#yandere lost canvas

[cherie-doll]

I said "do you think you'll kill for me one day?"

(Yes, of course I will, my darling)

― yandere!cod men x reader ― ε price, ghost, soap, gaz, roach, makarov, alejandro, rudy, phillip graves, keegan, könig, horangi, nikto з suggestive?

꒰ ͜ ‿ ͜ ♡ ͜ ‿ ͜ ꒱

ଘ You're no plaything for Price. He doesn't just like you, he adores you. Cups your pretty face in his hands; delicately. His rugged and rough hands become gentle as soon as he comes into contact with your skin, treating it as if it were finely-grained porcelain. He treats you the exact opposite of how he treats anyone else. Whilst he leaves everyone else covered from head to toe in blood for coming near you, you're covered from head to toe in the most expensive items you wish for. But, he doesn't want you to forget that his money doesn't represent his love for you, it does not begin to cover not even half of what it should. He'll be sure to remind you not to be spoiled rotten. He's fond of you and while he's interested in you, you should listen and obey to what he advices you. He is more experienced after all.

ଘ Compare what Simon's scars and bruises are to your unscathed body. Let his hands roam over your body, taking in all he works for. Let them wander and familiarize with what he's toying with. His breath on your skin as it quickens, losing his train of thoughts as he fondles you. He's convinced you're meant only for him. No one else should touch you this way, no one could do it like he does. And please return it! Cradle his head in your lap, so the sizzling subsides and he feels alive. Let him know he's the best, the one. Let him lean in and capture those soft, plump lips in a passionate kiss. Don't pull away, don't deny him his heaven. And don't you dare let anyone else trail your body with their eyes like he does. Why, he'll feel as if they're already doing what their mind desires. He's screwed up in his mind but he'll move heaven and earth for those thighs to wrap around his waist at night spilling the warmth between them. Make him feel warm and welcome, give him the world he burns everyone else for. He sacrifices others at the feet of your altar.

ଘ Johnny's smug smile can fade rather quickly with one sensual move from you, watch him get lost as his breath is winded and his body is overtaken with an all-consuming fire of passion. Oh, he can't even fathom the idea of anyone before or after him experiencing such things. He'll be paralyzed the moment you sit on his lap and putting your hand to his chest, let it trail over his heart which at the moment beats wildly. It's a sensation he experiences when plunging a knife deep within someone else's chest, he reckons the feeling is almost the same. He thinks his victims rather lucky they die this way. How many other people can experience that fleeting, overwhelming feeling?

ଘ Kyle's hand kisses are done with such reverent trembling and respect that he'll have your skin tingling with warm sensations as if the late evening sun was seeping into your skin. Let his and your body blend together like the watercolors on an artist's canvas does. Bask in his affection like you'll sunbathe on the beach. Take in all the good he brings you, accept every touch of his that starts with a secure embrace and ends with the colliding of your bodies. The cold with which he lashes out for others has no place with the gentleness he entreats you with. Keep your eyes on his, locked in his steady gaze immerses himself in fantasies. He feels dizzy as if his world was spinning, losing himself in the sensations. And after the elation, let him shower you in praises, caresses and gifts. Let him buy you two rings for each finger, how many could you want to show off having a caring partner when you slide his card at the register? Make your hands look pretty whilst his are leaving a trail of crimson blood after him.

ଘ Roach couldn't ever hurt anyone else, he didn't know what he was capable of until the importance of you came all too clear. You're something that shouldn't belong to anyone else in the world. It's a quick descent down the spiral of violent devotion. His soft gaze usually filled with admiration and sentiment for you hardens, his pupils dilating as fear takes over. He's only acting on behalf of all his anguish, you haven't the heart to condemn him. He's shown you what your heart is worth, couldn't you give him some sort of heaven? He will do very well at whatever it is you ask of him, just wait while he shows you. There isn't anyone else like him he says over and over as if a prayer or spell he could make come true.

ଘ Makarov does not care whether he deserves you or not. Unlike the others who will commit unspeakable acts out of guilt and use their "pure" intentions to purify their actions, Makarov is selfish and relentless in what he wants. He does not flinch at your attempts of control, it's lost the moment he takes you in. He's determined to taste everything you have to offer, whether it's willingly or not. But he does like things to be served on a platter for him, he also has no problem taking it himself. Let the hand on the back of your neck guide you in the direction you are to walk, be docile and you'll surely receive tenderness. He can never deny that he loves the way your lashes flutter as you look through them up at him as he pats your head for being so good. Overtime you might notice small details showing his exterior cracking and revealing the soft, white underbelly of affection. He feels as if his chest caves in from your actions, the subtle red at the tip of his ears. Keep pulling at his neck collar, he'll like that fake sense of control you have.

ଘ You wouldn't ever catch a glimpse of Alejandro's manipulative strategies until he finds someone threatening. Is it wrong you're not seeing enough of other people? His biggest fear is you falling for someone else, the danger of you getting too close to someone is palpable for him. The intimacy you two share is from the harvest he's worked so hard for. He's been slaving away for so long to just let someone else lay a hand on you. He kneads you into what he desires, anything to feel the beating heart in your chest which pumps only for him. He'll keep polishing you until he gets down to the bare essence of you, which he can only dream to capture. The rhythm he wants to feel rushing through his veins, circling throughout his body.

ଘ Rudy's tenderness blinds you as he takes you to what you can only describe to be paradise. With the shining of luxury, all new and just for you he says. He'll press a million sweet kisses on your face before dropping that a most bothersome person will no longer be graced by your presence ever again. To him it's like a quiet act of love, to you, it's unimaginable. Don't worry your head will all the details, isn't it better to have no worries? He's all smooth indulgence telling you to keep looking at the adorned future he has ahead for you, telling you not to pay attention to the blood that stains the walls of the hallways you walk. He would lay out a new, fancy red carpet over the corpses for you to step over and continue in this fabricated dream.

ଘ Phillip knows exactly how to get the best out of you. Can you blame a man for knowing how to get what he wants from you? Let him tease and tug for he knows what every maneuver of his does. The hands that massage your skin don't get dirty, he'll always have others ready and willing to carry out whatever order he gives. It's what he's accustomed to and how he intends to keep it. But the droplets of blood that splatter do not miss his skin. The stain is still there, still under the skin of the thumb he pushes inside of you, feeling around for that bliss. Let his protectiveness clothe your body, he's already blurring the lines between obsessiveness and possessiveness.

ଘ Keegan's eyes will have you coming to a stumbling halt. Asking for something only you know how to give so good. Those erratic eyes that are unpredictable as they are deep, representing the deep dive you have to be holding your breath for. Are you ready to indulge? Because the impact will have you gasping for air, and when you try to take one you'll only swallow a mouthful of carnal desire. He ignites such a heat it's scalding to the touch, you don't know what's happening it's like you lose control. It happens so fast that when it's all over you'll let his lips, from which hot breaths slip through, kiss all over your sweat glistened body. His eyes might be softer and hold it for a while until he's back to the merciless, cold gaze which freezes everyone's else blood, feeling it lump within their veins.

ଘ Let König go on his fast rampages. They're over quick anyways. And afterwards, when he comes back, cradle his head between your thighs his tongue tangling as he stutters out promises to buy you what you wish if only you let him lap at your sweetness until his thoughts are left to reckless abandonment. Let him get what he can't get anywhere else. Call him handsome as your bury your fingers into his hair, your fingertips trailing his jaw and down his neck to where his adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. Place kisses on his cheek until he turns his head in one swift motion and captures your lips in a desperate kiss. He wants it all, wants all of you all at once it makes him messy, shaky and weak. But he just wants someone to hold him, rubbing his ears and whispering words of affirmation in his ear.

ଘ Horangi could care less what other's want from him. You're in his viewpoint and he's determined to apply as much pressure as possible to make you bend. The reason he justifies himself with is the lullaby he's lulled to sleep with. Everyone else wants something from him, why shouldn't you? Everyone else is just in the way, he says over and over again, trying to make you focus on his lips instead of the bodies on the floor. With what he's done, he expects a standing ovation from you, nothing but complete adoration and servitude. He's a man who chases after impulses, who knows how long until this candle runs out. For now, ignore the brusque hand and acknowledge the underlying intents. He'll keep this lecherous momentum going until you're feeling faint from the mere touch of his hand.

ଘ Resignation is a trait Nikto works hard to work out of you. Surely, you ought to trust him after all he's done for you. In his mind, he's dedicated such gentle caring to you, you should be grateful. Don't be afraid to take directly out of his hand, he prefers you lose that skepticism. And when you do start to gentle, oh he can never get enough of it. His fingers grazing and gliding over your body at any and every chance he can get. Let him delve deeper into you, it's only natural for him to want to know you better. Every quiver of yours, he feels through the epidermis of his skin. He just knows you that well. His jerking movements shouldn't startle you by now. Maybe if you were more open, you would be telling him what you want. Give him some sort of sign before that spark ignites an unyielding fire. Because to him, that trembling is a sign of a smoldering fierceness waiting to break through.

:¨ ·.· ¨: `�� . ꔫ

[banj0possum]

Alistair x (platonically) Teen Reader

In the fic he is like oh my god a bride, he walks in and instead of an adult..or a bride-

They find a teen, who literally threw a pebble at him, an angsty teen💀

I’m very happy to read ur fics and usually pair them with teen/child mc because I find it funny because they expect the love of their life

and teen mc standing there :🧍‍♂️

anyways sorry for the long request, luv ur writing, and ur art :D

Yandere! Evil King x Teen! GN! Reader

CW: platonic relationship, Alistair is a bit of a DILF so do with it as you will, Dads are hot you guys!! READER IS A MINOR.

👑 Who is this sassy lost child?

👑 His minions kidnapped you while you were on a carriage ride back to your kingdom.

👑 He was hoping for like a princess or something to marry and take over the kingdom with or whatever so like...what tf he gonna do with you???

👑 Clearly you were too young to be in a situation like this, but theres no way he's giving you back without a reward, so yes he still holds you for ransom.

👑 "Child, I am Alistair, King of-ACk!"

👑 Did...did you throw a pillow at him?!

👑 "How dare yo- AHK! Stop it!" another one..

👑 You refuse to listen to anything he says, you just wanted to go home

👑 You two had a bit of rivalry for a bit. He hated you and you hated him.

👑 He promised not to show any affection or care towards you since in his eyes, your actions didn't deserve it. How can someone be so rude to a king !?

👑 But he starts to notice you don't eat much. He never sees you in the dining hall and has only seen quick moments of you nibbling on some bread or pastries the servants gave you.

👑 He scoffed, so irresponsible! You must eat a proper meal right this second or you'll starve!

👑 You're surprised to see a meal prepared for you during your routine trip to get a snack from the pantry with a note on the plate.

👑 "Next time, ask for a proper meal. I don't want your parents to think I've been starving you. -Alistair P.S. go to bed early."

👑 Huh...

👑 Alistair smiled from the doorway of the dining hall, watching you eat up with a smile on your face. You might have been too scared of him to ask for food so you've been sneaking snacks while he wasn't looking.

👑 Of course he wasn't doing it because he cared about you, he just didn't want royalty like you to resort to such pathetic means to eat!

👑 Why are you still sad? Perhaps he should get you some things to keep your attention..

👑 He asks (threateningly may I add) about your hobbies or interests.

👑 The next morning your cell (which has been upgraded to a lovely room in the castle because he didn't want you to be filthy and gross in a dungeon) was filled with anything he could find that he thought you'd enjoy.

👑 Don't think he wants you to be happy! He's just tired of seeing you sulk everywhere!

👑 He denies everything, but you swear you could see a tiny smile on his face when you hugged him happily.

👑 You start being a little more open to him, showing him anything you've made or done with pride and he'd receive it gratefully, but he won't show it of course.

👑 "I made you this friendship bracelet!"

👑 "I've seen better jewelry."

👑 "Oh I'll take it back then I guess.."

👑 "No, it's mine now, back off."

👑 Drawings and the like that he said would be thrown out as soon as you left would be seen framed in his room

👑 It would be a..waste of good canvas..

👑 And of course he buys a few books of your choice for you to read, he'd be damned if your brain turns to mush.

👑 Bro bro he'd be the type to let you swing around while holding onto his bicep.

👑 If you ever have any problems, or come to him in a bad mood, he'd have no idea how to help other than to sit down and listen to your troubles.

👑 He's not the most physical when it comes to affection, but you bet your ass he's gonna do everything he can to cheer you up.

👑 At this point he's rewriting his demands for the ransom. Either your kingdom lets him sign some adoption papers or he's starting a war.

[theinnerunderrain]

Love Me Dead [Yan!Boyfriend x Fem!Reader]

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulative behaviors, heavily dialogue bc it's just mostly talking and gaslighting, college life, may be somewhat confusing but it's that story that is up to your interpretation!

+

"[First Name]."

A sizable and gentle hand enfolds your wrist, eliciting a startled leap at the unexpected touch. Casting a curious glance over your shoulder, you discern the hand's owner—a figure with a tousle of rich brown locks. The air on campus carries a lingering blend of pumpkin spice and damp rain, while vibrant leaves in hues of red, yellow, and orange blanket the cement walkway, creating a tapestry beneath your feet.

It was none other than your boyfriend, Asuka.

"Why do you keep ignoring me?"

In a hushed plea, etched with concern and confusion, he inquires, his pallid complexion a canvas for the anxious query. A delicate flush graces his cheeks and ears, a subtle scarlet trace, suggesting an earlier pursuit in an attempt to bridge the distance between you.

"Did I do something wrong..? If I did, then just tell me..."

A dance of confusion painted upon your countenance, a pirouette of bewilderment as you gracefully turned, aligning yourself to face him fully. Brows knitted in contemplation, coral lips drawn into a slender seam, your expression spoke the eloquence of perplexity.

"I'm not ignoring you though..?"

"You are..! You barely text me anymore and avoid me around the campus like I'm some sort of infectious disease.."

He spoke anew, his voice ascending to a higher pitch, an accusatory gaze fixated upon you as though your uttered words were mere echoes of deceit. His other hand delicately enveloped your wrist, creating a symmetrical hold that left you suspended in a still, unsettling equilibrium.

"No I'm not..? Asuka, we both have been busy and I can't spend all day messaging you."

In the chill of the season, you grapple with an awkward attempt at reasoning, noticing the warmth and clamminess of his hands. The contrast, his heated touch against your soft skin, sends an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. Asuka, momentarily lost in contemplation, lets his lips curve into a frown. In that moment, he resembles a kicked puppy, the weight of his next words settling heavily in the air.

"..Are you mad at me..?"

In a suspended breath, he momentarily halted, drawing nearer to you. Amidst the bustling backdrop of students hurrying to their classes, you couldn't help but wonder if curious gazes were directed your way, recognizing the peculiarity of your shared moment beneath the open sky.

"Are you still hung up about last time..? If that's the issue then I'm really sorry, and I've already apologized before...!"

As Asuka continued to speak, words flowed incessantly from his lips, a torrent of increasing urgency evident in the rapid cadence of his cherry-toned voice. A palpable hysteria seeped through his every syllable, mirroring the rising heat radiating from his fervent body. It was as though he embodied a ticking bomb, gradually approaching the brink of overheating, poised to unleash an explosive torrent of emotions.

"Hung up on what?"

Inquiring, you sought release, gently weaving your fingers to disentangle from his grasp, a delicate dance to temper the heat that enveloped. Yet, his clasp remained unyielding, an unspoken embrace refusing to relent.

"Hung up on that time when I was being unreasonable and it made both of us late to our classes."

"No..? Why would I be mad about something like that?"

In the labyrinth of his spoken thoughts, you weave a delicate tapestry, attempting to decipher the cryptic echoes of his mention of unreasonableness. Despite the elusive nature of clarity, you gracefully surrender to the intrigue, deciding to waltz within the enigmatic dance of his words, a willing participant in the artful play of understanding.

"No, there's something wrong but you just won't say it...."

Persistently, Asuka insists, and a subtle irritation blooms within you, despite your inner plea for calm. Yet, his next words delicately wound your heart with a touch of sorrow.

"Do you not love me anymore..?"

"What..?"

In incredulity, you queried, gazing at the young man whose eyes teetered on the brink of cascading tears. The threat lingered in the wells of his eyes, poised to spill over and trace the contours of his fevered cheeks. Yet he continues to rambled.

"Ha! Everything makes sense now. All that cold attitude, and you avoiding me everyday. You lost feelings for me, didn't you?"

His voice crescendoed, rising in both volume and pitch as he advanced, closing the distance until his face hovered mere inches from yours. In this intimate proximity, you couldn't help but sense the burgeoning awareness among fellow students, as they subtly turned their attention toward his unfolding, hysterical unraveling.

"Asuka, how can you say something like that?"

You try to calm him down, speaking in a much softer and calmer tone compared to the man, as if you were a mother trying to calm down a crying child.In the hushed cadence of your voice, a gentle river of reassurance flows, seeking to temper the tempest within him. Your words, soft and serene, weave through the tumult like a mother's lullaby, an attempt to pacify a sobbing child.

"You know...If you had just told me normally that you didn't like me anymore then I would have just accepted that as it is."

Yet, like whispers through the air, your words glide past him. Though a subtle calm embraces him, his voice, now a gentle breeze, unveils a softer cadence, a stark departure from the turbulent tone that had echoed before.

"But why'd you have to go ahead and treat me like that?"

He inquires, guiding your hand to caress the contours of his cheek, gently pressing it against the tender warmth of your palm as if seeking solace in its soft embrace.

"Asuka...I understand you're frustrated but I do love you, and I haven't stopped loving you.."

In hushed tones, your words tenderly caressed the air, coaxing him to nestle against your palm. With a gentle touch, you traced the padded side of your fingers across his cheeks, a soothing rhythm to quell the tempest within him. A graceful guidance led you both to a tranquil refuge, where a brown bench cradled the quietude. There were no other students in sight.

"It's just that, everything has been so stressful with finals and stuff....I swear, I'm not trying to ignore you."

You painted on a smile, and Asuka, with an intent ear, absorbed your words, as though orchestrating a delicate symphony of comprehension within the corridors of his mind.

"But how can I be so sure?"

Once you convince yourself of soothing the man's agitation, his voice resurfaces, posing a question that resonates within your chest, setting a subtle cadence to the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"That you're not just saying that, and that you actually mean it? That you still love me?"

In the quiet expanse of a moment, you pondered his words, delicately crafting a response to safeguard the delicate balance of his emotions. At last, your voice returned, accompanied by the gentle caress of your other hand, tracing a tender path beneath the canvas of his eyes.

"I do love you and you should already know that, Asuka."

Your words, like a subtle elixir, lingered momentarily before gracefully permeating his being. He surrendered to your touch, a gentle immersion into the warmth of your embrace, his grasp on your essence unwittingly tightening. Closer he drew, until the shared touch of both your knees wove a delicate closeness, an unspoken harmony.

"I do...?"

"Yes, you do."

In a graceful motion, you extended your arm, inviting the young man into an embrace willingly embraced. He leaned into your touch, his hand delicately finding its place on the small of your back, creating a tender connection. His body emanated warmth, reminiscent of an oven preheated for hours, yearning for the moment when it could be tenderly turned off. In that intimate embrace, moments stretched like delicate strands of time. His hands held firm against your waist, and his chin found solace upon your shoulders, a subtle dance of closeness. The air bore the comforting aroma of cinnamon and coffee, a fragrant reminder of his presence. As the embrace gently loosened, you parted, a reassuring smile gracing your lips.

"Then, it's settled? I promise to make more time for you, so don't go around thinking I don't love you anymore, alright?"

His countenance eased, a gentle nod painting the canvas of his expression. Where tears once traced delicate paths on his visage, they now evaporated, leaving behind a softened countenance. His lips, once adorned with the weight of sorrow, now curved into a tender smile.

"You promise?"

Once more, you inquire, drawing him into a tender embrace. Your hands cradle the back of his head, granting him the sanctuary to bury his face in the crook of your neck. Unmindful of the ticklish dance of his warm breath upon your skin, you remain oblivious to the subtle curvature of his lips into a contented grin. Nor do you discern the palpable brightening of his eyes, responding softly to your words.

"I promise."

[aphroditelovesu]

In the middle of the night

❝commission: in the spirit of kinktober, I'd like to make an NSFW request that gives some insight into the intimate relationship between Alexander and y/n (pre kidnapping). In other words, something that shows what happens when Alexander spends the night in her tent. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: It's been a while since I did something with a touch of smut and this one was more romantic, so I can't say lol, but I liked it. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: smut, oral sex (female receiving) and praise kink (?).

❝📜pairing: soft yandere!alexander the great x female!reader.

❝word count: 2,238.

Your tent was silent, shrouded in a blanket of darkness that seemed to weigh down on your shoulders. Outside, the wind whistled, whispering between the ropes and the openings of the canvas, a constant and melancholic sound. It was an almost comforting noise, as if the night outside was trying to lull your restless thoughts. Even the soldiers who normally talked loudly and made jokes were now deep in sleep, their grumbling and snoring just a distant murmur.

The night had already gone on longer than it should have, and you knew that staying awake until that hour would be a problem. However, the feeling of discomfort that weighed on your chest did not allow you to rest. For hours, you rolled from one side to the other, trying to surrender to sleep, but each attempt seemed to worsen the restlessness, and the darkness of the tent became a kind of prison. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you decided to get up and move away from the crumpled cot that only increased your frustration. As you lit a candle to illuminate the tent, you were finally able to see properly.

Near a small trunk of belongings, in which your kitty pajamas were carefully stored, there was a chair that had been arranged with care. You settled into it, adjusting your posture, and picked up a book that was nearby: a copy of the Iliad, a gift from Alexander. The worn cover showed signs of use, as if it had passed through several hands before reaching yours. You slid your fingers over the surface of the book, feeling the relief and texture of the leather. The familiarity of the gesture brought a kind of momentary relief, an anchor in the midst of the chaos that was your mind.

As you opened the book, the complexity of ancient Greek leapt out at you, a language you had never even thought of learning, but which was now strangely accessible to you. It wasn’t just the understanding of the words, but the cadence, the melody of the sentences, everything seemed to echo naturally in your mind, as if a subtle spell or an unknown power was guiding you through that story. For a brief moment, you reflected on the strangeness of it all — being able to understand a language so distant and from ages past. Perhaps it was a stroke of luck, or the design of a greater force. Either way, you knew you would be lucky to be able to communicate at this time; total isolation would be a much crueler fate.

Your eyes read each word with anticipation, a smile adorning your lips as the story of the Trojan War was told in the most original and truthful way possible. The Iliad was truly something worth reading, no matter what Age you were in.

You were so immersed in the words of the Iliad, so lost in the distant universe of epic battles and ancient heroes, that the world around you seemed to disappear. Time and space within the tent became irrelevant, and all you heard were the imaginary sounds of swords and shields, the Greek lines echoing in your mind.

It was then that a soft but unexpected sound brought you back to reality. A discreet, almost restrained clearing of your throat. Your heart skipped a beat, and you almost let the book slip from your hands. The shock you felt was immediate, and for a moment, even your gaze took a while to adjust to the figure that materialized at the entrance to the tent, half hidden by the soft shadows cast by the light of the lantern.

Alexander, arms crossed and a half smile on his lips, watched your reaction. He seemed to be trying hard not to laugh, which only intensified that amused glint in his eyes. ''Sorry. I didn’t plan to scare you,'' he said, his voice low, but with a hint of amusement that he couldn’t completely hide.

You felt your cheeks heat up, a little embarrassed by the reaction, and still trying to regain your composure after the scare.

''No... I...'' You took a deep breath and forced a shaky smile, ''It’s okay.''

Alexander just nodded, his different colored eyes shining when he noticed the Iliad in your hands. Oh, you had forgotten.

The Iliad was his favorite book. Especially the story of Achilles and Patroclus.

''I didn’t want to interrupt your reading.'' Alexander murmured, approaching you. He stopped next to your chair, his attentive eyes watching you and you couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable under his gaze.

You couldn’t say anything, just nodded.

''But I saw a light on and I got curious.'' Alexander continued, placing his clumsy hands on your shoulders. ''Can’t sleep?''

''I... I’m not sleepy...'' You murmured, looking at him, observing his features. Alexander was an attractive man, his features were strong and marked and the way his lips, full but small, were slightly parted, made him even more charming. Although not that tall, Alexander was strong and that made him even more attractive.

''I can’t sleep either.'' Alexander said and smiled at you, noticing that you were watching him. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away to the book in your hands. There was nothing wrong with finding your husband attractive, right?

''Why? Did something happen?'' You found yourself asking, curious.

Alexander shrugged. ''My body refuses to rest.''

You nodded, knowing exactly how he felt, because you felt the same way. Your body refused to rest, no matter that you felt tiredness hitting you hard these past few weeks.

Your heart suddenly raced, but this time for a completely different reason. As you tried to formulate a response, something to break the awkward silence, you felt Alexander's unexpected touch. He approached you, with a delicate and almost reverent gesture, and you held your breath as he reached out, his fingers gently touching your face.

He brushed a strand of your hair away, carefully tucking it behind your ear. His fingers, warm and gentle, slid lightly over your skin, leaving a trail of heat. Each second seemed to stretch on, and you found yourself unable to look away from Alexander's eyes, which watched you with an intensity that made your face heat up even more.

"You are beautiful." Alexander whispered, staring at you as if he could read your soul.

You felt your mouth suddenly go dry, at the same time your body warmed with his words.

''Simply gorgeous.'' He said, bringing his face closer to yours. You stood still, barely breathing, when he finally captured your lips in a soft, delicate kiss. His lips touched yours with an unexpected tenderness, as if he were being careful not to scare you.

The kiss was sweet, almost hesitant, but deep in its simplicity. And, little by little, you felt your own tension disappear, as if the world had become a lighter, safer place, and you finally found the courage to close your eyes and allow yourself to feel, to allow yourself to reciprocate.

Alexander's hands slid gently to your head, his fingers intertwining in your hair as he tilted your face slightly, deepening the kiss with increasing intensity. The gesture, at once tender and passionate, dissolved any trace of discomfort or hesitation that might have remained. Without thinking, you brought your own hands to his shoulders, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath his clothes, and returned the kiss with equal fervor.

Alexander’s hands slid down your arms, gently pulling you out of the chair as your lips parted. He kept his gaze fixed on yours, his eyes burning with a desire and tenderness that stole your breath. Unhurriedly, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, your warm body pressed against his. Each movement was careful, as if he wanted to enjoy every second of that moment that seemed eternal.

There were few times when you lay together after your wedding night.

With a light touch, he guided you to the cot, the room enveloped in soft shadows and flickering lamplight, making the moment even more intimate. His hands, marked by calluses and scars from years of battle, moved with surprisingly delicate skill as he untied the knot of the white chiton that wrapped you. The fabric slid smoothly, abandoning your body and falling in a soft murmur to the floor.

As the cold night air touched your skin, Alexander's eyes explored you with silent reverence, his gaze as intense as the touch of his hands.

"Beautiful." Alexander whispered, his hands caressing your bare waist, squeezing the flesh lightly. Your breathing became heavy as he attacked your neck, his lips leaving bite marks on your skin, marks that you knew could not be hidden so easily.

Your head lolled to the side, giving his conqueror more access to your neck. Your eyes closed in delight as Alexander's hands rose to your breasts, squeezing them with a strength that would not hurt.

You gasped as his fingers squeezed your nipples, the cold and the touch making them perk up. Alexander squeezed, massaged until he finally stopped kissing your neck and pulled away a little, watching you for a few minutes like a hungry lion. He smiled and carefully pushed you onto the cot, making you sit up. Alexander quickly and conveniently removed the chiton and you held your breath when you saw his visible excitement.

You couldn’t help but feel yourself getting more aroused at the sight, your insides heating up and your most intimate parts naturally lubricating. Despite the scars that covered Alexander’s body, he was a sight to behold. His muscles, years of hard training, were palpable and you found yourself wanting to touch them, to enjoy them.

Alexander smiled broadly at you. There was no more embarrassment, just a husband and wife enjoying each other’s looks.

"Lie down." Alexander ordered, his voice husky and authoritative, leaving no room for questioning. You wisely obeyed him and lay down on the cot.

Alexander sat on the edge and his hands moved up your legs, parting them enough for him to slip his upper body between them. You sighed, a little confused but excited at the same time. His eyes were fixed on your pussy, on your arousal.

You expected him to get straight to the point, that he would just fuck you. Foreplay wasn't something common back then, it wasn't something that would please a woman at least.

But Alexander's next action surprised you.

He brought his face closer to your center and, without warning, his tongue touched your pussy, tasting you for the first time. Your body shivered at the sudden touch, at the texture of his tongue.

"Alexander... W-What?" You tried to question him but, perhaps to shut you up, Alexander sucked your clit, really sucked it, his mouth sucking the sensitive skin and his tongue making circular movements that left you breathless.

Alexander pulled back a little and you could see his chin glistening slightly with your slick in the dim, flickering light of the chandelier.

"I heard some soldiers talking about it..." Alexander murmured, smiling at you as his fingers found their way to your pussy and he slid two of them inside your heat, feeling your inner walls immediately tighten around his fingers. "And I decided to give it a try. Curiosity, perhaps. By the way, my Queen, you taste excellent."

You could have sworn you were going to cum when you heard him call you Queen. Maybe it was a new kink you had acquired, but by the gods, it was something really nice to hear, to be praised. And, the best part, you really are a Queen.

Alexander kissed the inside of your thigh, feeling how hot you were. He sniffed the air and you had to suppress a moan at the sight you were seeing and, perhaps, because he still had two fingers inside you.

Alexander brought his face closer to your pussy again and licked it greedily, his tongue lingering on your clit, on that spot on your body that he knew would leave your legs trembling. He was a quick learner and Alexander knew that that spot between your legs left you breathless. Your head fell back, your sighs and moans of pleasure leaving your lips without any shame.

Alexander squeezed your thighs as he devoured you and his fingers fucked you in a fast and pleasurable rhythm. His tongue pressed against your clit, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your legs trembled slightly, your hands gripping Alexander's dirty blonde hair as you finally reached your climax. You came in his mouth, clenching his hair, your body releasing your juices as you finally felt yourself relax. The orgasm relieved all the tension that was plaguing you.

Your breathing slowly returned to normal, and you looked up at Alexander, who pulled away slightly and smiled broadly at you. After removing his fingers from your pussy, Alexander brought them to his mouth, tasting more of your taste.

You felt like you could attack him right then and there.

Alexander chuckled as he saw your expression, the pleasure, excitement, and desire taking over your features. It was a sight to behold and one he planned to worship for as long as he could.

You were his Queen and should be worshipped as such.

[mitfloya]

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒: 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

pairings. Yandere Rafayel x gn!reader

wc. 2k

synopsis. You find yourself lost searching for answers that slip through your grasp. There is a mysterious force that lures you back to the vast depths of the sea, a pull that you can't quite comprehend, a strange connection. It haunts your thoughts, you wanted to find out why does your soul keeps guiding you to ocean.

Only to find the truth that you wish to never uncover.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. Hiii, I'm back from the dead, I hope it's good (be gentle with me this is my first fic I've created) or evoke some kind of emotions, whatever it may be. I may have gone a little overboard with everything. This will be a small series, maybe there will be 3 parts or up to 5 parts, depends on my mood. Also, this is my thank you gift for the celebration of hitting another milestone on my c.ai acc ♡

The waves, like gentle giants, rolled towards the shore, their white foamy crests crashing against the rocks with a resounding roar. The sound echoed in your ears. With each surge, the water created intricate patterns, as if painting an ever-changing masterpiece upon the canvas of the beach.

Some crashed against the rocks with a powerful force, while others gently caressed the sand, their touch as gentle as a lover's whisper. 

Standing there, your feet were gently lapped by the waves near the shore, your eyes fixated on the vast expanse of the sea, you felt an inexplicable pull, as if there was a profound bond between you and the ocean.

Yet, you couldn't quite comprehend why.

Lost in contemplation, you imagined how the cool waters of the sea would embrace you, enveloping you in their refreshing embrace. It was in these moments that you found solace and tranquility in the presence of nature.

The ebb and flow of the waves became a soothing rhythm that seemed to wash away any worries or troubles that burdened your mind.

Yet, amidst the serenity, there was a sense of familiarity, as if there were fragments of a forgotten memory lurking within your subconscious. Every time you found yourself by the sea or on a sandy beach, a whisper of a memory danced at the edge of your thoughts, just out of reach.

Lost in your thoughts, distant calls of your name went unheard as you drifted into a daze, completely captivated by the sea, you didn't noticed the water has gone up to your knees level. It was only when a familiar hand gripped your wrist, pulling you back from the water, that you snapped out of your daze.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" His voice rang out, a mix of concern and annoyance. "You were about to walk straight into the deep sea! Do you have any idea how dangerous that could have been?" he exclaimed, gently pulling you back to the safety of the shore.

Startled, your gaze locked with his eyes, a blend of deep purple with delicate speckles of pink. In that moment, you found yourself drowning in the vastness of his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away.

His eyes held a mix of emotions, like a tumultuous sea that you couldn't quite decipher. You couldn't help but wonder if your encounter was more than just a coincidence, if there was a greater significance to the intertwining of your paths. The depths of his gaze seemed to hold the answers, yet they also posed more questions, leaving you both intrigued and captivated.

There was something undeniable about the connection you shared, a magnetic pull that transcended mere concern. In that moment, you realized that his eyes held more than just worry for your safety—they held a glimpse of a deeper connection, an unspoken understanding that seemed to bind you together.

The depth of his concern in the eyes are as clear as day, it momentarily puts you lost at words.

The situation slowly sank in, you realized that you had been so absorbed in your thoughts that you had unconsciously ventured into dangerous waters. The level of danger had escalated beyond what you initially thought, as the water had gradually risen without your awareness.

You blinked, your voice betraying a tinge of guilt as you stammered out. "I… I didn't even realize," you admitted, your words laden with a sense of remorse,. "The ocean… it just pulls me in. I can't explain it." Your eyes darted around, avoiding contact with Rafayel.

He sees the way you looked at the sea, sensing that you were searching for something, perhaps a connection or understanding.

In that fleeting moment, a glimmer of hope momentarily danced across Rafayel's face, as if he believed you had finally recollected something significant to him.

…But as he searched your eyes, that tiny glimmer faded, replaced by a mix of disappointment and frustration.

A deep sigh escaped Rafayel's lips, his eyes rolling with visible exasperation. "Oh, please," he scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "As if the ocean has some deep, personal connection to you," he muttered dismissively.

The atmosphere grew heavy with an unspoken tension, as Rafayel's words hung in the air. It was clear that he felt let down, hoping for a shared understanding that seemed to elude him once again.

Rafayel's frustration grew evident as he let out an exasperated huff, pushing away his bangs with an irritated sweep of his hand. "Look, we've got enough problems trying to win this damn classroom competition. We don't need you drowning yourself in the process." His head shook slightly, a clear expression of annoyance etched upon his face.

You felt a pang of regret wash over you, seeing the frustration etched on Rafayel's face. "Thanks for being worried, I guess," you mumbled, your tone tinged with a touch of bitterness. He could've said it nicely at the very least, you thought.

Feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you for nearly getting yourself drowned, you quickly shifted your gaze to the expanse of the ocean stretched out before you.

The colors of the sea danced before your eyes, shifting seamlessly from the vibrant hues of turquoise to the deeper shades of indigo, as if an artist's brush had painted a masterpiece on the water's surface.

You couldn't help but wonder if there was a hidden world beneath the surface. Little did you know, you had been conversing with one of those hidden beings all along.

You noticed Rafayel's hands waving in front of your face, interrupting your oceanic reverie.

"I've heard the locals said that there is a mythical creature who roamed around this water, can you guess what it is?" His voice took on an eerie cadence. His head tilted slightly, as if he was assessing your reaction.

"Legend has it that those who make a pact with this sea creature are granted a special favor," he weave the tale as his gaze were penetrating your skin. "However," he paused, his words dripping with anticipation. "If one were to forget or break their oath, the consequences would be nothing short of catastrophic."

Drawing near, he leaned in, his voice a mere whisper in your ear. "They would face a fate far more harrowing than their most dreadful nightmares could ever conjure." His breath made your skin crawl, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

The tale he spoke of leave you with an eerie sense that there was more to this tale than met the eye. It was as if the threads of the story resonated with a deeper part of your being, stirring emotions and images that had long been dormant.

Yet, you shook off the discomfort, determined not to let Rafayel's words unravel your sense of reality, even as they lingered in your mind, leaving behind a lingering sense of unease.

With a light-hearted push, you nudge him away with your elbow, mustering a witty retort to maintain the casual banter. "Nice try, but I'm not one to fall victim to the legends of mermaids."

Unfazed, Rafayel continues to weave his tale, his voice dripping with a seductive charm. "How so? Don't their enchanting melodies and mysterious allure at least pique your curiosity?"

The weight of his words settled upon you, causing a shiver to ripple through your body. Yet, you maintain your composure, "Well, Rafayel," you taunt, "if mermaids are truly as captivating as you claim, perhaps I should take my chances. Who knows? Maybe I'll be the one to befriend a mermaid."

Oh, you already did and it was more than that.

Your soul remembers him, resonating with a familiarity that defies logic, while your conscious mind grapples with the mystery of who he truly is and where your paths have crossed before.

It's like your souls hold a hidden story, a shared history that teases the edges of your awareness, just beyond your grasp. The unspoken bond that lingers between you cannot be denied, as if your paths are intricately woven together, waiting to be unraveled.

In his presence, you find yourself both anchored and adrift, caught between the intangible and the tangible. The ties that bind you are not of this physical realm, but of a deeper dimension where emotions and memories intertwine like the ebb and flow of the tide.

There is a profound bond between you that goes beyond mere attraction, as if you have shared lifetimes together before.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the water, you and Rafayel became entranced by the moment, surrendering to the breathtaking beauty of the sea.

The scenery sparked a creative fire within you, the gentle dance of the waves mirrored the rhythm of your thoughts, as if the ocean had bestowed upon you the ideal theme for the upcoming classroom decoration competition. It was as if the universe had handed you a vibrant palette, ready to bring your ideas to life.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as an idea began to take shape in your mind. "Hey, what if we choose the ocean as our theme? We could create an underwater wonderland, wouldn't that be cool?" you suggested, your voice filled with enthusiasm.

Rafayel eyes widened with surprise, he took a moment to consider the suggestion. "That's actually not bad," he shrugged, his tone casual yet intrigued. "We could use blue and turquoise hues to mimic the ocean's colors, and hang paper jellyfish and other sea creatures from the ceiling. It'll be like stepping into an enchanting underwater realm."

The two of you continued to brainstorm all the way home, ideas flowing like a current, as you imagined transforming your classroom into a captivating oceanic paradise.

As the sounds of crashing waves slowly faded into the distance, replaced by the comforting rhythm of your footsteps, a familiar banter and laughter filled the air. The easy camaraderie between you and Rafayel created a warm and comfortable atmosphere, where the worries of the day seemed to melt away.

Minutes passed by, as if time had lost its grip on the endless conversations and moments of solace shared with Rafayel. He was like a soothing balm for your weary soul, a safe haven where your restless mind could find peace. His presence was like a sanctuary, where the weight of your worries seemed to dissipate into thin air.

Regrettably, the front gate of your house loomed before you, signaling the end of this cherished connection. With a warm smile, you waved goodbye to Rafayel, a bittersweet farewell that left an ache in your heart. "We'll talk more later, see you at school tomorrow!" you called out, hoping to preserve the thread of conversation that had woven its way into your shared journey.

He reciprocated with a smile and a wave, his eyes following you until you disappeared behind the closed door. As the facade he wore crumbled, a torrent of emotions flooded Rafayel's mind the moment you were safely inside. Frustration tightened its grip, as he struggled to understand how something so vital between the two of you could slip from your memory.

However, a twisted sense of satisfaction settled within him, as he relished in the knowledge of your home, a piece of your personal life that he now possessed, fueling a dangerous determination to claim you as his own.

This was never your home, and it would never be, for he had vowed to create a sanctuary where only he could offer you peace and happiness you deserved.

He knew that he had to do more, to make you realize the depth of his feelings. With unwavering resolve, Rafayel promised himself that he would build a world for you, free from any disturbances or distractions.

No one else would have access to this sacred space; it would be an intimate domain that existed solely for him and you.

"Wait for me, my love. I'll show you how much I adore you."

© mitfloya 2024. Kindly refrain from altering, translating, or reposting my works on any platform without obtaining my consent.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 31 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

 Maybe it’s silly, but you feel as though you have a new lease on life, in the days that follow.

John is still undeniably clingy, but so very sweet. It is a much easier form of obsession to bear.

You are still a prisoner, but at least you feel loved.

Perhaps even more precious, you begin to feel safe.

Whatever possessive madness gripped him before seems to have receded for now, and maybe you’re a fool, but you dare hope in time he might make a full recovery.

Now that you’ve reached a sort of understanding, John seems bent on making up for lost time. There is no doubt that you are still his prey, but now he ambushes you with the express intention of making you cum—whether you like it or not.

Again, you find yourself begging him for reprieve, though this time through laughter rather than tears. He swallows your protests with devouring kisses, eating your cries whole as he slides his long fingers inside you and works your clit masterfully with his thumb.

When you complain of your difficulty sitting down, a gift of a hemorrhoids donut pillow appears. You think he meant it as a joke.

John likes to give gifts, you find.

When one day you walk into your studio to find a bejeweled set of headphones bedecked like a crown, you cannot help but grin like an idiot. It is ridiculous what those fucking things cost, and you’d thought you’d been clever about concealing your enchantment with them in Italy, but nothing escapes John Wick’s sharp eye.

When he finds you later wearing your new coronet, singing out of tune while you put paint down on canvas, he presses you into the worktable with his hips and his kisses, going down on his knees before you with a murmur of, “My beautiful queen.” His words make your knees weak, as does his insatiable tongue in your slit. It’s all so much, and when you beg him to take you there on the table he is all too happy to oblige, scattering your pastels in a rainbow of projectiles with a sweep of his arm before driving himself inside you. With legs wrapped around his waist in a desperate effort to hold on, you take the fury of his adoration with a cock-drunk smile.

If you learned anything in the darker times before, it is that this man is a predator to the bone, and no matter what his mood, he loves a good chase. It becomes your favorite game, and it starts one evening when you splash him while doing the dishes. The look of surprise on his face is priceless, and with a screech you run for the stairs.

You only get so far as the living room before he catches you, his arm like a band of iron around your waist hauling you from your feet entirely. It happens too fast to register, but by some form of ninja magic you are suddenly on the floor, the lean length of his body on top of you. On the plush oriental rug with his thick cock inside you, this man makes you see God. 

It feels alarmingly, magnificently, terrifyingly, like truly making love.

“Has anyone ever loved you, the way I do?” he demands desperately, filling you impossibly to the brim.  

“Never,” you barely manage to answer, the force of his thrust stealing your breath away. 

The next question is much more vulnerable. 

“Have you ever loved anyone, the way you love me?”

“Never.”

It’s true, and in the softening of his gaze you dare to hope that someday he will believe you enough.

It is surprising, how quickly the time passes. Despite the circumstances, it is not terribly hard to live with John Wick, like this. He is sweet, and loving, and he spoils you rotten. You could almost mistake your relationship for normal—if one didn’t look too hard at the locks on all the doors. 

Soon summer is fading, giving way to the golden hours of early fall. You see it out the window, but since your little car ride, you still have not been allowed outside. You’re an outdoorsy girl, and frankly, it’s starting to drive you a little crazy. You find yourself clawing at the impenetrable windows with a sigh.

John’s mood has been steady, but your heart is still in your throat when you dare ask, “John, can we go out?”

He looks up from his book, the fall of his dark hair covering half his face as he cants his head in thought. They say familiarity breeds contempt, but even after all this close proximity, you still find him beautiful. You do not think that will ever change.

“Why?” he finally asks, and you detect the shadow of suspicion in his tone.  

“Because I miss it.”

You used to hike every day off you had. Being indoors this long…is doing things to your brain.

You watch as his nostrils flare, his chest rising and falling as he considers this request. You can tell he doesn’t like the thought at all, but you force yourself to stand your ground. He won’t punish you for this, surely? Just for asking?

Of course, he might punish you for what you’ll do later, if the answer is no.

In the end he nods, though more to himself than to you. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it fast? The weather will be turning soon.”

The look he pays you then is less kind, his eyes sharp as glittering obsidian. “I said. I’ll think about it.”

You sigh, assuming the answer is no, and retreat to sulk in your studio. You are painting the view from your favorite outlook on the mountain trail nearby from memory when you start to hear an odd, rhythmic toque…toque sound, over and over.

You go downstairs, searching for the source. No dice in the living room or the kitchen. You follow your ears to the bank of windows off the living room. There’s another door (locked, of course) that leads to a patio. You see John outside…chopping wood? Watching the pine rounds explode under the sharp blade of an axe in his hands shouldn’t be this fascinating, but you find yourself pressed to the window, transfixed. The definition in the muscles of his forearms as he swings down are a sight to behold.

You’re not sure he can see you, the way the glass is mirrored on the outside, but you knock on the widow anyway. He looks up at you with narrowed eyes at first. Then, a small smile. It feels like a little gift, just for you, and it quickens your heart. Watching him do everyday things moves you, and you acknowledge to yourself uneasily for the umpteenth time that you’re in so deep.

As it turns out, the wood was for a little pit fire, which you sit together and watch with a glass of wine that evening out on the patio. The tall trees loom all around you, pitch black outside the ring of your little campfire. It feels so good to be out of the house, but it’s not quite what you wanted. As though he senses that you’re not exactly satisfied with his offering, John tries to distract you with his kisses, laying you down on the outdoor couch to wreck you with his mouth. You make love with your skin bared to the great outdoors, but no one to really see you in your seclusion. Later you snuggle under a soft blanket together.

Sated, you let it go, for now.  

-But John doesn’t forget, and one morning he wakes you early with kisses on your ear. “If you want to hike, we have to go now,” he tells you. You have become spoiled in your captivity, no longer at the mercy of coffee house hours, now used to sleeping through the morning after John keeps you up late with his kisses and his beautiful cock, but the offer of getting to really go outdoors has you up and at ‘em in minutes.

You find your old pair of broken-in Merrel hikers in the walk-in closet, and realize John must have accessed your possessions from your previous life at some point. It’s so strange to see them—you realize in the suspended reality of your current situation, you’ve almost written off everything that came before.

There is a distinct mental separation in your personal timeline—BW, and AW; Before Wick, and After Wick.

You have a quick breakfast and coffee before stepping outside, the sun just peeking over the horizon.

You can hardly describe the elation you feel, at last being allowed to walk out that front door like you are almost normal. You are so happy just to feel the morning air on your skin. You stand in the driveway like a simpleton, your face lifted to the sky, soaking in the sun. There is a cool breeze that smells of pine, and it is the sweetest thing you have inhaled in a long time.

John watches your reaction intensely, and you do not think you invent it, when you see a glimmer of guilt in his expressive mocha eyes. Intent on assuring him, you stand on tiptoe, pressing a kiss to his bearded chin with your front flush to his.

“Thank you,” you say, and he relaxes slightly against you, resting his forehead against yours.

You are practically skipping as you hit the trail in his woods that connects to the bigger loop. You cannot help but think about that day in the snow, when you met him, alone, on that very path. How easily he could have had you then. It is another clue that tells you he hadn’t decided yet—or he had not yet cracked.

This early, in the middle of the week, it isn’t likely you’ll meet anyone in the woods. You feel a trill of nervousness, as you wonder what would happen if you did. You have been kept to yourself for so long, the thought of contact with other people out in the world feels strange, a little frightening, even.

As you walk an exuberance overtakes you, fills you head to toe. It almost feels like you’re…free. The only contradiction to that is the tall man in black walking by your side. He has let you have free reign, not insisting on holding on to you. He doesn’t have to, you know. He could just run you down with those delectably long legs of his any time he wanted, surely.

That doesn’t mean the thought of it isn’t titillating, even if you absolutely know you would be destined to lose. Perhaps he truly has broken you at last, but you have come to love the game of chase too. It is your most exciting distraction in your world that is limited to the confines of the Wick cabin.

You are going to be sore the next day, you know. It’s been…forever, since you’ve been able to walk like this. The most exercise you’ve really gotten has been engaging in your sexcapades with John—as much of a workout as that is—it’s a different group of muscles.

Perhaps he does not insist on holding you, but it doesn’t stop you from reaching for him. You squeeze John’s hand in thank you.

Despite everything…it feels like a perfect day.

“Maybe this is far enough for today,” he says as you approach the junction with the main trail, the line of his private property and the park that adjoins it.

Disappointment spears through you. You are not ready to go back into your prison. It’s turning into a beautiful day, and you have so much energy to burn.

You make a pouty face, playing cute while you are flirting with rebellion inside.

“But the overlook is so pretty this time of year,” you insist, batting your lashes. Lately, that’s been enough to get your way on little things in the house. Today you feel like you can’t lose. Everything is too good.

He narrows his eyes down at you, as though he senses your internal mutiny, but in all your elation you feel strangely impervious. You realize you feel high, the kind of mood lift usually people have to ingest pills to get.  

“Y/n…” He reaches for you, and without thinking you step just out of reach. You’ve played this game a dozen times now in the house. A game you’ve never, to this day, won, but you’ve found it’s the thrill of a lifetime, to be chased down by this man, trusting he won’t really hurt you. It always leads to mind-blowing sex, and maybe you are thinking a bit too much with a lust-addled brain alongside your elation for the great outdoors.

There is a very pregnant moment between you, and you smile when his intense eyes meet yours, your lips curling in what you know is a shit-eating little grin. What happens next is pure reflex; an extension of a thing you’ve done repeatedly together, with a dash of that age-old ingrained instinct of prey in the presence of a predator. But now you’re outside, and your jubilation is magnified times a hundred.

You run.

“Y/n!”

He lunges for you, his fingertips just brushing your arm, but in the end he’s–amazingly–too slow.

You are a human missile, rocketing down the hill, fueled by gravity and the knowledge of how to move in this environment you’ve trained for since you were just a child. You may as well be a wood sprite, for this is your element. This is your mountain, and no matter how many wealthy interlopers buy it up and carve it into parcels and drive up the price of everything so that locals like you can barely live—this will always be your home.

It feels so good to run.

Your feet fly over the needle-strewn forest floor, jumping over rocks and dodging trees. You laugh like a madwoman, the sweet sweet mountain air filling your lungs. You run like a wild thing of the woods, the way you used to when you were a child, before your parents decided to break the oath they'd made to each other and split your happy world to pieces. While your parents fought you would flee to the trees to be free, and you feel that desperate euphoria again. That feeling like you can fly, jumping over rocks and launching from boulders.

You sense more than hear John behind you, your own ears filled with the rushing of your blood and your racing heartbeat. His fingertips brush your back before you juke him around a tree. You hear him curse and you laugh—you do sound mad.

“Have to do better than that, old man!” you crow. 

You realize with another rush that you are far more agile than John is. The trees are your friend, the way you dart around them and power yourself down a new line of retreat. You hear him curse after grazing one, and you realize you might break the poor man’s neck, making him pursue you like this. 

In a pine-needle carpeted clearing you make yourself slow down, and you are so high on adrenaline it doesn’t even hurt when he finally tackles you to the ground, your grin like a baring of teeth, giddy from the chase. He pins your hands above your head, sharp pebbles digging into your skin as you laugh.

“What the fuck—” You interrupt him mid tirade with your mouth on his, a hungry kiss that swallows his fury, but does not quench it. Already anticipating the passion of your (and his) reward with his delicious weight pressed down into you, your legs are wrapped around his waist, pulling him close.

“You think you’re cute?” he snarls above you when at last you separate.

“I am very cute,” you assert, still giggling to yourself. “Don’t be mad. You love this game.”,

“Maybe I’d love to spank that cute ass of yours raw?”

“Nuh-uh. No hitting.”

You’d made a deal, after all.

He narrows his eyes down at you, and this is when you finally start to sense that maybe he is not half as amused as you are. Your blood runs cold, and before you can blink he has you flipped over on your belly, your pants down around your thighs.

“No—”

You try to squirm away, but his inexorable hand is in your hair—it makes for a damn good handle, the bastard. His big hand digging into the globe of your ass makes you quiver under his fingers. 

Your heart plummets into freefall, as you realize he’s serious. And you can tell he’s not talking about the playful little smacks he sometimes gifts you in the middle of riding his cock to completion. He means to punish you, and the knowledge takes you from the highest high to the blackest despair. You can barely hear past the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the familiar fear and uncertainty from before creeping in. Not again. Life was so good. Please don’t go back to this shit again. You can’t go back to the way things were. You can’t live like that again. 

A revelation settles over you with irrefutable clarity. You accept it as truth with every cell of your being, and you know there will be no going back after this. 

“If you hit me we’re done.”

There’s no hint of playfulness in your tone either now. Just…resolve. You mean what you say, to the very marrow of your bones.

“I think I must have confused you, y/n. You are not in charge here.”

“Maybe not. But I’ll tell you this. If you hit me, I’ll fight you to my dying breath. I mean it.”

Like watching yourself from the outside, you almost find it interesting that this is the true limit of your generosity with him. This is the cliff’s edge. The point of no return. Your resolve is unmoving, even if it fills you with absolute misery. You could lose him now, today, this very minute. This man who keeps you prisoner, yet with whom you have lived happily the past months. This complicated, broken man, who you love with all your heart. 

In this insane moment you realize with soul-shaking clarity…you don’t want to leave him. What would you do with your life? Go back to your stupid little existence at the coffee shop, working your fingers to the bone, doodling on the chalkboard, waiting? You’ve spent most of your life just fucking waiting. Waiting to travel. Waiting for something good to happen. Waiting…for this man to come through the door, so you could pester him for five minutes, knowing it would be the highlight of your day.

Could you possibly go back to looking up at the mountain, knowing your Beast in his castle resides there? That a man who loved you like no other is there pining for you?

But if he crosses this line—you will have to leave, somehow. Or die trying. That is your heartfelt resolution. That is the promise you make to yourself. You’ve made too many compromises as of late, and this is a battle for your very soul. 

You feel him like a malevolent storm cloud behind you, trembling in his fury, but for once, torn as to what to do. You realize this is the only time you’ve seen him doubt himself, when he’s contemplating teaching you a lesson. 

You dare to try to talk him down, your voice calmer, or perhaps more distant. You don’t know how you muster the courage; perhaps only in the knowledge that this could truly be it for the two of you. No more we’ll see how it goes or maybe it will be better tomorrow. There is only now.

“This thing we’ve somehow built together, despite everything…” You shake your head, trembling as much out of fear as despair. “It will be destroyed, and you’re the one who will have broken it.”

“You’re the one who ran from me!”

You can tell from the hushed fury in his voice that he is hanging on by a thread. You realize now, what a stupid thing that had been to do. That despite the games you’ve been playing in the house, out here, he just couldn’t handle it. Even just the slightest possibility of you leaving is enough to drive this man off the edge.  

“I let you catch me.” You will him to believe you. You even half believe it yourself.

“The hell you did.”

“It’s true. I know these woods better than you. I’m smaller. I’m faster. I let you.”

“Bullshit.”

Before you can hardly think about what to do you lower your face to the dirt, offering your ass in the air. You know he can see your puffy slit, your glistening opening just begging for him. This is how he has warped you; or maybe you were a twisted little thing all along, just waiting for him to show you the way to your ruin. Either way—you want him, and you will him to see it for himself.

“I let you catch me,” you insist again. “So give me my reward.”

You feel the tremor run through him, from his fingertips to his core.

You realize that he wants to believe you. That maybe punishing you was never really the fun for him at all, in this deadly game you’ve been playing.

You feel him shift his position behind you, his merciless hold moving to your hip. When his long fingers slide into your wet folds you mewl like a cat; half relieved, and half just needing him. He makes you buck by circling your bud, before delving inside your weeping channel with two of his fingers. It makes you moan, and if someone walks up the trail my god will they get an eyeful, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Does that feel like someone who’s afraid of you?” you bluff. Because wanting this man has never really stopped you from fearing him. Fearing what, exactly, has shifted over time. In the end though, maybe just that he would be the absolute ruin of you.

He only grunts in answer, spreading your juices around your aching pussy. When his fingers withdraw you whine in protest, but you hear him rifle with his clothing, the zzzip of his fly jerked downwards. When his thick tip kisses your entrance you could weep, offering your ass even higher in the air.

“You are a very bad girl,” he tells you as he slides home, making you writhe with a mixture of pleasure and pain. 

“I’m your bad girl,” you correct him, and he growls behind you, thrusting again. He’s not treating you with the usual care he pays this position, but you take it anyway. Gladly, if this will mend the thing between you, you’ll take it all.

“I would have found you, you know,” he pants as he thrusts, his hand weaving in your hair. “Even if you made it down the mountain…there’s nowhere in the world you can hide from me.”

You absolutely believe him.

“I know,” you tell him, your face in the dirt, yet somehow still loving the feeling of him behind you, filling you absolutely and completely. “You don’t–have to–lock me up, John,” you pant, interrupted by the violence of his thrusts. “Because I know I can’t escape you.”

This makes him growl again, that primal, possessive sound that touches the darkest recesses of your cavewoman brain. It is as though there is no part of you, inside or out, that this man cannot touch. He drapes his long body over yours, engulfing you in the shelter of his warmth. Even now, you cannot stop yourself from leaning back into him, pressing your smooth cheek to his soft beard. His tone is pure gravel, but you know him well enough now to sense the vulnerability in his words too. “But do you want to escape now?” he asks.

“No,” you tell him, and you know in your heart this isn’t manipulation, or vying for a better chance to run somewhere down the line. It’s just the truth, and you even surprise yourself as you say, “No, I don’t want to leave you.”  

He goes still behind you as he evaluates this heartfelt confession, his harsh breathing and the pulsing of his cock buried inside you his only movement. 

“I want to believe you.” You only enjoy a moment of relief, before he rears again behind you, driving himself into you to the hilt. “But I can’t.”

Your heart plummets as you realize he still cannot bring himself to trust your word, to have the faith to walk out into thin air, the way normal people do when they dare to fall in love. He cannot leave anything to chance with you, and now you are not sure he ever will.  

He really might keep you locked up forever. 

You feel the earth beneath you, hyper aware of the pine needles in your clenched hands, the wonderful smell of the dirt and ancient rocks below. The cool breeze on your bared skin, and the dappled light filtering through the pines. What if this really is the last time you are ever allowed outside? 

There was always a glimmer of hope on the distant horizon for you, that little light of optimism that never quite managed to extinguish, despite everything he put you through. But now you feel it leave you, stealing the integrity from your very bones. You go limp beneath him, only his iron-grip on your hips holding your ass in the air as he uses you. When he reaches down to find your slippery bud you are no longer in the mood, and perhaps foolishly, you try to shake him off. 

“Just get it over with.” 

You already know it’s the absolute worst thing you can say, but now you don’t care. 

“But I thought my darling wanted to enjoy the great outdoors?” He doesn’t sound half as angry as you expected him to, but there is still something sharp in his tone that puts you on edge. Like glimpsing a dorsal fin parting still waters, you know something dangerous swims underneath. 

He slows his thrusts behind you, so that his magnificent length stretches you just right without hurting you. He uses his now expert knowledge against you, weaponizing the hours you’ve spent in bed together making up for lost time. You can’t stop yourself from arching into him, canting your hips to intensify the sensation, and now you bow your head so you don’t have to see his smug smile. “Goddamn you.”

He huffs with laughter, though there’s no real humor in it. “You’re too late, I’m sure.”

This time when he touches you, you are desperate for it, your aching walls squeezing him in search of release. It tears a groan from deep in his throat, a sound you know so well by now, and you realize you can use your own knowledge of this man against him too. You squeeze him again, almost in challenge, and it becomes a contest between you, who can bring the other to pieces first. You have to admit that his blunt fingers on your clit are heaven, and your heart pounds too fast in your chest, your head light as you very nearly forget to breathe in your concentration. He tries to hold himself off as you move to take him deeper. He cannot control your body as well as he would like, like this, with his fingers buried in your slit, and you almost smile at his grunt of frustration at you. 

In the end you both lose. 

You cum so hard on his cock you see stars, a ringing in your ears as a merciless pleasure breaks and explodes through you. He fares no better, filling you with ropes of hot seed as he moans, loud enough to echo across the mountains. 

Maybe you do feel a little better, panting in the soft leaf litter with his body draped over yours again, his heavy breathing and soft lips upon your neck. As usual, you feel bereft when he withdraws, wishing you could hold him inside you longer. You didn’t bring anything to clean up with, and you anticipate a soggy walk home back up the hill. 

In fact, after sprinting, then fucking like animals on the ground, you’re not even sure you can walk. 

It’s John who rises first, groaning with the effort. He glares down at you, as though daring you to make another old man jab. For the moment, however, you are out of quips, out of jokes, and out of clever repartee. Even though you know it shouldn’t be so easy for him to tame you, you snuggle under his chin anyway, kissing the swell of his Adam’s apple. For a moment he sags against you, savoring this sweetness, before brusquely leading you back up the trail.  

He is not cruel, or strangely, even outwardly angry now, but somehow you just know you are in so much fucking trouble.

[linos-luna]

Hi gorgeous 💞

I hope you're doing well (I was worried af)

If it's not too much to ask but my birthday is on 14th March so can you write a yandere hyunjin x f reader smut where the reader who is already held hostage is given a gift by hyunjin (just surprise me with your writing girl)?

I would seriously appreciate it from my heart ❤️

Wanna see a manipulative, toxic and delusional hyunjin in love with me 😩

Bye 👋

Sorry it’s late! I’ve been so busy! 😭

Happy late birthday 🎊

———————————————————

Work of Art 🔪

Yandere!Hyunjin x Reader

Warnings: Yandere!, 18+, slight Stockholm Syndrome?, Slapping, Hair pulling, Emotional manipulation

—————————————— 💞

It’s been two months. Two months since you lost your freedom. Hyunjin was obsessed. He wants you to keep you in his home forever. If he goes out, he handcuffed you to the bed frame. Although lately he hasn’t done that. Probably because now you don’t move. You seemed to have given up on trying.

The days blended together so you didn’t even realize that today was your birthday. You stayed in bed until noon, only waking when some light from the window hit your face. You sat up, only to see Hyunjin standing at the door. Watching.

“Good morning, my love.” He said with a soft smile. “Today is a special day!”

“What….?” You mumbled.

“How could you forget?! It’s your birthday, silly!” He chuckled while going to you and leaning in to kiss you.

You were silent, actually surprised that you forgot your own birthday.

The man stroked your hair as he waited for your kiss although you didn’t budge. This seemed to frustrate him and he pulled your hair so your lips touch his. “Y/n!” He whined.

Reluctantly, you kiss him. He bit your lip and kissed you with lots of passion.

Sure you kissed back but not with as much vigor as him. This only hurts his heart.

“Y/n! I don’t understand…” he whined. “why…? Why won’t you love me like I love you!”

“Hyunjin, you kidnapped me!”

“Because I love you!”

“This isn’t love!!” You interrupted. “This… this is hell!”

“No no no… i-I’m sorry! It shouldn’t be!” Hyunjin frowned and dropped to his knees while holding your hand. “I only wanted to show you love and cherish you. I want to spoil you!”

“Hyunjin—”

“I’m sorry, y/n…” He pouts, giving you sad eyes, “I-i never meant to hurt you…”

“Hyunjin… you—!”

“No no I'm awful!” He interrupted while starting to cry. “I-I just want someone to love… I-I’ve never had someone love and care like you do. You’re so genuine and kind…”

He continued rambling. From his rough upbringing to his desire for love. He’s all alone in this world and it had your heart breaking for him.

“I-I have a gift for you…” he said softly. “Please. I worked so hard on it.”

“O-okay…” you nodded reluctantly.

Joy lit up his face and he quickly left the room. As soon as he left, the tears were gone. It was as if he flipped off the emotion like a light switch. Instead, he smiled to himself.

Hyunjin came back in the bedroom with a canvas. You were a bit confused until he turned it around. It was you. A painted picture of you sleeping. The style made you look angelic.

It was beautiful but also unnerving. When did he paint this? Was he watching you while sleeping? Every minuet detail of your features was there. Every mole and blemish was painted in great detail.

“Wow, Hyunjin… it’s very nice.” You said slowly while studying it. You couldn’t lie, it really was an amazing painting.

“Oh, my love. I’m glad you love it!” He smiled. “I worked so hard to capture your essence! You truly are a work of art!”

You couldn’t help blushing. You’ve never had a compliment like that and it was giving you butterflies in your stomach.

“Thank you, Hyunjin… I-I really do love it…”

“Oh good!” He was excited as he leaned in close. “Please, my love. May I kiss you?”

There was a moment of silence before you nod.

———— 💞

Dinner was a bit awkward. You sat in silence as he fed you.

“Do you like it?” He said suddenly.

“I do but… Hyunjin I can feed myself.”

“No darling. Don’t worry about that.” He said while putting more meat on the fork.

“No really—…” you grab the fork from him, about to raise it to your mouth before he suddenly slapped it away.

“Hyunjin—!”

Before you could finish, there was a swift slap to your face.

“No! Only I can feed you!” Hyunjin yelled suddenly.

You held your cheek in shock, too stunned to speak.

“Oh I’m so sorry!! My love, I'm sorry!!” He suddenly switched up and got to his knees, dropping the bowl of food to the ground, but he didn’t seem to care.

“No! Don’t cry! Don’t be mad!” He begged while grabbing into each side of your hair and pulling you close. “Please forgive me! I love you!”

“A-agh! Hyunjin!” You whimpered as he tugged harder.

“My darling. My sweet girl, please!”

He pulled harder, making you drop from your seat to the floor.

“J-Jinnie! You’re hurting me!!”

“W-what?!” He paused, still holding onto your hair. “No! No im not!!”

“Jinnie stop!”

“No you stop!” He yelled. “I love you! I’m just trying to love you!!” His voice broke as tears formed and it made you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hyunjin…”

“No! You don’t love me!” He sobbed. “I-I thought I finally found my soulmate… one that will love me as much as I love her!” Hyunjin wiped some tears while looking at you. “I-I’ve never had that kind of love. My M-mother left! A-And father would beat me! I-I only wish you give the love I never received!”

Whether this story was true or not -it’s not-, you wouldn’t be able to tell. But his vulnerability and tears tugged at your heartstrings.

“Hyunjin….”

“No! Just go!” He cried. “Just leave me! Leave me all alone! I’m used to it!” He pulled some keys from his pocket and threw them in front of you.

You were frozen in place. You felt awful. Pure guilt. How could you hurt him like this?? All he wanted was love. You felt like a monster.

Without much thinking, you hugged him tight. “I-I’m sorry, Jinnie.”

Hyunjin leaned into your hug, making himself look as small and vulnerable as possible while continuing to weep.

“It’s okay… it’s okay…” you whispered while rubbing his back.

“C-can I… can I give you a bath?” He asked softly. “I-I wanted to spoil you with a little… at home spa…”

You pulled away and looked at him. Here he was crying and expressing his deepest emotions and traumas, and yet he was still thinking of you. He was still wanting to spoil and shower you with love.

You only nodded and Hyunjin smiles before kissing your forehead and leaving to the restroom, getting some of the soaps and candles ready.

It made you feel guilty. Perhaps you have this all wrong. He really does have a good heart. Perhaps you’ve never experienced real love. Maybe… this is what true love is.

Hyunjin had no more tears. This face had cleared up so fast as soon as he entered the restroom. In fact he had a smile. A satisfied one, like a spoiled child that got his way. It was just too easy.

Hyunjin walked to the bedroom, grabbing a robe for you, stopping by the painting. He took a deep breath while running his fingers along your painted nude body.

He turned back to the restroom, mustering up some tears red cheeks before calling out to you.

"Come on, my love! The bath is ready!'

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Birdbox (3/5)

Word count; 3.8k

For the first time, Y/n had the concious thought about whether they could use their ability to see their surroundings. They always thought their blindness was a curse, but in the apolcolypse, it had come in usefully. Whether this was only an ability in their sleep, Y/n had yet to determine, but they hoped it wasn’t — Y/n didn’t see any other way to survive.

Y/n laid their head against the counter. They plugged their phone in, dreading the day when electricity was no longer available and Siri — Y/n’s only friend — was silenced. And then came the issue of food. They were stuck. Y’n couldn’t help but ponder death. They were aware of how generally awful they were as a person, and that kept Y/n with a will to live and a will to die.

Y/n was selfish, rude, and a coward. They were bitter at the world for being unfair and punished the people around them the same. Too selfish and afraid to die, but too hateful toward the world to live. It was a conundrum. Y/n figured, though, that their general confusion would be the death of them, as they were too confused on what to do. Y/n had their talents in a paintbrush, not a weapon. Y/n couldn’t see. Y/n hardly knew the area because their father often shipped groceries to their doorstep so Y/n only left the house for exhibitions, interviews, and art supplies. 

Their father. Y/n sat up, grabbing the phone. 

“Hey, Siri. Call dad.”

The phone began ringing. The screen was slightly cracked, but its not as though Y/n cared. The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

“The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. After the tone, please leave a message.”

A wave of sadness and worry washed over Y/n. They recognized that their father was the most important person in their life. Perhaps his phone was dead. Perhaps it was lost. Perhaps he was asleep.

Or perhaps he was dead.

For the first time since hell had descended on earth, Y/n began to cry. They wandered over to the couch to lay down, curling on their side. For the first time in a while, they thought of ‘Last Look’s dreadful day.

“Doctor, why can’t my child see? How can they get their sight back?” their father pleaded.

“Sir, I’m sory, We’ve ran several tests, but sometimes, things like this happen. A hidden gene. A faulty switch in the occipital lobe. Although there is still no noticable differences in their brain development, nerves, or blood work, cases like this happen. It’s unfortunate, and unfair. Sometimes, the eyes shut down entirely overnight from unknown causes. And, currently, we don’t have the technology to do anything about it.”

Their father’s eyebrows furrowed. Although Y/n couldn’t see it, he was losing hope. He wondered if he had somehow failed his only child. 

“I… I did some research. They somehow made a young boy see again —“

“That was a scientific anomaly, sir,” the doctor argued desperately. “And anyway, this clinic is incapable of giving that kind of treatment.”

Y/n’s father began to sob. They are crying, too. The doctor’s words scared them. They clawed and rubbed at their eyes, but their father grabbed their hands, squeezing tightly. He comforted them, whispering sweet words that everything would be alright. That they would make due. That there was nothing wrong with being blind. That it wasn’t the end of the world.

But Y/n was only a child. Their entire future had been robbed. Y/n didn’t know of any blind heros. Anyone out there that made a living or lived independently. Y/n was uneducated. All they knew was that their world had ended, and that they wanted to see again.

And see they now did. Y/n shot up. It was but a blink, but they saw. It was like they physically transcended their body and walked to the door, going right through it. They reached for a canvas, their fingers tracing it like a memory. A man. Middle-aged, beer-bellied, straggling jawline, balding. Pale eyes with a daze. Pounding, over and over. His knuckles bleeding. His clothes torn and bloody. The woman’s corpse beside him, eyes torn open and from her skull, as though his fingers had dug into them to remove them personally. In the woman’s chest, there was an iron rod.

Y/n could still see it clearly. The man was really there, still pounding ruthlessly. Y/n had blocked out the knocking, but with sudden focus, their ears returned to the sound.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

They dropped the brush and went over to the kitchen. They pulled a knife from the drawe, removing the blade cover. The wind was still howling outside, pounding at the windows. They went over to the door.

Y/n suddenly found courage and a voice.

“How are you alive? Why are you here? How did you know I was here?”

The knocking stopped suddenly. With its absense, an eerie silence followed. Y/n suddenly regretted speaking up.

A gruff voice, enchanted yet ery, very dry and cracked, answered. “They showed me true beuty. They want me to show you. Let me give you my eyes, Y/n. I want to give you my eyes —“

“Why is everyone else dead but you? What’s doing all this?” Y/n’s voice was shaky yet steady. 

“…Sinners. All of them. They did not want to see. But I do. You do. They want me to show you it all. Open the door, Y/n. Let me give you my eyes.”

“That’s impossible. I am blind. Please, leave me alone —“

“But you have the sight!” the man suddenly boomed. “They gave it to you a long, long time ago. And now, they will show you everything great and beautiful. Open the door. Open the door. Let me give you my eyes.”

Y/n only grew more confused with every sentence. Nothing made sense. 

“How will you give me your eyes?”

Manic, cracked laughter ensued. “I will tear them from my skull and hand them to you. You must see it, Y/n. It is beautiful! Beautiful, I tell you! Open the door!”

“Leave your eyes at the doorstep. I will take them that way.”

“I wish to see you myself. They speak so highly of you. You are the most beautiful landscape of all. I must see you, Y/n. I must see you and hand you my eyes —!”

Shivers rolled down their spine and they took a step away from the door. Y/n was left with more questions than answers. The whole endeavor was pointless. However, Y/n knew that they couldn’t stand the knocking anymore. And they didn’t trust that this man would just die. Something supernatural had consumed the world. The man’s eyes weren’t normal. Perhaps his biology wasn’t, either.

With that, Y/n didn’t let the fear take over. They unlocked the front door and swung it open. The voice was no longer muffled. They aimed to stab, but the man suddenly bellowed and collapsed to his knees. The man was far more vocally gruesome with a door no longer seperating them. The man bowed.

His scarred, bloody hands touched Y/n’s feet. He scrambled and panted. Y/n is left stunned, allowing the man to grovel at their feet. 

Sobs echoed the empty hallway.

And Y/n was shaking from head to toe.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” he cried. “They were right! The most beautiful thing in creation!”

His praises fell on deaf ears. Rough hands squeezed Y/n’s feet and they felt overwhelming disgust, overpowering the fear. The hands clawe at their calves and then their thighs. Suddenly, he withdrew, falling silent. His face was drenched in sweat. He glistened with salt and oil. Tears continued to fall, and although Y/n did not know, his eyes were glued to their figure in awe.

And then, he began to claw. He dug his thumb and pointer finger into his eyelids. Y/n stumbled back, hearing the squelch. The man released painful gurgles. Slowly and painfully, he removed his eyes. The man sobbed desperately, and yet all he cried was blood.

Y/n felt a spray against their pants. Y/n had enough. Their selfish, angry side kicked in, adrenaline suddenly bursting through their veins. Gritting their teeth, they stabbed the man in the neck, somehow knowing exactly where to aim. The man gurgled out a cry, dropping his eyeballs and collapsing to the welcome mat. Y/n kicked the man away, feeling their socks get drenched with liquids. The man’s thud was the last sound he made. 

Y/n felt around the corpse for the knife, disgusted. They removed it. 

They slammed the door shut and locked it again.

The corpse sat there. The man lay there, decaying and wet. The eyeballs were completely seperated and long cords spun out from his eyes. Despite the pain he and Y/n had caused, the man was smiling.

Y/n was rattled to their core, turning and sliding down the door. Their hands had intense tremors. They knew damn well they couldn’t stay stuck. The wind was howling, harder and harder. The beast was near. And the insane missionary had found them once. Another one surely could. 

Y/n stayed frozen on the floor, cradling the moist knife like a child, for a very, very long time. It was slowly settling on them that they had commited murder. It didn’t feel like self-defense. The man had worshipped them, for christ’s sake. They couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened, had they taken the eyes? What would they have seen?

They decided to think it over in the shower; they knew they had to move while they had the resources. Siri wouldn’t live forever. Their food supply wouldn’t last. They needed to find a grocery store to camp in — one that wouldn’t be too populated with hypothetical looters.

They also needed resolution on what happened to their father.

When they hopped out of the shower, they began to pack the essentials: their charger, phone, cane, clothing, food, and paints. Everything they’d need to survive, but also live. 

Y/n’s first thought of where to go was the corner store down the block. It’s where they often went for an easy snack. Y/n took their cane and turned Siri on to the corner store. They shoved the phone in their pocket after plugging in earbuds. 

They felt their way toward the elevator. Their ears were keen, but the hallway was silent.Usually, their apatment building was full of hustle and bustle, especially at… god, Y/n didn’t even know what time it was. So, they asked while in the elevator.

“Seven-thirty-three.”

The elevator beeped and the doors opened. More silence. Siri repeated directions, but Y/n knew the way to the front entrance. 

They paused. The beast seemed to follow their every move; it was everywhere. It was the air Y/n was breathing. That much they knew. They hovered, afraid to leave. But Y/n’s will to survive and be selfish was the most important part.

And then they hear it: a screaming woman. Y/n dashed out the door, selfishly believing this was their chance. In Y/n’s mind, the wind would divert its attention, even if it was an entire entity. The screams echoed and grew louder. The wind was bustling and squealing in their ears. They could hardly use their cane, relying solely on Siri’s directions.

“Turn left to reach your destination.”

Y/n skidded to a stop, losing their footing. Y/n grunted loudly, knowing they would probably be left with a nasty bruise. They scrambled onto their knees. They dropped the cane, but as the wind whistled and bustled, the cane was the last thing on their mind. In their world of darkness, they crawled forward, finally feeling at a glass panel. Y/n scrambled to their feet, gripping the handle.

They pulled at it desperately, almost falling again as the door swung open. They felt papers adorn the inside, and a wave of relief washed over them as they pulled the door shut. Y/n was shaking in their boots as they held the position, feeling the wind beat against the door. 

Click.

Y/n tensed, turning wildly and reluctantly releasing the doorknob. Their voice came out as a squeak.

“Who’s there?”

“Don’t move. Hands up.”

A man’s voice echoed in the otherwise silent corner store. The man sounds gruff, and Y/n can tell that the man sounds rather redneck. And by the clicking, the man held a gun. Y/n complied.

The man emerged from behind a shelf, crouched slightly, and had a pistol aimed directly at them. Y/n panted, unaware of the man’s exact location. Their head turned every which way, attempting to locate the man. The man wore a dark leather jacket and was somewhat older. He had a peppered beard and a big bald spot on his head. He wore glasses and ripped jeans, giving off the general aesthetic of a retired biker. 

“Now, what’s it like out there? Have you seen it?”

“I - I don’t know. It’s quiet, sir,” Y/n stuttered. “I’m blind — I can’t see the monster —“

“Bullshit.”

“I dropped my cane right outside the door —“

“I know you’re just like the last guy. Trying to fool me, are you —“

“I’m blind! I’m Y/n L/n — I’m famous, haven’t you fucking heard of me, you fucking loser?” Y/n exclaimed, almost insulted. “Just look out, and you’ll see you fucking cane —“

While Y/n had been ranting and tossing insults at the man, he had progressed silently. Y/n stared out blankly, expression angry and unchanging as the man snuck up on them. Y/n paused, breathing heavily. All they saw was darkness, unaware of whether a gunshot would shoot them dead.

“Boo.”

Y/n jumped wildly, flailing to the ground. They burst into tears, which made the man laugh. He glanced out the paper, noticing the cane. “By golly, I guess you are blind. Or one hell of an actor. You don’t got the same eyes as them, either.”

“Jesus, fuck you —“

The man lowered his gun and chuckled gruffly. “Yeah, yeah. If you saw the world we were living in right now, you’d understand. Now, get away from the door and behind this here counter.”

Without asking, the man grabbed and pulled them. Y/n frowned firmly but allowed it to happen. Behind the counter was a small pile of wrapper trash and a torn up sleeping bag. The man beckoned to sit, but they gathered that once they felt the counter. Their movements were still skittery, untrusting of the man before them.

“So, let’s exchange stories.”

“Stories?”

“My name is Mark. I’m the owner of this establishment, although that doesn’t mean much these days,” he explained. “I followed the news religiously, waiting for something like this. Then, I noticed reports of mass hysteria starting in Italy. I shut down shop immediately, and not even an hour or so later, the news turned to shit, and so did the world outside. I learned that whatever’s out there cannot be seen and all that shit, so I’ve got my trusty blindfold around my neck just in case. And finally, I guess it’s safe here for now, but we sure as hell can’t stay here. It’s a fucking corner store. The supplies aren’t endless.”

Y/n listened intently to his ramblings and, deciding to suspend distrust, nodded and replied. “Yeah, okay. So, I’m blind. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me. I’m the ‘blind painter.’ I had a gallery that day and was heading home when it all started. Uh, and I was fine until I started having… dreams. Seeing things that were there. Like this cult guy outside my door that wouldn’t leave me alone. I actually saw what he looked like in my head. I killed the guy and he was fucking worshiping me. Something about how he wanted me to see. God, he pulled out his eyes —“ Y/n stopped, replaying that moment in their head and shuddering. “Uh, and I came here… Oh. And I’m Y/n.”

“The fuck?”

“I guess this plague affects everyone differently, but if I’d known that, I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you in.”

“It’s a gift,” Y/n insisted anxiously. “A stupid one. But my father always told me god gave me eyes in my dreams. The truth is, I think I’ve seen the monster in my dreams. And when I focused, I could see the man outside my apartment. But only when asleep.”

“Prove it. Show me some of your drawings. You obviously brought the fucking supplies.”

“I haven’t used this notebook in years. It’s only old drafts,” Y/n answered, withdrawing the notebook from their bag. 

“Well, if you’re some fancy painter, it doesn’t really matter.”

Without warning, the man snatched the notebook from their grasp and started going through the pages. He slowly goes through them, ignoring Y/n’s angry expression from the invasion. Inside the notebook was several drafts of pretty locations. Some faces. The occasional animal.

Mark paused at a page, his brows crinkling. “This the monster you saw in your head?”

“What is it?”

Mark described it to them.

“Yes. Although that could have been my imagination.”

Mark continued to stare at the scribbles. It was somehow made of clean yet untidy scribbles. There was a large circle surrounding a large head that had long, spindly tendrils, leaving a cavernous mouth. The thing had slits for eyes, and there was a gleam to the flesh of the beast. It was like a halo over it, and Mark couldn’t help but admire the drawing. 

Then, he turned the page to find another one. He was suspicious, but the drawings were aged and marked with a date from several years ago. This drawing had a clearer face image, showing the tall, slimy forehead. The slits for eyes were open, bulbous, and consumed with black charcoal. The tendrils leaked down the paper like Y/n had switched to paint halfway through.

After that sketch, it returned to an image of a mountain waterfall.

“…Huh. So you’re telling me you saw this shit coming too?”

“Hardly. I thought they were nothing but recurring dreams until now.”

“Well, let me get some food. I think there’s a spare sleeping bag in the back, too.”

Mark rose and weaved around Y/n. Y/n remained still, grabbing their notebook back and getting lost in thought.

They thought about how long they would be able to stay, especially in the company of Mark. Another person meant the distribution of resources, but Mark could also see and shoot. Y/n figured their thoughts were selfish, but the world would probably be much prettier without fellow humans polluting it. Yn didn’t care much bout life, but cared enough that they refused to commit suicide. Y/n wondered if their father was alive —

Y/n heard a door open and assumed Mark was returning. Mark returned with a box of Frosted Flakes and a rolled-up, far newer sleeping bag. 

A sense of safety and exhaustion reached Y/n as they silently munched on Frosted Flakes. The taste was slightly stale, and despite their typical pickiness, there was a sense of comfort. They came to terms calmly with the fact that the apocalypse was upon them. That meant that stale cereal, a warm sleeping bag, and a man with a gun weren’t the worst things in the world at that moment.

“You sure you aren’t possessed?” Mark yawned, perking up and cradling his pistol.

“He said ‘they’’ wanted to give me my eyes back. To give me true sight. The ma worshipped me as a god,” Y/n recalled with a pause. “I wish I was possessed because whatever they are seeing… it must be incredible.”

~~~

Y/n was awoken from a deep, terrifying slumber with animated shaking. “Wake the fuck up!” Mark bellowed. “What are you seeing?”

Y/n scrambled, sleep in their eyes. Mark was on top of things, scrambling for their paint palette and notebook. Y/n felt at them. Some terrified tears escaped their eyes as they scribbled roughly on the notebook paper. Mark was silent and watched carefully as Y/n drew, their gaze staring up fearfully and unknowingly making direct eye contact with Mark.

Y/n suddenly dropped the paint brush and panted. “This. I saw this.”

Y/n handed the notebook over. Some time had passed; according to Mark, they had rationed well, and a week or so had passed. Trust had formed between the two of them. Sometimes, Y/n dreamt and they drew. But based on the violence in their head, Mark must have known something was especially wrong with this one. Y/n often woke up with the sun, according to Mark, but Y/n had the sense that the sun was not up yet.

“I… hope I drew it right. I saw many, many people. A mob. They were walking down a road, dazed and enchanted. They’ve seen it.”

Mak analyzed the work intensely. He was still amazed at his comrade's ability and figured it would be his demise. But at least it kept him on his toes. It made for conversation, too. 

The image depicted rocky, cold, and dying terrain with stale grass and swamplands in the distance. A few abandoned, rotting cars were on a large, spacious road, which was covered in oddly detailed figures. The mob was walking, dazed, just as Y/n had described. The mob was thick, and despite their harmless and dumb expressions, they yielded weapons — anything from crowbars to hammers to guns. 

“That’s Dale. My coworker,” Mark stated, pointing to one of the figures. “We worked at the same local construction company for a while.”

“Local?”

“Local.”

The realization dawned on the pair. Mark examined the road further. “That same road. It’s the main road leading into town.”

“Fuck.”

“Do you know what that means? Why are they coming here?” Mark inquired carefully, perturbed by the situation.

“They’re… coming for me, I think. It won’t take a genius to realize that I moved. Please, we have to go somewhere else —“

“Jesus, I get it. Let’s pack what we can. We can go out to back. And, Y/n, I want you to wear this blindfold. Just in case.”

[sunflowersandsapphires]

No Moon, No Stars

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, non-graphic descriptions of wounds and violence, heavy drinking, descriptions of making out, men being gross and controlling (nothing happens), slightly yandere!Frank if you squint, sunshine FINALLY standing up for herself

a/n: Hopefully this chapter is at least a little gratifying even though they haven't made up yet. You're halfway through the angst arc now, everyone. Resolution is coming! As always, please reply and reblog with your reactions/feedback!!

w/c: 4.5k

Jerking awake to the sounds of nonexistent screaming, Frank's eyes flew open, his limbs flailing to stabilize him as he nearly toppled out of bed. Gripping the headboard with one fist, he hauled himself upright, tugging at his sweaty hair with his other hand. His body was taught with stress and guilt, the images of your crumpling face and his wife's smile clashing in his brain relentlessly.

Something warm and slick trickled over his side. Absentmindedly swiping at what he thought was sweat, his thumb collided with a fresh set of stitches—sending a shock of pain through his skin.

Right. He'd been shot last night. Somewhere in a jumble of exhaustion and blind rage he'd neglected to protect his exposed waist while dismantling a trafficking operation.

After stumbling home with a palm pressed to the wound, he'd fished the bullet out and crudely stitched the gash before collapsing into bed for a mere 3 hours of unconsciousness. Apparently in the midst of a tumultuous sleep, he'd popped a few of the crappy sutures. Studying the blood that had coated his fingertips, he blew out a frustrated sigh, knowing this set of sheets and his shirt would need to be washed now.

Shoving that thought to the back of his mind, he slid off the bed, shuffling into the bathroom as every muscle in his body ached in protest. Despite his best intentions, his eyes landed on his reflection as the pallid bathroom light flickered on. His face was a mottled canvas of bruises—all in various stages of healing. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, accentuated by the parallel dark circles that had blossomed underneath them from his continuous loss of sleep.

He looked miserable. Pathetic. Broken. All of which were accurate descriptions and apt punishments for the hell he'd put his family through, put you through.

Gaze falling from the mirror, he scanned the various medical supplies still littering the bathroom counter, pulling out a fresh needle and thread from the mess. It took far too long to thread the damn thing, his hands trembling violently as he tried over and over to prep it. Gritting his teeth, he finally managed to pull the filament through the eye.

Frank was no stranger to pain. In fact, he craved it. Pain was reliable, grounding. A focal point amidst life’s vile chaos. A reminder that he was alive, of what he had accomplished, what he'd been through. It was what he had left of his family, of Billy, of his past. Which is why he didn't regret it, or shy away from it. Not normally.

Until you'd come into his life, and everything had changed.

You were patient, sweet, and funny; You didn't judge him for his habits and quirks, you accepted him as he was. You treated him as if he was fragile, not out of pity, but out of kindness. You saw the pain he put himself through and made it your job to alleviate as much as you could. To help him bear the burden of everything he'd lost.

He had no idea what had compelled you to look twice at him, to treat him with respect and compassion so immediately. As far as he could tell, that's just who you were. The world continued to spew its current of cruelty and misfortune, and you'd smile through it–helping as many people remain afloat as you could.

It made no sense to him. You made no sense to him–which is why he found you fascinating. He was drawn to you in a way he hadn't expected to experience ever again. Every glance, every smile, every touch you'd given him...he had cherished them all. He still did.

Which is why each prick of the needle in and out of his skin was so agonizing. Every strike of the sliver of steel against his flesh was a reminder of what he'd given up when he broke off your friendship. The tenderness that he’d never feel again.

He regretted forcing you away, but it was necessary. If he didn't create distance...well, he had vague ideas of what would have happened given how far gone he already was for you. He couldn’t risk falling in love again. Not when Maria’s death still felt new to him or when he was still struggling to properly grieve. He couldn’t move one, didn’t want to move on–and it wouldn’t be fair to you or his family for him to try. So, he chose to distance himself.

The distance would help in time, but right now he was still weak.

It took every fiber of his resolve to keep from giving in to his deepest desires. To let Maria and Lisa and Frankie fade into oblivion for his own comfort. To crawl over to your place and beg for your forgiveness. To let you caress him and hold him and care for him in a way he didn't deserve.

But that wasn't an option for him anymore. He'd ruined that too.

Tearing his stained shirt over his head by the collar, he tossed it aside before tying off the new line of sutures. Breathing heavily, he held the needle in a white-knuckle grip before dropping it in the overflowing trash can. His vision blurred as he continued to stare wearily at the sink basin, tinged pink with remnants of his blood.

Cranking the sink on, he leaned forwards—resting his elbows on the grimy porcelain as he stuck his hands under the frigid stream. Bringing his face closer to the faucet, he threw a handful of water into his face, then another, using his fingers to rub it around and rid his skin of the leftover dirt and sweat he'd ignored last night.

Ripping the damp hand towel from its ring, he scrubbed at his face. With the evidence of his nightly activities washed off his hands and face, he stepped out the bathroom and returned to his mattress, tumbling onto the blood-streaked sheets with a shaky exhale.

Rocking your hips to the beat of the altered pop song, your lips parted with a grin as your hazy brain spun with the movement. You were pleasantly inebriated, limbs warmed from the inside by the few drinks you’d consumed moments ago. As you danced, the fabric of your short dress whisked over your thighs, letting the thick air of the club wrap around your exposed skin.

The atmosphere was stifling. Or, rather, should have been stifling. Given the alcohol in your system and your primal need to be held by someone, the closeness of the people around you was more comforting than bothersome. Linking your little finger with Stacy’s, your cheeks ached as your smile grew impossibly wider–the joy bubbling in your chest only encouraged by Stacy’s own enjoyment of the evening.

As the beat to a new song started playing, the small woman gasped, turning towards Leo who had been abandoned at the bar to fetch another round. “It’s our song, Leo!” She crowed, letting go of your pinky and shoving through the crowd towards your tall friend.

Swaying alone on the sticky floor, you wrinkled your nose as the bass blared wonkily for a moment. Once it had righted itself and the volume evened out, you hummed appreciatively, adjusting your movement to the tempo of the music.

The lack of a body leaning into yours allowed cooler air to surround you, making you shiver. Running a hand over your arms as they prickled, you exhaled in relief as you felt someone step in closer to you once again. “Thank god. I thought maybe you got lo–”

Turning to face them, the words retreated suddenly as you realized it was not Stacy returning with Leo in tow. Instead, an incredibly handsome, broad-shouldered man stood before you. His deep green eyes glinted in the flickering colored lights, as did his dangerously charming smile. Chuckling softly, he studied you with an expression all too similar to pity. “Expecting me, were you?”

Surprise wearing off, you found yourself unusually comfortable with the newcomer. Your biological desires were quickly taking a seat at the helm, overriding your critical thinking skills as you sidled towards the beautiful stranger.

“And what if I was?” You chirped seductively, hoping he could hear you over the music. His eyes widened and you tilted your head innocently.

“Then I’m sorry to have kept a beautiful thing like you waiting.” He apologized, holding out a hand to you. “I’m Blake, and you are?”

Shoving down the brief burst of displeasure at his comment, you introduced yourself. He chose to forego a handshake, instead bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing it delicately–making you giggle awkwardly.

A small voice in the back of your head pinged, trying to spark any persistent feelings of disgust over his demeanor, but your tequila-soaked brain wasn't listening. Curtsying clumsily in response, you beamed up at the man–the feeling of his five o’ clock shadow scratching against your clammy skin causing a shudder to roll down your spine. You couldn’t possibly be that touch starved, could you?

“So tell me,” Blake drawled, your name tumbling off his lips. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a shithole like this?”

Scoffing a laugh at his apt description of the run-down bar, you let him press in closer until he was practically on top of you. “Getting drunk, mostly. What brings you here?”

“Oh you know, mending a newly broken heart and all that.” He pouted, hanging his head dramatically as you brought your fingers up to run through his hair. Playing into what was likely a complete lie, your brow furrowed.

“Poor thing.” You cooed, tugging gently at his hair which was overly saturated with product. “Who would ever dare to break your heart?”

“Not you, would you sweetheart?” He asks raspily, scratching one finger on the underside of your jaw.

You shook your head, your dangling earrings chiming gently as they were swung back and forth. Cupping your chin, he pulled your face towards his. “Care to have some fun?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” You grinned at him, your flirtatious remark breaking off into a hitch of breath as he dove towards your neck. 

Tugging at the hem of his nondescript hoodie, Frank grit his teeth against the wave of annoyance that hit him. This bar was by no means his cup of tea. It was muggy and loud, packed to the brim with 30 year olds who were desperate to be 20 again. People trying too hard to be young, to be cool, to be liked. Assholes, the lot of them.

Taking a swig of his watered down beer, he clenched his hand around the glass as some preppy douchebag stumbled into him from behind.

“Woah, sorry man.” The kid chuckled, sending a sneer to his two friends as he held up a hand in faux apology.

Frank ignored him–turning back to his glass and the scantily clad employees behind the bar. The men laughed to themselves, wading into the crowd. As he felt himself bristle with annoyance, a familiar voice caught his attention.

“Another round of tequila shots, please!”

Sliding his gaze towards the speaker as innocuously as he could, he felt a wave of nausea when he spotted you. You were glistening from the heat of the bar, and probably the alcohol in your system, wearing a version of the beautiful smile that had haunted him all week.

His stomach twisted with a revolting combination of guilt and relief. After your awkward run-in when he took Max for a walk, he'd spiraled thinking about the sheer amount of alcohol you'd been carrying. Reason and conscience be damned, he wanted you to be safe. He needed you to be safe. So, when the hour of his evening had rolled around where his demons became unbearable without the help of liquor, he ventured down the street to this shithole rather than wasting away on his couch for the third night in a row.

He wasn't stupid. He knew why he ended up in the bar you'd repeatedly told him about–and it wasn't for a decently priced beer, of that much he was certain. He'd followed you here. Not literally–he'd just anticipated your plans accurately enough to be seated at the bar when you ordered your next drink.

And that was where the sparks of residual guilt over his blow-up had ignited a searing brand of shame deep in his gut. It was wrong to allow himself to close the distance between you after he’d demanded it so harshly. It was wrong to use his tactical knowledge to see your happiness again without your permission. More than anything it was still wrong to let himself crave your company even though he wasn’t over his wife–but he was helpless. Regardless of what he'd said and done, you were still firmly embedded under his skin.

Flagging down the bartender, Frank ordered a stiffer drink. Once the double pour of whiskey was in his grasp, he threw it back, stifling a grimace as it burned his tongue and throat. Nodding his thanks, he passed over a few bills to cover his tab, turning to stand from the stool and retreat to his apartment to atone for his decisions.

As he planted his feet on the wobbly floor boards, the aggressively fluorescent lights flashed over the crowd. His eyes were immediately drawn to the pair of yuppies on the dance floor whose mouths were interlocked. Another flare from the strobe illuminated the woman as she broke the kiss, and his heart sank.

Watching you bashfully blink your doe eyes at the asshole who'd nearly bowled him over 20 minutes ago was enough for him to spin back towards the bar. Yanking another handful of bills from his pocket, he ordered another double.

A pleased noise escaped you as lips touched your pulse point, locking onto the spot with fervor. Knees buckling, you let Blake tug you flush against his body as he drew back with a hefty exhale. “Liked that, huh? You’re a proper little slut. Out looking for a man in that skimpy dress.”

His chuckle turned almost sinister, your heart clenching as he insulted you. Smile weakening, you grit your teeth. He’s just trying to turn you on. You reminded yourself. You aren’t going home with him. It doesn’t matter if he’s nice.

Gripping your nape between his fingers, he yanked you upwards, locking his lips around yours when you parted them to allow his tongue entry. The kiss was sloppy. His nose mashed against yours with bruising force, his teeth clashing with yours as he asserted dominance. Your tongue slid against his, tasting the dry whiskey he’d apparently chugged before trying to devour you.

It wasn’t enjoyable, necessarily, but at least you knew what he was looking for. Sadly, it once again seemed that your interests didn't align. What was with you recently? A man was literally throwing himself at you and suddenly you weren't desperate for male attention? Mood souring, your heart sank into your stomach like a rock through water. The moment was over, and you needed to make your escape.

Unlatching his mouth from yours as you gave his chest a small shove, you laughed quietly. “Sorry handsome, need to catch my breath.”

Grinning deviously, he shrugged. “I don’t mind, sweetheart.” Diving back towards your neck, he licked a stripe under your jaw before beginning to drop nips and open-mouthed pecks in a line towards your clavicle.

Across the room, you caught a glimpse of your friends’ amused looks, a particularly bright beam from a nearby strobe light illuminating them in the distance. Sending an annoyed look back, their perception was the nail in the coffin. As Blake started to grind his pelvis towards your hips, you tried to untangle yourself from his hold.

“I’m so sorry, handsome. My friends are looking for me. Can we put a pin in this?” You asked, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes in an attempt to lessen his suspicions about your abrupt exit.

“Sure,” The guy was definitely miffed, the smile he flashed you nowhere close to reaching his eyes. “I'll just...grab another drink while I wait.“

Shoving down the guilt that blossomed in your chest as you lied to him, you waved goodbye and slid through the crowd towards your friends.

They were already on the edge of laughter when you reached them. You felt heat flood your cheeks as they gave you pitying looks.

”Time to eject?“ Leo asked, seemingly ok with the idea as they offered up your belongings that they'd been holding on to for safe keeping.

Nodding sheepishly, you took your purse from their outstretched hand. ”I thought it would help. It didn't. Can we go?“

”Ugh, already? We just got here!“ Stacy whined, her normal indifference relinquished about three shots ago.

”Stace–“ Leo patted her shoulder, sending a pointed nod towards you.

”It's ok, you two can stay, I'll just take a cab.” You assured, slinging your purse strap over your shoulder.

“Absolutely not, princess. You're stuck with us.” Stacy sighed, tossing the remainder of Leo's drink into her mouth before hopping down from her high-top seat.

“You owe me three dollars for that, missy.” Leo shook their head following the two of you as you maneuvered towards the door.

Given the size of the crowd, you weren't too worried about Blake spotting you. The lights were dim and strobing in random directions, your dress was cute but not particularly flashy. One variable you'd neglected to consider, however, was your ability to attract the worst case scenario at every opportunity.

As you and your friends wove through the crowd, your path was suddenly blocked by a sturdy man. The alcohol on his breath carried as he spoke. “Leaving so soon?”

Blake, backed by two men who could've been football players, frowned at you, eyes glowing with a barely concealed threat.

“Sorry, handsome!” You tried for a calm tone, but your voice and posture both wavered. Shrinking back ever so slightly, you turned your lips up in an attempt to explain. “Family emergency, I couldn't see you anywhere and thought–”

“Cut the crap.” Blake hissed, any charm he'd been using before was long forgotten.

“Ok fine. I recently got out of a...relationship of sorts and bit off more than I could chew. I'm sorry to have led you on, but I'm not ready to do anything tonight.” You reasoned, feeling Leo's hand rest on your shoulder in a display of support.

“And you think that's your decision to make?” The man to Blake's left snorted.

Disbelief and rage building in your chest, you crossed your arms. “Uh yah. I do, actually.”

The three men widened their stance, clearly trying to prevent you from leaving. Realization slowly dawned on you, your limbs going stiff as adrenaline flooded your body.

Leo wormed his way in between you and the aggressors, using their body as a barricade. ”Look, I get that this night isn't going how you imagined, but she doesn't owe you anything. Move aside and let us through.“

”Or what, pretty boy?“ The goon on the right side asked with a cocky smirk.

“They said get out of our fucking way, asshat.“ Stacy called, shoving her way between you and Leo and attempting to get past the human blockade.

You must've blinked at the exact moment the movement started, because you opened your eyes and everything had gone to shit. As Stacy pushed forward, she was thrown back into you. You both crashed to the ground, your head clanking against a chair leg in the process. Though the impact wasn't that hard, you were already slightly dizzy because of the alcohol you'd consumed, making the collision incredibly unpleasant.

Clambering back to your feet, you felt a pair of rough hands land on your shoulders. Your vision was swimming in all the commotion, the flashing lights behind you making the effect much worse, so the sensation of distinctly male hands against your bare skin made you screech.

Flailing away from him, you attempted to grapple your way to freedom. ”Let me go. Blake, I swear. Let me go or I'll scream.”

Whipping your head around to look for a way out, a familiar voice caught you off guard. “It's just me, sunshine. Just me.”

Your breath shook as your heart pounded in your throat. tilting your head to face forward, your clouded vision centered around a face you had been trying to forget.

Frank Castle was clad in his usual dark attire, surely dying of heat under his sweatshirt and beanie in the humidity of the bar. His face held a stony mix of fury and concern, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of injury.

For a moment, it seemed like time had stopped. You were frozen in place, staring incredulously at your rescuer. Apparently you'd been on the ground for longer than you thought, given that your friends were currently being escorted out by bouncers around the three vengeful men who were writhing in pain on the ground.

Mouth slightly ajar, you stared at Frank as your brain frantically tried to corral the myriad of emotions pinging around in your mind. Amazement and relief, then awe–quickly followed by hurt and pure anger.

Yanking yourself out of his grip, you shut your mouth forcefully as rage began to consume you. Before you could say anything, an irritated bouncer pointed a finger at you.

“You two, out. Now.”

Nodding in resignation, Frank reached for you again. “A'right, a'right. We're leavin'.”

“The fuck we are.” You bit out, glaring at him. “I'm not going anywhere with you, Frank.”

“Lady, don't make me haul your ass outta here.” Groaned the bouncer, not giving a single shit about your emotional distress.

“Give me a minute,” You grumbled, bending down to pick up your purse before you instigated anything else. As your gaze left Frank's face, you were left unguarded, his massive hands engulfing your waist and scooping you up to carry you out. “Christ! Frank, put me down!”

The large man ignored you, letting you meekly pummel him with your fists and hurl expletives at him as he carted you out of the bar. Eventually, crisp air wafted over your bare skin and Frank set you down on the concrete outside of the establishment.

The jarring shift from being draped over his shoulder to standing on your own two feet wasn't one your constitution could handle at the moment. Stumbling over the sidewalk, you splayed your hands out to regain your balance. Righting yourself, you saw Frank go to steady you and your bitter wrath boiled over.

“Absolutely not. Don't fucking touch me, Frank.” Arms crossing over your stomach, you curled in on yourself, backing away from him. His eyes widened, face stiffening into a grim expression.

“Ok, ok. I won't touch ya.” He withdrew his hands, intentionally exaggerating the movement to calm you down.

“Don’t touch me.” You murmured, huddling in your own embrace as your throat constricted. 

“Would ya rather I let you get thrown out yourself? Worse, you want me to let you get arrested?” Frank's scowl transitioned into a cocky smirk at the idea.

“Why?” You asked with a huff.

“Why..what?” He snorted, eyes sparkling with far too much pride for what he’d done. 

“Why do you care?” You threw your arms in the air. “I mean I’m sure you’re very busy taking care of people who actually matter to you.”

With a scoff, Frank's eyes flashed with displeasure–a reflection of the resentment in your tone. “Oh so that’s how it is?”

“Yeah that’s how it is, Frank. I didn’t need your help.” You pouted, arms wrapping back around yourself as your throat constricted.

“Sure. Next time I’ll let you stay on the floor like a piece of fuckin' furniture. Would that make ya happy?”

“I had it handled.” You groused, avoiding his eyes, though he saw right through your lie anyway.

Laughing sardonically at your childish argument, he nodded. “Sure you did, sunshine. Next time I’ll let you ‘handle it” ok?”

“Next time? What, like I’m some damsel in distress that needs a big man to come save her because she’s too helpless to take care of herself?” You were yelling now, attracting gazes from bystanders around the club.

“I wasn’t sayin’ that.” His jaw was set, an indication that he wasn't in the mood to listen to you. But you weren't about to let this slide after what he'd put you through.

“Then what were you saying, Frank? Because it sounds like you suddenly care if a man forces himself on me.” Tears were blurring your vision against your will. Hastily wiping them aside, you bit your tongue to avoid choking out a sob at the memory of leaving the construction site.

“Suddenly? What–” Anger momentarily vanishing, his face fell at the notion.

“Don’t play dumb, Frank, you’re  a man, you know how men think. How they act. How they... Don’t try to pretend that you give a shit now.” You glowered, keeping your eyes trained to the ground so he couldn't see them shining with your frustrated tears.

“I’m not–who forced themself on you?” Changing his focus mid-sentence, he stepped forward, as if to cradle you to his chest but you shuffled away stubbornly.

Despite your futile attempts to keep your face from betraying you, droplets of saline trailed down your cheeks as you laughed bitterly. “Who do you fucking think? You think those douchebags at your work only whale on you? No, a humiliated little girl is a lot less of a challenge.”

“Fuck, honey, I didn’t–” Tugging his hair, Frank growled

“I know you didn't. Because I'm not your wife, Frank.” Your voice broke as you voiced the words. “I’m not your ‘anything’ am I? Just another mistake to regret later, right?”

“Another mistake?” Frank called your name mournfully, his eyes locked on your crumpled face as you sobbed quietly just out of his reach.

 “Just… go home, Frank. I'll handle my own shit ‘next time’. Wouldn’t want someone to get the wrong idea.”

Digging the heel of your hand into your glassy eyes, you saw Leo and Stacy jogging towards the pair of you, elbowing people out of the way. Striding past Frank, you didn't bother to look back before running to your friends.

”Are you ok?“ Leo, who was sporting a split lip, tilted your face up with two fingers, examining it while Stacy wrapped you in a one-armed hug.

”Yah.“ You exhaled shakily, your body tense from recent events and unused adrenaline. ”Can we get out of here?”

Pressing a kiss to your head, Leo nodded. “Of course. C'mon, you two are staying at mine tonight.”

As you were waiting for a taxi, you snuck a glance over your shoulder, but the man you'd chewed out was nowhere to be found.

Taglist: @cheshirecat484 @xxdrixx @smhnxdiii @mattmurdocksstarlight @danzer8705 @mjsvinyl @softieekayy @sweetpov @dreamtofus @zomtart @mjsvinyl @senjoritanana @marytheweefrenchie @siampie @gracethyomen @pone21 @ignore-mp3 @screechingphantommaker @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paradox-brody-chase @msjb2002

[affectionate-team]

Sugar overdose

Trey Clover × reader

Synopsis: There's this one student in NRC... he always seems to look out for you, expressing his care and making your forced stay in Twisted Wonderland more bearable. Though there are some things about him that you stay oblivious to...

TW for: mild yandere, drugging/food poisoning (?) (basically unconscious potion consumption), stalking (if you can call it that), overall creepy-ish behavior. If you're uncomfortable with any of aforementioned topics, do not proceed, please. :з

(the whole thing might seem rushed or unfinished, forgive me if so, I'm still gaining experience in writing. ^^")

He's always been there.

Since when you first got dropped into this world, Clover has always been somewhere in sight. It was hard to stop your gaze at just one thing when there were so many wonders you'd never seen before, so you never paid him much mind, not until the Heartslabyul incident, at least. Before you could only catch a glimpse of him in the cafeteria or exchange short greetings in the halls, but the first overblot gave him a push to change the matters. First he started calling out to you when seeing you in crowd, then he worked up some courage to ask for greeting hugs (or at least handshakes when you weren't in the mood), and at some point decided to strike up a conversation: one, two, five, to the point where you'll find him approaching you almost every day, helping out with chores, carrying groceries, sharing notes and helping with homework, staying over for night, and-

When did he manage to get so close?

Windows in NRC's alchemy lab expose one's eyes to unique views; usually it's already way past noon when classes end, enough so the sun starts setting by that time, painting the vast free skies in deep shades of pink and yellow. Wisps of colorful cotton clouds frame the canvas, giving finishing touches to the majestic evening painting. And the centre piece of the gallery of nature - the biggest wonder, an anomaly of this world, not unlike a shy flower on a fragile stem blooming among concrete plates or snowdrifts, - the prefect. Rays of dying light wrap around their figure perfectly. They come here every day, doing small chores for professors with the company of the infamous duo of freshmen-troublemakers. Still, even the boys' robust nature and somewhat graceless behavior cannot spoil the picturesque scene.

He lays his books out on a table closest to windows, having already claimed the space for himself ever since he joined the Science club. At first it was all about convenience: pretty views on the school gardens give him inspiration for new recipes, wide tables allow to keep his space as neat as possible and prevent any hazards (no more spilled flasks or lost papers - much easier to work now), fresh air when the room gets suffocating or his cooking experiments go wrong.

Now it opens another, a little less innocent in nature, opportunity for the young man - to keep a close eye on the cute magicless student. Actually, when you think about it, the fact is not perverse. Is it really wrong of him, a true older brother at heart, to protect those who are weaker than him in many senses of the word? If anything, he's only doing them a favor - prefect always expressed their appreciation of his help whenever they had gotten in a difficult situation with teachers or delinquents, so surely they would've found the notion to be sweet.

Sweet is the first word that comes to mind when you talk to Trey. It's not even only about his personality (the way the man treats his dormmates alone is enough of a proof; putting others' health and wants before his own, prioritizing their happiness, going out of his way to keep things peaceful). Smell of sugar and vanilla follows him everywhere: in classes, in hallways, in his room. You can smell sugar and caramel on his uniform every time Trey comes up to you for a 'good morning' hug. It's hard to resist the temptation to press closer, if only to have more - to get drunk on the overwhelming aroma and warmth.

He'd be lying if he said the prefect's preference for good perfume went over his head. Trey heard them compliment Schoenheit and Hunt for their cologne and seen how they pull away in mock disgust when Ace gets touchy after a particularly long basketball practice. Perceptive to smell. That's where his main hobby comes in handy: when one spends a great part of their day in the kitchen, they're bound to carry out some of its homey atmosphere with hints of cinnamon.

"Good morning! Don't forget to pack your gym uniform, your class has Flying lesson today."

Isn't that nice of him to leave you little notes and reminders? His attentiveness never fails to make you swoon.

"Have you eaten yet? Remember to heat up some lunch for yourself."

"I hope you're not staying up late again? Go to bed before I come over and make sure you do personally. >:("

"Your outfit today was really cute... I mean, you sure are good at styling clothes! Just wanted to make a compliment, don't take it wrong. :)"

Though sometimes his comments sound too... personal. Have you ever actually told him of your schedule? How does he know about your preference? Even Ace and Deuce, who you spend most of your time with, don't know and don't seem to remember that much. 

Prefect favors others way more than they should. Does the spoiled lion prince deserve being pampered by them? Do the troublesome freshmen not annoy them? How can they parade around, gathering crowds around themselves, stealing hearts of each and every student they encounter, and still treat him with such disregard? "Trey's such a mom friend" this and "I wish I had an older brother like him!" that.

I don't feel the same for you.

Why wouldn't you see how I slowly burn for you?

Even now, the dessert he left at your kitchen counter in Ramshackle is lacking flaws. Even layers of frosting, small edible decorations made out of chocolate - it's an intricate work, a miniature piece of art beloved by its creator, with so much time spent over it. And all for you?

Under the plate hosting the sweet treat is a piece of paper. You carefully slip the note from under the plate and read it, eyes crinkling at the corners at the thought of somebody putting so much effort to make you happy.

"I noticed you've been gloomy all day; please, enjoy this little treat. It's a new recipe of mine, so I hope you'll enjoy this."

There was no need to sign the note - identity of the sender was as clear as day. With a fond light and eyes and a prep in step, you move to set a kettle on the stove to prepare some tea - a chamomile blend gifted to you by Jade (he did sound proud of his blends). Not able to resist temptation, you find a fork and lift a portion of the dessert to your lips, taking in its enchanting smell. Cream melts on your tongue, texture contrasting the bright filling and bringing out a new kind of flavor. Tea long abandoned, you take another bite to savor it, sighing in content.

He truly was a master of his art, especially if his work managed to bring your guard down with little to no effort. It was all too late when you noticed how the cold filling tickled your throat, or how your fingers grew colder with each second passed. Staying steady on two feet has never been so hard before, as white noise overwhelmed your senses, disorienting, separating from reality. Seconds flash by in static pictures, and by the time he approached you from behind, there was nothing to do to hold onto consciousness.

There they are now, safe in his arms, not turning or running away anymore. Cradled close to a warm chest, burning with deepest of earthy desires, full of selfish wanting and a new blossom of hope, their heart would soon answer his calling. For a magicless human is no match to the power of true love.

He will always hold you near.

[cvlutos]

JUST FOR TONIGHT!!

◆ | Apr.08th.2023 | —K |

◆ | Wally Darling | Gn!Reader

◆ | Romantic | Sweet n Creepy | Implied Yandere | Dancing | Tonight You Belong to Me | Sorta Sad |

◆ | Synopsis: Once the sun sets, you're his. Once the sun rises your gone.

W̴̪̼̩̘͔͒̏̓͐͂̆͑̐͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ D̸̢̮̫̰̥̗̘̱͉͙͙̺̫̏͒̅̌o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋

W̴̪̼̩̘͔͒̏̓͐͂̆͑̐͝â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠

The music is low, almost dull to the quiet talking, the quiet tapping of feet, the gentle creaks and lulls made. He hums along, black eyes staring into yours, a lazy grin upon his face as he sways. Holding you close as you both dance.

Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜

Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅi̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠

The red silk scarf around his neck undone and discarded somewhere upon the dining table, with his blue cardigan hanging off the back of the carved wooden chairs. Hand entwined with yours and one placed upon your waist. Wally Darling—Your Wally Darling, the man whom you love holds you close.

With dishes that pile up in the sink, waiting to be washed, candles that flicker and sway as if they themselves were dancing to the music from the old cherry red radio. Yet these little things, like the creaking of Home, the way the radio sounds distorted in some parts, how Wally never seems to blink.

O̸̙͙̺̰͚͎̙͔̦͇͗̒̋͛̄͐̓̽̄͛́͂̀̑̕ͅͅͅ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋️c̸̛͕̯͂̐̓͗͊͛͝ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️j̷̧̙̠͚̠͍̙̜̱̳̱͈̒͠u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠

I̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ṿ̷̮͚̤͊̋̐͊͊̑̅̇̊̎̚͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ŕ̶̛̰̱̈́̀́̑̿̾͛͂̈́͗̓̈́̒͘͝️y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝

Nothing else matters. Nothing else compares to this moment. "You seem lost in your thoughts, Darling Dearest." His voice is a quiet hum, coaxing you from your mind and back onto him—only him. You smile as you always do, leaning into his touch, eyes fluttering close. "I assume it's something pleasant, you surely must be thinking of me." He teases, never once stopping his subtle movements as he dances along to the song.

A song you've heard before, many many times before, it always plays. With the same dinner, the same candles, the same events plays and plays as if it's forever on loop. Your eyes open, gazing around the colorful living room before stopping on the painted canvas and wooden easel, it's of a house. One that isn't Home, one that isn't in the neighborhood, yet looks familiar.

"Whose house is that?" You stop dancing, pulling away and walking towards the painting.

M̴̨̦͓̰̌͆̉̃̄͆͜ͅy̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜ Ḩ̶̳̣̮̻̪̜͍̹̭͓͍̳̼̈́̅́̄̍̀͐́̊̽͌̊̂͂͠͝͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜

I̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍ k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ (I̸̡̛̳͌̉͋͐͒̍ k̵̨̪̖͇͙͎̜͊̌͘͜️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ)

It's so detailed, so familiar as if you've been there, lived there. Yet you couldn't possibly. There's a tug in your gut that you ignore, smile still upon you face as you look over at Wally with a laugh. "It's looks ama—What's wrong?" Your face falls, staring at your love who scowls, staring—glaring at the canvas, at whatever he painted, before looking at you in utter pain.

"I wish you'd stop doing that." He lets out an exasperated sigh, walking over to his easel and flipping the canvas around, hiding the image from you.

W̴̪̼̩̘͔͒̏̓͐͂̆͑̐͝i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅ️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜â̸̙͐͑̌̿͛̽t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ y̷̧̰̲͍̝̘̗̩̑̇͐̾̽̏͊͑̇̃̉͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠ ŵ̵̨̢̳̞̤̝̖̠̘̩̞̘̭͍̘̐́̈͑̈́̐̂̔̽̓͋̂̔ͅi̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜

"Wally?" Another tug to the gut as he gently tugs your hand, pulling you towards him and back to the area where you were both dancing. Trying to make up for lost time.

"Is it wrong of me to want your attention, My Love? We don't have much time." Your brows furrow at his words, you have the time in the world, to dance again and again, to dance the night away til dawn.

You always do.

B̴̢̠̋̊͑̈̾̑̊͒͗̽u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ȟ̸̨̯̲̝̳͓͎̭͖͊̄̔̽̓̂̋̇̋̀̕̚͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝,

Ỵ̷̡̛̟̱̑̍̀̉̿̿̉o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠ b̶̖̤̋́̋̾̔͗̆͊̊̆́͑̌͆͊̈́ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓️ṉ̵͓̬͈̞̥̭̥̇̓̔͋ğ̶̡͚̺̼̱̺̘̳̘̩͚̯͔̎̅̍͋̒́̔̈́̎̂͜͜ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜

The music is low, dull to the quiet talking, the quiet tapping of feet, the gentle creaks and lulls made. He hums along, like he always does. Black eyes staring into yours, eyes that never seem to blink in fear you disappear. A lazy grin upon his face as he sways. Holding you tight as you both dance.

Never do your bones ache, never do you feel sore as you dance against your beloved, your eyes occasionally drifting to the turned canvas, to the house unknown. You want to go it, to explore it, it seems familiar. Safe. Home.

You want to go home.

️J̸̨̳̘͕̹̫͓̲̘͈̖͎̩͍̺̽̓̈́̆͋̀̇͝u̴̢̠͎̲̗̮̤̥̪̖̦͈͕͛̈́̀̒̒̄̚͠️ş̵̛̳̍̃̏͆̏̂̎͌͘͝͝͝͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝ t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓ l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉i̵̢̢̡͚̩̞̥͕̜̻̫̩̐̈͘͜t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝t̵̏͛̃̍́̈̚͜͝l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜ o̶̯͎̱͐̇͋̅̃̈́͋̽̊̀̓͊̃́͋̓l̷̢̨̨̫̼͙̞͉̗͉̖̲̖̞̿̉d̴̨̢̤̗̦͚̺̭̤͙̹̃̕ m̶̥͇͈̣̏͑̿͑̃̈͛̕͠ẹ̷͓̺̰̽̍͛̉̐̔͋̓̚͜

ⓒ 2023 cvlutos — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

[omkookie]

Blank Canvas.

⌈ ⚠️ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⌉ Yandere Malleus, Broken F!MC, mentions past abuse and character death. 15+

Is it a fleeting dream or a nightmare? You hold the one dearest to you but her face is blank, blank like the dark night sky with no stars in it. An empty canvas with no expression, but potential for you to create one expression? Or as many as you please?

Can you draw on your canvas? turn it into whatever you want, and be pleased with the final result?

He feels like there is nobody like you.

You are his one and only one.

Even if your expression is blank, your face no longer showing emotion after being broken down so many times. Could he dye you back to normal?

You were his pretty little thing, a sweet woman who unfortunately refused to be by his side and used all means necessary to avoid him. You were his property, his doll. His little dress-up thing which he happily came to torture night after night, To the point where you were broken down and desensitized to anything he did. Getting far too used to him and his cruelty, your face remained blank and unfazed whenever he did something. Sure, you’d shed a few tears and cry here and there, but aside from that you were like a soulless being, a body moving around with no purpose in life, and without a drop of ambition.

He sighs, frustration getting to his head as he observes your blank face at the dining table.

It’s been a month, and yet he hasn’t made any progress in turning you back to normal. You used to be so lively and cute, trembling and afraid of him to the point where you’d burst intotears whenever he did as little as touch you.

Why can’t you just go back to being the way you were? What was this nightmare that you were making him live in? Your current state was both a dream, and a haunting nightmare. Your eyes were cold, slowly boring into his as you stared at him.

He started hating it.

A fleeting dream would be one where you finally submit to him the way that you did now, But a nightmare was your current state. Your blank stare, unfazed demeanour, lifelessness. You no longer had a spark to you, and he was getting mad.

Why didn’t you just go back to how you used to be? You were so fun back then.

Even if you always tried to run away from him and you made him angry. You were way better back then, than you were right now.

He glares at you, his eyes reflecting his fury as you remain quiet, not uttering a single word to him.

The atmosphere was heavy, your doll-like painted face looking glum as you reached for one of the peaches on the table.

He drank his wine, making the flame of the candle dim and flicker as he abruptly set his glass down.

He got up, refusing to look at you for even another moment as he made his way out of the dining room and walked back to his chambers.

He’ll find a way to turn you back to normal sooner or later… All he needed to do right now was be patient. Patience is key, a key which he very much needed so that he wouldn’t rip your throat out. You annoyed him far too much, and seeing you first thing in the morning started turning into an unpleasant sight..

As much as he loves you, You are getting boring.

And he doesn’t like boring things. If he can’t paint you back to how you originally were and return the spark back to your lifeless eyes, then he’d have to get rid of you.

As he walks through the hallways, passing maids and servants he considers that.

What if he got rid of you? Could he get rid of you? His heart feels heavy and about to shatter just by thinking of it.

He couldn’t simply throw you away… you meant so much to him.

His twisted head and his lost heart argued, one trying to reason that you had become useless, a broken, lifeless ragdoll. Meanwhile the other tried to remind him of just how much he loves you, what he’d done for you, where he took you.

All of his twisted feelings were being doubted and questioned.

On one hand, if it weren’t for his cruel treatment towards your fragile little female mind and body, You would be normal. On the other, It’s your fault for being so weak and boring him.

You shouldn’t have changed.

This whole situation was your fault, and your fault only.

You seduced him, Tempted him into falling in love with you by wearing those skimpy little skirts that showed your legs, and revealed too much of your body.

You were at fault.

He was innocent.

He simply fell victim to your provocations, and because of you he was miserable right now.

He clenched his fists, his resentment towards you only growing as he picked up the old school-photo of you from NRC.

Back in Night Raven College you were nice, you were fun.

Now, You’re neither of those.

In a fit of anger, he throws your framed picture at the wall, shattering its glass frame into pieces.

He should get rid of you.

It’s the only thing that would make him happy.

Yes.

He can’t paint a blank canvas if the canvas had tears.

His only option was to throw it away, and throw it away he chooses to do.

You still sit in the dining room when he returns, and you only look back at him because you heard him slam the doors.

Your eyes don’t look afraid at his raged state, in fact you almost look pleased with yourself.

He grabs your arm in his tight hold, dragging you toward one of the castle’s highest towers as he contemplates just what to do with you.

He could slit your throat open, throw you off the tower and watch you plunge to your death, or he could burn you in his green flames.

All options appeal to him, as in his crazed state he digs his fingers into your skin, His nails sharp like claws drawing blood from you. His hold on you is relentless as he drags you up the stairs, like a broken toy about to be abandoned in the attic.

When he flings the doors open, your body flinches.

The air in the tower was freezing cold, making you shudder as it chilled you to the bone. For a moment he stops, It’s as if he realizes that you are indeed not a lifeless doll and can still feel things. His mind wavers, and he considers bringing you back down because there was still hope for you to return to normal.

His stubbornness however, quickly pushes that train of thought to the side. He tried everything he could to bring you back to normal. He beat you, burned you, strangled you, and let you be free… Nothing worked.

He pushes you into the dark cold room roughly, making you fall and scrape your knees against the floor's hard stone.

He can’t find it in himself to kill you despite his earlier resolve, so he’ll leave you.

And leave you he does.

He shuts the heavy doors behind him and locks them, leaving you alone in the cold room of the highest tower in the castle to die.

Malleus has no regrets in finally getting rid of you…

Until his crazed mind comes back to his senses and he returns, finding you dead a mere day later.

[elryuse]

Fuck It, You're Ours Now

Yandere Bae & Lily X Male Reader

I was a mere speck in the cosmic expanse that was K-pop, a solitary planet adrift in a galaxy of stars. Then came Bae and Lily, twin suns igniting my celestial existence. Their performances were a supernova, a cataclysmic event that consumed me entirely.

Their Seoul concert was the Big Bang that created my universe. As the stage transformed into a cosmic canvas, their eyes, twin black holes, pulled me inexorably into their orbit. In that moment, I became a satellite, forever bound to their gravitational pull.

After that night, I became a cosmic stalker, charting their every move with obsessive precision. Their concerts, their public appearances, became my pilgrimage, a desperate attempt to satiate the insatiable hunger they had ignited within me. I studied their laughter, memorized the timbre of their voices, and their smiles were the constellations by which I navigated my nights. I was a ghost in their world, a silent specter haunting their dreams.

Unbeknownst to me, I was far from invisible. Backstage, in the twilight zone of their dressing room, Bae and Lily whispered about me, their voices a cosmic symphony of desire. Their eyes, twin quasars, held galaxies of obsession as they dissected my every reaction, my body language a map they were desperate to explore.

“He watches us with such hunger,” Bae breathed, her voice a nebula of longing, a cosmic ache.

Lily, her eyes twin black holes, replied, “He is ours,” her voice a low, possessive growl.

I was their black hole, a cosmic anomaly that consumed them entirely. With each concert, their desire for me grew, a supernova of obsession building within them, a force of nature that threatened to consume them both. They began to anticipate my presence with a desperation that bordered on madness, dressing to impress, hoping to ensnare me in their gravitational field.

One night, after a performance that shook the very foundations of reality, I found myself backstage, pulled by an invisible force, a cosmic tether that bound me to them. The dressing room door creaked open, revealing two goddesses, their cuteness amplified a thousandfold by the soft backstage lights.

“You,” Bae breathed, her voice a cosmic whisper, filled with a desperation that chilled me to the core.

Lily's eyes were twin black holes, sucking me in with an intensity that was both terrifying and exhilarating. “Ours,” she corrected, her voice a low, possessive growl.

The room contracted into a singularity, the outside world a distant memory. I was trapped in their event horizon, a cosmic prisoner in their celestial cage.

“You’re cuter than we imagined,” Bae purred, her voice a velvet caress, laced with a hint of madness.

Lily stepped closer, her hand a comet brushing mine, her touch sending shivers down my spine. “Ours,” she repeated, her voice a low, insistent demand.

The room crackled with static electricity, a supernova about to erupt. Desire, a black hole of its own, consumed me, a cosmic tempest raging within me.

“You’re both incredibly cute,” I managed, my voice a distant echo, a feeble attempt to assert my own reality.

Bae's lips curved into a cosmic smile, but her eyes held a predatory glint. “Ours,” she corrected again, her voice a low, menacing growl.

Lily moved closer, her eyes twin pulsars, boring into my soul. “Closer,” she demanded, her voice a hypnotic command.

I hesitated, a cosmic battle raging within me. Fear, excitement, and an undeniable pull warred for dominance.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bae assured me, her voice a soothing nebula, but her eyes held a predatory gleam.

With trembling hands, I reached out and touched Lily’s face. Her skin was like stardust, warm and inviting, but her eyes held a possessive fire.

“You’re so cute,” I whispered, a satellite lost in her orbit, but my voice held a tremor of fear.

Lily’s eyes flashed triumph, but there was a darkness lurking within them, a cosmic void that terrified me. “Ours,” she repeated, her voice a final, irrevocable claim.

Before I could react, Bae’s lips met mine. Her kiss was a supernova, consuming me in a celestial explosion, but there was a desperation in her kiss, a hunger that went beyond mere desire. I responded instinctively, lost in the cosmic dance, but a cold dread crept into my heart.

Lily’s kiss followed, deeper, more demanding. Her tongue explored my mouth with a cosmic hunger, but there was a possessiveness in her kiss, a mark of ownership that chilled me to the bone.

We kissed for what felt like eternity, our bodies entangled in a cosmic embrace, but a growing sense of entrapment consumed me. When we finally broke apart, we were breathless, our eyes locked in a gravitational pull, but the darkness in their eyes had deepened.

“Ours,” Bae whispered, her voice a possessive echo, filled with a chilling intensity.

“Forever,” Lily added, her voice a deadly serious cosmic promise, but her eyes held a promise of something far more sinister.

I looked into their eyes, galaxies of obsession and possessiveness swirling within them, but there was a darkness at the core, a cosmic void that terrified me. I knew in that moment that my life would never be the same. I was a planet captured by two black holes, and I was theirs to consume, to possess, and ultimately, to destroy.

Time warped into a surreal dimension. Days bled into nights, and reality blurred at the edges. Bae, Lily, and I existed in a secret universe, a hidden constellation amidst the glittering chaos of our public lives. Our rendezvous were clandestine, stolen moments in ordinary places - a cozy café, a dimly lit restaurant, any space that offered a semblance of privacy.

These were our sanctuaries, our cosmic refuges. We’d slip into these worlds, shedding our public personas like discarded skins. In these moments, we were raw, vulnerable, and utterly consumed by each other. Their eyes, twin black holes, held galaxies of obsession, a cosmic hunger that never seemed to satiate.

Their touch was an electric current, a shock to my system that both terrified and exhilarated me. Their kisses were supernovae, consuming me in a celestial inferno. And yet, amidst the passion and the obsession, there was a fragile tenderness, a vulnerability that surprised me. They would confess their deepest fears, their wildest dreams, their darkest secrets.

"I can’t stop thinking about you," Bae would whisper, her voice a trembling nebula. Her eyes, usually filled with a predatory glint, would soften, revealing a vulnerability that was both heartbreaking and intoxicating.

Lily would nod, her eyes filled with a silent storm of emotion. "Every moment without you is an eternity," she would say, her voice a low, mournful melody.

My heart would ache with a bittersweet longing. I loved them both, a love that was as vast and complex as the universe itself. But their obsession, their possessive nature, cast a long shadow over our paradise.

Our nights were a continuation of our days, a descent into a world of shadows and desires. In the hushed intimacy of our shared spaces, our inhibitions melted away, revealing the depths of our obsession. We were a cosmic triangle, a dangerous and intoxicating equation.

Their bodies were constellations I longed to explore, maps I was eager to memorize. And yet, amidst the physical ecstasy, there was a growing sense of unease. The lines between love, obsession, and possession were blurring, and I was losing my grip on reality.

One night, as we lay entwined, the weight of our secret world pressed down upon me. I looked at them, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the nightlight. They were beautiful, terrifying, and utterly consuming.

“I love you both,” I whispered, my voice a mere echo in the vastness of our shared universe.

Their eyes widened, a flicker of surprise and vulnerability crossing their faces. And then, as if in unison, they leaned in, their lips meeting mine in a passionate, possessive kiss.

In that moment, I was lost, a planet adrift in a sea of desire, fear, and obsession. Our love was a cosmic anomaly, a beautiful and terrifying force that threatened to consume us all.

[mistysimpingandspam]

We’ll Meet Again (Poly!Yandere!Lost Boys x Reader) PART 2

plot: the forced turning of the reader.

WARNINGS: yandere stuff, mostly david centered so this one is for the david gals, forced turning, forced eating/drinking of blood, self-induced vomiting, i get kinda descriptive w it for some reason LMAO i apologize, david is fucking SADISTIC on this one, like i made him scary, stockholm syndrome

Your head felt as if it were full of lead as you slowly opened your eyes. The damp smell that lingered in the air was all too familiar, and the realization sent a shock of panic through you.

You were back in the cave.

“Oh, fuck…” You whispered quietly, tears welling up in your eyes. Your breathing quickened and you frantically checked your surroundings, only to be met with the walls of the secluded area of the cave.

The fear in your system quickly became overwhelmed with rage. All of the effort you put into escaping ended up being all for nothing. You yelled out in anger, hot tears streaming down your face.

Footsteps approached, and you knew who it was. You didn’t need to guess. As they entered the room, you turned your back, refusing to look at them.

“They’re awake!” Paul’s happy-go-lucky voice rang out, and you felt as though you were going to be sick. His voice always brought butterflies to your stomach, and, regrettably, you felt them as he called out in excitement. Holding your ground, you glued your eyes to the wall, not blinking.

“Baby…” Marko spoke next in a sing-song voice. You pictured his beautifully sculpted face hitting you with that signature smirk, and your heartbeat increased a bit. Your eyes traveled to the corner of the room, where you saw a beautiful canvas painting of yourself leaning against the wall. Marko had gifted it to you as a way to try to make peace. In the beginning, you rejected it, but in this dark room alone, you’d found yourself spending a good amount of time staring at the beautiful details. He always made the eyes so realistic, like they were following you…

A hand on your shoulder made you jolt. Wiping your tears away with your sleeve, you quickly looked over your shoulder to see who it was. Dwayne. Your eyes focused back on the wall, and you felt his hand give a soft squeeze. You knew he was trying to be sympathetic in his own way, but you still shrugged him off, curling in on yourself.

“Get out.” You spoke quietly. “All of you. I don’t want to see any of your faces, unless you’re here to let me go. Are you?” Silence. “That’s what I thought. Now get the fuck out.”

“Don’t speak to us that way.” The sound of heavy boots got closer, and you felt your stomach drop. David walked around you to where you were facing, and your gaze dropped the second he came into view, now staring at your lap. A leather clad hand roughly grabbed your face, forcing your chin up. “Look at me.” With a shaky breath, your eyes met his and unintentionally shuddered. How could you not with eyes like his?

You don’t know where it came from, but a pang of defiance ran through you, and without thinking, you gathered up a mouthful of saliva and spat directly at the vampire, hitting him just below the left eye.

The silence that followed was deafening. It seemed like the entire room was holding its breath. David’s expression didn’t change as his other hand wiped the spit away.

“I guess we’ll be doing this the hard way.” His tone had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. David’s blue eyes looked over your shoulder to where the blondes were standing. “Marko, get the bottle.”

Those four words hit you as if you were struck by lightning. Instantly, you turned to get up and run, but David was too quick. He pulled you off the ground and slammed your back against the wall so hard you were scared he’d knocked the wind out of you. You were pinned against the wall by your throat, completely trapped.

“NO!” You shrieked as you saw Marko retreat back into the cave. “PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T!”

Paul and Dwayne looked over at each other. Your cries were excruciating to hear. But, in the end, they knew what had to be done in order for you to be their mate.

Marko made his reappearance, the intricate glass bottle in his hands. Your eyes fell on it, and a feeling of utter hopelessness ran through you. David gestured with his other hand to the boy, and the blonde approached the group leader.

“Marko, please…” You begged, shaking in fear. “Don’t…” He looked over at you, and you saw it. The hesitation. He saw how scared you were, and, to your horror, the brief look of sympathy was quickly replaced with an evil sneer. Marko flipped the top open, and handed it to David.

“GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!” You screamed at him, flailing as hard as you could against David’s grip. “FUCK YOU! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS? YOU SON OF A-”

The opening of the bottle was pushed past your lips, the glass uncomfortably clinking against your teeth as you thrashed. Instantly, the bitter, metallic taste of blood hit your tastebuds and you sputtered, accidentally dribbling blood down the corners of your mouth. David’s eyes bored into yours as you drank. You felt like you were drowning with the liquid being forced down your throat, and tears fell in fat drops as you tried to breathe through your nose.

After a few seconds, David pulled the bottle from your mouth, lightly catching some of the blood that had escaped with the rim of the glass. You glared at him with all of the anger you could feel, not breaking eye contact.

It all happened in slow motion. Thinking fast, you managed to lift your leg and land a blow to his shin. The grip on your throat released quickly, and you saw behind David that Paul and Dwayne were quick to cross the room behind David to get to you, Marko closing in on your right. Your eyes fell to the blonde closest to you, and you quickly stuck your palm out, stiff-arming him right in the sternum to hold him off. Your right wrist screamed with pain from the sudden blow, and you curled down in on yourself. With a prayer to some deity above that the boys wouldn’t kill you for your next action, you stuck your left index, middle, and ring fingers down your throat, hitting your gag reflex. In an instant, you felt the bile crawl up your throat and you fell onto your already aching wrist for support as you vomited all over your fingers, David’s shiny black boots and the floor around him and in front of you.

You felt a grip on your hair that put everything back into normal speed, and you only triggered your gag reflex with more intensity, the diner meal you’d eaten combined with the blood you’d just ingested spilling on your already filthy hand and down the front of your shirt. Your hand was harshly ripped from your mouth, vomit dripping off of it as your arms were forced behind your back. Seeing that Marko, David, and Paul stood in front of you, you knew that Dwayne was the one holding you still.

The boys that were visible all had expressions of varying anger and disgust. Paul looked ready to retch himself, Marko was rubbing the center of his chest with a glare on his face, and David…

Pure. Fury.

He’d changed into his vampire form, his haunting yellow eyes looking ready to rip your head off. Your anger made you bold as you tilted your chin up and you stared him down, refusing to blink. Despite his terrifying appearance, David’s tone was calm, cool, and collected.

“You really think we’d let you get away with that?”

Your blood turned to ice. It was the same tone he’d used right before knocking you out and abducting you. Despite the disgusting aftertaste in your mouth, you swallowed in fear. Maintaining eye contact, you tried to pull your arms out of Dwayne’s hold, but his grip was like iron. Your breathing became shaky as David took a step forward.

“Pull something like that again, or resist in any way, and I’ll have Dwayne snap your arms like fucking twigs.” David’s gaze went to the brunet’s behind you. “Maybe do one, just to teach them a lesson.”

To your surprise, Dwayne, who’s usually the peacemaker of the group, adjusted one of his hands right around your elbow, ready to follow through with David’s request. Your eyes became the size of dinner plates and you instinctively shrieked in fear.

“Or…” David seemed to completely ignore your cries, and Dwayne halted his actions. “We can REALLY make sure you never leave.” David reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled out the switchblade you’d bought before getting on the train. “(Y/n), did you know the Achilles tendon is a very important part of the body? It’s a big part in helping you do things like walk, run, all sorts of stuff.” Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears as he dragged the flat of the blade against your cheek. “Would be a shame if it were slashed… It sounds like it would be dreadfully painful to experience. Excruciating, even.”

He still maintained that calm voice, despite his words, chilling you to the bone. Despite trembling from head to toe, you held your ground.

“I’ll give you one last chance.” David said. “Fight back, and I won’t hesitate to slit your Achillies tendons. Both of them.” Your nostrils flared as you exhaled. “Will you comply?” With an internal sigh of defeat, you nodded.

With that, the two blondes closed in on either side of you, all four of them standing around you. David gripped your chin and tilted your head up, pouring the blood down your throat. It took everything in you not to cry again. You didn’t want your fear to show. Paul must’ve read your mind, and he brought his hand up to run through your hair as you drank.

At last, David pulled the bottle away, and before you could spit out the blood, he clamped a hand over your nose to ensure that you swallowed. The rest of the guys cheered quietly. David let your nose go and caressed your cheek.

“You’re nearly there.” He said. “After your first kill, you’ll fully be one of us.”

•

•

•

OOOO IM THINKIN A PART THREE WHERE READER GETS THEIR FIRST KILL, AND MAYBE EVEN A PART FOUR W SMUT ? ¿ idk i’m getting too ahead of myself-

[merakiui]

hello! I'd like to participate in your event and check in at this lovely hotel of yours! could I ask for a flower bouquet from Idia? I would like some lemon squares and perhaps sugar stars (teratophilia/monster of your choice or werewolf whichever is easier!) if the latter is off the menu then just the lemon squares is fine. Thank you for hosting this event!

yandere!idia shroud x (gender neutral) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, dub-con, teratophilia, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied stalking note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

Beyond limestone pillars twined with verdant strands of ivy, past orange groves in full bloom, and situated in the center of a marble platform raised ever so slightly, the culmination of humanity—a perfect, precious mortal of flesh and blood—sits in slivers of sunlight and brings brush to canvas. It is not the artistic ability that has left such a hellish, frightful creature so wonderfully enthralled but, rather, the nature in which you resign yourself to the arts, blinded by a celestial cloth, enveloped in the natural temperatures that surround you. Your hand is led by sensitive intuition, acutely aware of the colors that stain a weathered palette, and you grant life to marvelous mirages.

It is that same tender, loving hand that shall slay him, should he step beyond his bounds and interfere with the era of human creation. The world, as it has now become, is dictated by categories so studiously documented on stone tablets and spoken freely in the streets and on hilltops by philosophers excelling in all subjects. And within these groupings the gorgon is feared as the fiend and the human, most often, is celebrated as the courageous hero. Idia is neither fiend, nor hero, but for the sake of human comprehension he must be viewed as the former.

Humans are cyclical creatures, bound by schedules and the times brought on by night and day. Despite the routines they subject themselves to, whether out of necessity or for the sake of comfortable pleasure, humans continue to fascinate. Idia was never partial to them, and yet whenever he admires you his opinion regarding humankind brightens just like the far-off horizons you often portray. And every other day when the sun is at its lowest, just beginning to peek over the horizon, casting everything in creamy yellow-orange hues, you stand at your makeshift easel and paint the world as you hear it, smell it, taste it, feel it.

Idia is content to watch from afar, studying you as though you are the most abstract art he has even beheld. Most days, he’s grateful for the cloth that keeps your sense of sight contained, for if you were to look upon his ghastly countenance you would most certainly harden into an artifact lost to time.

And yet it is the allure of the unobtainable that pulls him to your person.

You feel the disturbance before you hear it. He’s standing near you; you're sure of it, and for a moment you halt your activity, head tilted skywards so that you may listen to the one who looms behind you. With a gentle breeze combing through the greenery and the sounds of various animals filling the silence, the atmosphere is rather tranquil. It’s broken by the fast-paced thrumming of Idia’s heart and his nervous, labored breaths. 

Interactions with humans—especially with his most beloved—are petrifying. But he persists in his endeavors, rooting himself to his spot, unwilling to retreat when he’s managed to accomplish this much. His hands hover above your bare shoulders, and for a second he wonders whether delicate, human hands would fit in clawed, monstrous hands. He’s far surpassed the point of no return and so, with shaking arms, he lowers his hands onto your shoulders.

You don’t flinch, but you do turn your head towards him and by some frantic instinct his eyes and the eyes of a dozen snakes squeeze shut. It is not you who will turn him to stone—this he knows well—but it’s the dread that you might remove your blindfold and bear witness to such a grotesque visage that has him shrinking away. 

“May I be of help?” you ask, and your voice wavers in a way that tells of uncertainty, of candlelight struggling to survive as it’s slowly snuffed, of worries laced with underlying curiosity. “Your hands are very…cold.”

Of course they are. He’s always cold. So cold. So lonely. What he’d do to warm himself in your embrace, to curl into your anatomy and feel that warmth between every sugared smooch, to tear the chiton from your figure and place frigid palms upon a perfect, pretty canvas. 

“S-Sorry… Sorry,” he whispers, cursing himself for his inability to speak syllables without a stutter or a hiss. “I… You… I… U-Um, I…”

With this proximity, he can smell the flowery fragrance that envelops your person. Even your canvas is decorated in shapes reminiscent of the most beautiful blossoms. Experimentally, he squeezes your shoulders, claws just barely raking over skin, and you flinch away. 

“W-Wait! I just want…” He swallows his apprehensions when one of the many snakes wriggling atop his head nudges him encouragingly. Another one lowers to your cheek, prodding you with its smooth head. You try to take a step back, but the tiny reptile hisses a low warning and you go obediently still. “I just want…t-to stay like this…a little longer…”

Please.

It’s wrong and many levels of forbidden, but the contact is everything he’s ever dreamed of. You’re a sanctuary—a beauty not meant for a monster—and if he could just show you that he could be your haven, in spite of snakes and scales, you might come to accept him. An impossible fiction, perhaps, but even so it’s all he’s desired.

With anxiety-riddled submission, you remain rooted to the marble platform. Idia’s grown daring now, a hand snaking along the length of your arm to entwine his thin, spidery digits with yours. Your breath hitches; he’d like to taste your heartbeat, feel it between pointed fangs, and savor your every sigh.

Carnal instinct leads him in a one-sided waltz. He presses himself against you, caging you between his arms and the easel, and ruts his hips slowly, awkwardly. He’s every bit as inexperienced in this as he is with the intimate intricacies of human affection, but then it’s the friction and the sound of your quiet, quickening breaths that has him hardening against the fabric of his own chiton. His presses kisses into your neck, stamps each one onto you like a special marking, until you’re shuddering in his arms. Tears dampen the cloth wound tight around your eyes, tracking down your cheeks in fat, salty drops.

“D-Don’t cry! Um… I… Ah…” Gingerly, he brings a finger to your face to swipe the tears away. Another snake nuzzles your arm, and another presses its head to your lips, a forked tongue flicking out to smell the potent scent of fear clinging to you. You whimper, and it’s equal parts heartbreaking and enticing. “It… It’ll be okay.”

It’s a promise. 

Trembling hands take hold of the fabric of your chiton, lifting it to reveal your rear. He’s thought of this moment for ages—though for a human ages could only mean a decade. It feels as if Idia’s fallen at your feet for worship ever since he opened his eyes on the world. 

“I… I’ve always thought about you—about this.” He places his palm upon the small of your back and observes how your spine straightens in alarm. “I think you’re…” His voice lowers anxiously. “R-Really nice…to look at.”

Your mouth opens and shuts, only to open once more when you gasp. His cock curves up between your ass, and he grinds against you with more determination this time, fueled with newfound confidence. Two fingers prod at your mouth and you deny him with a dismayed whine, but then there’s a cacophony of hisses coming from the many snakes on his head and you part your lips slowly. The digits slip inside, and you suck on them weakly, your cries coming in muffled hiccups. 

Idia exhales a giddy, breathless giggle. “Cute… Really cute…” Fondly, he strokes your cheek with his thumb.

If only he could brand this experience into the forefront of his mind forever…

Unless there’s a next time, and there will always be a next time. 

A forked tongue traces along the shell of your ear. He’s smiling a wide, toothy grin as he rolls his hips, searching for that fabled seventh heaven. And perhaps it's a delusion, but he thinks you’re matching his movements now.

Delusion or not, he’ll carve it into his very existence until he’s a sculpture chiseled whole.

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 9)

You felt the warmth of Cillian’s palm pressing into yours as you weaved your way across the campus. It was a casual stroll, but Cillian drew sidelong glances from passersby. In his haggard state, he clung to you, bleary-eyed and trailing along. Your thumb brushed his in a subconscious bid for assurance.

The university grounds thrummed with life—a canvas of youth in motion. Groups of students lounged on freshly cut grass, while others hurried by, lost in the world behind their screens. Laughter mingled with the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic tapping of fingers against smartphone keyboards. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the scene, dappling the walkways through the leaves of towering oaks that swayed, watching over the ebb and flow of collegiate life.

“Seems like everyone’s out today,” you remarked.

“Of course, they are,” Cillian replied, his words laced with an edge that could have been either pride or disdain—it was difficult to tell which. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses that matched the sleekness of his perfectly styled hair. “There’s an art fair on campus. They’re drawn to beauty, just like moths to a flame.”

His hand gripped yours more tightly as you wove through the throng of students, a living river of youthful energy and noise. You glanced at him, his face partly obscured by the crowd, noting the unusual rigidity in his posture. His usual aura of effortless grace seemed subdued under invisible weight.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice almost lost within the cacophony of laughter and conversation that filled the air around them.

He didn’t meet your eyes, instead looking over the heads of your peers, his jaw tense. “Yeah, just... overwhelmed still,” he muttered, his voice betraying a vulnerability he seldom showed. The campus, usually a place where he shone brightest, now appeared to swallow him in its expanse.

You squeezed his hand, trying to ground him. “If you want, we can go to my place and—” You stopped mid-sentence, not wanting to suggest retreating to a quieter spot. You knew Cillian; it would make him feel like you saw him as weak, that you were embarrassed to be viewed with him in this state.

Suddenly, Cillian halted, pulling you to the side, away from the main flow of foot traffic. A stray tear trailed down his cheek, quickly wiped away, erasing the evidence of his tumult.

“Let’s go to that art fair,” he said softly, almost timidly—a stark contrast to his usual assertiveness. “I need... I want to show you something.”

Your surprise was palpable; it wasn’t like Cillian to seek refuge in the quietude of art without using it as props. But you nodded, offering a gentle smile.

“Sure, let’s go.”

As you changed course towards the gallery, you couldn't help but wonder what lay behind his sudden shift. Why was he eager to go out now? To be viewed? Yet above all, your eagerness to be there for him, to ease whatever pain lurked beneath his polished surface, silenced the questions. For now, you were simply there, walking beside him, ready to support him however you could.

The gallery’s entrance loomed ahead, a modern archway of sleek, brushed metal that reflected the afternoon sun in blinding flashes. You squinted against the glare, your fingers tightening around Cillian’s as they stepped into the cool, hushed interior, almost as if you were afraid to lose him. The clamor of the campus outside fell away, replaced by the soft murmur of voices and the distant click of shoes on polished concrete floors.

You were greeted by an array of artworks—bold abstract paintings that clashed and harmonized in equal measure, sculptures with twisting forms that seemed to defy gravity, and digital installations that flickered with the ghostly light of virtual landscapes. Your gaze darted from piece to piece, each demanding attention and contemplation, yet you could feel Cillian's subtle tug, stubbornly steering you past the vibrant chaos of creativity.

He led you deeper into the gallery, to a corridor where the walls were covered in clusters of paintings, stark in their simplicity against the otherwise riotous display. This was a quieter section, one that spoke in whispers rather than shouts.

Silent, he stopped before a large gilded frame. Your gaze rose to view the subject, and you stifled a gasp. In impressionist fashion, you saw Cillian in the frozen slices of time. Through art, his face was stripped of its usual mask of confidence, allowing a glimpse of something more intimate. His eyes, often hidden behind dark lenses or a practiced smile, here looked out with an arresting intensity that bordered on pleading.

These images told a story you had only begun to understand, one of perfection sought and the fear of flaws exposed. His grip on your hand was both an anchor and a plea, a silent request for you to see beyond the surface, to acknowledge the depths he rarely showed the world.

Mindlessly humming, your thumb continued to trace circles the back of his hand, acknowledging not just the pretty visage, but the person trapped within its confines.

The monochrome pallettes of the images was anything but monotonous; shades of gray danced with light and shadow, each gradient telling its own silent tale. In one painting, Cillian’s profile was cut sharply against a backdrop of nothingness, his closed eyelids etched with vulnerability. Another captured him mid-laugh, a moment of unguarded joy that seemed to echo off the gallery walls.

“Cillian,” you breathed out, your voice a strangled whisper, “these are... incredible. Who made them?”

“An upperclassman. The one who kept begging me to model for him. Guess I finally had some time open, and you know the rest…”

Despite the 2-D form, the textures were palpable; the rough stubble on his jaw contrasted with the soft curve of his cheek. The weave of the sweater he wore looked so real that you could almost feel the fibers if you reached out your hand.

There was even one of him shirtless; with his back to the viewer, his muscles were exposed. His pants were snug, cinching his miniscule waist. You felt the urge to wrap your arms around him.

Each portrait was an exploration of contrast, not just visually, but emotionally—the play between the strong, chiseled lines of Cillian's body and the tender expressions that flitted across his face.

“Thank you for seeing the,.” His reply came as though from far away, his attention still ensnared by his own likeness. “I never knew I could…” He trailed off, lost in thought.

“Look at this one,” you pointed to a photograph where Cillian’s eyes seemed to pierce through the canvas, connecting with an intensity that left your heart thrumming. “Your eyes here, they’re so expressive. It’s like you're speaking directly to me.”

“What am I saying?”

You instantly answered, “That you’re sad, and it was probably because of me.”

Cillian glanced at the photo, then back at you. “No one knows me like you do. I don’t want anyone else to. I love it.”

You watched as people stopped to snap pictures, fawning over his fierce features, the sharp contrasts. They looked, but they didn't see what you saw—the struggle and triumph entwined in each frame, the pressures that pressed down on him like a physical weight even in stillness.

"Your beauty isn’t just in these pictures, Cillian. It's in the strength you show, the emotions you’re starting to share,” you said earnestly, locking eyes with him. “I know it was difficult for you to open up, but I’m glad you did. Now look at you! Finding new hobbies, doing things by yourself!”

Cillian's voice broke the silence, a whisper against the backdrop of hushed gallery murmurs. "I started modeling when you and I...when we weren't talking. It was...something to fill the void, I guess." His words hung in the air, delicate as cobwebs. “It gave me purpose. A different kind of attention. It doesn’t compare to yours, but it helped.”

You turned to him. Cillian was mesmerized by how your glasses caught the gallery lights, giving your eyes an otherworldly sheen. You studied his face—the same face that looked back at you from every frame on the walls. Now it bore a vulnerable softness no other person would earn. No, this expression was reserved for you, only you.

“Cillian,” you began, reaching up to brush away a tear that clung stubbornly to his eyelash like morning dew. Slipping down, you carved a path down his face, tracing his features. He quivered beneath your touch, yearning for your praise. “You are beautiful, not just on these walls, but here.” You moved to tap lightly over his heart. “And of course, here.” You pointed to his head, a wry smile dancing on you lips.

His eyes, pools of dark emotion, held yours. In their depths, you saw the flicker of shadows cast by the pressures you both knew too well—the craving for approval, the fear of insignificance.

For a moment, the world reduced to just the two of you. Cillian leaned into the warmth of your touch. His eyes closing briefly in an unspoken trust that you would still be there when he opened them.

“I can’t pretend to understand everything you’ve been through, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. It’s... it’s wonderful that you’ve found something to pour your heart into. Modeling, it suits you.”

“Really?” His voice trembled with a mix of hope and uncertainty, as though he had braced himself for mockery rather than acceptance.

“Of course.” You smiled, feeling the tension ease between them. “Everyone needs something to devote themselves to. This—what you're doing—it’s more than just standing in front of a camera. You’re sharing parts of yourself. And that’s brave.”

Your hand lingered on his cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath your fingers. When he realized you were running your fingers along his jaw and chin, Cillian recoiled, ashamed.

“Don’t touch me anymore. I don't look good right now. I don't deserve it.”

You wrestled him back into your grasp. “I’m admiring my friend, letting him know that I think he looks perfect no matter how many days he goes without shaving. It doesn’t look half bad, actually.”

Your thoughts raced behind your calm exterior. If Cillian could channel his intensity into his art, perhaps it would provide him with a healthier outlet than his previous behaviors that so often frayed the edges of your relationship.

“It’s just… It’s hard, doing these things.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Everything is more difficult without you.”

“Hey,” you continued, thumb stroking his jawline in a soothing rhythm “Everyone’s journey is different. Yours just happens to be captured. And these…” You gestured to the images surrounding them, “these are proof of your journey. Of your first steps alone. Remember that.”

Cillian nodded, the ghost of a smile beginning to form. In that instant, the air around you seemed to hold a new promise—a promise that maybe, just maybe, you could navigate the complexities of life together without succumbing to the pressures that constantly threatened to pull you under.

You felt the warmth of Cillian’s breath as he leaned in closer. The gallery lights cast a soft glow on his face, shadows playing across his features as if they were part of the exhibit. You could hear the soft hum of conversation from other students admiring the art, but it seemed distant, inconsequential.

“Your support means everything,” Cillian murmured, his voice barely audible over the buzz of the gallery. His gaze was fixed on you, intense and searching. “You see me, Y/N. You truly see me.”

“Of course, I do,” you whispered back. “I always will.”

The words were meant to comfort, to assure him that his newfound passion was a good thing, that you would still be there for him, present in his life no matter what. But even as you spoke, you felt the sinking guilt that accompanied lies. Your phone vibrated in you pocket, an unbidden reminder of the outside world waiting to reclaim your attention. No matter how badly he wanted, you could not stay at his side forever.

Cillian’s eyes flickered to the device before returning to your face, his expression shifting subtly. The air between them charged with an unseen current, tension threading through the quiet understanding they shared just moments ago.

“Always?” He tilted his head, a lock of hair falling stylishly across his forehead. His voice carried a note of something darker. “Even when others are vying for your time?”

Your breath hitched as you registered the shift in his tone. “You know my friendships matter to me. Helping people, being there for them—that's important. But that doesn't change how I feel about you.”

“Friendship,” Cillian echoed, almost to himself, as he released your hand and stepped back, his eyes clouding over. “It seems that no matter what I do, I'm still competing for a place in your life.”

“Please don’t think that way.” You reached out again, trying to bridge the gap. Your fingers grazed his arm, but he was already retreating, pulling away from your touch.

“Sometimes,” he said, his voice low, “it feels like you're just one more person I have to prove myself to.”

Your heart sank. The words you had intended as a casual reassurance had somehow become a wedge, driving into the fragile bond they were struggling to maintain. Anxious, you watched as Cillian turned, his silhouette blending with the art-adorned walls, leaving you grasping for the right thing to say.

“Cillian—” you started, but he held up a hand, stopping you mid-sentence.

“No,” he said, wincing away from your touch. “Don’t pay attention to my words. I promised I’d do better, so let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening.” He forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. “After all, we're here to celebrate my new interest. Maybe now you’ll get a chance to breathe.”