A terrified looking man drenched in blood stood in front of (Reader), gazing down at them with inhuman eyes. His eyes were wide, panicked, but glassy, red, and with pupils so enlarged that he reminded (Reader) of the ghost woman from a scary movie their mother had been watching. He tried to brush his black hair out of his eyes, never looking away from (Reader's). It was the most intense staring contest (Reader) had ever been in.

He was timid in his approach, crouching down to his knees as he got closer to (Reader).

"..Hi." His voice was shaky and breathy. The man seemed to be overcome with an emotion that (Reader) didn't recognize. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, yet he still didn't blink. He swallowed hard before continuing. "My name is Donavon."

(Reader) was in an odd trance, halfway between petrified and numb. "My name is (Reader)." They didn't know why they answered.

"I know." For the first time since entering, Donavon glanced away from (Reader), searching the room for something. There were no toys in (Reader's) room. "Are you a-" His face broke trying to find the words he needed for his question. "Are you a b-?" A- a-.."

"I'm a kid." (Reader) tugged on their uncomfortable long sleeve shirt.

Donavon smiled so wide that his face looked like it completely split in half. Tears ran down his face shamelessly. The pure joy startled (Reader). "You're a kid." He sniffed back his snot and wiped away some tears, still smiling so hard that his face was turning red and he looked like he was going to laugh. "You're my kid."

He pulled (Reader) into a hug.

It wasn't like the quick hug the school nurse gave them, or the hugs their friends at school gave them; it was desperate.

He squeezed them almost too tightly, his fingers digging painfully into their ribs as he breathed in their hair. But (Reader) didn't cry out or ask him to stop. Tears had begun to fall from their eyes as well.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I should have been here. I should have been here." He started rocking (Reader) as he apologized into their scalp. "I didn't know about you, but I do now, and I'm here now."

(Reader) felt him kiss the side of their head quickly before he went back to whispering.

"I didn't know. But I do now. I'm so sorry."

It was too much, and it made (Reader) cry. They sobbed loudly, wailing into his chest as they returned the hug.

"I love you, (Reader). I love you so much. I don't know you yet, but I still love you. I should have been here for you, but I am now. And I am never letting you go. Okay? No one is ever taking you away from me."

Police sirens approached, screaming outside the building. (Reader) felt Donavon quickly reach into his back pocket, but he never let go from their right embrace.

"I never knew your mom. When I saw you with her last year, I - I tried to get into contact, but, but.. No one would listen to me, I had no proof.. I.. got a DNA test.. I -I'm your dad! I'm a father!" He started rambling, trying to explain things to (Reader), but they couldn't understand anything he was saying. And it didn't matter to them. He said he loved them.

(Reader) heard heavy boot steps and an officer loudly announce his presence.

"No one is ever taking you away from me again."

He was still only hugging (Reader) with one arm.

Someone entered the room, and a really loud sound hurt (Reader's) ears.

An officer shot Donovan in the shoulder, causing the knife he was holding to clatter onto the floor. He fell, releasing (Reader). They saw the knife and quickly put two and two together. But something happened in (Reader's) underdeveloped brain. It didn't matter that they had just met him. That man the police just shot was their dad. And he loved them.

"No!" (Reader) tried to launch themselves at Donovan to protect him, but their tiny body was caught by an officer.

"Don't worry, I've got ya!" The man tried to console (Reader), easily subduing their thrashing limbs, but his soothing voice didn't ease the pain in their heart, nor did it dampen the volume of their shrieks.

"DADDY!!"

The cop carried (Reader) out past the bodies of their mother and Kevin. Both were mutilated, lying naked near the couch in a pool of blood and spilt vodka.

Donavon was sentenced to life without parole.

He testified in court that the only thing he regretted was almost hurting his child. (Reader's) mother had taken advantage of him at a party years ago. Donavon had passed out drunk in the master's bedroom and woken up with his pants and underwear around his ankles. He told the court he didn't remember anything that happened, so although he suspected that someone had assaulted him, he had no proof and records showed that the police refused to help him when he went to report it.

It was a one in a million chance that Donavon saw (Reader) and their mother grocery shopping over a year ago, and nearly had a heart attack seeing a little kid who had his father's ears. Ears are just as unique as fingerprints, and to see a little kid with badly cut hair looking like a mixture of his father's baby photos and the woman walking beside them gave Donavon a sense of confidence that was borderline disturbing. He told the jury that he approached the woman with the intent of making polite conversation about how much alike her kiddo looked like his late father, but knew immediately that (Reader) was his, because when their mother looked Donavon in the eyes she recognized him.

"Before I could even say 'Hi', she grabbed (Reader's) arm and said 'Stay away from my child, Donavon.' I didn't even remember her face."

On the witness stand, Donavon admitted to breaking into their home so he could get access to (Reader's) DNA, stealing their hair brush. He also admitted to stalking the family, watching them as (Reader) openly showed signs of abuse. He called CPS multiple times, but nothing ever came of it.

Donavon repeated how time and time again law enforcement failed to help him get custody of his 'alleged' child, and that he had "snapped".

"I told (Reader) that no one would take them away from me again. Please, please I know I was wrong." Donavon pleaded the jury, looking past the lawyers and staring with his horrifying, never ending gaze. "Please don't put me away forever. I can get better, with help! I needed help! But my baby, my kiddo, they deserve better, please don't separate us again!"

Despite going to a decent foster family and receiving regular therapy sessions with child services, (Reader) had learned what true love was. The smiles their foster family gave them felt fake. No one could hug (Reader) tight enough to press their way into (Reader's) heart. Love was tears streaming down from the black coal eyes of a desperate father who just killed his kiddo's abusers. That was heroic. That was good. Just.

(Reader's) foster parents smiled at each other all the time, and said I love you multiple times a day. Then they divorced. Love was (Reader's) daddy, ready to kill (Reader) so they never had to be apart again.

The therapist with child services watched with a broken heart as (Reader) refused her homemade cookies. "Have you made any friends at school?"

(Reader) shrugged. They didn't see much of a point in friends. "There are these two kids I eat lunch with." Two kids who wouldn't leave them alone, no matter how much (Reader) ignored them.

"That's good! What are their names?"

"Miranda and Brian."

"Are they good kids?"

"They're weird. Brian wears glasses that make his eyes look super big, and Miranda wears a fedora."

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret. The weird kids are usually more fun to hang out with than the normal kids!" She winked while smiling, but it didn't phase (Reader).

"When can I see my dad?"

The therapist leaned back, looking up at the ceiling to control her inner turmoil before shutting her eyes. "I'm working on that, but it's very difficult. Mr. McElroy is in a lot of trouble for what he did."

(Reader) looked down at the drawing they had been making of them playing outside with Donavon. "I wish he killed me."

Part II

Warren had run away from home, again.

His left eye was swollen shut, and blood speckled the front of his t-shirt. The ten year old hadn't even done anything yet, but his father had had a bad day at work, and been drinking for a couple of hours by the time Warren was dropped off by the Saturday babysitter.

He ran into the woods, blinded by his tears and the swelling.

Because of the crying and injury to his eye, Warren couldn't see very well, and kept running even when he emerged from the trees into a clearing; running into a very deep hole.

There was a pain as his ankle popped, crashing at the bottom into the mud. Everything hurt, so he allowed himself to scream and cry as loudly as he needed. No one was going to come for him anyway.

And so he stayed in the hole and watched as the sun went down and the world went black. Even though he knew his father wouldn't come looking for him, he still wished he would. He wished someone needed him as badly as he needed them.

There was no moon that night, leaving Warren completely blind after the purple sunset left the sky. With his unusually dilated pupils Warren typically preferred the dark over the sun, but without the moon there wasn't enough light for him to see.

'Maybe, I should just spend the night in here.' The sad thought made him sniffle, threatening to release the floodgates again.

"It's right over here!" A loud whisper followed by feet tripping over branches echoed through the trees. Warren held his breath, suddenly afraid of being discovered. It wasn't logical to be frightened, but he was. There were strangers in the woods, and he was in pain and blind and alone. His heart beat in his chest like a war drum as people drew near.

"How do you know where it is?"

The voices belonged to children, probably around Warren's age, but he didn't recognize any of them. Most of what they said was too quiet to hear, until they arrived at the clearing.

"Over here."

The strangers stopped near the hole, but too far away to see Warren covered in mud at the bottom. Lights were illuminating the air, and Warren figured that they must have had flashlights with them. His eyes finally had enough light to adjust to the pitch black, and he watched a letter flutter into the hole, followed shortly by another letter, gracefully drifting in.

Then a thick envelope was chucked in, hitting Warren in the head, who had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from accidentally making a startled sound.

"What did you wish for?" Someone asked.

With that question, Warren realized where he was.

He grabbed the letter that had hit him, quietly opening it up as two of the strangers above him bickered. In the faint light he saw a lot of words, too many to read before they left, so he quickly scanned the page out of curiosity. His breath hitched when he saw a drawing of himself.

Black eyes and shaggy black hair.

Warren put the papers back in the envelope and stuck it in his pants. Someone approached the edge, and Warren caught a glimpse of hair and eyes. They didn't see him, but he certainly saw them.

"What did you wish for, (Reader)?"

"Someone who loves me.."

And at that moment, Warren believed in the hole that grants wishes.

He had no proof that the child looking down at him was the same child who threw the wish practically into his lap, but he knew that it was. Like fate, or magic.

After the trio left, Warren pulled his sore little body out of the muck, repeating (Reader's) name to himself over and over again as to not forget it. He didn't know how, but he knew that (Reader) was the one who's wish he had stolen. Warren limped home, easily sneaking in past his father passed out on the couch and up the stairs to the bathroom, where he locked the door.

He quickly pulled out the letter, opening it up in the light to read the wish in full.

"I wish someone would love me." Warren read quietly out loud, sounding out each word as his finger followed the sentence.

"He has to be just like my dad. Be - cause my dad is the only person who loves me."

"He has to have black hair and black eyes.."

Warren looked at his dirty face in the mirror, ignoring the purple around his left eye and focusing on his natural features. A proud smile crept onto his lips.

He went back to reading. "And his eyes should be deep.." Warren's own eyes were also deep set, making it look like he had bags under his eyes even after a full night's sleep. His ears started to turn pink. The picture was of the kid he saw at the hole with a tall man with black hair and eyes and a little guy who looked the same. He pointed at each person. "That's (Reader).. that's (Reader's) daddy... And that's.." he looked at himself in the mirror, tearing up with how hard he was smiling.

Someone needed him.

He turned the page over and his smile instantly fell, his blood freezing.

Pictures of bloody bodies covered the pages.

Page after page of dead people with the most intense things Warren had ever read followed the seemingly innocent wish. He hadn't been exposed to video games yet, his father didn't let him watch TV, and Warren ignored the other kids at his school, so he had never known violence outside of the terrible things his father did to him. And the words he read in that envelope were violent.

"True love is keeping me."

"If he loves me, he'll kill me."

"Don't let them take me away again."

"Together forever."

(Reader) was worried about the limitations of the wishing hole, so they felt they had to be very specific about their ideal boy. Which meant that they had to explain what love was. And to explain what love was, meant that they had to explain to the hole what their dad had done to their mother and Kevin.

It scared Warren.

But only for a moment.

He thought about the joy (Reader) would feel when they saw him for the first time, how their eyes would light up with love and adoration. In his mind, they would recognize him instantly, like their drawing come to life. Warren was their wish come true. And, in a way, (Reader) was his.

He slowly went back to his bedroom and hid the letter in his underwear drawer. The wish was like his most prized possession. Knowing that there was someone out there who needed Warren made him, for the first time in a very long time, feel hopeful for the future.

The next few years of Warren's life, however, were not pleasant in the slightest.

An anatomy book flew at Warren's face, connecting with his thin nose. He was now in highschool, and the abuse had only worsened.

"What the fuck is this?!" His father threw another medical book, terrified. In the past he used to throw and break things even though Warren's only crime was existing, but now even Warren could understand his father's disgust.

A rat laid on Warren's table, split open.

"I'm practicing.." Warren smiled, blood dripping from his nostrils.

"I should kick you out of the goddamn house!" The drunk man kicked a wall, leaving a dent in the drywall.

"If you do that, I'll go to the police."

His father's eyes widened. "The fuck you just say, you little psychopath?!"

The man was very nimble for someone so swollen from years of alcohol consumption, closing the distance between himself and his son before Warren had a chance to put up his hands in defense. Large, yellowed fingers grabbed a fistful of Warren's greasy hair and lifted his dangerously underweight body off the ground; high enough where Warren couldn't touch the floor with his toes.

"Think about it. You have no proof for the cops that I killed this rat, but I have all the proof that you hit me." To emphasize his point, Warren didn't wipe away the blood that was now dripping onto the rat carcass.

Black eyes that held no light stared wide and unblinking at the disgusting excuse of a man before Warren. His father looked about the room, which was now covered in articles about some murderer from years ago and medical texts printed off at the local library.

Warren was dropped onto his ass. "Fucking freak." His father mumbled before stumbling out of the room.

It wasn't until Warren heard the drunkard smash though the hall towards the staircase that he finally grabbed some tissue to shove up his nose. It had taken him years and years of hard thinking, but Warren had finally found a way to be (Reader's) perfect husband. It was difficult, but the solution was finally discovered, a way to make (Reader's) wish come true without killing them.

He thought he would probably drop out of school, but that didn't really matter to Warren. The young man already had a part time job, and his future career as a manager for a small corner store was practically set.

Candid shots of (Reader) laid under the box of tissues. While (Reader) had continued growing into an attractive young adult, Warren was stunted. A lack of nutrition gave his unnaturally pale skin a yellow tint, and he was so thin that some of his teeth were becoming loose. But it felt as though he couldn't waste even a second thought on anything that wasn't (Reader).

"I'm sorry, Mr. Whiskers.." Warren apologized quietly to the dead rat. "I didn't mean to kill you. I'll do better next time."

Every time Warren saw (Reader) out and about, he wanted to drag them behind a dumpster and fuck them till they bled. It took incredible restraint to stick to his plan and keep to the shadows.

Their wish, laminated, hung above his bed like a prayer, one that he read and worshipped every night before bed.

Warren's father didn't notice when he stopped going to his classes.

He also didn't notice the muffled screaming from the basement, when Warren evolved his experiments from rats to people.

It wasn't until the smell became unbearable that he finally sobered up enough to go down and investigate.

As he searched the house for the cause of the smell, the aging, dying man briefly wondered when the last time he had been down in basement was. Or, when he last saw his good for nothing son.

The stairs to the lowest level creaked under his shoes, and an anxiety he had never before known trickled up through his bones.

At the bottom of the stairs, a door held back the stench like a leaking flood gate. Opening the squealing door wafted a wave of nausea inducing gas right into the man's face.

"Hey, ew what the- hey freak! You down here?! What's that smell..?" His eyes didn't have time to adjust to the dusty basement light before Warren swung a wooden baseball bat with spikes towards his father's face. One spike went through his skull near his nose and another popped open one of his eyes. But his death was due to the blunt force, cracking his head open as easily as smashing a watermelon. The junkie strapped and gagged to the table silently screamed as their one hope for salvation died in front of them.

"I'm sorry about the interruption." Warren smiled, his eyes still and unwavering. The man who had destroyed his childhood and stolen his happiness laid bleeding out on the floor, and Warren didn't feel a single thing. It was strange, part of him thought that he would feel satisfaction watching his abuser die, but he felt nothing at all. Warren only killed his father because he had interrupted his experiment with the homeless person who looked amazingly like (Reader). The young man held up a belt. "Let's continue."

Warren didn't consider himself to be a murderer. What he was doing to the people he abducted was for love. There was no evil or hatred, and if he looked at it in a certain light, he wasn't really trying to kill them at all.

Moving to the night shift gave Warren more time to stalk (Reader) during the day. Just as he had predicted, Warren became a higher member of management, and even 'owned his own home' now that his father had tragically passed. Everything was progressing perfectly, because his entire existence was a wish come true.

It hurt, hiding in the booth behind (Reader) and their friends, hearing about how they had started dating at the suggestion of their bitch therapist, but Warren decided that it was good for their relationship. It proved to him that even after all this time, (Reader) still loved him and needed him. Every time a date failed to live up to (Reader's) expectations it further fueled Warren's fantasy of how (Reader) would react when he finally revealed himself to them.

The dates also provided Warren ample opportunity to look around their apartment. Like when they went on a date with some whiny loser his age. He wasn't even (Reader's) type. Their home was small and quaint, and taking pictures of it in extreme detail helped Warren learn how to decorate the room (Reader) would be staying in once they finally started dating.

Dating.

The idea of merely "dating" caused a painful strain in Warren's chest, but he knew that it was only logical to date before he proposed. At least for a month or so. Maybe a week.

Well, whenever he did propose, Warren knew (Reader) would accept, because Warren was their wish come true. There was nothing he could do wrong, because his entire existence was due to (Reader's) will.

He didn't even bother cleaning off the dirt when he scuffed up the bedroom door. There was no point, because (Reader) wouldn't ever fear or hate anything he did, even if they didn't know he was the one responsible. Because that was fate.

(Reader's) undergarments rested on top of the dirty clothes basket.

Even that was fate.

Because why would they leave their worn underwear in plain view, if not for him? His hands with dirt crusted nails stroked the garment, imaging that he could still feel the heat of (Reader's) body on them. Warren imagined how happy (Reader) would be to learn what he did with their underwear, in their bed. He imagined their eyes glowing like an angel's as their smile graced his filthy presence.

Because this was (Reader's) wish.

And soon, Warren would finally give them their happily ever after.

Warren had put in for a week of vacation at his work; their shared bedroom was decorated; and his supplies were hidden in a backpack in the dirt behind (Reader's) complex. It was like a fairytale, when the knight came to save the dragon from the prince.

Rich approached (Reader's) front door as Warren dug up his hidden tools. Mud covered his face and gloves, but he didn't mind. In fact, it was like a mask, where only his true love would recognize him. Warren knew that his dream would come true that day, but it was even better than he had hoped for. Prince Rich was there to harass his dragon.

He had hoped it would be this easy, and the universe provided. Fate was always on Warren's side when it came to making (Reader's) wish come true. All those lives lost to Warren's experiments were not wasted.

The annoying voice of Rich was audible from outside the building, but it was difficult to feel anything negative towards to poor bastard. In Warren's mind, it wasn't Rich's fault that he was born to be such a loser; it was fate's design for the man to be sacrificed.

Warren threw open the front door, scaring the shit out of the stronger looking man. "Who the fuck is that?!"

Then, the sands of time were fused into glass by the electricity between Warren and (Reader). Their expression looked relieved, just as Warren had always hoped it would. A smile stretched across the beautiful lips Warren often fantasized about kissing. Their cheeks pulled up in the most honest grin Warren had ever seen.

Tears of joy decorated their bottom lashes like glitter.

"He's here to kill me."

Rich put up his arm as though to protect (Reader) from Warren. Again, Warren felt no anger towards the man and his silly reaction.

The bat used to kill Warren's father restarted time as it aimed for Rich's skull.

(Reader) looked up endearingly at Warren, now sitting on their knees in a pool of Rich's blood. The man before them was everything they had ever dreamt of. His black eyes never left (Reader's), even as he bludgeoned their date to death.

It took all of (Reader's) will power to not shake in their seat. Excitement flowed through their veins so quickly that it sent involuntary quivers through their muscles. Everything that they had ever wanted was finally coming true.

"I've been waiting for you." (Reader) felt their chest tighten as Warren approached.

But then he dropped his bat.

Their smile twitched a little, but (Reader) tried to not let anxiety ruin their happiest moment. The dirty man slid a backpack off and started rifling through it.

"I've been waiting for you too.." A voice that sounded oddly chipper finally responded, echoing from a wide grin that showed off yellowing teeth with a few missing on the bottom row.

(Reader) smiled harder. "You're going to kill me?" It was phrased like a question, but it was more of a plea.

"No."

"What?"

(Reader's) smile cracked in half. The adrenaline in their system turned deadly.

Warren's smile didn't fade.

"But, you have to." (Reader) began to panic. This had to be the man they wished to life. He had to be there to kill them. It was fate. He had to! "Aren't you here for me?"

"Of course I am."

"Then you have to kill me! If you love me, you have to-!"

Warren dropped his bag, revealing a hacksaw. He held it relaxed in one hand, and held a belt in the other. "Do you know how selfish you are, (Reader)?"

(Reader's) mind went numb with confusion.

"I've loved you for so long, and now that I finally have you, you think I'm going to kill you?"

"I'm not going to let anyone have you."

"Not even death."

The End

The two story house was full of trash bags. Every room in the building was full of clutter and filth, except the master bedroom.

Warren came home from a long shift, excited to have his precious spouse in his arms.

None of the guards at the prison would listen to Donavon when he tried to convince them all that something was wrong. A child suddenly not visiting their murderer of a parent in prison was not reason to go to the police and open a missing person's case. Even the officers that liked Donavon couldn't do anything.

The bedroom decorated to (Reader's) taste was unlocked by Warren as he finally climbed through all the shit. He entered their shared home with a warm expression of pure love on his face.

"(Reader), I'm home!"

In the middle of the room watching television was a wheelchair bound (Reader). Their arms and legs amputated, sitting helplessly in a soiled diaper. A drugged up, lopsided smiled sleepily tugged the corners of their mouth up.

"Welcome home, baby.."

A/N: Sorry it took so long, happy to start writing again ❤️

[wodimewoahtime]

hey till...... don't you have just a little too much tsundere "i'm not gay" yaoi protag power???? why are you attracting these guys like a hamster to the shredder

[crybaby-bkg]

Gojo has always been a bit of a glutton. it’s his worst trait, you think, despite the many others that he inflicts upon you in your daily life. but, it’s just not enough for you. he does that with everyone, this kind, funny, flirtatious kind of banter. getou tells you he’s different with you, shoko makes note of how he’s really not like that with so many people.

but it’s not enough. so you start cooking up different things, these desserts intertwined with a certain potion that’ll make his attention be on solely you. you crush your flowers and sprinkle them into the boiling pot, sprinkle in a little bit of this and a dash of that, before you cut off a tiny piece of your hair and let it flutter into the concoction. it doesn’t let out a tuft of pink smoke in the shape of a heart, but you have faith that it’s gonna work.

“I’ll give you a piggyback ride if you let me have that,” Gojo tries to barter with you the next day he sees you, sitting under a tree and unwrapping the piece of cake that you had oh so conveniently whipped up. you pretend to think it over, unable to help your smile as you think about how easy this is going to be, before agreeing.

it happens over time, the effects of the love potion. first, Gojo becomes a bit more clingy. he hurries across campus to make sure that he’s able to walk you back to your apartment, carries all of your bags for you. then he starts buying you all sorts of things that you don’t necessarily need (do you want breakfast?, do you need a new laptop?, can I buy you a new bed?, can we break it in?).

and everything is great at first. you adore the attention, the grandeur way he asks you to be his partner, how he moves you in quick, loves you even quicker. but, after a while, it just becomes a bit…much.

his love is never ending, which shouldn’t be a bad thing, but his love is also—everything. it’s in every crevice of your body, every nook and cranny between the walls, every exhale you take. he’s there—always just there—always just close and lingering and clingy (where are you going? can I come with you? why are you looking at me like that? don’t you love me? I love you, I love you so much, so where are you going?)

it’s not until you’re suffocating that you realize your mistake, all too late. Gojo is all encompassing, takes up all the space in your head and your line of vision and your breaths and the blood that flows in your veins. he loves you—this was what you wanted, right?—but you never wanted this, this obsession that bleeds from his very being every second that he’s near you, which is every second of every single fucking day. you never wanted any of this.

“Baby?” Gojo calls from the other side of the locked door, clawing at it like some forlorn house cat even though you know he could take it down if he so pleased. “Are you almost finished? I miss you,” his voice is a plead, as if his heart is shriveling up in his chest with every second he’s not pressed against you.

with a sigh, do you finally lift yourself from the corner of the bathroom floor, unfolding your limbs with a groan. you don’t dare look at yourself in the mirror, fearing the image of the hollowed person that is bound to stare back at you. with hesitation, do you finally unlock the door. you don’t even have to pull it open before Gojo is barging his way in, engulfing you in long arms that seem to wrap around you like some never ending boa constrictor.

“You’d never try to leave me, right? Because you love me so much.” Gojo says into your hair, his voice one that tries to convince you of its truth. and there is some there, along with the guilt of ruining him in this grotesque way that you have no other choice but to accept and live with until it suffocates you.

“Yeah.” your murmur, sinking into his body, let him hold you so close, you think you can feel his veins pulling at his skin to intertwine with your own. “Yeah, I love you, Satoru.”

(he doesn’t dare tell you that he knew all about that little potion you whipped up, how it never had any actual affect on him for more than just a couple hours. but this was what you wanted, right? for him to love you? so why not continue to just love you in his own way that’s somehow, convincingly, all your fault? why not let you take the blame for his greediness? you wanted this, right? right?)

[tiyoin]

so i just watched hazbin hotel ep 7 preview...

(this is a continuation of heaven reader)

alastor using angel reader for a larger, grander scheme than vaggie thought.

maybe he didn't give a shit about you at all? what if he was using you as a rook piece.

or maybe...

he was willing to flip the scales just to have you in his maleficent grasps.. maybe you were important for another reason she'd never be able to imagine. not even in her most wildest dreams.

there's a primal fear that claws at the back of veggies brain, before it quickly chills and numbs the front of her brain whenever she thought about you.

she scrapped her mind to try and remember you: yet you were no where to be found.

that has to do with alastor somehow.

and alastor....

he doesn't care to decipher his feelings. doesn't bother to answer any questions about you in detail. instead he sang a song about how in 'love' you two were in when alive.

of course vaggie spoke up, always there to pop whatever bubble he put into everyone's, (not like they fully believed him) especially charlie's mind

"even so, you have your own problems to worry about. isn't that right, miss vag"

"vagg" she sneered turning away to go tend to her problem.

and yet, whenever alastor is seated at the chess board, pieces already at war. his hand always seems to linger on one of the white rooks.

eyeing it eerily with one of his infamous smiles, he takes the black's rook and strikes down the white's. this left a hole in the white's strategy as he moved his piece away from danger.

clenching the dead rook in his hand, he tightened his grip and his smile before discarding the piece with the other dead soldiers into the fire pit. all alastor knew is that he wanted everything to slip, crumble, and fall into chaos.

he wants to see friends betrayed, families die, lives get ruined. and as much carnage that it would take centuries to clean up.

he wants complete and utter pandemonium.

he laughed viciously at the fire. and with a wave of his hand all the pieces were in starting positions brand spanking new. yet he made sure the rook was burnt on its crown.

alastor mused to himself "what's the best kind of chaos?"

picking up the burnt rook again, alastor moved it first.

his jaw clenched and his eyes grinned as he heard a commotion downstairs, charlies voice on top.

the best kind is when you're able to physically kneel into the ground and plant its invasive seed yourself.

right into heavens impenetrable gates.

and right in your graceful, little, hands

he thought, grabbing his cane before standing up. he gave one last look to the chess board, to the rook, before he and his shadow vanished.

-

not edited, hell, not even proofread. I literally wrote this, then posted

if I write more of angel reader x shithead alastor then ill make a tag el oh el

alastor's such a little shit I LOVE him

[harmonysanreads]

Thinking about Yandere!Sumeru Boys and the sweet, lovely bartender who's become the talk of Sumeru recently.

After receiving the news of the Sage's downfall and Lesser Lord Kusanali's rescue, you, who'd been out venturing Teyvat to learn about its global gastronomy and arts, decide to return to your homeland and help your father's busy Tavern. The knowledge you've gained from your travels prove to be fruitful as Lambad's Tavern reaches a new peak of popularity. Though, not everyone's point of interest is the menu — no no, in fact, many have become frequent patrons simply to get a glimpse of the new face behind the counter.

You and Kaveh click almost immediately. Your shared views on arts and beauty is one thing checked off, but the way your actually understand him? Unlike most people when they hear his story, you're not quick to put a lable on him ; instead, you make him feel heard and normal for the very first time. Listen patiently and don't throw factual advice on how to fix his life. No wonder he poured out his entire life story to you, all on his first conversation. He's left wondering where you've been all his life as you share a portion of your own struggles, views on life and snippets of your adventures. To this day, Kaveh recalls the conversation along with your benign smile and feels his heart thump as if he's become a teenager again.

Every ensuing visit to the Tavern has his belief strengthen as well : you two must be soulmates. He's even started (half) jokingly calling you one as well, which never seems to move you the way he wants though as, all you do is adorably giggle and ask him to pay for his order. Oh well, he supposes that's an indication that you do not pity him solely because of his financial status. Kaveh's life had gotten a lot better with your presence ; he no longer drinks himself to oblivion, sleeps better than before and doesn't even pay heed to his roommate's sharp comments that'd otherwise end in a massive argument, thoughts preoccupied with what kind of trinket he could bring to impress you. For a brief period, Kaveh had felt like he'd finally found his light, his reason to keep living. He'd only wish he hadn't introduced his friends to you.

You first ‘officially’ met the dusty-rock-of-a-roommate of Kaveh (his words) when you took the responsibility of dropping him to his place of residence after the architect had passed out from taking a sip of the Sneznayan Fire-Water. You weren't sure what you were expecting from Alhaitham, but a talk over books that spiralled a little too late into the night and ended with him walking you back home certainly wasn't it. You can see where Kaveh came from, The Acting Grand Sage did not have the countenance that invited friendships. You'll have to thank your profound interest in all genres of books and an equal ease to share your opinions to not be at the recipient of that attitude. It takes you a little too much time to notice that since that night, the Scribe has found himself a second home in your radar. You see him at Puspa Cafe, the Grand Bazar, the streets and after a little while, even at your father's Tavern almost frequently. So much so, that calling him something of a friend might not be as far-fetched now.

In Alhaitham's defense, he's simply intrigued, it's not everyday he meets someone who can keep up with him. It took him only a glance at you to realize you're the person who has Kaveh blushing and giggling like a madman at random times. The architect's creepy behavior aside, at least, it seemed as though some of your sense of responsibility had rubbed off on him so, less headache for Alhaitham. You're easy to talk to ; granted, you don't always have agreements but that doesn't pose as an impediment from keeping the conversation flowing. In fact, you treat him no different ; neither his status nor his prolonged disappearances that'd no doubt affect anyone else can change your easygoing persona as he approaches you, the coffee and dishes you make are rather good too and— ah. Alhaitham understands now why Kaveh is so smitten with you.

Lambad's Tavern is a prominent destination for fans of Genius Invocation TCG, you like the game, too. But because of your duty, you can only resign yourself to watching from the counter as some rejoiced in victory and others had their heads in their hands from loss. It's entertaining to a degree, frustrating to another as you have to remain silent while the players make dumb choices. You digress, whatever they do is none of your business. But if you had to pick one group that produced the most entertaining show out of this game ; it'd be the friends Kaveh brought along with him. Most of the times, they'd just be reduced to Kaveh's ranting pillows and really, only one of them—and by that you mean the General Mahamatra who seemed to truly care for the game. You're curious about him, actually. He seemed so different from the rumours that were floating around. And thanks to Kaveh's impulsive announcement that you'd be dueling Cyno one night, you had the opportunity to satiate that curiousity — and flex a win against the master of TCG altogether.

To say Cyno was flabbergasted would be the understatement of the century. He'd repeatedly demanded for a second match that time (all the while Kaveh looked like he could die of pride) but you'd shut it off with the (not really) threat of charging extra for your lost time. Since then, he'd been hot on your tail, too. Trying to coax you into a second match with every strategy he can think of : bribing, bargaining, cracking awful jokes to befriend you — his hard work paid off, but the sight of a win against you still seemed to be far. At one point, those concerns were lost as you both simply found fun in each other's presence. Cyno, in the meantime, had noticed that your amiable personality was both a blessing and a curse. Do you not see the corrupt glints in their eyes? The wanton touches and disgusting saccharine lacing their words? No can do, they do not deserve your courtesy. Do not blame him for taking matters into his own accounts or show any semblance of concern after the personnel mysteriously disappear the next day ; its just a little favor for his TCG buddy.

Out of all of them, Tighnari took you the longest to get to know properly. Given his usually passive personality in the presence of others, no wonder he'd strayed a little from your attention. The forest ranger wasn't behind in knowing you, though. In fact, it seemed as though he had been picking up on clues his other friends were missing. Tighnari had been the first to take notice of your ennui, which he had surmised to be a result of all the people you have to deal with everyday. Turns out even you have your moments. One evening as Kaveh, Cyno and Alhaitham were preoccupied with debating over who-knows-what, Tighnari took the opportunity to approach you about it. He couldn't ignore the darkening circles under your eyes or the brightness in your optics dimming any longer — he's glad he did ; in truth, your life had gotten crazier than it was back when you were traveling, you'd confessed. You no longer felt truly...alone, even in moments that you're sure is securely private. Tighnari listened intently, for once the roles being switched. He sent hand-made remedies to help with your stress, frequently wrote to you to check your well being when he couldn't visit personally, anything within his power.

He felt sympathy for your state, such a precious person like you doesn't deserve this, you should be treated better, he could treat you better — now if only you're at arms reach to the forest ranger. Alas, for now he'd have to be content with this development. Tighnari has an inkling about who is, or are, responsible for your building misery. Does he intent to do anything with that knowledge though? Yes, coaxing you to his side, preferably.

The innocent, nameless wandering boy you'd taken with you on your return to Sumeru, suddenly returned home with a glowing anemo vision in the span of a few hours one fine afternoon. Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary though, he was still as glued to your person (though nowadays he seemed to venture out more than usual), he was still the harmless boy you'd grown accustomed to. So then, why did it feel like something was amiss? Was it how often he'd find himself at the brink of an angry customer's fist? Or was it because that only occurs when you leave the counter to get something and that same customer just so happened to have been pushing you for a date beforehand? Your suspicions always end up fleeting though, you can never even raise an eyebrow at the boy, not when he looks at you with those glossy puppy eyes. In the end, it's always the other man that's handed over to the guards, it's always the others, in general at the face of your displeasure — not Wanderer, never Wanderer. If only you could see the same grin he directs at the retreating men behind your unassuming back.

You never did regret letting him trail behind your person (except maybe the bombarding allegations from your family of him being your significant other, it took one whole week to convince them otherwise, after all.) ; he was sweet and so.. clueless, as if he were but a newborn child. Your heart couldn't resist the poor thing and that's what brought you to this situation. Wanderer revels in the others' jealousy at the sight of you two's closeness (who could guess this same man had tried to take over Sumeru). He can do many of the things your other admirers can only dream of ; lean on your shoulder, fall asleep on your lap, play with your hair as you prepare a drink, whisper things in your ear with a purposefully lowered voice and get away with anything. All is well with the lost boy you'd picked up from the last turn of your travels, it's just that, you can't quite shake off the feeling of a strange familiarity everytime you look at his otherwordly eyes.

what do you call this? a love hexagon? 🤔

[ au masterlist ]

[acid-ixx]

update !

a/n: yall im incredibly sorry for the extremely long delay for chapter 3, it's literally exceeding 7500 words and it's not even finished 😭 im also adding in the fact that writer's block is really kicking my ass and i cant for the life of me focus much nor am i ever satisfied with my countless drafts (literally had to rewrite so much). i swear im not losing interest in dc (or the series) it's just these days have been really hard to me hehe

uhm if u guys want a teaser, then look below !!! (spoilers duh)

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

[wayfayrr]

hey uh. if requests r open. would it b possible to request a follow up to that self-aware-twi fic. if not thats ok i just wanted u to know i havent stopped thinking about it since i read it. altered my brain chemistry, touch-starved twilight princess link my beloved, etc etc. ur writing is top-tier <3<3<3

I think the best part about this ask is - I've had this written since early January. I actually wrote part two as a birthday gift for a good friend of mine @glowyskull <33

So this is more just me finally posting it sfbgdfbgdb. it's also funny to think that the twilight fic is my most popular fic now considering how the self aware au really started as just a really guiltily self indulgent fic - something fun to write that I didn't think could get as big as it did on my blog. and I'm glad that you liked it so much <333 whimpery touch starved twilight princess link is just so AUGH love him so

[masterlist]

“Oh you’re finally wakin up then darlin’.”

“...hmm?”

“C’mon darlin’, you can’t have forgotten what happened earlier already? Can you? Your fever - cold isn’t that bad so you can't have…”

Who’s rambling… and why does it sound so familiar?  Wait does that mean - is everything that happened earlier all real then, did link really crawl out of my tv just because he was lonely. Because I left him there, left him all on his own to rot in his own solitude. 

“Link? You - that - everything was real then? All of it?”

“All of it darlin’, from how I got out to how I’m never gonna leave ya.”

“Huh..? I could’ve sworn that you didn’t even mention anything like that…”

“Mhm, well you’re ill and still a little out of it darlin’ so you probably just forgot, you did agree though.” 

It does sound like something that I would agree to, I mean I’m the reason that he’s sentient. It would be cruel of me to throw him to the other wolves, he isn’t from here but besides even that, he isn’t from here. He doesn’t know how this world works, it would be worse than sending a dog to a shelter. It would be his death sentence for certain, and after all that I put him through for a simple pause in playing. The way he’s petting my hair like this though, it’s enough to simply just wash the rest of my worries away, if I could I would spend the rest of my life right here easily.  

“About your illness though, do you have any red potion anywhere?” 

“No, no things like that don’t exist here link and the painkillers I have aren’t worth moving for.” 

“If you’re sure… I’ll go and get them for you the second you change your mind.”    

“You don’t even know where I keep them.” 

His hand paused at that, causing me to let out an involuntary whine. I couldn’t even think to stop it with how it slipped out instantly, which he seemed fond of. Cuddling me closer to his chest and resting his head on top of mine, with what felt like a giant smile on his face. 

“I can look for them, It’s not like I won’t need to learn where everything is now that I’m living with ya… besides I’ve already put you through so much stress when you’re not well.”

“You didn’t mean to link, how could you have known I was sick?”

“...I don’t know - I just - it shouldn’t have been hard to know with how you looked when you opened the game. I’m sorry love I just wasn’t even thinking I just wanted to be out, but I should’ve been more considerate to you.”

With how silent he is in the game you could never have guessed how much he likes to ramble, it’s the second or third time it’s happened since he crawled out of the glas- the glass. Are his bandages holding up, he seems fine but he’s not from here, any infection could be deadly. He wouldn’t even see it coming with how much he’s fawning over my comfort right now. 

“Link?” “Yes, darlin’?”

Oh wow, he - well he’s whipped already. Is it real love or has all that time trapped alone twisted him into this. I’d look into getting him therapy but… if he mentioned the truth then it would be a matter of seconds until he’d be diagnosed with something inaccurate. No one. No one at all would ever believe that a video game character actually broke out of their game - especially not someone like Link falling for an exhausted student like me.

“Are you feeling alright? You have so many cuts and wounds right now.”

“It’s nothing that’s worse than anything else I’ve ever had. They do feel more real though.”

“...real?”

“They feel like real wounds, not something that could be healed away in seconds and they’re just tiny scrapes.”He sounds so giddy as he’s talking about being hurt - it’s unnerving when he starts holding me even tighter when he’s saying it. I don’t think I’m ever going to be getting away from him ever again… if I wanted to. Why shouldn’t I take a chance at having a relationship though. He cares about me - he really does even if it’s unhinged - it would be so nice to come home to him, to be able to spoil him and be spoilt by him. Even being held like this feels so unreal, so impossible that I shouldn’t be here with him. So much so that I want to stay here and fall back asleep without any argument. Didn’t he even say he wanted to be my lover? Why look over a gift too closely?

[traumawhomst]

Solaris and Songbird

A snippet of a full version of this earlier post I made

(450 words)

Fae King and (GN) Child Reader

The Summer King was not always the most kind Fae, he could scarcely afford it. In his world kindness was weakness waiting to be paid back in kind. So when he heard a young voice pierce his quiet peace, he decided to use the as a lesson about his forest. It would an easy task, appear and play with them a bit, maybe turn them to a songbird since they seemed to love their voice. A punishment to neglectful parents about teaching your child to walk around the forest alone as if they owned it.

He had admit that the child did have a rather sweet voice for a human, and he thought of doing something more than just a simple songbird, maybe one that could also speak and mimic sounds. It would be amusing if nothing else.

The child was bent over in the dirt, singing some old folk song, hair loosely pulled back dirty and sweaty. Who knows when they last had a bath, the King scoffed internally. It only strengthened his resolve to turn them to a songbird. At least he knew how to care for his things.

He stepped into the forest clearing, the air around them both growing thick and wild, a smell of hot summer grass hung like a cloud. The King watched with a smile as the figure froze in place, smart child, to know when they were outmatched, no grand heroics or disrespect would save them now. The child lifted their face, and the King was oddly pleased, it was cleaner than their hair and he could that the child had spent most of their life facing towards the sun. Their eyes looked the same as a fawn caught in the sight line of a wolf, but their mouth was turned into a hesitant smile.

The smile caught him off guard, and before he could think too much on it, the child open their mouth and spoke

“Hello,” they said, their voice soft with a slight tremor but a distinct note of hope, “what’s your name?”

With those simple four words, the King knew that this was to be his third child. A neglected songbird, but with a quick wit and curiosity that spoke of greater things than their tiny village. He wanted to scoop them up, and tell of all the great things they would see and do. But this was not his first time bringing a child of his own. So he smiled as he knelt to be closer to the eye level with the child.

“You, songbird, may call me, Solaris, may I know what you to call you songbird?”

When the child’s face brightened, any hesitation or second doubts were gone, this child was his and he couldn’t wait to bring them home.