#yandere Tricky

[yanderes-galore]

actually imsane over tricky. tricky platonically obsessed with impressing (and protecting) reader……

Orderly Anon [💉]

Sorry for the long wait, but here's my thoughts on the silly little idea. It's a bit short as I wasn't given much to go off of?

Yandere! Platonic! Tricky trying to impress Darling

Short Thoughts

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Clingy behavior, Stalking, Murder briefly mentioned, Violence, Forced companionship.

Tricky is known in canon to be "playful" despite his psychopathic behavior.

Around his obsession he'd be extremely playful and protective.

He sees you as the only actual "friend" he has in this place.

Even though your friendship primarily consists of him watching you from afar and ambushing you.

You aren't really friends with the clown.

He thinks so, but in reality he just sort of stalks and pesters you.

A nuisance more than anything.

You try to play along as it's better than being dead.

You aren't blind... you know what that clown can do.

So you swallow your fear when he playfully appears before you, always looking so excited to see you.

In terms of impressing you... that could mean anything for Tricky.

Be it some sort of trick he learned, or literal murder.

There's a range with him, sometimes the trick he learned really is just... death.

Tricky just wants to impress and win over his obsession.

Even as Hofnarr he didn't have many friends.

So he'd do anything to impress and have your attention.

That includes requests/orders.

Sometimes you get an attack clown in exchange for affection.

Useful... maybe.

Tricky is naturally overly jealous and clingy towards his obsession.

His urge to do something for your attention already drives off others around you.

Many have heard of Tricky and have seen his... moments.

So the fact that Tricky seems so hell-bent on obtaining the affections of this one grunt... why should they intervene?

In fact, they should let him have you!

You'll be making a great sacrifice for everyone else if you just keep the clown docile... right?

[creatorthegod]

Yandere Madness combat x Tricky! Reader

Hello everyone I have a poll up to decide what character to wright for and I just wanted to do Tricky, but don't worry the winner of the poll will still get a story and some stories have have multiple parts, also is you chose a character for the poll and did no win don't worry I will do other stories with the characters.

Below here has some smut in it

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Everyday was the same go to work,get some of the project done, get called to the director's office, stay there for the rest of the day, go home and if it was friday watch Slaughter Time. I enter the large building grunts greeting me as I walk by, as I enter the lab I notice that Christoff what not here yet, I only manage to sit down for a few seconds before a grunt tells me the the director needs me, I stand up and start walking, each step making me more nervous than before until I was at the office door, I take a deep breath before pushing open the door. Inside sitting at the chair was Phobos and in front of him was his desk "Y-you wanted t-to see me s-sir" I stuttered out, I could feel the sweat coming down on my face, "Yes Dr. (y/n) why don't you have a seat" his voice had a slight teasing tone, as I look around I find no chair "u-um sir w-where should I sit" I ask him and I could see a smirk growing on his face as pats his leg, a slight blush appears on my face"A-are you sure s-sir I am a bit on the...heavier side" I look down at my body, I was a little bit overweight but Christoff said he loved that about me, a growl cuts off my thoughts as I looked back at Phobos, I let out a small meep before hurriedly going over to his side, sitting on his legs and lap, he then pulled me in so my head was on his chest, I could feel the heat on my face as he continued to work all while grabbing at my fat and petting my hair.

time skip

My face was burning red, I was faced away from Phobos, his cock inside me it seemed he just wanted me to sit there and be quiet, I let out a few whimpers as his cock rubbed against my g-spot, "s-sir" I say as a tiny wimper, he then hums in acknowledgment his hands still holding on my body "I-i should go and make sure C-Christoff is doing good on the p-project" Phobos grip then tightened as he then thrusts up, I let out a moan as I feel the stimulation "Don't speak of him in my presents" Phobos growls as he continues to thrust until I was bent over and he was standing behind me, he continued and I felt my breathing become erratic and I came on Phobos and soon he came in me "If I put little godlings in you, you will finally realize who you belong to" my face was as red as it could be, he pulls out and I put my clothing back on "W-well I will see you tomorrow s-sir" I say walking out of the room, I slightly rub my ass as I walk back to the lab I then notice the clock 'Is it really time to leave" I say to myself as I walk in to pick up my things, I spot Christoff as he walks up to me "Where were you" he asks " Oh the director wanted to see me" "for the whole day?" "I guess so" I reply grabbing my things before heading out with him, he then notices the rubbing " Are you ok?" he asks with concern "Oh yes I just fell and It hurts a little" "oh well then would you like me to walk you home " I nod my head as we continued walking chatting about different things, at least today is friday.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.

[ozzgin]

If it was me, I’d be quizzing them (the chat) on what they know about me for funsies, Obviously with some type of reward but still

-🦐(idk, suffering from migraine again)

This feels like a potential Yandere AU where you discover just how obsessed your monster viewers are. You decide to turn today's livestream into one of those "get to know me" videos, asking questions and then offering the real answer.

"Alright then", you begin cheerfully, checking your flashcards. "Can you guess what my favorite food is? This is actually tricky, because-"

Within seconds, the screen floods with the same, one answer.

"Oh...I see everyone got it right. Haha, am I that obvious?"

You chuckle and move on with the cards, yet your smile slowly fades with each round. It takes a mere instant for everyone to respond in unison. So far, there hasn't been a single error coming from their side.

Some questions are rather personal, some you never mentioned on screen. Is this some sort of prank? A skit meant to startle you? They couldn't have possibly planned this beforehand, it was a spontaneous decision to host such game.

A plump bead of sweat runs down your temple, and you twiddle your thumbs, visibly uncomfortable.

"What the hell, are you guys going to tell me where I live next? Actually, don't answer that."

You glance down at your feet. Time to end this nonsense with a little humour.

"What color are my socks right now?"

The chat goes quiet. You breathe out in relief, and prepare to deliver your final speech. Your hand, however, freezes over the mouse, eyes stuck on the screen.

DefNotAStalker is typing...

[Monster Streaming] | [More Monsters]

[yan-lorkai]

Hi, so I've read the rules, but I'm not sure how much I can ask for. Can I get a headcanon about the TWST Housewardens finding out that the GN! reader has a boyfriend? Oh, and the reader's boyfriend is just some random student NPC in their dorms. If it's too much, just some of them reacting would be cool. Thanks!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Finally done, yay! Been a while since I wrote for all the housewardens so it is a little lengthy. Hope u enjoy, darling!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Tw: Yandere content, stalking, implied violence and kidnapping.

He's been watching you this whole time, feeling his heart beat inside his chest whenever he heard your sweet laugh and saw you smiling. His feelings slowly start to grow as you become friends, but there's just one problem: You have a boyfriend. What an unpleasant surprise! Well, what a shame that your boyfriend will disappear under suspicious circumstances that will never be resolved and he will be right here by your side to comfort you :)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Azul know just what to do. He plots and plans and trap your boyfriend on a deal he can't refuse. It's a tricky deal, trickier than usual, I mean, a one in a lifetime chance, whatever it is. However you won't never know what happened to him, not when you come to Azul asking if he knows something, not when he is comforting you and rubbing your back as you cry while he pretends to be just as sad as you. As if he ever feel sad to lead your boyfriend to his demise when he can have you like this, when he can mend your heart himself and love you like you deserve. Though when you recover Azul will show you just how devotion and love truly feels. He has been deprived of it for too long, bullied and teased, and he will have you, even if you found out about the deal, even if you claim to hate him, he can bear it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Kalim is a sweetheart on the surface level, so happy all the time, so friendly. But he is oh so suffocating, always touching your arm and pulling you into a hug, kissing your cheeks and forehead and laughing when you tell him to knock it off. People always tend to assume he is your boyfriend and tell you that you too are a very cute couple, and they're always shocking when you tell them that Kalim isn't your boyfriend but just your bestie. Not yet, at least. On an intimate level, he likes to think about what to do with your actual boyfriend. People love money more than they love humans. Can he bribe him? If so, how can he guarantee that he won't go back on his word? Or should him send Jamil to do his dirty work? Mmm, so many options, either way, by the end of the month your boyfriend will disappear and you will need a friendly shoulder to lean on and Kalim is more than happy to be there for you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia already has Ortho investigating this student and is so easy to watch him since he is in Ignyhide. He isn't worthy your time, your love and care, he is but a little plankton, not very smart or interesting, Idia don't know what you had seen on your actual boyfriend but he is never going to tell this to your face. Instead, he invite you to his room to play and study, assuming a more softer approach about this little problem than most yanderes, telling you how your boyfriend has been acting strange and visiting another person's room for a very long period of time. He even show you a very factual and not at all fabricated camera footage as a proof. Idia considers himself a very good friend when he comfort you and wipes your angry tears, telling that you deserve better, that he can treat you better. After all, it wasn't your fault that your boyfriend was a cheater. And Idia can show you what true love is.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Vil is horrified about your taste in men. Like, really, Liebling? You love this... Thing? Well, He has to give recognition where it is due and as a Pomefiore student, your boyfriend tried to polish and better himself. Though it wasn't enough. He wouldn't be good enough for you even in thousand years. Vil likes to imagine how he would take care of you, love you, polish you. He likes to imagine how he'd let down his walls around you and told funny stories from his movies or backstage gossips. Knowing you have a boyfriend kinda of shatter those thoughts. He tried to be happy for you, he really tried but in the end he couldn't help himself. So he created a potion, so sweet and yummy, and gave it to your boyfriend. Simple as that. Having you crying on his lap was just a bonus, a bonus Vil would cherish dearly.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Malleus has what he wants. And he wants you. It's only natural that things will fall in order after he states his claim on you, every single little thing start to goes wrong in your relationship and you, stressed and sad, tells Malleus every single thing while he comforts you. Sweet words are whispered in your ears, great dreams greets you everytime you sleep and in your dreams you are always so happy by Malleus's side, exploring woods and swimming in lakes, petting sheeps and listening to the birds singing. Simple things. Great things. While you sleep, Malleus send nightmares to your boyfriend, makes him so horrified and paranoid that he can't even form coherent thoughts. He wants you and he will have you, even if he has to tear you two apart like this, since your boyfriend took to isolate and murmur to himself.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Riddle doesn't like this. He quite dislike your boyfriend a lot, he is messy, a rule breaker, a bad student, he isn't worthy your time and love. Riddle is consumed by a jealousy that make him see red, nowadays he is always collaring your boyfriend, always making him busy so you two can spend less time together. And if you come to Heartslabyu to try and spend time with him, Riddle will just lie to you and tell you he didn't do anything and has no idea about what you're talking about. Yes, he gaslight you. But he is doing that because he knows what's good to you and that is certainty not your boyfriend. Instead, he fills your head with doubts and lies, and takes you to the Unbirthday party so you can have a little fun. Savor the present moment, the little snarky jokes Riddle tells you and the delicious tea. Forget about your boyfriend before Riddle takes matters into another level.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Leona is smug. Like, really? You love this guy? He is so much better than your boyfriend, more smarter, stronger, he huffs whenever he see you two being all cute and chummy together. He should be the one holding you, kissing you, cuddling you. You are his precious mate so he put all his effort in conquering your heart and love. And when Leona is determined to do something there's nothing in the whole world that can make him stop. He plans and make so many strategies in order to be successful all the while he has Ruggie making the dirty work for him. Kill him, bribe him, whatever, Leona will make you a single person again before making you fall in love with him. Even if he has to turn your boyfriend into dust, he will without thinking twice.

[lair-of-platonic-yanderes]

Little Archon

Platonic! Yandere! Neuvillette x GN! Child! Furina! Reader

Description: Archons will do anything to protect their nations, including putting a burden in a child.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Platonic Yandere. Focalor's actions can be seen as questionable. Reader need a hug. Spoilers for Fontaine Archon Quest. Neuvillette isn't happy with Focalor and The Knave.

_________

Her powers flow through Focalor's body. Hydro Archon looked at the distance, trying not to think too much about the current situation.

Separating divinity from body and spirit take a lot of time. And Focalor was left one on one with her thoughts during the separation.

Bit by bit, she separated everything, that even has a drop of divinity, from her body and soul. Her greatest creation. So perfectly human.

The process was almost over. Focalor's could already see the outlines of the new "Hydro Archon". She only needed to separate the last bits of divinity.

And then her mind started to wander. Plan was risqué. If it fails, Fontaine will be doomed. 

Another thought strike her, like a lightning. What if hydro dragon won't get enough powers from her divinity? Focalor's gaze feel on Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale, that now contained almost all of her divinity. Then her body fell on what essentially were her body and soul. The figure was the same height to Focalor. 

Hydro Archon carefully reached with her powers to "Hydro Archon". Divinity was a tricky thing. It was everywhere in Archon's body. Perhaps, she should separate some more bits of her. That didn't have pure divinity, but have echoes of it? 

Bit. After bit. After bit.

More powers were stored in Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale. Focalor's nodded slowly. It would be enough. Now she only needed to wake the new "Hydro Archon".

Focalor looked at them.

They became smaller. Much younger. 

Child. "Hydro Archon" became a child.

Focalor's chewed her lips. She could reverse separation and try again. And make sure, that this time her double will be older.

Her gaze fall on Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale again. All her powers were there. The chance for Fontaine's salvation. 

On one hand, the bigger chance for salvation of her nation.

On the other hand, child, that won't be forced to live centuries under curse, with no chance of normal life.

Ever since she became an Archon, Focalor's wasn't seen by her people. They won't question, why new archon are so young.

Oceanids left Fontaine. They won't reveal, that Archon aren't her.

The child will contain most of her memories. They won't act according to their age. Their behavior won't be questioned.

Maybe, hydro dragon would find kid adorable. And it will help in her plan's succeed.

Fontaine. Or a child.

With tears in her eyes, Focalor finished the separation. Remains of her divinity flew into Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale. Before fading, she whispered. 

"I am sorry, [Y/N]. I hope, that one day, you could forgive me."

_________

Sometimes, you saw a woman in your dreams. She had tears in her eyes. She would apologize to you over and over again.

At first, you thought, that she was your mother. Your mother, that entrust Very Important Mission on you.

You quickly realized, that she wasn't your mom.

You were just a shred of true Hydro Archon. And she had a Very Important Mission for you.

You are a kid and you have a mission

You are a kid and you don't have a mom. 

______

Neuvillette hasn't seen Hydro Archon before. He heard about them.

Loud, boisterous, attention seeker (with term 'spoiled brat' whispered in the dark alleys).

Today, he would see them for the first time.

When he was called in the room, where Hydro Usurper would meet with him, Neuvillette braced himself, before entering.

At first, he thought, that room was empty. He couldn't see Hydro Archon anywhere. Then his gaze fall on the child, that were sitting on the couch before a small table, full of treats. He could feel it. Child have traces of divinity.

'That child are Hydro Archon?'

Meanwhile, child struck a little pose.

"Are you speechless, Monsieur Neuvillette? I can't blame you. You are in the presence of The brightest Star of Fontaine!"

Neuvillette's eyes widen.

'Why Hydro Usurper were so young?'

Meanwhile, child waved their hand.

"I know, that you would gladly spend hours admiring me, but, you will have enough time for that! Should we discuss your new job as Chief Justice, Monsieur Neuvillette?"

Neuvillette slowly nodded.

"We should..."

________

Your room in Palais Mermonia was a dream come true for any children. Tons of toys, children books, big bad you can jump on. You need something else? You could always ask for it, and it will be delivered to your doorstep.

Everyone loves the Biggest Celebrity of Fontaine. Child Archon deserve only best things.

Among all of your toys, you only loved three.

Three plush animals.

During the first hundred years of your performance, you played pirates, adventures and theater with them.

During the second century of your performance, you played school with them.

During the third century of your performance, you played explorers with them.

During the fourth century of your performance, you read books to them.

During the fifth century of your performance, you cried yourself to sleep, while hugging your favorite three toys.

__________

Neuvillette was in his office. He had some time to take a quick break. 

He was holding his glass, full of water from The Fountain of Lucine. Some melusines decided to bring his a bottle of Fountain's water. Surprisingly, they also saw Hydro Archon with their hands in the Fountain. They quickly left, when they saw melusines near.

Neuvillette was thinking.

By all means, Neuvillette shouldn't like Hydro Archon.

[Y/N] have his elemental authority. 

[Y/N] were loud, boisterous and snotty.

[Y/N], while not being The First, still were one of the Seven Usurper.

But Neuvillette can't bring himself to hate the kid, or be angry at them.

They were just a kid. There were no reason to waste his anger on them. Neuvillette won't be surprised, if Hydro Archon won't fight, if Neuvillette decides to challenge them for hydro authority.

Neuvillette took the first sip.

He was flooded with emotions.

Emotions of a very lonely and sad child. Neuvillette froze. It never happened before. [Y/N]... Were it you? Were it your emotions?

Neuvillette drank the rest of the glass. 

Then the remaining water from the bottle.

He returned to his work. But young hydro archon were still on his mind.

__________

You were attending an opera performance in Opera Epiclese. Neuvillette refused the invitation, pretending, that he had some important work to do.

It was the truth. But, his work wasn't connected to the court. 

Neuvillette closed the door in your room behind him. Neuvillette wasn't supposed to be here, in your room. But he wanted to see, with his own eyes, how you lived. And why you were so sad.

The room was big, full of everything, that a child could ever want or need.

Yet, everything looked too new. Too clean. Like you weren't using anything in your room.

Except for three well-worn plush toys (Ball Octopus, Bubbly Seahorse and Armored Crab) on your bed. The traces of countless repairs clearly visible on the stuffed animals. 

Neuvillette looked at your bookshelves. There was a common theme in all of your books. In them, at the end, main characters will get a family. A loving parents or older siblings.

'Lonely Archon. Lonely child...'

Dragons looked after their young. In some cases, they looked after each other dragonets.

Hydro Dragon has never looked after young dragonets. But, he also hasn't lived among humans.

Neuvillette has lived among humans for five hundred years now.

Maybe, it was time to took in a child.

___________

The cat you met on the street was fluffy and playful. You can't help, but smile. Animals were good. Animals were great.

But, you can't focus entirely on the cat. One thought was bothering you.

Something strange was happening with Neuvillette. It looked like, he was looking after you? He sent warm meals to you through melusines, ordered guards to bring more blankets to your room, shut down annoying reporters... He even put a scarf around your neck that day, when temperature in Opera Epiclese were colder, than usual.

If you were honest, he always scared you a little. You don't want to think, what he will do with you, when your performance will be over. He looked distant and hard to approach.

So why he was so worried about you? Your loud attitude didn't change, so, why Neuvillette suddenly decided to take care of you?

The cat's loud meow interrupted your thoughts. It hissed and dashed away from you. You reach your hand towards it.

"Wait! Can we play some more?!"

Then a shadow fall on you.

__________

You were crying on the throne.

The last few days were a nightmare. The Knave. The Trial. 

And now Fontaine was sinking in waters of the Primordial Sea.

Did you fail? 

You felt, that you did.

Your performance was for nothing.

Your pain was for nothing.

You were nothing, but a failure.

__________

Neuvillette was looking at Focalor. True Hydro Archon. The first reason for his kid's pain.

Neuvillette listened to her explanation of her plan. When she finished, he spoke. His lips barely moved.

"You made them cry."

Focalor hide her gaze. She looked guilty.

"I know. And I am sorry for that. I wanted to save Fontaine. If there was another way..."

Sharp talons pierced Focalor's shoulders. Neuvillette growled, showing his sharp fangs.

"You made my kid suffer, Focalor! Knew, that today you aren't being judged for your predecessor's sins. Today, you are being judged for your own sins. For every single one of [Y/N]'s tears."

Neuvillette shoved her away. He was watching her, like a hawk.

"So, god of false justice, you herself gave the verdict. Execution. And don't make me wait. I have a child to look after."

_______

Fontaine was saved. Your performance was a success.

You stand before The Fountain of Lucine.

You were alone. You felt lost.

What should you do now? Where should you go?

Suddenly, you were picked up. Iudex of Fontaine was cradling you. He had a smile, you never saw on his face before.

"There you are, small dragonet! I am so glad, you didn't get lost. Let's go, your new home is waiting. I will take a good care of you, I promise! I will teach you about using Hydro powers, you will have everything you need, you will never cry again."

He started walking, while still carrying you. You closed and opened your mouth.

"What...? But... I am not... No Vision"

Neuvillette hummed. Something heavy landed in your stomach.

A hydro vision with four dragon fangs.

"Oh, don't worry, [Y/N]. Everything will be fine from now on. You will never see people, that want to hurt you. Now you can enjoy your life to the fullest."

You felt, that something drastic will happen in Fontaine.

________

If Neuvillette could cause harm with his gaze, The Knave would be a pile of bare bones on the ground. How she dared to show her face before him, after what she did to his child.

Neuvillette's tone of voice didn't betray him.

"So, you want to have Hydro Ghosis?"

Fatui Harbinger nodded. Her voice was calm.

"Yes. It seems, there is no need for Fontaine to keep it anymore."

Neuvillette pretend to think about it.

"I have a better proposition. You see, I don't need that thing. But... You scared and almost killed my kid. So, don't wait for any sighs of goodwill from me, aside our current deal. Listen closely. Conditions are: in forty-eight hours, all Fatui will leave Fontaine and will never return. If you refuse, I will force them to leave on their own feet. And then I will flood Snezhnaya."

Hydro Dragon met The Knave's gaze. Fatui Harbinger stepped back. Iudex of Fontaine wasn't joking. The Knave felt the earth trembling under her feet. Waters of Fontaine were rising.

"I will ensure, that my kid are happy. Doesn't matter, if I need to flood all Teyvat. Their happiness is the only thing, that matters."

______

Focalor's was right in her own way.

Child double did help Hydro Dragon to save Fontaine.

The nation was safe.

For a price of Teyvat being reshaped for keeping Child double happy.

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 2'627

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, Implied forced relationship, Implied captivity, Toxic relationship, Possessiveness, Invasion of personal space, Non-consensual touching.

Additional Notes: Do be kind, I have not written for this man before and find him exceedingly difficult.

Every week at the Hotel, there was something new Charlie had planned.

Trust exercises. Ice breakers. Activities meant to bring everybody closer together as a group. To try and get people to open up and show a side of vulnerability that - she believed - would help sinners take one step closer to salvation.

Most of them were awkward, and a lot of them never went as planned. A fact she realized and, after a near mental breakdown, had her promptly take advice from Vaggie and agree to try something different.

The task was very simple compared to the previous activities. She requested everybody to think about redemption and what it meant to them.

Thinking about the definition itself took little to no effort.

Redemption (noun): The action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.

But it was clear that Charlie wanted more than just a quote from the dictionary. She wanted residents of the Hotel to mull over it while looking deep down into themselves so they could share their stance on the matter later on.

That was the tricky part.

From how you saw it, “saving yourself” from sin was easy enough to accomplish. ‘Just don’t be a dick and avoid the bad shit.’ was the first thought that came to mind, but where you hit a snag was based on what Charlie had shared about Heaven. According to her, even so much as breathing in Hell was enough to solidify your place in the inferno, yet she made it clear that actively resisting sin wasn’t something to go unrecognized.

It took a lot of effort, energy, and courage to do so, and it was hard to disagree even if Heaven didn’t see it that way.

Error was a bit harder. In your opinion, nobody could be saved from that, at least not entirely. Eventually, inevitably, you or someone else would do something wrong, it was just a matter of degree. It could be something as minor as bumping into somebody by accident or as major as Angel relapsing for what felt like the hundredth time, but it would happen and it was only a matter of time.

Charlie did bring up a rather good point, though. Apologizing when you realized you had done something wrong was the best thing someone could do, and it was the first step in the right direction.

You had to give her credit where it was due for that.

But evil was a different matter entirely.

Evil lurked everywhere in Hell. Across every street, around every corner, evil was out in the open for everyone to bear witness and see. None of it was hidden. None of it was meant to be hidden.

What would be the point? You and every other sinner were already in Hell - and many would argue that hiding it would be counterintuitive to being there in the first place.

Charlie tried to plead the case that everyone had good in them. A good that could be tweezed out if given the right chance, and the right environment, which the Hotel was perfect for.

You wish you could agree.

Evil was in the hotel itself, not that Charlie was fully willing to see it.

You believed she was careless there. Little Miss Bleeding Heart wanted to see the best in people, and by god did you ever want to know what it was like to see through such rose-tinted glasses, but you knew you never could. Not in this place.

Stepping a foot into the building was the worst thing you’d ever done because it showed you just how wrong you were about evil being so out in the open. It still had the ability to lurk, something you learned the moment you shook hands with Alastor.

You could see it on his face upon meeting him for the first time - the way Alastor’s perpetual grin widened upon seeing the goosebumps that lined your arms when he clasped your hand in his. No comment was ever made on the matter, but the way his lips peeled back to reveal the black of his gums before he pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles said enough.

Something utterly sinister reeked from him in a manner you couldn’t describe, so you took your own advice and applied the same thing you did when it came to sin.

Avoidance. As much as you could, at least.

Some moments were easier than others. The distinct metallic clack of Alastor’s microphone against the floor combined with a surge of radio static usually bought enough time for you to make whatever excuse you needed in order to leave before he arrived.

Other times you weren’t so lucky, and Charlie’s group meetings were usually to blame in that regard.

At first, you made a great deal of effort to put as much distance between yourself and the Radio Demon as you could, which worked for a time. Unfortunately, Alastor caught onto what you were doing much faster than you would’ve liked.

He reveled in it. You knew he did. After a while you had the gnawing suspicion he was purposefully going out of his way to make you as uncomfortable as possible for his own entertainment. You saw no other reason as to why he’d consistently move so close to you that you could literally feel him breathing down your neck.

Lately, he had adopted the skin-crawling habit of locking eyes with you the moment you stepped foot in the room and patting the seat beside him - reserved specifically for you. Accepting the gesture felt like swallowing nails, but being openly rude to Alastor was something that you knew better than to do.

Instead, you began to find excuses for skipping the meetings entirely and have Angel or Husker fill you in later, which was exactly what you were doing now.

“To be honest I wasn’t payin’ much attention,” Angel said while he scrolled through his phone, resting his chin in his upper left hand while his lower right swirled alcohol around in a glass. “Was the kind of thing that could’ve been sent in an email.”

You traced your finger around the rim of your own glass, its contents untouched. “Still, I want to know what I missed.”

“He’s right, it wasn’t anything special,” Husker replied, slinging a cloth over his shoulder from behind the bar. “Same old bullshit about salvation with a new coat of paint on top.”

A pang went through your chest, but you pushed it down. “So nothing new?”

Angel scoffed and looked up from his phone. “Trust me, dollface, you did yourself a favor.” He downed the rest of his drink in one go. “What were you doing anyways?”

“You know…” You replied with a shrug, glancing down. “I went out.”

Angel smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Out?”

“Yeah.” You tapped your nails against the edge of the glass. “Things were feeling a little claustrophobic, so I went out for some air.”

Husker made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, I know how you feel, kid. This place is a mess.”

Angel tilted his head, placing his phone down on the bar and leaning forward a bit. “So where’d you go? Anywhere fun?”

“Where indeed~.”

All your movements went rigid. After a few seconds, you slowly turned your head to look over your shoulder to see Alastor standing barely a foot away from you, staring down at you with a tight, closed-lipped smile. You hadn’t heard him coming in the slightest, which you immediately could tell was intentional.

Whether he’d used his shadow or had actually stalked up behind you wasn’t something you wanted to think about, and if Angel or Husker picked up on the immediate tension, neither of them said anything about it.

“Hey, Smiles.” Angel greeted with his usual flirtation, placing the elbows of his upper arms on the bartop as he turned to face Alastor. “Fancy a drink? You look a little stiff” He gave Alastor a very long once over, “and I’ll have you know I know a few ways I can help relieve some… tension.” 

Alastor’s lips curled back to reveal his teeth, the muscle in his cheek spasming for a moment.

Mentally you were kissing Angel on the cheek for the save as you slowly picked your coat up off the bar and slipped it on, concealing the goosebumps already present on your skin. Husker gave you a glance from the side and gave a very slight shake of his head, silently advising you against your unspoken desire to leave.

“I assure you, such a thing is never going to happen.~”

“You sure?” Angel rested his lower right arm on his hip. “I have a few tricks that can loosen you up.”

The leather in Alastor’s gloves audibly squeaked as his grip tightened around the staff of his microphone and his attention immediately shifted back to you, ignoring Angel entirely.

“My dear,” His voice dripped with such a saccharine sweetness it made you feel sick, “Could I speak with you for a moment?”

Fewer combinations of words could instill such a unique feeling of encroaching dread all at once, but you refused to let it show as you nodded and turned your body on the bar stool to face him fully; waiting for him to say the first word.

His eye twitched ever so slightly.

“Privately.”

That made you swallow.

“Sure.” You slid off the bar stool, doing your best not to appear as reluctant as you felt.

“Lovely.~” He said, promptly turning on his heel and walking towards the staircase - expecting you to follow.

You glanced back towards Husker and Angel, each giving you looks of grim sympathy and confusion respectively before you took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other, following Alastor up the steps.

You thought he would talk along the way. Engage in some form of idle chit-chat where he’d be pulling the strings, or even hum along to the countless jazz tunes that he played in the halls over the Hotel’s sound system.

But no such music played and he remained silent. A few minutes into the walk you gathered enough courage to glance up at him and found his eyes locked straight forward, not even sparing you so much as a glance.

You averted your gaze, the hem of your sleeves suddenly the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen.

Eventually, he came to a stop, and he held out the end of his microphone to prevent you from going any further down the hallway.

“Here we are!” Rather than producing a key from his coat, a green flash emanated from the lock when he placed his hand on the handle and opened the door.

He all but leered at you as he gave a small bow that didn’t feel genuine in the slightest.

“After you.~”

Like the alleged gentleman he was, Alastor held the door open for you, eyes never leaving your form as you walked inside his suite.

The smell of dampness and soil hit you immediately.

Alastor’s suite wasn’t the worst thing you’d seen in Hell by a mile, however, it was still eerie beyond words. The skeletons that hung along the walls and mantlepiece of his fireplace became less complete and increasingly disorganized as they led further into the room - which itself gave way to a swamp-like environment halfway through. Undoubtedly a result of whatever hoodoo, voodoo bullshit he was capable of, and while it still wasn’t the worst you’d seen, it served its purpose thoroughly.

It creeped the shit out of you.

“Now, then.” Alastor clicked the door shut, his body half-facing yours as his hand still lingered on the doorknob. “I'm sure you have a good explanation for what you’ve been doing.~”

The immediate dryness in your throat was hard to ignore. You knew what he was talking about, and you knew that he knew, but you still attempted to buy some time as you tried to figure out what to do.

You cleared your throat. “I was just catching up with Angel and Husk-”

He chuckled, the sound like that of a radio shifting stations. “Don’t be coy.” His head turned towards you with a sickening, ossified crackle that bent his neck in a manner that made your stomach lurch. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I’d like to know why.”

Fuck.

“I haven’t.” Lying to Alastor was a mistake, but you still decided to risk it since it wasn’t entirely false. “There’s just been a lot on my mind recently.”

“Hmm.” Interest and something much worse flickered behind his eyes as he faced you fully with another crack of his vertebrae. “Such as~?”

You shook your head, looking away from him. “That’s private.”

There was a quick flash of red, and the tip of his microphone turned your face back towards him - the cool metal of the edge digging into the skin of your cheek. You had to bite back a grimace.

“Not when it concerns me.” His tone was sharp, a stark contrast to the faux politeness he was putting on before. He kept the tip of his microphone where it was to prevent your eyes from looking anywhere but him. “And trust me darling, when it comes to you, everything concerns me.”

His words twisted in your gut. “...I’m not sure what you mean.”

Alastor tutted, his smile widening once more. “Don’t be stupid, darling, it’s unbecoming of you.” The way he said it was patronizing, like he was scolding a child. “You know precisely what I mean, so I’m going to ask again, as much as I hate repeating myself.~”

Cool metal was replaced with the warmth of his hand as he tilted your head up and brought his face frighteningly close to yours.

“Why are you keeping yourself from me?”

It was an odd sensation. Being backed into a corner, both metaphorically and physically. A frightening one that all but yanked on your instincts to do whatever it meant to get the fuck out of there, but you knew that was the worst thing you could do.

Alastor was a predator, a creature designed to prey on those he deemed weaker, and turning your back on a predator would almost certainly trigger a series of events that would not bode well for you.

So you did the next worst thing.

You told him the truth.

“Because I can see you.” The words felt wrong to say out loud. “I can see you for what you are, I can feel the absolute malevolence that radiates off you in waves, and it’s suffocating.”

Saying any more was a horrendous idea, but you couldn’t help but add one last thing.

“And if I want any chance at leaving this god-forsaken place, I can’t be around you.”

The silence that stretched on afterward was deafening.

Mentally, you were bracing yourself. Alastor had killed people for far less, and you expected nothing different for saying something so daring to his face.

You could see it too, the anger that simmered underneath his gaze. You expected the red of his sclera to flash black and his antlers to extend with his body in a grotesque display before you were ripped to pieces while he laughed.

What you didn’t expect was for his eyes to narrow into slits and his expression shift into one that was far more genuine than you wanted it to be, and it was then you knew that being saved from this kind of evil was never going to happen.

“Oh, my dear, you don’t need to worry about something silly like that.” Alastor all but cooed.

“After all, what makes you think I’d ever let you leave?~”

© absolute-flaming-trash 2024. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

[sarahowritesostucky]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, non-con, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", mating, breeding, hate to strong affection, yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the alpha who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

Masterlist

Daddy's Home (Series teaser)

Episode 1: A Clever, Tricky Little Kitty Cat: Just like Her Mommy

Episode 2: Taking Back What's His

Episode 3: The Lap of Luxury

Episode 4: Motherhood Suits You

Episode 5: Should've Done this Years Ago

Epilogue: A Storybook Romance Once Again

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" shlyukha = "slut" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" moyazhena = (made-up couples' term, playful) "wife/my wife" milashka = "cutie patootie" malen'kiy = "little one"  malyshka = "little girl" pchelka = "little bee"

@cjand10, @violetwinterwidow01, @ppbhquinn, @myfavbuckyfics, @liannafae, @sadsackssss, @timidquindim, @dakotali, @rayofdawnworld, @wintrsoldrluvr, @lindasweetie

[yanderenightmare]

head cannons for what being Gojo and Get's shared little captive housewife darling would be liked? ples

Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

TW: yandere, captive reader

gn reader

They’re both awfully cuddly. Always wrapping their lanky arms around your waist and slugging their bodies against you, tugging on you and swaying you against them in a way it’s hard to keep balance, making it impossible to do anything but stand there and try and hold your weight as well as theirs.

Satoru is the worst of the pair, though – constantly ignoring whatever you’re doing in favor of picking you up and cuddling you on the couch when he feels like it – which is almost always when he’s home. Not that you do much else but humor them. But still, it’s annoying being in the middle of a chapter only for the pages to flap close when Gojo picks the book out of your hands, throwing it aside unceremoniously – his blue eyes pleading at you like a puppy, feeling ignored and pouty – asking you to play with his hair instead. He’s already laying himself against your chest with a smile and giddy laugh before you can as much as try and refuse.

Suguru is more respectful of your hobbies in that aspect. He’s usually the one that procures books and such for you. Always happy to discuss your thoughts. But sometimes, you suspect he gives you tricky reads just for the chance to explain them to you. He’s a little patronizing that way. Smiling while prying for your thoughts, offering a soft chuckle when you fess up and tell him it was a little beyond your abilities. 

Satoru feels left out when the two of you talk about books. He doesn’t read. But just to feel included, he’ll dump a stack of his old comics in your lap. He’s such a spoiler, though, and will tell you the entire plot and ending before you’ve even peeled a page open. He’s more of a movies and shows person. Forever in his childish ways, he’ll dib a character to represent him whenever the three of you are watching something – getting real pouty if the character ends up dying, almost to the point he’s completely disinterested in the rest of the story.

Both are shit cooks with appetites beyond your understanding. You never make enough, and it always ends up with the both of them whining for seconds. They have a bit of a maid kink the two of them. Waiving a pretty little white ruffled apron at you whenever they’re hungry – insisting on helping you tie it around your waist and neck in pretty bows. It always makes you feel a bit ridiculous.

It doesn’t make it any better that when you cook, there’s always one of them supervising. Not helping out, mind you – just watching and waiting, licking their lips when it starts smelling good – asking for taste tests like children. Often with big hands draped over your stomach and a chin either resting in the nook of your neck or atop your head. 

Satoru’s chattier than Suguru, but Suguru is better at asking you about your things. He’s a little more considerate of your feelings, making sure you’re as comfortable as you can be locked inside all day. That being said, he’s the tougher one when it comes to saying no to things as well. For example, you’re better off testing your luck with Satoru if you want to go outside.

You feel, for Satoru, it’s not too much about protecting you. You don’t think the guy knows what fear feels like. It’s more about coveting you. He’s possessive, prone to jealousy, and easily enraged – you remember from when the three of you were a somewhat normal throuple with somewhat normal boundaries. For him, this arrangement is just a whole lot simpler, keeping you away from anything that might inspire him to feel anything he doesn’t like.

Whereas with Suguru, you’re sure he’s actually scared something might happen to you, and that’s why he insists on keeping you inside. You’re only just a small thing, after all, with no cursed energy to talk about. You might become a target for their enemies if they’re not careful enough. Out there, you’re the greatest weapon against them, their greatest weakness. And he fears for the world when he thinks about what he and Satoru would do if they lost you.

Neither of them seems to care that it’s unreasonable.

[lovesick-desires]

A CORRUPT COVENANT

YANDERE!SILCO X MAGE!READER — CHAPTER ONE

ABSTRACT: Silco learns of a mage who works in The Lanes who is proficient in potion work. Thinking of utilizing the mage's potions to perfect Shimmer, he realizes he is much more interested in the mage than first anticipated. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Silco is not really yandere this chapter, but it will ramp up in future ones. CONTENT WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, slowburn yandere, slight yandere behavior, intimidation/coercion, swearing, no mentions of "y/n", mentions of drug use, abuse of power, utilization of witchcraft, semi-proof read SILCO’S YANDERE ARCHETYPE: possessive, manipulative WORD COUNT: 1.6k+ WRITING ASSISTED BY: Opal (ty for the ideas <3)

It was a dog-eat-dog world in the Undercity. Being outcast and demonized by the sycophants and aristocrats of Piltover, Zaunites were constantly at each other's throats just to survive.

Everyone knew that and you were no different.

Being a born and raised Zaunite yourself, you learned how to fight for survival. Life didn't give you all the cushy luxuries Pilties got fed to them by a silver spoon.

Seeing the divide between the two nations made you cold and bitter to the topsiders like most others in Zaun. Most used violence and rage as an outlet, but you turned to the arcane. This outlet led you to study magic and witchcraft for years, learning the art of spellcasting and potion brewing. This hobby of yours eventually made you strong enough in your craft to start taking patrons. With having such a unique talent such as yours, you knew how to utilize it to your financial gain. Selling your goods was a tricky business as most would try to swindle you or intimidate you. However, due to being stubborn in your ways, things almost always turned out in your favor.

The thing is, with a business in the arcane, you usually drew an odd crowd of people. Shimmer addicts looking for a quick fix, lovelorn individuals requesting aphrodisiacs, and many more oddballs. However, to you, business was business as long as they paid the price.

Eventually, your name got around quickly in the streets of Zaun, in good and bad ways. People would become more frequently coming for your wares which you could always provide if the price was met. This financial journey eventually led you to open up shop in the outskirts of The Lanes, taking refuge in an old bar that closed down due to competitors such as The Last Drop. Despite the stench of cigar smoke and booze embedded into the floorboards and walls, you set up shop in the quaint little outlet. Potions, crystals, herbs and other miscellaneous magic materials were neatly displayed on rickety shelves that adorned the walls that were once used to display various liquors. The stench of substances eventually got replaced with the melodious aroma of lavender and rose incense that seeped into the wooden architecture after months of utilization.

It wasn't much of a shop, but it was yours and that was all that mattered: The Opalite Oracle.

Months had passed since you opened the shop's doors and business was going well. As you tinkered with the potion on your desk, adding some rose petal dust for a client's aphrodisiac request. You could hear the patchwork clock on the wall tick to 12 am, making a small chime for the turn of the day. A sigh escaped your lips as you reached for the garnet dust, your fingers barely able to snatch it from the other end of the desk. Pouring small increments of the dust into the potion vial, you could hear the rain pounding on the glass window outside. Oddly enough, you felt like you were being watched as the hairs on your arms stood at attention. Looking back at the window, not a soul was outside in the pouring rain. Waving it off, you turned back to your project.

As thunder rumbled the quaint building, the shop bell rang, much to your digression. The store had been closed for the past two hours and you must have forgotten to lock the door at closing again.

"Scram, we're closed. We open at 10 am tomorrow morning," You declared, hearing the firm steps of boots wonder your shop. God dammit, these people are always deaf or stupid. Or maybe both.

"Did you hear me? We are closed, fuck off." You added, putting a cork in the top of the aphrodisiac vial. Staring at the pink liquid in the vial, you heard the footsteps stop behind you at your counter. Eliciting a groan from your vocal cords, you spin in your stool to face the person pestering you at this ungodly hour.

"Hey, dumbass, you got wax in your ears? I said we're clo—"

When you spun around, you were greeted with an unexpected sight. The Eye of Zaun, Silco, was standing there with his hands behind his back, an unimpressed look on his face.

"Hm? What did you just call me?" He rasped softly as he leaned over the counter, the smell of cigar smoke billowed from his breath as his lips moved into a slight smirk. The sly bastard placed a hand on the weathered wooden counter, tapping his nails against it. Pursing you lips, you can't help but feel yourself shrink slightly in your seat at the sight of the man before you.

"Nothing." You murmured with a voice laced with weariness. Silco wasn't the kind of man to come down to The Lanes like this and anybody knew that much. Usually, he would send one of his goons like Sevika to do his bidding for him. The man himself made rare appearances once a blue moon, so his appearance at this hour in your cozy little boutique must hold some importance. To this, Silco retracted his hand from the counter as he stood at his full height.

"Ah, that's better." He taunted, raising a brow at your sudden change of attitude even though he knew exactly why it occurred. Your gaze lingering on his sly smirk as he reached back towards the counter. With a nimble hand, Silco swiped the pink vial from your hands, inspecting the liquid and its contents swaying and bobbing inside. As if hypnotized by the pink fluid in the vial, he holds it up to the lantern illuminating the shop, watching the potion ebb and flow in its container.

"What do you want?" You queried with an annoyed edge to your voice. To this, Silco's gaze floats back to you with a small glint in his eyes.

"Ah, what do I want? Well, I want a lot of things." He croaked as he placed his other hand on the counter, leaning ever-so-slightly towards you as his gaze narrowed. To this, a slight shiver ran down your spine, causing your nails to bore into the flesh of their knees.

"To start, however, I see you are skilled with the arcane, correct?" He probed, his gaze shifting back to the vial in his fingers. To this, a soft hum of confirmation emerged from your throat. Silco's smirk widened as he gazed back at you, his eyes flickering with slight amusement. With a swift flick of the wrist, he tossed the vial behind him and let it shatter on the floor. The porous floorboards slowly absorbed the pink liquid, leaving only shredded herbs and shards of glass in its wake.

"Hey! What the—"

"You're perfect then." Silco interjected, his voice akin to a cinnamon whiskey. His now free hand joined the other on the counter, leaning forward slightly to look down upon you.

"You see, I need some assistance with a project I am undertaking." He added, reaching back into the interior pocket of his collared trench to retrieve three vials of a glowing, purple substance: Shimmer. Anyone in the Undercity with a brain knew what Shimmer was.

"What about it?" You retorted as the drug lord put the vials on your counter, letting the glass clink against the wood.

"Impatient, are we?" He mocked, his hand raised from the counter to grab your chin firmly in his cold, calloused hand, making you look up at him. "My, where are your manners?" He tutted, cocking his head to the side.

"Can you just tell me what you want? Please?" You begrudgingly asked, making Silco remove his hand from your chin with a soft tsk.

"Ah, well, since you asked so nicely, I'll lay it out for you. I need some assistance negating the side effects. You see, I can't let people get physical deformities from my product. It's bad for business." He declared with a guttural tone to his voice. "That's where you come in."

"Me?"

"You." He emphasized, his gaze stern and uncompromising. "You and your expertise are the key to Shimmer's success, dear." He continued as his gaze wondered to the potions on the wall of shelves behind you, internally inspecting the colors and consistencies of the multitude of bottled-up fluids. Eventually, his gaze crept back to the mage before him.

"I will require your assistance in this task. With your unique set of skills, you are exactly who I need." The drug lord proclaimed, a slight glimmer in his orange eye that you couldn't quiet read, but you knew it wasn't good. Shimmer was tearing Zaun apart, turning people into more animals than humans. You didn't want to take part, but what choice did you have?

"And if I refuse?" You questioned, your brows knitted together in a slight scowl. You knew you shouldn't push your luck but something in you told you to at least try. To this, Silco scoffed and looked unimpressed.

"Do you really think you have a choice here?" Silco retorted with a raised brow, knowing both of you knew the answer to that. To this, you sighed and looked at the vials of shimmer before you, watching the liquid glow and bubble in its containers.

"Will I be financially compensated for my time?" You queried, looking back up at the man before you. To this, a small smirk stretched across Silco's lips as he knew he had you know.

"Yes, you will be paid handsomely for your time and cooperation." He answered, leaning back slightly to get a better look at you. To this, you felt a pit form in your stomach but you tried to ignore it as you offered your hand for him to shake.

"Then, it's a deal." You spoke, sealing your fate for a handshake. To this, the smirk on the drug lord's face evolved into a smile, showing his crooked teeth as he shook your hand.

"A deal's a deal, dear."

SONG OF THE FIC: LET THE WORLD BURN - CHRIS GREY

[yanderes-galore]

I gotta request, uh, I hope that is okay?

Reader X Hofnarr/Tricky! Platonic scenarios are my preferred get go, but it can be whichever you feel!

Reader is forced to watch as Hofnarr loses his mind to the Improbability Drive, all the way to the end. They know what's happening, and while they do everything they can to help, they can't stop it no matter how much they want to. When it all has taken it's course, and the Reader realizes that Hofnarr isn't... "Hofnarr" anymore, it's already too late to run.

I hope you enjoy your day/night, and get better soon!

Oh now this is just sad. Here you go, Darling watches their friend descend into obsessive madness and they can't do anything about it. Sorry it got a bit short, I was having issues with pacing due to not being in the fandom right now :(

I bounced some ideas around on how to treat Tricky with @krystalkitdemi, Hope you enjoy!

Distortion

Yandere! Platonic! Hofnarr/Tricky Scenario

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Descent into insanity, Sadism, Kidnapping implied, Open ended fic, Violence, Blood, OOC Tricky.

Friends weren't a very common thing on Nevada. Any sort of partnership was often to use the other for your own benefit. That or someone always expected something in return. Genuine friendship was rare.

You and Hofnarr were an exception.

Even Hofnarr had his friendship taken advantage of by Jeb. Yet when it came to you, another scientist, you genuinely just wanted someone to lean on in this world. It wasn't like being a Nexus scientist was the best or safest job anyways.

Hofnarr is someone who also just wants a friend. When it came to you, things were very genuine. You saw him as a friend who was not only very intelligent but loved fun.

Good things never last long in Nevada, unfortunately.

Things between you were fantastic. Then Hofnarr kept getting involved with Improbability Drives. You don't know why but it was most likely due to a set of experiments that needed conducting. Sadly... such a thing affected your friend in strange ways.

Painful ways.

It's subtle at first. Slight pains, memory issues, odd mentions of sadism. The last bit is expected from most people but it put you... off.

It hurt you to see Hofnarr in such a strange condition. He'd tell you things are okay but you aren't blind to his painful twitches. You know he's suffering due to the mysterious drives... yet you can't do anything.

Despite Hofnarr's changes you stuck by him. You were even reprimanded for pushing off your work to check on him. You didn't care how others saw your friendship.

You'd do everything you can to preserve it.

Hofnarr appreciated your concern. Not many would pity the clown and violence loving scientist. You always seemed concerned of his help in pain.

Part of him even thinks you two were meant to be good friends.

Even when Hofnarr's condition got worse, you stayed. More violent twitching, outbursts, and memory issues came to light and the thought kept destroying you. You wanted to help, you asked him if you could, but he always said not to worry.

"There has to be something I can do. I can't just sit back and allow you to suffer." You said one day.

"There's nothing you can do. It's okay, I've come to terms with it." Hofnarr answered, a small smile on his face.

Not long after you had heard Hofnarr was working with Jeb on something. You never trusted their friendship but there was no need to intervene. Hofnarr trusted that man with his life.

Then there came news of Jeb's plan. He had been using Hofnarr's research and genius to put it in motion. You tried to convince Hofnarr to abandon the plan

He did not... and after things were set off, that's the last you saw of him.

You felt hatred towards Jeb for what has happened. If he didn't drag Hofnarr into this you could still be beside your friend! You have a feeling with his condition... he wouldn't have lasted long alone.

In fact as far as you know... your friend may have died in the fall.

You spent a lot of time grieving your friend afterwards. Once you escaped the tower and fled into the streets away from Zeds, you tried to move on. There was no time to cry when most of your time was spent trying not to die.

It was either bandits, Zeds, or surviving gang members. There was occasionally Nexus Soldier groups you had to avoid to. Your mind quickly adapts to survival like most in this place.

Seeing mass death wasn't uncommon. Admittedly you did find it odd when large groups of people were laid in a bloody mess when you passed by but you felt it was normal. These streets have changed...

Along with something else.

Ghoulish red eyes stare at you from the shadows of buildings. Blood stains claws used to rip into flesh for fun. You appear to be another victim of this beast.

You don't even notice things until you hear excited giggles. You pause your walk on the street only to be hit from behind with something steel. Pain courses through your body as you tumble onto the ground. Weakly you try to check for anything broken but all you find it broken skin, not bone thankfully.

Something must be sprained or ruptured at least though.

With blinding speed as Zed greets your gaze. A mask sits on his face and he looks like your typical circus clown. Upon further examination you also realize you were just hit with a street sign.

"HEY FRIEND. WANNA PLAY?"

You try to listen closer to the voice of the clown, swearing it sounds familiar past all the distortion. You shake your head softly... realizing it can't be who you think it is. Or... can it if he's a Zed?

"Who are you...?"

"TRICKY. YOU?"

You say your name cautiously, noticing the twitching of his movements. You had your suspicions, the clown theme and twitching too familiar. Yet you keep your mouth shut.

The clown pauses for a minute, tilting his head at the name. The silence is deafening....

"OH I KNOW YOU! I THINK...." Tricky responds. "WE WERE FRIENDS BEFORE! BEST FRIENDS...."

You take your chances.

"Hofnarr?"

"... DON'T CALL ME THAT!" The clown corrects, snapping in rage for a moment. "I'M TRICKY, AND WE'RE GOING TO CONTINUE BEING GREAT FRIENDS."

The clown steps closer, raising the sign you assume is his weapon of choice.

"IT'LL BE JUST LIKE BEFORE! NO ONE CAN TELL US WHAT TO DO NOW! NO ONE CAN BETRAY ME OR YOU! I THINK I'VE MISSED YOU FROM WHAT I REMEMBER!" The clown chirps in a cheery tone before raising the sign upwards. It looks like he'll hurt you if you don't move

"NOW HOLD STILL..." The clown giggles. "WE'RE GOING TO HAVE SO MUCH FUN!!!"

[creatorthegod]

Yandere Madcom x reader

[kupidachillea]

What Yandere I think Ancient Greek mythology boys would be.

TW⚠️ General Yandere behaviour, biting, manipulative behaviour, clingy behaviour…mentions of self harm (not reader). Read at your own risk⚠️

Achilles:

🏺- I feel like if Achilles was a yandere he’d be more akin to the typical yandere. Jealous, possessive…almost like a land mine

🏺- He’s protective of you and wants your attention…only your attention. I think that speaks for itself about how this relationship would go.

🏺- He’s not overly touchy, but in public.,he has this weird thing about ‘laying claim’ to what’s his and making everyone know it..even if it embarrasses you…he’ll caress you thigh openly in public among other…things… he also tends to squeeze you into his chest and he has a thing for biting- and boy does it hurt..if you don’t stop him at times..you’ll be bleeding by the end of it

🏺- If you’re at home- he wants you in his arms. You’re sitting on the sofa? He’ll put you in his lap. You’re lying in bed? He’ll jump on top of you. And he’s heavy- so good luck getting him off of you.

🏺- despite his concerning behaviour..he truly does care about you..in his mind..you’re the only one that matters. He wants you to be with him for as long as possible..and don’t even think about trying to break up with him..he’ll find you.

Patroclus:

🌿- Patroclus would be one of those yanderes that aren’t openly a yandere..he’s more docile and less explosive. Though- he still has those red flags.

🌿- He’s a manipulator. Especially if you’re a sensitive and emotional individual- he’ll exploit that. Gaslighting you at times and telling you “I know what’s best for you, darling”. Yeah..not really the best part of this relationship.

🌿- He’s more touchy than Achilles. He loves to have his face nuzzled into your neck whenever he can..breathing in your scent as he holds you in his arms. Letting out a content sigh as he kisses your lips tenderly..but don’t let that tenderness fool you..he’s still got a few screws loose.

🌿- He’s the type of yandere to act calm whenever someone is trying to hit on you in public..usually it’s when you’re not around is when he finds that person and either beats them half to death or worse..he use to be a medic and warrior..he knows more than one way to put people through pain. Though It’d have to be very bad for him to immediately clock to that mode.

🌿- He knows you’ll never leave him..how pathetic of you to try.,you keep running back to his arms anyway even if you do. He’ll break you as many times as he needs to have you in his arms..he’s patient.. and once you do come back..either in tears for just looking like a sad puppy..he’ll pamper you and stroke your hair as he kisses you lips and whispers how much he loves you.

Perseus:

🛡️- This is a bit tricky..He’s like…an enthusiastic yandere..that’s how I describe it. He has limits on how far he’ll go..but that doesn’t mean he won’t do certain things.

🛡️- He’s not explosive like Achilles and he’s not a big manipulator like Patroclus. He’s a bit chill. He’s the one that is similar to being docile but at the same time his yandere tendencies will seep out.

🛡️- He actually warns you what will happen if you do A, B, and C. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way..he just wants to have a loving relationship with you without any casualties. Occasionally he’ll get mad..but he’ll never take it out on you..never. Though..a few chains here and there can’t hurt..right?

🛡️- He loves to be with you..he’ll check on you at work.. on the street at home..any time really. He’s just trying to look out for you and makes his hit list anyway

🛡️- So far you’ve never had a problem with him..he’s not very overbearing..he’s smart in how he does things..you’ll never know what he does when you’re asleep..you’ve never considered leaving him..and he’d like to keep it that way..he wants to shower you with words of praise and devotion,

Orpheus:

🎼- Orpheus is what I’d call a clingy yandere. When he first met you..it took him awhile to fall for you but when he did and you both got together it was a done deal for him.

🎼- He’s so clingy..he doesn’t like to be anywhere without some physical touch involved. After losing his first love- he won’t lose you. He’ll never lose you..he’ll make sure of it.

🎼- He peppers your face with kisses in public that it makes even married couples jealous..dear lord. His words are sweet and filled with honey.

🎼- Sometimes he wishes he had the power to hypnotise you with his voice..so he could make sure that you’d stay with him forever..but I guess locking you inside will have to do..trapping you under his body as he cuddles you will have to be enough.. chaining you to the bed as you both sleep together is what he has to settle for…such effort.

🎼- Once when you tried to leave him, he literally got down on his knees and begged you to the point of tears to not leave him..he said how he couldn’t live without out you and how he’ll harm himself if you do leave him…you fell for his trap and stayed with him..having pity on this poor man. Perfect..he likes it when you break and ignore your better judgement for him.

[sweetdreamz2]

Entangled Bonds - S. Gojo x S. Geto

synopsis: caught between two powerful sorcerers, you find yourself trapped in a dangerous and controlling relationship.

pairings: yandere! S. Gojo x S. Geto x f! reader

word count: 1.8k

content: MDNI!! kidnapped reader, coercion, emotional abuse, slight signs of reader exhibiting stockholm syndrome, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation

You were seated on the couch, unmoving while your trembling fingers nervously played with the hem of your shirt —well, not your shirt but one of Satoru's —ending at your thighs. 

The oppressive silence in the room was putting you on edge, but alas that was broken only by the faint rustling of fabric as Suguru shifted by the window. His posture was firm, arms crossed against his chest tightly, and his gaze was anything but soft. It was sharp, unrelenting as his dark orbs slowly flickered towards you. 

It wasn’t always like this—at least, not in the beginning. You never expected that meeting Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto would upend your life in ways where you could never break free. 

You met them years ago, though for you it felt like another lifetime. At the time, you were but an apprentice—a healer specializing in rare techniques that’s been passed down for generations in your family. Your days were reticent as you spent most of your time treating small ailments alongside learning how to channel energy into restorative power. It wasn’t glamorous, but you were content with your life and it was yours. 

Then Satoru Gojo walked into your clinic. 

There was no way you could miss him—the towering man with snowy white hair, dressed in black from head to toe, a white blindfold hiding what you later discovered were piercing, unnervingly beautiful eyes. He was injured, but he waved it off like nothing and instead flashed a lopsided grin towards your direction.

“Looks worse than it is,” he spoke casually, his frame leaning against the doorframe as blood drenched the side of his uniform.

You merely blinked, taking in his flippant attitude and the faint sparkle of power that radiated off him like heat. 

“Keep walking around like that and you’ll eventually bleed out,” you retorted all the while reaching for your supplies.

Satoru smirked. “Oh? You’re worried about me already? We just met.” His tone was full of teasing.

At his reply, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, not bothering to answer him and motioning with your pointer finger for him to sit down. He sighed dramatically, dragging himself to the nearest chair as if it were an incredible effort.

You began to clean and patch up his wound until you found yourself distracted by the strange energy he carried, your movements halting. You could tell he’s a sorcerer, but he was unlike any you’ve encountered before. The power he was exuding was overwhelming, suffocating even, but he carried it effortlessly, as if the weight of it didn’t bother him the slightest. 

“You’ve got steady hands,” he said, breaking the silence. His tone was light, though his words made your cheeks heat.

“I have to,” you replied back softly, shaking your head to gather your thoughts to focus back on your work. “Healing can be tricky and isn’t forgiving of mistakes.”

The white haired male tilted his head as if studying you. “A perfectionist, huh? I like that. What’s your name?”

You hesitated, reluctant to share anything personal, but his disarming smile made it hard to resist. You finally told him your name, your orbs focusing on his wound —or what’s left of it. 

“Well, Y/N,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I think we’ll get along just fine.” 

After you finished treating Satoru, another man stepped through the clinic door - Suguru Geto. His presence was the opposite of Satoru’s; where Satoru was loud and attention-seeking, Suguru was quiet and composed.

“Making a mess already, Satoru?” Suguru’s tone was dry while he glanced at the blood-soaked chair. 

“It’s not my fault she’s got a cozy little place here. Can’t blame me for wanting to stick around!”

You looked between the two, confused yet slightly uneasy. They were a strange pair, both carrying an aura of danger you couldn’t ignore.

“You should be more careful,” you said, addressing the two males. “I don’t know who—or what— you’ve been fighting, but it’s reckless to be out and about in this condition.”

Suguru raised an eyebrow, his lips slowly stretching into the faintest smile.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue for a healer.” 

You narrowed your eyes, shooting a small glare. “It’s called common sense,” you retorted, though your voice wavered slightly under his intense gaze.

From that moment, your life began to intertwine with theirs. They returned to your clinic again and again and again, sometimes injured or sometimes just stopping by for the heck of it. Satoru always teased, pushed at your boundaries, while Suguru observed quietly, his eyes never missing a thing. You weren’t sure why they’ve taken such an interest in you, but you couldn't deny the pull you felt towards them despite how dangerous it felt.

-

Now, years later, you were tapped in their web, your once - peaceful life a distant memory as you were brought back to reality by a voice.

Suguru’s voice cut through the air like a blade, low and cold. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you? Do you think this is some game? That you can do whatever you want and we’ll just overlook it?”

Your stomach churned at his tone. It wasn’t the first time he’s spoken to you like this, but each time it sent a pang of guilt right through your chest. You remembered the soft smiles, the promises they made about protecting you, and how you once thought there might be a way out. But you knew better.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t trying to upset you, Sugu. I just thought—”

He interrupted you sharply. “Thought?” 

Suguru took a step closer to you, his eyes narrowing. “You thought stepping outside, exposing yourself to god-knows-who, was a good idea? Do you realize what could’ve happened? Or do you not care?”

You shut your eyes, flinching at his words as you felt your heart sank. You didn’t want to make him angry— didn’t want to make either of them upset. You didn’t mean to disobey them, you just wanted some space.

“I do care,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I really do. I just.. I didn’t think it would—”

“That’s the problem, you didn’t think.” He snapped, his tone growing harsher. His dark eyes bore deeply into yours, disappointment and anger twisting the knife of guilt even deeper. 

“After everything we’ve done to protect you, this is how you repay us? By being reckless?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Stop.” Suguru interjected, his voice colder now. “No more excuses.” His fingers dug into his forearms, and his face remained unreadable, but the distance between the two of you felt like an ocean.

“You should know how dangerous the outside world is, Y/N. You’ve been with us long enough to understand the stakes.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you instinctively reached out towards him, desperately trying to calm the storm you unleashed unintentionally.

“Suguru.. I’m sorry. I really am. Please, I—”

“Enough.” Once again you were shut down, his voice like a wall slamming down between you.

Your throat tightened as you dropped your gaze to your lap, the heavy weight of guilt eating you alive. You felt like a child being scolded by their parents. You never intended to disappoint Suguru or Satoru. All you wanted was space, air to breathe again, but now you felt like you were suffocating.

Satoru, who was sitting quietly from the other side of the living room, finally spoke up. “Whoa, whoa, hey, let’s not make this more dramatic than it needs to be.” His voice was soft and light, though it held an undertone of seriousness. 

He stood up from the chair, sauntering over and stepping between you and Suguru with ease. Crouching in front of you, he tilted his head to catch your downcast eyes. 

“You’re scaring her, Suguru. You know how sensitive she gets when you use that tone.” Satoru spoke while a small frown tugged at his lips, giving a look towards the other male. 

Suguru kept quiet for a moment, his hand rubbing the back of his neck while rolling his eyes at the comment. 

“She should be scared. Maybe then she’ll finally start thinking before putting herself in danger. It’s not about coddling her, Satoru.” He finished off, his jaw tightening as his dark orbs flickered briefly over towards you.

For a moment, there seemed to be something unreadable in his gaze— frustration mixed with something softer, but it disappeared almost instantly.

You glanced at Satoru, seeing a smile replace the frown from earlier as his hand gripped your thigh gently underneath his fingertips. The touch was soft and gentle, his fingers squeezing your skin ever so often in a way to comfort you. 

“Toru.. I didn’t want to make him upset. I didn’t want to upset either of you. I just.. just needed a bit of space. I thought… maybe I could have a few moments of normality.” Your voice trembled slightly, tears beginning to stream freely down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

Satoru softened slightly as his hand reached out to brush away your tears. 

“You don’t need to apologize for wanting some space, sweetheart. We get it, really. But next time, let us know, alright? No more running off and getting into trouble. We just worry about you.” His words were playful, though it held an underlying seriousness that made your chest tighten.

You gave a weak nod, but the guilt still lingered. Suguru’s disappointment was still evident, and despite the reassurance from Satoru, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you only made things worse.

Suguru’s gaze hasn’t left your form, still as unyielding as ever, but a subtle change flickered in his eyes.

“You can’t keep doing this, baby. We’re here to protect you, but you have to let us. It’s our responsibility to keep you safe. You belong with us.” Suguru’s voice was calmer, yet firm as he stepped closer towards you and Satoru.

You glanced between them, heart torn in two. Satoru’s words felt like a balm—comforting, reassuring— but Suguru’s felt more like a chain, tying you down tighter with every passing moment. They were right, and that’s what hurt the most. You never really gave much thought about how much danger you could be in, how much they had already given to keep you safe.

“I’m… not sure if I can do this,” you whispered.

Satoru reached out, cupping your cheek with his hand. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry. We’ve got you. We promise you’ll never be alone.”

You closed your eyes at his warmth, though guilt still lingered deep within you. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again, though it was more to yourself than to them. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.”

Suguru’s gaze softened just enough to let you catch a glimpse of the concern buried beneath his stern exterior. He sits down next to you, reaching out to grab your hand in his and squeezes softly.

“I’m only angry because I care, Y/N. We both do,” he finishes off while Satoru leans forward and places a gentle kiss against your temple.

You closed your eyes, the weight of their words pressing down on you like a chain you could never break.

[sweetimpurity]

💓 day 23!! I have been waiting for this one and the next three days!! this is a continuation of THIS sweet thought that everyone was asking for a part 2 of!

So the next three days are gonna be a mini series off of that!! I recommend reading that before you read this so it makes sense!

cw: yandere themes, obsession

PART 1

Earth-731

Mig’s been watching you for months. Managed to tap into the feed of multiple Miguel’s across the multiverse. Connections to his dimension are tricky since a rogue anomaly came a while back and threw off the timeline only slightly. So things are glitchy. He feels glitchy all the time. Like there’s a flicker in his head and in his bones. Searching for the thing that would make everything right again, make him feel okay, and he can only look to you. Perfect you. You don’t exist in his timeline. Yet in almost every other dimension, you’re there with a version of him that’s much luckier than he’s ever been. 

It’s obsessive at this point. He watches you all day long. Watching you with your Miguel. Or rather watching you get left behind. He watches Miguel-928 miss out on important events, forget anniversaries and birthdays, watches you going to bed alone for nights at a time. But he also watches the good times, the nights in, date nights you two share together, the laughs, the love. Forcing himself to turn the feed off when it seems your version of him will get even luckier. 

It’s torture. To have fallen for you when he’s never even spoken to you before. But you love him in another timeline right? So why couldn’t you love him in this one?  

“Hah…” He sighs, running fingers through his hair and getting up from his seat. Pacing around his office in Alchemax. In this dimension, he’s not the leader of the Spider Society. He’s a geneticist working for a tyrant CEO in a bright sterile lab in Nueva York. And not a single person knows of his genetic predisposition. 

He wakes up, goes to work, overworks, goes home, checks the police feed he’s hacked into and listens to where he’s needed. Going out in the night to catch crooks and criminals because that’s all he can do. He hasn’t been able to figure out how to jump dimensions since the anomaly left his timeline glitching and cut off. But religiously he watches back a video feed he captured of another Miguel on Earth-378, constructing a portal generator. 

Since he doesn’t have the instructions himself, he’s dissected and analyzed this video over and over for months. Trying to copy it to the letter and make a portal generator of his own so he can finally get out of this place. He’s collected parts and worked countless hours in his apartment trying to make this work. 

Originally his destination in mind was anywhere but here. But ever since he found you while combing through multiversal feeds, he knows you’re his first stop. He’s taking you with him no matter where he goes. Your Miguel doesn’t treat you right anyway. 

Heading home, he stumbles through the door carrying a new discarded piece of machinery from work. There’s a circuit board with a specific wiring he thinks will be the right piece for the generator. Lugging it down the hallway to the spare bedroom which is now his makeshift lab. His half constructed generator on a bench there. Putting the piece down and flicking a few switches to bring the lab to life. Lights flickering on and some machines humming. Multiple screens on his computer awaken and he walks right over to one, scanning his fingerprint. Pushing up his glasses and typing on the screen to bring up the feed labeled with your name. Pressing on it and tuning in to see what you’re doing. 

He sits down, focusing on the screen and zooming out to see you’re still at work in your dimension. Looking so pretty and perfect. His heart flutters just seeing you after the long day he’s had. He wishes he could talk to you. 

He sits at his desk, fiddling with the machine to remove the parts and watching the feed like TV. Listening to your voice through the screen and seeing you leave work, street cameras picking up your route home. His eyes lock on any suspicious characters on the street and making sure you get there safely. Even though he’s dimensions away, he always watches to make sure you get home safe. 

And almost like it’s his favorite part of the movie, he leans forward, waiting for the surveillance in your apartment to pick up your expression as you enter the door. A smile on his face, admiring you adoringly at that relief in your expression. That gladness he knows you feel being home after a long day. It’s a good thing your Miguel installed all that surveillance in the apartment. Because now he can watch you worlds away. He’d probably do the same thing if he knew if could keep you protected. 

The night goes on and clearly your Miguel isn’t coming home until late again. Most likely on patrol all day or at the Society Headquarters like he always is. Hardly seeing you at all in a day. Mig watches you make dinner for yourself. He watches you watch a show for a while, listens to you singing to yourself as you do the dishes, watches the bathroom door when you’re taking a shower and then switches the feed to the empty kitchen while you’re getting changed in the bedroom. All the while he’s working on removing the pieces from this machine, finally getting it undone by the time you’re calling your Miguel to ask when or if he’ll be home tonight. You’re already in your pajamas ready for bed and he’s not even back yet. 

“Shit… damn it..” Mig huffs when the circuit board doesn’t fit where he needs it. All that work and now he’ll have to find a different piece in scrap somewhere. He sighs, forcing himself not to chuck the piece across the room, instead discarding it calmly in the junk metal bin. He huffs, sitting down at his desk and running his hands through his hair again. He stays that way for a few minutes. He’s tired.

Sitting with his head in his hands and hearing the sounds of you getting ready for bed. His eyes closed and listening to you brush your teeth, wash your face, do all the things he watches you do every night. And then the sheets when you’re getting in bed. Feeling heavy himself. 

Your moans fill his ears, infiltrating his mind. Your body which could only be soft and warm and plush. Under him and accepting him over and over. His cock hugged and loved through your tight walls, his tip kissing your sweet spot every single time. Making you tremble, making you moan for him. Moaning his name. “Mmmmiguel!” You gasp and it makes him shiver. His face dipping into your neck and inhaling your scent which he can only imagine is so sweet and pleasant. 

Finding your hands with his and lacing his fingers with yours. Hands entwined above your head, as close as he’s always yearned to be. Pumping you full with everything he’s been keeping for you. Your cunt he’s longed to taste, to fill. Your sweet soft skin he’s needed to kiss and bite. Kissing down your jaw, your neck, your sternum and finding your perked mound, sucking the hardened nip into his mouth and sucking. Drawing the sweetest, most erotic sounds from your lips he can even imagine. Your shaking legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him deeper, is that’s even possible. Like he could never be separated from you. Even though he’s never not been separated from you before. 

“Oh please Mig!” You sigh, and he looks up at your face, your features quirked in pleasure. He keeps with the rhythm, knowing it’s bringing you pleasure, bringing you closer to orgasm. And he wants to feel you come apart on him. He’s wanted it for so so long.

“Come on sweet girl…” He whispers, but the sound doesn’t leave his chest. It rumbles but it stays. Like the words won’t reach the air.

He shakes awake when his elbow knocks a tool off his desk. The metal clanking and ringing through the room. “hah!” He flinches, lifting his head from where it was resting in his hands. Having fallen asleep watching you sleep. It was a dream. No it was a tease. His mind taunting him with what he will never have.

Except your moans don’t cease. They don’t stop. That’s not in his head. He looks up at the screen. Seeing the time, trying to decipher what’s going on. Your desperate cries coming in through the monitor. And there you are in bed. Your Miguel finally returned home from wherever he was all day ignoring you. The two of you having loud sex under the blankets. He’s confused. Caught off guard. Slamming a few buttons and shutting the feed off. That’s enough taunting for one night.

Taglist!! love my sweeties!

@spooky-sculder

@slushycoookie @xxyaoi-nationxx @snails-doodles22 @scaryplanetdestroyer @fate13

@divorcepaperz @yeahnohoneybye @zaunsin @tomalymme @drefear

@mrs-pondwater19 @saintdiior @aphinthestars @hyjionie

@palomanh @maxad99 @muuuwoppppp @reader-1290

@sp0ck136 @lazyninjaphilosopher

@pinkdizzyship @opalwitchart

if you'd like to be added/dropped from the taglist, please comment on my masterlist post. Or else I might not see it! thank you! 🩷

plus those who requested a part 2:

@d3stin7 @laysmt @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @marshhbs

@twwcs @resident-clown @haveclayeveryday

@fullmetal-spiderling @grumpyahjumma

@lxverrings @lazyjellyfish300

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere König Headcanons

Warnings: Some 18+ Moments (Nothing Explicit), Social Anxiety, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Bullying, Acts of Revenge, Gaslighting, Kidnapping, Underwear Stealing, Possessive Behaviour, Yandere Behavious, Toxic Behaviour, Intimidation, Social Sabotage, No Pronouns used for Reader Except 'You', etc.

Wordcount: 14,544 words

A/N: Hey Guys, Happy Valentine's Day <3 ! Thanks for stopping by to read my fic ! Much love and wellness to you all :-). I've had to split the bulk of the text and the ending into two posts because Tumblr will not let me keep them in the same post - it just won't save or post. A link will be provided below the main body of text to take you to the ending post <3

You and König became friends the very same day you met.

You were a new student to the school that König called Hell; not yet alive – conscious – to the incessant bullying and ignorance that occurred there.

Upon seeing you for the first time, feet pointed in, shoulders rigid, lunch pail squeezed – compressed – tightly between your tiny fingers, König felt… strange.

He’d never met you before, but he already felt that there was something to be done in the way of you.

As to what that ‘something’ was was completely lost on König.

But alas, he tore his resting head from his palm, his senses sharpening as he was drawn from the fantasy world he’d crafted for himself, becoming aware of his surroundings,

He watched you, for the first time, a child no older than himself, nigh-quivering under the curious gazes of students.

As if by instinct, König’s gaze drifted to the table that housed his tormentors.

And, sure as ever, their eyes held nothing less than malice. Intent.

Something in him told him to sit up straighter, to get his hands off the desk – anything to appear bigger than how he did now.

He recognised this feeling. Though, he’d never felt it towards a person.

In König, it only ever manifested whenever he happened upon some small, injured creature.

Despite being just children, König was already a little taller than everyone else in the class; foreshadowing of the monster he’d become, whose horns just peeked through his skull, made him an inch or three taller than the rest.

And yet, he was still the butt of every joke, the object of needless ridicule.

Little did he know that would all change the very same day he met you.

Something in him prompted him, told him, to talk to you, to find out as much about you as he possibly could.

An impulse he had never known until today.

Though, as to how he’d initiate conversation was tricky.

He could barely talk to his own parents, let alone a complete stranger.

As you peeked up from the floor every now and then, scanning the room and all its pieces, its players, your gaze fell upon König.

His heart fitted, adopting an irregular rhythm – a genre of music he’d never heard before.

Usually, he’d tear his gaze away, look down or out the window.

But he couldn’t.

With you, it was impossible.

The seat beside him was empty, a sliver of mercy his favourite teacher had imparted on him.

The possibility that you would be seated next to him – that you might choose to sit beside him of your own volition – filled König with a dangerous sense of hope.

He found himself clenching his fists when you made a move to go to him, taking but a small step in his direction. The right direction.

Before the teacher pointed to another seat halfway across the classroom.

König deflated, his shoulders sagging, his mood dampening as if sodden with tears.

He looked upon your reluctantly retreating form, your friendship withering away with each step you were forced to take.

König looked upon his teacher that day with something he hadn’t felt for them before.

Contempt.

The lesson dragged, yet playtime loomed.

It was less of a break for König than it was an opportunity for his bullies to find him. Capture him.

Yet today, he was the one seeking them.

He’d seen the way they’d looked at you, leered at you, repeated your name in mock mimicry when the teacher called on you for attendance.

König’s heart thrummed in his chest, an off-key harp.

He swallowed thickly, trying to hear over his internal symphony’s failing orchestra.

He almost considered calling off the search and searching for a teacher to help when he heard it.

You.

A sniffle. Then, insults.

Hissed and seethed and quiet, just below the radar of the adults ‘watching over’ the students.

König turned, only to find a long corner before him.

He pressed himself close to it, and listened.

Another sniffle, verging on a cry. Then, more insults.

The Cycle.

König’s fists clenched, his heart flared with the anger he’d felt many a time when he’d been on the receiving end of such torment.

Yet somehow, now that it was you receiving it, it was as if the cap König had set atop his anger, to prevent himself from doing something drastic, or displaying too much emotion, had blown off.

The anxiety that occupied König’s every waking moment boiled with his growing fury, a chemical gas that threatened all life that came into contact with it.

Without thinking, blinded by something greater than his limitations, he embarked the corner.

There you were, surrounded by four boys, each as diabolical as the last.

Devils in cherubs’ clothing.

König’s shadow descended upon the scene, covering your cowering frame.

The leader turned around.

He gave a sly grin, and turned partially from you.

He didn’t even have the courtesy to face König completely.

“Oi, oi,” he said, voice shrill and piercing. König stood his ground.

“And what’d’you want, König,”

König said nothing still, though the expression on his face was twisted, a far cry from the doe-eyed boy he was just two minutes ago.

The leader, when König didn’t answer, abandoned you, leaving you to his lackeys.

He approached König with a walk too old for his body, a cheap imitation of intimidation.

He only came up to König’s chin.

“I said–” he poked König’s chest, punctuating each word with a demeaning splinter.

And yet, König wasn’t paying attention to him.

He was looking at you.

You, having your hair pulled and your shirt practically torn.

König’s eyes narrowed.

“What. Do. You. W–”

Everything happened so fast that König scarcely thought it happened at all.

One minute, the bully was barely chest-to-chest with him. The next, he was on the floor, wailing, clutching his nose in his hands.

König almost couldn’t look away as a thin trickle of blood seeped between the boy’s fingers, staining his hands, and the concrete, a dark red.

König’s body shook, much like that displayed in starvation. He caught a glimpse of red along his knuckles.

And then, looking up from the bully, to his dumbfounded lackeys, he found you.

The lackeys were slowly backing away from you and making their way around König, as if he were a tiger, to their leader.

“Leave (Y/N) alone.” he said to the group, his shoulders heaving with his fresh victory.

The odd few nodded, mouths agape as they watched the leader struggle to get up onto his feet.

König walked past them and, taking cautious, slow steps towards you, stopped just shy of three feet away from you.

You were still shaking, your eyes wide as you craned your neck to look up at König’s face.

König felt giddy. A bubbling feeling welling up inside his chest.

Though, something caught in his throat. Something uncharacteristic of this situation.

“Hey–” König said, coughing, clearing his throat, when his voice cracked.

His face began to heat up, and he tried again.

“Hey,” he said, quietly.

You, awe-struck, with your mouth hung open, said nothing.

“I’m (Y/N)–...wait, no…I’m– König–”

König’s stilted introduction, and the fumble he made of it, was cut short with a soft, almost invisible feeling.

You’d thrown your arms around his middle and buried your face in his chest.

He looked down at the top of your head, only your hair visible.

The warmth on his face multiplied, growing hotter by the second as the gratitude in your muffled words – your ‘thank you’s – spilled from between the fabric of his jacket.

And, that feeling from before, the one that told him to act, returned; prompted him to do that which he thought best.

He put his arms around your shoulders and held you.

Only a moment later did you look up at him, eyes reddened with tears.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said.

König smiled, his teeth crooked.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

Immediately after the incident, a swarm of students gathered where the bully lay, ultimately unable to peel himself from the floor, his lackeys too frightened to turn their back on König for even a second.

The incident was passed around the playground like folklore, and König, and yourself, never had any trouble from those bullies again.

They’d all but discredited their leader, claiming that he’d “Tripped and fallen on a  rock,” and hadn’t finally gotten what was coming to him.

They could hardly say otherwise when König was staring them down with the look of hatred they’d all so mastered.

The group was disgraced, some of the boys eventually refusing to come to school altogether, transferring.

And all the while, you and König became inseparable.

That was the day you learnt what true friendship was.

Your parents came to know König very quickly, as his family came to know you.

You both walked home together every day, memorising the paths to each other’s houses “In case aliens invade and I need to find you!” as König justified his vested interest.

The first time he visited your house was like visiting another country.

You were much different at home than you were at school.

For one, you were more vibrant, more prone to voicing your opinions rather than keeping quiet.

And König found this quality to spark something in him.

The fact that he had gotten to know this side of you while no-one else had felt like an accomplishment.

Whenever you had anything to say, he was listening.

Regardless of how menial it was, how borderline unexplainable or just plain complex, König tried to make sense of it every time.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together, never apart for a second save for sleeping and the singular day of the week when your family would take you away somewhere; and even then, König was often invited to go along.

You had sleepovers as often as you could manage, exchanging stories like currency in a continent where only you and König lived.

König’s favourite to recite was Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart, which, the first time he relayed it to you, had you peeking out from beneath your bed sheets, shivering.

That night, as König tried to sleep, he heard you whisper his name in the dark.

He spared no hesitation as he answered.

“König,” you said. “Will you…” your tiny voice barely permeated the suffocating dark.

“Will you sleep next to me ?”

König froze, then, as understanding gripped him, he thawed.

He clambered out from his sleeping bag and onto your bed, unsure of where to look or what to do once he got there.

He rested his arms above the sheets and stared up into the abyssal ceiling, hearing your breathing next to him.

You shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his front.

König became a corpse.

He stiffened, his breathing stopped, and he dared not move a muscle for fear of doing something wrong.

“Thank you,” you said. König could feel your smile against the fabric of his shirt.

"Goodnight, König,” you whispered, your face buried into him as it had been the day he confronted your bullies.

Swallowing thickly, and, sliding an arm around you, König shot a reply into the darkness.

“Goognight, (Y/N).”

After that night, König began to feel…different where you were concerned.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it would hit him whenever his mind drifted back to you, which he found himself doing much more often than he already did.

Considering you were his only friend, you already occupied a good portion.

König always shelved the feeling, promising to try and make sense of it later.

Later, later.

He tested his tolerance for physical contact again one day when you were both walking home.

He’d calculated what he was going to say, to do, and, taking a deep breath, he grasped your hand in his.

His palm was sweaty, the anticipation of this action weighing on him all day.

He couldn’t even bring himself to look at you – to see your reaction.

His heart spasmed.

With nothing to say, to rebuke, you just smiled and squeezed König’s hand.

He felt a weight fall from his shoulders, the sky clearing, his face heating with that feeling of butterflies rather than crushing doom.

You would walk hand-in-hand everywhere you went after that.

Eventually, when all the stories you each had to offer were spent, you found another way of amusing yourselves – of remaining connected regardless of how far away the other was.

The Bestie Bible.

A scrapbook, patchwork, Frankenstein’s novel of shared memories, diary entries; testaments of the people you were.

The book would be passed between you each week; a ‘safer’ alternative to sending letters where your parents were concerned.

An encyclopaedia of your lives right at your fingertips.

You got to know things about König that not even his own family knew, details that he was too shy to tell you, causing him to write them to you instead.

Like his hopes to become a ‘protector’ when he got older.

Little did you know, he wanted to do it for you – to protect you.

That part, he kept to himself.

And vice versa, König got to learn of your life, too; everything from your second favourite colour, bands you were into at the time, your favourite foods, shows - anything.

And he’d feverishly consume your every entry, committing them to memory.

Bible verses.

Whenever he was with you, he felt as if his whole world got brighter, that he could see a clear future with you and him in it.

And that feeling would always come with you. That damned feeling.

It only strengthened the older he became, heating his cheeks and knotting his words in his mouth.

And he’d shelve it, every time.

Because his time with you was precious.

That much was innate; he just knew.

He didn’t have time to understand, only to enjoy.

You celebrated birthdays together.

Every year, without fail, König would buy you a present that remained as timeless as your friendship.

And you’d always thank him the same way; a bone-crushing hug, a squealing “Thank you!”, and a lifetime of gratitude.

That, and one birthday, you kissed his cheek, sending him bright red, making both your families point and coo and stare.

A social nightmare for König, one which you rescued him from by finding a table to hide beneath and sit with him.

You apologised. He told you that you’d done nothing wrong.

You didn’t kiss him again after that.

Which, little did you know, evoked something from within König that was stronger, more potent, poignant, than the feeling he’d felt before. Its predecessors.

At what point König stopped seeing you as just friends was clear to him, yet the shift in his behaviour was subtle enough to be a snake hidden in the grass, a knife slipped between the mattresses – the ribs.

Or, perhaps he had always been that way. Completely and unequivocally in love with you and simply unaware of it.

Or, as close to love as one as young as him could interpret his feelings to be.

But that didn’t mean he understood what he was feeling.

It was light yet strong, a great army pounding on the walls of an even greater empire. A takeover.

He’d lay in bed most nights, hands clasped over his racing heart, as he thought of you, your smile, your everything, and he’d hope beyond hope, pray beyond heaven, that this feeling would last forever.

At first, he’d condemned it, and while he continued to shelve it, he couldn’t deny the butterflies you made him feel.

The warm jitters you’d give him whenever you’d hold him.

One day, sat in the tunnel of your favourite slide, in the local park you and König had claimed as “ours”, you sat together, waiting for your mothers to pick you up. König sat close beside you, almost fused to your side.

His hands shook in his lap, his gaze drifting to yours in a similar position, just lacking the jitters.

He wished he could be calm like you, to not be plagued with the mental anguish that he was born with.

He’d rehearsed this many times the night before, speaking with himself in the mirror – the only person aside from you he felt comfortable talking with – and prepared himself.

He took a deep breath, and before he could think about what he was doing, took your hand in his.

König waited a second, then two, before looking to you and gauging your reaction.

You didn’t even flinch, instead looking back at him with a small smile.

You squeezed his hand as you had done many times before.

So why did this time feel so different?

“What’s wrong, König ?” you said, tilting your head.

Wrong wasn’t even a word when König was with you.

König stifled the urge to withdraw, to retreat to his bedroom and hide beneath the covers of his bed until the day melted away and began anew, wiping your memory of this ever having happened.

But, again, König ignored the impulse.

He breathed deeply, hoping you wouldn’t notice as he tried in vain to placate his racing heart.

“Do you–” he swallowed, looking away, into the skyline of the fading sun, a sun set, then returning to you.

“D’youwannakiss?”

It came out so fast that even König had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

Your eyebrows crumpled, and you looked down in thought.

König’s heart stopped.

Had he said something wrong ? Had he offended you?

He thought his body would just seize up and release his soul to the heavens right then and there.

You turned to face him, your previous expression dissolving.

“König, we’re twelve. We don’t know how.”

It took König a second to understand what was happening until, yes, of course, the answer came to him.

Come to think of it, he’d only just realised.

His, and your, only knowledge of what ‘kissing’ was was something that people did when they loved each other.

He knew he loved you, though he knew the love he felt for you was different from the love he felt for his parents, or other family members.

He was rather sparse on the friend front, so he had little to compare you with there.

He bit the inside of his cheek, and, thinking, found a solution.

He said nothing as he placed his forehead to yours.

You seemed confused for a minute, before you understood and applied equal force, your forehead resting against König’s.

And you stayed that way. Just you and König sat in a kaleidoscope of childhood with your heads pressed together; two halves of an arch way, one side meaningless without the other.

Act 2

Your childhoods came and went, a flambaic fanfare of hopes, dreams, and cartoons. And your teen years gave way to feelings you’d never felt before.

And throughout it all, König was at your side.

Even now as he shot up in height, you lagging behind in that same department compared to him, he would gladly bend the knee to take your hand in his.

As was the case on your first day of high school, where you and König hurried down winding, identical corridors that you could only ever have hoped to be liminal; too many people existed here for them to be so.

Eventually, you found your classroom, miraculously having an identical timetable – at least for now.

And as you sat beside each other, your knee bouncing, watching the students filter in, König squeezed your hand in his, casting you a small, quivering, nervous smile.

Your shared anxieties would continue on from this day forth, solidifying as, just as you had been in elementary, you and König seldom spoke to anyone outside your duo, having created an impenetrable wall through which nobody could enter and neither of you could leave.

Your habits from elementary continued on, too; you both completed homework together, you had sleepovers, you continued the Bestie Bible.

But something was…amiss.

This feeling, this loss of something, grew as you did, and by your early teen years, you realised what it was.

It was around every corner, at every block of lockers, leaned against them, gazing into the eyes of the most wanted.

Love.

Sure, you knew what love was, hypothetically. You could identify it on paper, sense it between two people you’d never even met. But you never felt it.

Not the kind that you observed, anyway.

Perhaps it was your young curiosity.

Perhaps it was simply a longing for something new.

But you wanted to feel what everyone else seemed to feel.

What on-screen heroes and heroines so easily attained.

And thus began your pursuit of that which would be your downfall.

Your gaze would begin to linger more on boys in your classes who you could see yourself liking.

Prospectors, you called them to König.

Your first mistake had been ever trying to like someone in the first place.

At your sleepovers, your homework and study sessions, your park wanders, you’d spill your heart to König.

Just not in the way he wanted you to.

You’d tell him of guys you thought you may, perhaps, just a little bit, be interested in.

The first time you told König, he almost laughed.

He cast you a doubtful look, only to unfurrow his brows, unhook the smiling corners of his lips when he found you to be dead serious.

That night, König went to bed with what you could characterise as indigestion of the heart.

What you’d said didn’t sit right with him. Stirred a storm in his chest.

And he hadn’t even interpreted your words correctly.

He thought you just wanted to be friends with other people.

More people.

The idea made him anxious, made his nerves light with doubt.

And he calmed himself, looking upon your Bestie Bible, reminding himself that your friendship was God, stronger than all the forces that kept the earth together.

Or so he believed.

One evening, weeks later, during one of your routine visits, König sensed a shift in you.

You were quieter, almost as if you had clouds drifting around your crown.

Over time, as your desire to experience more, do more, grew stronger, your gaze began to wander to your classmates.

One in particular.

Just some boy, really nothing objectively noteworthy about him at all, save for perhaps his kindness, his wit, and another benign personality trait you could romanticise.

Initially, you thought little of him.

But as the weeks crawled by, and you had extra time in your classes to simply retreat elsewhere, into another world, he would be there, smiling, waving.

And you would speak with him, imagine what his opinions would be, what his voice would sound like up-close.

Fleeting instances of a desire for friendship.

That’s what you thought they were.

What else could they be ?

Meanwhile, you and König still shared as much time together as you could, even when school was becoming troublesome. Difficult.

You’d study together, have sleepovers, write in your Bestie Bible and exchange it like a letter, a story almost as old as you were.

Whenever you’d fall asleep, König would watch you, unabashed and unfettered.

An identical habit to that he’d created during childhood, with a similar goal in mind; to protect you.

Though, that was not his only motivation now.

König would watch you, watch over you, and look for as long as he liked upon your sleeping features.

And, as he advanced into his later teen years, he couldn’t deny that he found you to be very attractive.

Anyone with eyes and common sense would !

He always found his heart stuttering, his breath catching, his body heating at every docile gesture you made.

Not that you knew this, of course.

He’d studied, learnt enough from watching failed couples and friendships in school to see where mistakes were made – where friendships ended due to another’s impatience. Lack of restraint.

He made sure to avoid them at all costs.

And so he fed from you as you slept, unawares, your vulnerable state further motivation for him to protect you.

From what ?

He didn’t quite know yet.

But he held an answer, and it hung in his mind, a constant.

Everything.

During your study sessions, König began to notice that your attention seemed to be elsewhere.

Let me rephrase that; he’d noticed weeks ago that you seemed taken with something, but König couldn’t tell what.

He’d studied your Bible many times over, trying to find something indicative of your newfound interest.

And yet, nothing struck him.

Nothing new, at least.

And now, sitting here with you, König grilled you. Politely, with enough characteristic fragility in his tone that made him sound endearing enough to be spared any wrath you’d think to impart on him.

“Nothing’s wrong, Köni,” you assured him, smiling.

Your words were clear, but your eyes held a dream in them, a haze which settled over them like clouds before the moon.

König’s eyebrow raised, and, with a playful lilt, pressed further.

“That’s not true,” he said. He put his pen down and rested his hands upon the table.

“Something’s occupying your mind – I can see it.” He took a shallow breath, trying to keep his mouth stretching into a smile for as long as he could.

The fact that he didn’t know what was causing you to be this way killed him.

He recognised it in you, much as he recognised it in himself.

Love.

Or the infantile beginnings of it.

And yet he knew not from what it was borne.

You shrugged him off again, smiling, returning to your work.

“Really, König, it’s nothing !” You made mindless markings on your paper. “Now come on, drop it. We have a history test tomorrow.”

That night, König couldn’t convince you to stay over.

You both knew the evening would drag on ‘til the early hours of the morn, and neither of you wanted to fail this test.

As König embraced you, his giant form eclipsing yours, he saw the back of your bag unzipped.

He knew exactly how many seconds he had until you’d pull away.

Without a sound, he slipped his hand inside and withdrew the paper you’d been scribbling on earlier.

For once, he withdrew first, though it pained him to do so.

That night, he looked upon the paper.

There was little he could decipher from the obsolete doodles and scribbles, but something did stand out to him.

A name.

Nothing more.

The name of a boy.

It was given neither ceremony, nor decoration, simply slapped onto the paper as if it belonged there.

Looking at it made bile churn in his stomach, so he folded it, tucked it away somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.

The next day, it was his turn to receive the Bible, his makeshift friend, to give a near-identical account of experiences as you.

Given how you were both attached at the hip, there was little fluctuation in your day-to-day encounters.

In all honesty, he’d hoped that whatever had been plaguing you last night would emerge in the pages of that book, somewhere between the Frankenstein’s monster pages of glitter and brightly-coloured card paper and receipts from shops that exposed a most ambitious fashion sense.

And, like an answer from God, it did.

Laying in bed, leafing through the shared history book you and König shared, he sought your latest entries.

His heart burned as he discovered them, and, enthusiasm unmatched, he consumed every word.

He’d initially suspected that perhaps you’d taken up a new hobby, was maybe, in even a miniscule capacity, planning a gift for him, what with all your secrecy and all.

But König could read you like the book in his hands, and though he wanted to believe anything that crossed his mind, he knew any answer he came up with wouldn’t be the right one.

He truly had no way of knowing what was making you tick.

And then, he saw it.

A needle in a haystack; a whimpering puppy in a darkened alleyway.

A name.

A confession.

König’s body seized, his heart palpitating, his mind beginning to burn.

His throat tightened, and his stomach clamped shut, causing an immediate sickness to shoot through every nerve in his body.

The corners of his vision darkened, as if a cloud – or the cape of a villain – had settled over him.

And for a second, König thought that this was death.

There, in your handwriting, your letters, your words, was the cause of your distractment.

‘I like someone,’ you said, and König heard your voice in his ears, his head, as if you were speaking these words to him now, tearing his heart out now. ‘A boy from our class – the one who sits at the front, with the vintage biker jacket.’

König’s mind acted of its own accord, searching every frame of memory from the beginning of your school career to now to find the perpetrator.

All the while, König’s throat stung, the antiseptic truth bleaching, purging, the hope that had grown there over the years, a feeling which had persevered above all others.

The tightness in his chest gave way to a smouldering, burning, second death, the peeling of his heart in two, acid poured into the separate halves to be drunk by you, disintegrating the cumulative joy he’d felt there. Once.

The pages of the book tore in König’s hands, his grip on the edges enough to give the impression of a seizure, or some primal, uncontrolled bodily spasm.

The searing behind his eyes gave way to tears, an onslaught that choked him, choked him as the fiery clump in his throat burst into a sob.

König threw the book aside, feeling minimal relief from having done so, instead simply discarding the cross from his Hell-skin.

It hit something, unknown damage being done.

It would not compare to the damage done to König.

His hands clawed at his chest, pounding against the skin as if to search for the stolen heart beneath.

No words could, or would, leave König, no language of anguish or despair elaborate, violent, or loud enough to express what he felt.

On his knees now, König keeled over himself, compacting his large frame to a ball, as if to disappear entirely.

His mouth hung open, moulded to The Scream’s tune of horror, saliva stringing from within and onto the sheets.

He sobbed, convulsed, the same, nerve-frying stress that turned one’s hair white crushing him.

He knew now.

He knew what that feeling was, all those years ago, as another, younger version of himself lay in the same bed he wept on now, the agony his older self was benign subject to unseen by him, merely a pin-prick in the fabric of the universe, a bout of sadness, brief and fleeting, the desire to mourn, if only for a second, yet not knowing what for.

That feeling he’d felt…

It was love.

In all her most glorious, radiant terms, what he’d felt since the beginnings of your friendship, to the tumour it had developed into now, malignant and all-consuming, was love.

König wanted to part from it. To tear its parasitic tendrils from his mind and erase it so thoroughly from the universe that none should ever know it again, not its name, nor its face. Neither its feeling.

König’s face, pressed into the sheets to stifle his cries, to block out external stimulus, was scrunched in a portrait of terror, mid-scream, mid-death.

Eternities passed. The infernal suffering encapsulating König in its current made him break out into sweats, soaked his shirt and his body.

Through the dense thicket of heartbreak, König saw a thinning of trees, a glimmer peeking between distant gaps.

He searched for it, sought it, followed it blindly – anywhere but to be here.

An idea was brewing. A dangerous one.

König fled to the treeline, tangling in the vegetation and clawing his way free, sacrificing whatever material sentimentality he had to propel himself to freedom.

Body shaking, trembling, König threw himself into the light.

He shot up from the sheets, still clutching his spectral heart in his hands, breathing heavily, panting.

The idea settled, nestled in the forefront of his mind, incubated and basking in his attention.

König’s eyes darted from one dark corner of his room to the other, only the lamp by his bedside enough to fend off the monsters.

That, and the demon which sat upon his shoulders, bringing with it a weight which did not crush König, but grounded him, anchored and committed him to the plan festering in his mind.

If I can’t have you, he said to his two selves, the spirit of his innocence watching helpless and fraying from the sidelines.

Then nobody can.

Every time you returned with your findings, of guys you thought were nice, of those whose personalities you analysed and decided would be optimum for your first relationship, König felt his blood start to simmer.

Anything to get you away from those Prospectors.

You were slipping away from him.

He knew it.

Especially when you started liking that guy.

König never bothered to learn his name – not properly. Even after he’d seen it square on your research paper like it was printed there intentionally.

And besides, it seemed to please you greatly whenever he’d get his name wrong, making you laugh.

Every night whenever you and König lay parallel, one on the floor and one on the bed depending on whose house you were staying at – since when did you stop sharing a bed…? – all you could seem to talk about was this feeling your whatever-he-was gave you.

And König listened, albeit unwillingly.

Though, even as he lay, fists clenched beneath the bed covers, his ears would prick as you relinquished something new, something palpable, taintable, to him.

Like how he drove a car, how he was an athlete, how he was tall – “Not nearly as tall as you, though, Köni~” – and how he’d be taking you to the school dance.

König felt his heart seize.

Oh no.

That wasn’t right.

Everything faded into white noise after that, König’s head burning with a thousand ways to separate you and your “crush”; how to remove him from your portrait and replace him with König.

But, having been willfully confined to the incredibly small circle that was only you and König, your social skills left… a lot to be desired. Made it easier for König to keep a closer eye on you without you flitting off to your other ‘friends’.

And whereas König never even thought about trying to alleviate his affliction, the “curing” of yours was all you ever thought about.

Each night, as you lay in bed, you dreamt of another you who was unafraid of public speaking, of private speaking. Of interacting in even the most broad or minimal of capacities.

Of talking to him.

And whenever you’d wake from those dreams, your chest puffed with the remnant confidence your alternate self gave you a sample of, it would deflate, crumble into ash the second you set foot over the threshold of the classroom.

People casting you a passing glance, the close proximity to others in a packed classroom…

It shot you straight back to square one.

And each time, you’d sit beside König, shoulders slumped, hands clasped in your lap, eyes devoid of any semblance of hope.

König wasn’t an idiot; he knew what that look was.

He’d encountered it many times in his youth before he’d grown comfortable with the uncomfortable; laid to rest his desire to remove the enemy and instead just live with it – anything for an easy life.

But with you…it was different.

He could tell.

And as he watched your mind become filled with calculus and angles and the dates of histories that barely sounded factual, something, a wicked little thought, crossed his mind.

You were going to be difficult to break.

The idea cracked in his mind’s eye, a flash of lightning against the clouds.

It shocked him, made his heart stammer.

He wondered where it had come from, and he glanced over his shoulder, as if to find the person who had put it there.

When the blazing cold panic fizzled out, calmed and quelled, he gave a glance to the thought, which hovered just out of reach; a legendary sword – antagonist – with not enough room in the inventory to keep.

And so König cast it into the Memory Pit, to die and to fade, while he returned to the lesson.

But it never left him.

It clung to the sharpened cliff edge, giving way to a bottomless pit.

The wright remained the day after. And the day after that, and the day after that.

Weeks passed, and König continued as normal.

Normal to you, at least.

He had another set of eyes now, up above him, behind him, wherever he needed them.

His intuition sharpened, a cat in all but disposition, as he discerned the most miniscule of gestures in the most benign of people.

All excluding you, of course.

Knowing what he did now, König could see what you were thinking and when, especially whenever your attention turned to the boy at the front of the class with the decrepit cyclist’s jacket.

One time, you’d actually gone up and spoken to him, coincidentally on the one day König was off school ill.

Beginning a dark descent into something you couldn’t even fathom as of yet.

A ‘secret’ friendship that, when you’d tell König of it, excited and overjoyed at your progress, his face soured, his mood darkening.

And yet his demeanour remained unchanged.

König had pretended not to have seen your entry, pretended not to have actually had the book at all, but to suggest that someone may have stolen it, or that it had been thrown out when his parents were cleaning his room.

You found it difficult to believe, but what other alternative was there?

Trust your best friend or the possibility of pure, freak chance?

You chose the latter.

König neve let you out of his sight for a second.

Whereas he could trust you before, to handle yourself, to be loyal to his friendship, he could no longer.

Even when you were separated by timetable differences, he still had eyes on you.

A well-timed bathroom break, the revelation that he’d left his textbook in his locker – anything to slip out of his classroom and glide past yours, his eyes on you all the while.

Even if you’d caught him, you’d have assumed he was simply being humorous, as all friends were, or, again, pure chance.

He’d work harder than all other students, earn the teachers’ praise and trust, all to worm his way out the classroom a few minutes early to ensure he could pick you up from your class whenever you were separated.

In the corridors together, König would watch your line of sight carefully.

He’d see who you were looking at, who was looking at you.

Luckily, he never had to do much to deter others from interacting with you.

His rapidly growing height did that for him.

By his mid-teens, König towered above everyone else, giving an unsuspecting you scary dog privileges, and giving everyone else a heart attack when they caught sight of the well-dressed Austrian constantly at your side.

Given his stature, König could cast rotten looks to those who seemed even marginally interested in you, completely unbeknownst to you.

And besides, you wouldn’t believe anyone who told you as much.

König, the shy, quiet, socially anxious boy shooting daggers at another student ? Preposterous !

With this crush of yours, König already had enough to deal with. He wasn’t about to relinquish you to the throws of another person’s friendship as you seemed to already have done with your heart.

The one person König could never seem to do away with was your crush.

He truly was fearless. Or arrogant. Or braindead.

Not that you knew, but König would catch his eye in the hallways, see him stare at you for a moment before the reaper beside you caught his eye.

He looked away, and König hoped that was the end of it.

It was not.

The boy would look at you again.

A feat not yet coined by any.

Except for him.

König knew he was losing you.

Or, losing what part of you was meant to be his.

And so he brought you to where you’d frequent as children, where you scarcely came to now ever since life had become so much more complicated.

The playground was desolate and empty, void of distractions save for the equipment – rides – which seemed too small for you now.

That didn’t stop you from trying to squeeze down the straw-thin slide, though, or into the seats of the roundabout.

König only watched, knowing he wouldn’t even have a chance of fitting like you would.

His palms were sweating, the script he’d rehearsed laying in some crevice in his room, ink smudged with anxiety and sweat.

König clambered up onto a climbing frame, the one which you had occupied when you ‘kissed’ for the first time.

The memory warmed König’s cheeks. But he couldn’t lose focus now.

He called you over, his voice deeper than it had been then, all those years ago.

And you came, bounding over to him, a labrador or a kitten.

You clambered the frame and came to sit with him.

He offered you his hand. Wordless. Intentionless.

(Or so he would seem).

And, wordless, equally intentionless, you faltered, just for a moment, then took it.

He pulled you into the tunnel, the tube wide enough to support König’s staggering height.

Comfort wasn’t the goal here; not for him, at least.

You fit perfectly, a perfect, perfect, perfect specimen as ever in König’s eyes.

That word reverberated in König’s soul, the only sublime measure capable of describing you in your purest form.

Now, hand-in, hand, you and König sat in silence.

Geese called somewhere in the distance, flying through the sunset gates in the sky to a land unknown, collecting passengers on their non-stop express to salvation.

The wind blew the trees as night began its slow descent, ink hands reaching down from the top of the canvas to transform this half of the world into its playground.

Much like the one you and König inhabited.

König looked down at your conjoined hands.

He ran his thumb across the back of yours, your knuckles.

He saw – felt – you wince, flinch. The beginnings of doubt, of retreat.

He knew he had to be quick.

The crippling anxiety that had shadowed from childhood sat with you in that tube now, your Venus, your evil twin.

It was you, who spat at him, at his attempts, and fed him tales of rejection and deceit, of your loyalty to that boy instead of him.

And yet here you sat, eyes wide as ever, curious and ambient, an ocean of possibilities.

The demon on König’s shoulders growled, its claws taking König’s heart in its clutches, knives to your feather-touch, and squeezed it.

König gave a cavernous, inward sigh and returned to you.

It’s now or never.

“(Y/N),” he said, timid, lamb.

He tried looking into your eyes. Peering into them as if they were the future.

You leaned in, swearing you could hear his voice twice.

One which spoke the truth, one which spoke a darker truth.

You listened for your friend’s tone.

“Yes, Köni ?”

God, that nickname.

As old as König himself.

Stay focused.

König swallowed. His throat prickled.

An oncoming sickness. A nestled affliction.

Lovesick.

“Do you remember…when we were kids – and we…”

He faltered. His gaze dropped.

Keep going !

He cleared his throat again.

Your hand lay limp in his.

”And we…we did that…thing?”

Your head tilted and your gaze flew to the sky in remembrance.

Your nose scrunched.

“König…that doesn’t particularly narrow it down,” you laughed, returning from the Heavens to him once again

König swallowed, thickly. He gave a wavering chuckle that barely reached his chest.

“Yeah…yeah, you’re right.”

With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to mortify himself when he found sweat collating there. Colony.

He slapped it back down on his thigh, desperately, discreetly, trying to wipe the sweat off.

He returned. Head above water, bobbing.

“I– what I’m trying to say…is…”

He shuffled closer. You mirrored him, ear-first, trying to catch his words, butterflies in a net.

“What I want to say is…”

He looked at you, dead in the eyes.

He was partially hunched, giving his tilted face a menacing, sharp look.

It almost took you aback.

His free hand, puppeteered by his demon, snaked past your body, fingers crocheting through your strands. Fusing you to him.

Your breath hitched, your guard defiled, as he placed his hand firmly there, the cold tips harsh against the warmth of your scalp.

“König–” you said, as if trying to identify the person in front of you.

König – or what he was now – didn’t listen.

He pulled your head closer, braced your hand in his.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, your nerves beginning to spark with…something.

You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you’d never felt it with König before.

You couldn’t place it, tried as you may.

It was only when König’s forehead kissed yours, his skin scorching, his eyes puppy-like and pure, that you found the answer.

It was the same feeling you felt for the boy with the vintage biker jacket.

You felt frozen, breath stilted, thinned with revelation.

And, with your forehead to König’s, a mirror image of the past, you were flooded with an ocean and all its creatures.

Confusion, apprehension, affection, and…disgust.

You’d never viewed König like that, not once.

And even now, it made you uncomfortable to feel this way.

And so, with the vigour of one escaping a trap, your eyes squeezed shut and tore yourself away, past König’s grip, his hold, and landing a foot or two away.

The umbilical cord, his hand in yours, was cut.

Your body felt cold, a phantom gust of wind prickling the skin, your heart.

König looked at you with wide eyes, pleading eyes, and a hole in his chest.

You looked upon each other, trying to find an answer, trying to see what the other would do.

Swallowing, breathing uneven, you crawled out from the tunnel, not looking back at König as he all but whimpered in your absence, eyes stinging, throat singing. A familiar condition settled upon him.

A paroxysm of his loving sickness, seeping deeper into his veins when you’d done your part in trying to uproot them.

Neither of you spoke about the incident after that.

It took a week of wavering smiles and faltering waves, of a wince or a jump when one of you spoke to the other, for you to eventually put it behind you.

Even with your minimal experience in Romantics, you knew something about the way König held you was different from every time before.

Or, maybe, you had only just awoken to the fact that such intent lay in all his actions towards you.

You tried not to think about it.

And besides, it made no sense to.

Since your crush had asked you to the school dance !

You’d made an effort to conceal that information from König, but he was fluent in the language that was you, and all its most obscure dialects.

You knew he’d figure it out sooner or later, whether you told him or some Rogue of Fate did.

But you wanted to live in this bubble of possibility for a bit longer.

Sure, you didn’t know your crush to a degree that you could call him as close a friends as König, but you’d done something to make him want you.

Your heart soared, chest swelled, the pit of pride held within.

And you waited.

And waited.

Your face grew sourer over time, the dripping of wax work, as realisation crossed your mind.

You didn’t want it.

This ivy – creeping – dread lacing around your heart, chains.

You felt your eyes kindle the embers of tears, your shoulders lowering yet remaining rigid, deflating.

And you jumped as a hand found your shoulder.

You knew who it was.

You could feel his fingerprints against your skin. Distinct as he was.

You turned, a sliver of relief finding you, nesting between the cracks in your chest as you set your eyes upon him.

He wore a dark suit, altered in the sleeves and legs to accommodate his height.

He’d gelled his hair to appear as one would in a romance film. At least, that was what you thought.

The very incarnation of a classic heartthrob.

Just for a second did your mind dare to tell you that this situation would not have happened if König had taken you to the dance.

The thought left you as you faced him fully, your hand coming atop his.

You squeezed it.

“Here all by your lonesome?” König said, voice low, a hint of humour within it, just short of malice.

You nodded. Dropped your head.

You went to talk, to say whatever came to your mind, when your voice gave way to tears.

König didn’t even flinch, even as your grip on his hand tightened.

Instead, he offered himself to you, bringing you close to him by your waist and holding you to his shoulder.

Bystanders would give a glance and König would give them death in a stare, and they quickly turned away.

The material of König’s jacket felt lavish, a far cry from the polyester of the other boys’ outfits.

You couldn’t place it. Not as your head panged with an oncoming headache and your heart burst with a reddening ocean, fire beginning to spark at the edges, boiling it.

You couldn’t help but go over every interaction you’d ever had with your crush, analysing it, scanning it, identifying any and every discrepancy that could have caused him to leave you this night.

And each time, your heart was heir to the shocks and bolts of despair, a palpable, gaseous substance that burned each time you inhaled, each time you thought

And as he held you, felt you shudder, quiver, into his shoulder the weight of your rejection bearing down on you, a far greater weight rested on his.

His demon sat there, smiling, grinning, the ghost of god.

He already had you flush against him, two cards packed tightly into the same pack.

“What’s wrong, Engel?” he said, softly, quietly. He rubbed your back, squeezed you.

“I am certain that whatever has you so upset is not worth your tears.”

And that just made you want to cry more.

The fact that König always knew what to say and when made the doubt from before – the regret – materialise.

König wouldn’t have done this to you. He wouldn’t have even thought about it.

“Come now, (Y/N),” he moved, his hand on your shoulder trailing the length of your arm and taking your hand.

You made no attempt to move.

He sighed, though you knew it was not of frustration. It was…something else.

König went still, then, his arm from your waist disappeared.

You nuzzled closer, an unconscious practice, as cold air hit your back.

“Listen !” he said, enthusiasm uncharacteristic of this situation laced in his tone.

You risked a glance, sniffing as you looked up at König.

He had a hand cupped over his ear, a makeshift megaphone. His gaze was occupied elsewhere, over your head.

“Do you hear that ?” he said.

Your chest stuttered with the remnants of your upset, and you strained to cease, to hear.

Music drifted over the sound of both idle and excited chatter, of the hazy, dusty, dusky layer of first love that had encompassed all.

All except you, it seemed.

You nodded into König’s chest, giving a cracked hum.

He finally looked down at you, both hands coming to yours.

He held them. Squeezed them once.

“It would be a waste for this song to go unremembered,” he said.

You gave a smile, strong as you could, yet it still turned out watery. Incomplete.

Something about König was…different.

You couldn’t quite tell what it was, but you knew you’d never seen it before.

His vehement denial of attending events such as these in the past had led you to the assumption he’d have stayed well away.

Now, you were glad he hadn’t.

Still, the prospect of König even existing in a roomful of people, nevermind being watched by them, stunned you to the extent that you were sure it usually would have König.

You gave a short nod, and offering you his arm, you rested your hand upon it.

That night, König kept you close to him, sheltering you from everything.

When you were at your lowest, he brought you cake and a drink, watched over you as you tried to make sense of it all.

Then, he encouraged you, slowly, softly, to dance a few steps with him.

It started with him taking your hand and pulling you, like rope, up from your chair.

You resisted, initially, terribly invested in the comfort and protection of the corner you’d both taken up.

You felt as if everyone else knew of your predicament – like they were aware of your suffering.

Were somehow party and privy to it.

It took König’s reassurances, his placating tone as he promised he’d “Let nothing happen to you,” and “you’re safe with me, Little One,”

And, on your knees, with nothing else filling your head save for the crushing defeat of a love you hadn’t even had chance to know, König was your only salvation.

At first, dancing was the last thing you wanted to do – especially when it was what you were planning on doing with the person who had ripped your confidence out.

Other couples melted into the atmosphere, the ambience, becoming the backdrop to this milestone in your life, making the experience feel somewhat…less lonesome.

That, and the gentle grasp König had on you.

He was particularly agile as he kept you both in time with the music, setting a gliding rhythm and spinning you in his arms.

Initially, he was slow, despite the upbeat music not permitting such.

It shocked you how little König cared about the million ways he himself would have identified his actions as making him ‘stick out like a sore thumb’.

And yet, his confidence reassured you.

Created a buffer between you and the rest of the world.

Though the sting of rejection followed you from each scene of this tragedy, its bite dulled, grained and blunted by the sheets of film placed over it, filled instead with the growing phantom of König, and you.

Little did you know that, inside, König was dying.

This place, this event, was a composite of all his worst nightmares, you being stolen from him included.

But, he knew that if he were not to face his demons – at least the ones that held him back – tonight, he’d lose you forever.

A sacrifice he’d make any day.

He only hoped you wouldn’t hear the clattering of his heart, feel it amid the plush layers of his suit.

Amidst the streamers and music and sticky scent of perfume and the slice of cologne filling the air made your mind hazy.

The music slowed the deeper into the night it became.

You swayed with König, your head against his shoulder, eyes shut. A glint of the dimming, pink lights reflecting against the disco ball pierced your eyelid, making you squeeze your eyes tightly, rub your face into the confines of König’s jacket.

He resisted the urge to let out a yell of victory.

The evening was drawing to a close, and König knew that, now, he had you.

Both mentally and physically.

He knew how untrusting you’d be towards your crush if you ever saw him again – if he ever dared to exist near you again.

And he knew how likely you were to take things like this – no matter how minimal the inconvenience – to heart.

König rested his chin atop your head. And, when you didn’t move, not one muscle, he relaxed onto you.

His mind and body had been a firework of nerves all day, waiting for even a second of doubt to cross your eyes, or your crush to come staggering out of the bin König had hidden him in.

But, here he was, the person he loved most in all the world with him and him alone.

Yet, despite his victory, he knew he couldn’t have you fully.

Not yet.

While no longer children, you both still had a considerable amount of time to change your minds, your mindsets, and so acting now while your life would be at its most volatile would be a wasted opportunity. A dangerous opportunity.

No, König knew when he had to act.

For now, he would abstain, take to your hand holding and secret sharing and forehead kissing until, one day, your eyes would open as his were, see the world with him as he did with you.

Pink. Rose-tinted as the very hall you occupied.

Act 3

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

If anything, it grew more palpable, yet not stronger.

It was already at its most imposing height, its final form, as König thought it.

The demon on his shoulders had retired to the corners of his mind since Prom night, surveilling everyone and everything that it thought a threat to your relationship with König.

And all the while, König kept it concealed from you.

König’s inclination of ownership over you did not cease with the coming and going of age; not as he advanced from teenhood to adulthood, nor as he outgrew his parents’ house and moved into his own.

You both ended up moving within close proximity to each other, though, given his occupation (which you’d vehemently warned and even denied him of doing) kept him away for many months of the year.

Resultingly, König could think of no-one better to guard his house and all its worldly possessions than you.

“What’s mine is yours,” he told you, handing you your very own set of keys.

“So you’ll see no point in stealing my shirts again.”

“Oh my god, that was one time! I was cold and it was just there !”

“Just say you missed me and save us both the effort.”

But seriously though, König almost died the first time he saw you in one of his shirts.

He leaves them strewn about in easy-to-reach places in the hopes that, one evening, he’ll come home and see you bundled up on the sofa, wrapped in one.

He gets a little frisky when he sees you in them.

First time, he thought you were adorable, pint-sized in his clothing.

And then, once the initial shock had worn off, his mind began to wander to…places.

He himself was rather taken aback by the ferocity of these fantasies, now breaking through the surface of his dignity to plague him.

He knows you have a preference for one of his hoodies, and he’s seen you wear it enough times to know that your birthday present this year was going to be very easy to choose.

He could have wept for the joy that spread across your face when he gifted you the hoodie, watching you wriggle into it before the wrapping paper had chance to fall to the ground.

He had to excuse himself to the bathroom soon after, though.

You honestly spent as much time at König’s as you did at your own home.

Watering his plants, dusting the shelves, cleaning before he returned home; König found it all to be quite domestic.

Especially whenever he was ill and you were always there to make him feel better.

Like one time, when he was hit with a  particularly bad cold, and was bed-ridden for three days.

You came and cared for him, cooked for him, catered to his every need with neither hesitation, nor complaint.

During his delirium, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you around like this all the time – to have you as his housespouse.

The thought, to König’s heavy, weary head, was particularly appealing, nigh euphoric, and when he slept he dreamt of you, serving him as you did now.

And he’d return the favour, of course.

It was in times like these that König’s mind began to…degrade, one might say.

More so than it already was.

Whether it was delusion or a sheer desire to have you, König began to try and make these scenarios a reality.

Make no mistake, he’d had similar ideas when he was younger, but now he had both the means and the time to actually do it.

And König’s mind had no qualms with exploring the darker avenues of this possibility, of the methods of how to enact it.

In the meantime, he was perfectly content with keeping you close to him while you watched films together, your head on his chest, arms wrapped around him.

“My big bear,” you called him.

And a bear to most, he was.

Ferocious and positively massive, his mere presence was enough to frighten off potential suitors.

And friends.

That, coupled with his often silent exterior made for a terrifying experience to all that were not you or the handful of allies König had.

Often, you’d call him whenever you were frightened, or anxious.

Especially if you were out in the evening.

Not that König ever left you during those hours; regardless of the time of night or day, he’d accompany you anywhere and everywhere, your shadow.

But, on the rare occasion he was kept away, you’d call him, ask him to talk to you, keep you grounded.

One evening, you’d made the mistake of not telling König you were leaving to go out, and when he woke up at some odd hour of the night to find you gone, his first, soldier instinct was to panic.

He swept the house, found you nowhere, and began calling your phone so many times it very well could have exploded.

And when you answered, voice laced with sleep and heavy without judgement, König had to resist the urge to cry out in relief.

“(Y/N), where are you?”

“Corner shop. Had to get some snacks.”

Had he not still been coming down from the panic high, König would have considered being angry.

“All right, just stay there. Don’t leave the store until I find you.”

“How do you even know which store—”

Needless to say, König was not best pleased to find you practically putting your life on the line for a bagful of crisps, a chocolate bar and…a toy fish?

“Impulse buy,” you told him.

König sighed.

“Next time, try not to act on your impulses so quickly.”

Like me, the voice told himself.

Your hand was shackled in his for the duration of the walk home.

And the whole night as you slept together.

Though, despite your blatant lac of self-awareness or judgement, König couldn’t help hut find you endearing.

The chocolate in your bag was his favourite brand, one which you couldn’t stand.

You’d gone out to do it for him.

He pulled you into his chest, practically purring as you nuzzled into his chest, enveloped completely by him.

“I’ll always protect you, Y/N,” he said, running a hand through your hair. “I promise.”

Even during those moments where you were at your most intimate, regardless of how innocent your intent.

The first instance of this, a most shocking development, occurred when you and König had visited the beach.

It was a few months before his deployment to a far-away military base to train.

The two of you, as was to be expected, wore swimsuits.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

It was only when you’d shed your thin jacket that König was affected.

His gaze fixed on you, unable to be torn away as he took in the silhouette of your body.

He’d never had an innate desire to see you partially, or fully undressed, even when he was at his most hormonal.

His love and appreciation for you had been based purely on you, your demeanour, your personality.

So to now see you having shed your fledgling body in return for one that was more mature, more defined, König couldn’t take it.

Sure, he’d seen people scantily clad before, though that was in magazines and shopping catalogues and movies that never quite took his fancy.

Not real life.

And they had never been you.

König felt a familiar tightness forming in his swim shorts.

He swallowed thickly, the sun suddenly too hot, the sand suddenly too sharp.

And then, you had to bring him closer to ruin.

“Köni,” you called, melodic, a tune König would fall for every time.

“Would you help put this sunscreen on my back?”

This was all moving so fast.

Sure, he’d had thoughts of being intimate with you before, but they’d only been thoughts, hallucinations, even.

And he knew they weren’t real, weren’t palpable.

Unlike this.

Hesitantly, fearing his secret would become apparent to you, he sat beside you, legs clasped together as he tried desperately to keep you oblivious to the growing issue.

He’d lathered the cream between his waiting hands, and his breath shuttering, placed them upon your skin.

You were soft. Tiny in König’s giant hands.

He’d have cursed his genetics for making him so adept at this practice – for making it pass too quickly – was he not fighting every moral and ethic he had yet to break.

You purred as his hands slid from the to the bottom of your back, your unintentional mewls destroying König’s resolve.

His hands dipped, slowly, fractionally, down your sides, close to your front, your chest.

He wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But he knew not to risk it.

Abstain. Abstain, the voice told him.

He resisted, took in your body feverishly one last time before he got up, finished, his hulking figure blocking out the sunlight.

“Be right back,” he’d told you.

And off he sped to the nearest bathroom, where, whimpering into the jacket he’d balled over his fist and put to his mouth, he apologised over and over to you, his toes curling as he brought himself to a reluctant conclusion.

He returned soon, just as he’d said.

You smiled back at him from your shallow edge of the ocean, waving him over.

He declined, instead hiding beneath the shade of the umbrella.

He was still sensitive between his legs, as was his mind.

He wouldn’t risk compromising himself again. Not when he was so close to having you.

Or so he thought.

After that first encounter with his own beasteous appetite for you to a more…carnal degree, König had begun to indulge in some personal delights.

AKA, stealing your underwear and using it to get off during his long trips away.

And, whenever he stayed over, he’d take his opportunity to rifle through your drawers, gather intel (as he was so trained), see what new clothes you’d bought (why – and who for?).

You and König took to sharing a bed again.

Perhaps it was the false assurance of maturity that stopped you from realising – from seeing – how König felt about you.

Whenever he would come and pay you a visit, the afternoons would transform from a dusk-ridden sky to a languid black wine speckled with the universe’s offspring.

And there you and König would be, in bed together, talking for what would always be hours about anything and everything.

Much like that time in the tunnel, neither of you spoke of your time at the dance, though rather for you it was a source of hurt, whereas König, proof of conquest.

Regardless, you’d both matured, left school, and had pursued your own paths.

All while remaining as close as you had since childhood.

König’s decision to join the military had been one you’d discussed at length.

Or rather, you’d tried to convince him of staying.

He won that particular argument.

Not that he’d have let you stay mad at him, anyway.

“I can handle myself extraordinarily well, mein Maus.”

Your eyebrow quirks up.

“König, I’ve never seen you hurt a fly, nevermind a person.”

His stomach dropped when he remembered that you didn’t know about his…altercation with the boy who almost stole you from him all those years ago.

And the odd few he’d instigated whenever a potential suitor walked onto the scene.

He gets called away on business a lot, so you find other ways of communicating.

He’s not permitted to use a mobile phone since it serves as both a distraction and a vehicle for tracking, and the last thing König would do is put you in harm’s way.

Instead, you send each other letters, from addresses different to your true ones, of course.

You often send him books you know he’ll like, going through and annotating all the parts you found funny, sad, or profound.

And there was always a heartfelt note trapped within the pages, pinned to the paper in ink.

He has a limited edition copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Tell Tale Heart and a body of his other works that he keeps hidden beneath his bed.

‘Limited edition’ because you’d gone out of your way to print out each page of the book when you were just children, unable to purchase the book for both a lack of personal finances and not wanting to get König into trouble for reading such dark material.

Perhaps that had been some precursor to what your lives would become – a foreshadow over you.

The copy König had was worn, despite his best efforts to preserve it.

Dog-eared corners, blunted edges and yellowed, softened paper.

Some of the ink had scratches through the letters, faded.

And between those pages, a picture of you was held.

Each night, König would hold that photograph between his fingers, sometimes quivering with adrenaline, other times numb with the same affliction.

And, without fail, your visage brought him to sleep, to slumber, to a recreation of your domestic future that played behind his eyelids.

Your letters kept him more than excited, too.

When he’d be gone for months at a time, you’d update him on your life occurrences; birthdays, anecdotes, work complications; König lived for it all.

All, except, for one sliver of news which you’d so foolishly told König.

And, as he held your letter between his clenching, grasping, white-knuckled hands, his teeth gritted, his eyes going wide, breath billowing from his nose like steam.

You’d started to fancy someone at work.

König did something he’d never done with your letters before.

He crumpled it between his fingers, his every nerve ablaze with the need to do something, to intervene.

König knew he wasn’t thinking straight, but he didn’t care.

This was different from Prom; he couldn’t reach you here.

That day, König’s kill count far exceeded that of his peers, many bodies ravaged with enough stab wounds to think them sacrifices for some angry god.

His teammates seemed a little reluctant to cooperate with him this time round, and steered clear of him for the duration of the mission.

Days later, König was home.

His fury remained with him, that demon he’d harboured for so many years now emerging from the corners of his personality.

But he knew to conceal it from you – knew how to.

He arrived at your doorstep before he’d even gone home yet.

To him, you were his home.

And as you invited him inside, his mask no longer an instigator of fright to you but of your best friend, your soulmate in another life.

König took little time to settle in your living room, putting his overnight bag somewhere, all the while his mind still rubbed raw with the mission.

And you.

Seeing as he’d been gone for some months, he knew he’d need to be attentive to the way you spoke of this new ‘crush’ of yours.

I’ll crush him, all right, he said to himself.

He couldn’t be sure how serious you were about him.

How deep a threat he was.

You’d cooked König’s favourite in anticipation of his arrival, having developed something of a sixth sense when it came to his making an appearance.

And as you brought him his fresh, spare clothes from your wardrobe, König couldn’t help but let a comment slip.

“We’re like an old married couple,” he said, stitching a laugh between his words to give the illusion of jest. Of humour.

An easy deflection tactic.

You gave no indication of rejection.

No idea of disgust.

You only laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, placing König’s meal down in front of him.

“I suppose we do.”

And, as you went to pull away, König took your wrist, gently, in his hand.

He dwarfed you in every aspect, and this was no different.

But something that was different that you’d picked up was his stare.

It was deep, almost half-lidded in its demeanour.

König’s hand slipped from your wrist into yor hand, holding it, gently, like porcelain.

You squeezed his fingers.

“Something wrong, König ?” you asked, turning to give him your full attention.

He paused for a moment, then two, then three.

“No.” he said, final and certain. He let you go.

“Nothing at all.”

König began showing up to your work.

Since you stayed at each other’s houses as much as you did as children, König found it almost frighteningly easy to make you blunder.

He’d take your lunch out the fridge and hide it, only to deny ever having seen it when you searched for it in the morning.

Later that same day, König would come and pay you a visit, dropping off your lunch, claiming it to have “been in the back of the fridge. Must’ve missed it, Silly,” and he’d give you a smile.

The first few times, he’d treated your artificial oblivion to your surroundings as ‘cute’, ‘endearing’.

Then, when you began ‘misplacing’ your keys, your phone, everyday essentials, König would shoot you a concerned look.

“(Y/N), Sweetie–” he’d look in the cupboards with you, a look of concern laced into his features.

“Are you sure you’re feeling all right ? You’ve been losing track of your things for quite a while now.”

At first, you could only give him quick reassurances before rushing off to work.

Rushing off to see him.

And König would remain.

Searching the house not for your lost items, but for those he could hide next.

You’d never find them again.

You’d have to get copies of your keys, a new phone – replace all the contacts you lost,

And even then, König made sure you’d have to work for the ones he didn’t want you to have.

Like His.

Eventually, three months into this plan, this scheme, König made a proposition.

He sat you down at his dining table, his hand atop yours, holding it.

He appeared genuine.

True.

“(Y/N),” he said, almost exasperatedly.

“I’m…concerned about you.”

He gave you a second to consider what he was saying, wanting to give you the illusion of verbal freedom.

When you only nodded eyebrows knitted together in mirrored concern, he inhaled deeply.

“And, considering how…” he pretended to rummage around in his mind for the right word. “Forgetful you’ve been recently…” he watched you. Tried to gauge your reaction. Something flickered behind your eyes.

Annoyance.

König began to tread carefully.

“I thought that, perhaps, just for a week or so, you could try…living here.”

He waited in silence, for your confirmation.

Or denial.

You sniffed, rubbed your eye, and settled your weary head into your hand.

König pushed further.

“Unless…” he cast his gaze down, to the oak table.

“You don’t think I’d be able to care for you.”

At that, your eyes widened, and you clasped König’s hand between yours.

Desperate.

“Oh, no, Köni !” You exclaimed. “I-I can think of no-one better to look after me than you !”

König cast you a doubtful look.

“But…?”

You swallowed.

“But…” you retracted. König had to resist the need to pull you back into his arms.

“But you’re just so busy. I don’t know if… I’d just be a burden to you.”

König almost let out a snort.

“A burden ?” he said, leaning back in his chair, as if taking an arrow of offence straight to the heart.

“My dear, you would never be a burden to me.”

He leaned in, took your hands in his again.

His voice lowered. Soft. The flight of a bird across the ocean’s face.

“Ever.”

You looked up from your lap.

Your eyes were glassed. Doll-ish.

You sniffed. Sniffed again.

A tear fell onto the hoodie you wore. The one König gifted you.

“Okay.” You relented.

The shark tore the bird from its glide, dragging its corpse into the abyss.

König squoze your hands.

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you.

You were his prisoner from then on.

You just didn’t know it yet.

König left on official business not long after you moved in.

You still had you other apartment, but the way König spoke of it, using ‘was’, ‘were’ and ‘used to be’, gave the impression that it was off-limits to you now.

Lost.

You were allowed time off work after explaining your predicament to your boss.

She was supportive, told you to take as much time off as you needed.

As you bade König a farewell at the door, something about him felt…different.

You could feel it in the way he gripped you, pulled you up to him, his arms around your waist, hanging lower than usual.

His breath hot against your neck, the phantom brush of his lips against your most sensitive part.

And when you withdrew, König imparted only a sliver of advice to you.

“Don’t go into the basement.”

The look on your face implored ‘why?’, yet your lips did not.

König set your mind at ease regardless.

“There’s a bit of damp down there. Don’t want you getting sick–” He looked at you, smiling. “–er.”

And he bore himself into the night, shedding König and becoming a killer.

That night, when the TV had little to offer in the way of entertainment, and your phone offered little incentive to play games or socialise, your mind began to wander.

Through meniality, then obscurity.

You thought about your old home, and everything in it you loved.

Your heart ached for it, for everything you’d left behind there.

I’m sure König wouldn’t mind if I…just had a little time at home.

You consorted with your mental audience.

After all, he’s going to be gone for at least a few weeks.

Standing from the sofa, legs wobbling with inactivity, you hunted for your keys.

König kept his on a hook by the door.

But when you checked it, yours were nowhere to be found.

You searched your shared bedroom, the drawer.

You found something…peculiar.

You lifted a pair of underwear from within that you swore you’d lost months ago – before you’d ever moved in with König.

Perhaps I’m mistaken, you thought.

Rationalised.

I probably just packed these without thinking. Found them in the wash bin and threw them into a suitcase.

And you continued your search.

Soon, however, you were beginning to run out of rooms, and you were growing restless.

The longer you were forced to abstain from the outside world, the more ants felt like they were crawling under your skin

Eventually, despite König’s warning, you had no choice but to descend into the basement.

And you did so.

Quietly.

The feeling of having König over your shoulder didn’t leave with him.

Not this time.

And, as you clambered the newly-cleaned stairs down, you saw a dim light peeking out from beneath the door frame.

You reached for the handle, breath bated with the hope of discovery.

Your keys had to be here, right ?

Reaching for the handle, you opened the door.

And everything stopped.

For a second, you didn’t believe what you were seeing.

The source of the light had been candles.

Many, many candles, varying shades of your favourite colours, blended into a macabre rainbow over a horrifyingly familiar artifact you’d assumed had been lost to time.

The Bestie Bible.

Mounted on a makeshift pillar and aged with childlike handling, though it was noticeably pristine.

Stepping back, you hit something.

A wall that hadn’t been there before.

You gasped, turning on your heel.

A man stood before you, but it wasn’t König.

It couldn’t be.

Though identical in build, in height, and in the way he stood, this veiled man was not your König.

At least, not the König you’d grown up with.

He took a step forwards. You scrambled back.

Ending...

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