uvobreakmylegs - Tumblr blog

uvobreakmylegs · 14 days

Text

Burst

the fic I wrote for @hypnoswrites's birthday this year, who asked for a fic with Razor💜💜💜

demon!Razor x reader

Warnings: mentions of execution, mentions of torture, blood, death, gore

Word Count: 7.5k

The thin, sharp point of the sewing needle pierced through the soft cloth effortlessly, the thread attached to the end gliding through the small in the fabric until it snagged to a stop, unable to go any further once it had run out. Adjusting your grip on the cloth, the process was then repeated as you pushed the needle back into the fabric to complete the stitch, the thread gliding through once more. And so it went, stitch after stitch while a sleeve slowly began to form in your hands, the long bit of fabric becoming more recognizable as such when your thread pulled the pieces together in a tight seam.

The art of creating should be one that was satisfying. To take a lifeless piece of fabric and give it shape, give it a form that made it useful should be something that would make the creator proud. Not only that they had the skills to create clothing, but to also see the satisfaction of those who wore it once it was complete. The pay was well, yes, but to see someone happy with the work you had created was an added bonus. To see the happy smiles while they twirled around in your clothing, posing in front of the mirror and offering you words of praise. It was nice to know they appreciated your work, and with that, knowing that you offered something of value. While there would always be difficult and ungrateful customers, the ones that you had made happy were what drove you forward.

There was no satisfaction to be had in your work now.

You felt a bead of sweat beginning to run down your forehead, and you lifted up your arm to wipe it away, staying on constant alert so as to not allow anything to stain the fabric you now held as any imperfection would not be tolerated.

Time was growing short.

Day would come soon, and with it, your execution.

You shuddered as you continued to sew, trying to hurry as you continued to sew up the sleeve that lay in your lap. Sitting on the floor of a cold room at the top of a foreboding tower, there was fabric strewn all over the small area, both cut and uncut, all assembled into particular piles so you wouldn't need to go searching for them once you got to the other dresses.

'Other dresses'.

You bit your lip in frustration, knowing there was no way you'd even get that far.

Hours of work since you had been thrown in here, and there wasn't much to show for it: a bodice with one sleeve attached, another sleeve that was only half-finished and the beginnings of a skirt. Outside of the dress you were working on, the six others only existed as cut up pieces and were in no way presentable. And even with what you did have complete, it didn't account for the detail that the dresses were meant to have. Nor for the fact that you were meant to complete seven immaculate dresses before that door was opened again.

Seven gowns for the lordship's wife and their six daughters, to be made in the finest silks, embroidered and adorned with jewelry, all of which had been stuffed into the space you currently occupied. That was the feat that would save your life.

You knew that it was impossible.

No matter what skill you had when it came to your craft, there was no way for you to be able to complete seven gowns of high quality in the span of a single night. But you thought that perhaps if you were to make at least one of good quality, the lady and her daughters would be entranced enough that they would beg for the lord to spare your life so you could complete the rest. At least for a week. That would be all you needed to complete those gowns to their satisfaction, you were sure of it.

If you were granted that mercy, you could then use the time you had in finishing the other six gowns to earn the favor of those seven women and convince them to let you go free, and in that way, you could avoid the agonizing death of being tied up while the flames burned in a pyre beneath your feet.

But that wouldn't happen if you couldn't complete even one of them. If, when the tower door was opened again, they saw that it was only partially complete, you would be hauled off to the town square and set alight for everyone to see and gawk at.

No, that wouldn't be what happened first.

You had heard of what happened to others who had been accused of witchcraft: they were tortured for hours before their executions, regardless of whether they denied the accusation or not. And when they were brought before the public, they were paraded around so they could be abused further by way of the crowd throwing stones, mud and whatever else was on hand and easy to throw. Only then would the execution begin, a slow, painful process that began with heavy smoke that filled up your lungs and ended by being engulfed in flames.

The thought of all of that terrified you, and as you heard the bells of the church ring out the time of one o'clock in the morning, you were spurred to go faster. As fast as you were able to without your work coming out shoddy, at least.

There was some relief that hit you once the second sleeve was finished and you were able to begin stitching it onto the bodice. Once that part was fully finished, you would be able to continue your work on the skirt, and upon the completion of that, you could add in the details that would entrance the women who held your fate in their hands. Hopefully enough so that your failure to produce seven gowns would be forgiven.

It would be forgiven, you assured yourself. As long as you could complete the one, you could save yourself.

So you continued to toil away as the hour grew later and later.

When the second sleeve was firmly attached to the bodice, you were able to turn your attention to the skirt, continuing where you had left off earlier. Once the skirt was finished and attached to the rest, you would need to add in the detailing, you reminded yourself. The embroidery for the accents, as well as the jewels that were expected to complete the gown. All of that detailed work required time and couldn't be rushed.

Was completing even one possible?

You bit your lip again.

It would be fine, you told yourself. You could do this much.

You continued.

Once the skirt was finished and you began to attach it to the bodice, you heard the church bells ring out twice.

Two in the morning.

Dawn would come at six.

It would be fine. After the skirt was attached, you could spend the remaining four hours adding in the details. That was enough time to make the gown a thing of beauty.

You'd never done it in such a short amount of time but you could do it, you told yourself.

At the risk of your life being lost, you could do anything.

You continued stitching fast while doing your best to keep them from being sloppy, and while you did so, you glanced over to the multitude of threads and jewels that had been placed in here alongside the fabric, going over in your head which ones you would use and what design would work best with this particular gown. While you had time, you wished to get this part of the work done with so you could get to those important details. So you sped up just a little bit more.

Your haste was your undoing.

You stabbed your finger with the needle.

Crying out, you dropped the gown while you pulled your hand away, bringing it up to your face to inspect the damage. Already there was blood dripping down your finger, more than you would've expected. And before you could think to pull your hand away further, a single drop of the red liquid fell from your hand and down onto the gown on your lap.

No no no no no no no-!

The blood droplet landed right in the middle of the sleeve, spreading out as it soaked into the fabric. You jumped to your feet, holding the gown with one hand while you looked for something to use to wash the blood out. It was still salvageable.

Except you only realized now that they hadn't given you any food or water when they locked you in here, and you were so focused on completing your task that it hadn't crossed your mind before.

There was nothing you could do.

No, there needed to be something-!

In a move of panic, you rushed forward as you looked for anything, anything that could save the sleeve.

Your state of panic was so great that you didn't notice when the edge of the gown came far too close to a nearby candle. Only when you heard the fabric igniting followed by the unmistakable smell of smoke did you realize the awful blunder.

You could go up in flames before the morning even came.

The next moments were spent frantically as you beat the flames out of the gown with both hands. The fire was determined to spread quickly and the flames were hot against the aching skin of your palms, but the fire ultimately was put out as quickly as it had started. But that meant very little to you in that moment.

You held up the bottom of the dress, falling to your knees once you saw the extent of the damage. There was no salvaging the skirt; the flames had traveled too far, leaving the fabric burnt and curled on the edges. And what hadn't been affected by the flames had managed to get your blood on it, complementing the sleeve which now had a large red blot marring the center of it. You would need to replace both of them completely.

Hours worth of work now meant nothing, and you would need to start over if you wanted a chance of keeping your life. You let out a shaky breath as you went over in your head all that would need to be redone. Only the bodice and second sleeve were usable. You were back to only having a bodice and a sleeve done, and you would need to redo the other parts. That would take time.

Outside, you heard the church bells ring out three times.

Three in the morning.

Three hours until dawn. Only three hours.

You were doomed.

In that moment, you fell into despair.

You were reduced to a sobbing mess in the middle of that room, realizing that your bid to save yourself had failed. It was too late now to start over. You wouldn't be able to get even that single dress done, and when they opened that door to find you in the middle of your half-finished project that was partially burnt, you would burn as well.

The lord had also told you that if you didn't produce the dresses, the punishment you would receive would be harsher than it would have originally, as he had no desire for you to waste either his time or that of his wife and daughters. All of them would be angry.

The horrors of torture would be worse. The pain would be worse. All of it would be worse.

And with you still trapped in that room with no way of getting past that locked door on your own, you found yourself begging for someone to help you. For someone to appear and take you away from this awful place, to save you from that horrific fate.

Please, you thought to yourself while you cried, clutching the ruined dress up to your face while the blood from your injured finger had finally staunched.

Please let someone save me from this.

I'll do anything

That heroic character who saw the truth of the situation and keep you from harm refused to appear, and you stayed where you were, unable to cease your tears at the hopelessness of everything. You were barely able to note when you heard the rain from the outside begin to hit the roof above you, starting out as a drizzle before becoming stronger, pattering against the tile of the roof.

But after a few moments, you noticed the next change faster: inexplicably, the room became cold. All of the heat that had built up from the many candles was gone, and you were suddenly shivering against the stone floor, your clothes and the fabric beneath you offering little protection.

Immediately recognizing that as strange, you pulled your head back up, wiping away a few stray tears as you looked about, uncertain as to what could have caused the change in temperature to be so drastic.

“Am I right in assuming that the pyre outside is meant for you?”

The male voice that spoke into your ear had you screeching as you scurried forward, crawling away on all fours before you reached the wall and turned to see who had managed to sneak up on you.

It turned out to be a man, one who was currently crouching down next to where you had been sitting moments before. A guard? Given his size and his build, he certainly could have been. But no. Based on the slightly tattered clothing he wore, he didn't look like one of them. At the moment it seemed more likely that the purple-haired man sitting before you was a prisoner like yourself. But he hadn't been in here before. You'd been alone for hours now.

You glanced to the door, expecting to see it open. Yet it was still shut tight, and you got the feeling that if you were to try again to push it open, you would be met with a solid resistance, the wood that made up the door far stronger than yourself.

How had he entered without you noticing?

Your attention was brought back to the man when he spoke to you again, a friendly smile on his face as he asked “well? Am I right?”

Despite your confusion as to how he had suddenly appeared, you decided it would be best to answer the man seeing that you were locked in a room with him. So after staying quiet for a few moments, you nodded.

He hummed.

“You must be accused of something awful, then. People aren't burned for just anything,” the man said, settling down on the floor in a seated position.

Instead of elaborating on why you were to be executed, you asked “who are you? How did you get in? Why are you here?”

He didn't give you the courtesy of an answer to any of your questions; instead he chuckled at you. It certainly felt as though he was amused by your frantic state, and that only had you feeling worse about him.

“Why are you here?!” you repeated.

He motioned for you to shush.

“You should keep your voice down,” he told you, “that guard outside is asleep for now, but that might not be the case for long if you keep going like that.”

There was sense in his words, and you quickly glanced back over to the door, worried at the possibility of any movement behind it. Both you and the mystery man would be in trouble should he be discovered in here with you, and no doubt he would suffer for attempting to help you escape.

…. Was that even what he was here to do?

You looked back to the man, uncertain of what to make of him.

You still couldn't fathom how he had gotten in without either you or the guard outside noticing, and you were at a loss as to why he was here at all. But he was right that you should keep your voice down.

Sensing that you were in a calmer state, he spoke again.

“To start with your first question, my name is Razor,” he said, adding “I don't think the answer to your second question is as interesting as you might expect.”

Razor settled himself further, leaning against the wall as he continued with “as for the third, I'm only here because you called for me.”

Called for….?

You realized what he was speaking of. The desperate plea of yours that was going through your head moments ago. Had you been speaking out loud when you said that? How could he have even heard that?

“You heard that?” you asked.

“Barely,” he answered, “you were lucky. You happened to ask at the right time and I happened to be around.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you wondered what the time had to do with anything.

Razor continued before you had the chance to ask, saying “now that I've answered those questions of yours, how about you answer mine?”

“… On if the pyre is meant for me?”

“What else?”

You looked down to the floor, your eyes ending up on the burnt and bloody gown that sat between the two of you as you quietly nodded.

“Yes, it's for me.”

“And why is that?” he asked.

“I've been accused of witchcraft.”

He didn't seem all that surprised by your answer. His eyes went to the gown as well before they examined the rest of the materials in the room. At the sight of him glancing around, you noted something: Razor's eyes were unusually dark. No, not just dark. The irises were pitch-black.

Was Razor even human?

The thought was unexpected but the explanation made sense of certain things if true. Such as how he had appeared out of nowhere, or how he could have heard that desperate plea for help – that when you thought about it more, you were certain you hadn't said that aloud. Though the fear from earlier settled into you once more at this realization. How could you be sure that Razor was benevolent?

Spirits and fae were spoken of in whispers and tall tales, and usually done so with no small amount of fear. It was well known that most otherworldly beings didn't care much for the likes of humans, and most stayed away from the places humans had settled into, keeping to their places in nature that humans couldn't get to. And when an unlucky human did come across the path of one of those beings, the story would usually end in tragedy, with that person disappearing completely or their brutalized remains being discovered some time later.

If you disappeared right now no one would care

The depressing thought that came through was unhelpful and you told yourself to stop.

Then came Razor's next question.

“Why were you accused?”

You sat up more, trying to adjust your posture. He didn't comment on it, but you were worried you might have offended him with the way you ran from him earlier.

“A ship sank during a storm,” you told him.

At that, Razor actually seemed puzzled as he asked “a sunken ship? That's what this is about? Surely the people here would be aware that such things are common. What did the survivors say?”

You lowered your head as you said “there were no survivors.”

“None?”

You shook your head.

“There were witnesses who said they saw the crew trying to swim to shore, but that all eventually vanished beneath the water. Some claimed that they saw white hands pulling them under. The accounts of those witnesses led everyone to believe that the sinking was the work of something evil, and then one of the village women came forward to say she saw me orchestrating the whole thing on a hill near the bay.”

“So you're here because you were careless.”

“No!”

You leaned forward on your hands as you exclaimed “I had nothing to do with any of that! I was just as horrified at what happened as anyone else! My only crime was that I watched the ship as it sank. I had no power at all in that situation!”

It was after your outburst that you remembered to keep your voice down, and you slapped a hand over your mouth as you once again looked to the door.

Mercifully, nothing came from it.

“I'm sorry,” you said a moment later.

Luckily for you, he nodded as he said “it's alright. It's quite understandable why you would react that way, given what you're facing.”

How odd that you felt a tiny bit better just from hearing that. It did nothing to change what you were going through, but just that little bit of empathy gave you a small peace of comfort. The words he said next did as well.

“For what it's worth, I believe you,” Razor said.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” you answered.

“I take it no one else did?”

You shook your head, saying “I only arrived a fortnight ago in search of work. No one here knows me.”

“So you were selected because you were the outsider.”

You nodded.

“Well, that explains what I saw outside,” Razor began. Then he looked about the room as he continued with “but I would like to know what exactly is going on with all of this.”

You sighed.

“A last-ditch effort to save myself,” you answered sadly, explaining as you said “the lord of the castle gave me one night before the execution after I told him I would make his wife and daughters fine gowns in exchange for my freedom.”

“How many?”

“Seven.”

“You set yourself up for failure,” Razor said bluntly.

“I knew that I could never make seven in one night,” you told him, “but I thought that if I could make at least one, they would allow me more time to make the rest, and from there I might secure my freedom.”

Razor said nothing before he looked down at the burnt and bloody dress that lay before him. In particular, he seemed focused on the smears of blood that had marred the fabric, and when he looked back up to you, his gaze went to the finger you had accidentally stabbed with the needle.

“Clearly, that plan failed,” he said.

You hung your head low as you admitted “it probably wasn't going to work at all. Even if I finished that one, it likely wouldn't be acceptable. All of this was just a desperate effort to push off the inevitable for as long as I could.”

Glancing back up at him, you then asked “unless you have some way for all of them to be done by the morning.

Razor gave you a flat look as he said “do I look like I know anything about making dresses?”

“…. I suppose not.”

The cold was beginning to bother you more now, and you wrapped your arms around yourself in an effort to retain some heat. You noted that the rain was coming down harder now, the water striking the roof with more force than the simple drizzle from before. Maybe that would push off your execution, you idly thought. If the wood was too wet to set alight, you might live longer than you anticipated. Though it would likely do nothing to save you from the torture. If anything, it would prolong it. You shuddered.

Razor was quiet, his gaze on you while he seemingly evaluated you.

He came to you because he had heard your cry for help, didn't he? Did he intend to help you, or was he only here to witness your misery up close?

You wouldn't know until you asked.

“I know you said how you got in wouldn't be interesting to me,” you began, “but… Would it be possible for you to take me out the way you got in?”

“No.”

The blunt answer was unexpected, and you looked back up as you blinked in surprise.

“Oh.”

Your voice was shaky now, and you were barely able to breathe out the words “why did you come here, then?”

“I was curious,” he answered.

…. Curious.

That was all. He saw the scene outside in the nearby village and wanted to know what that was all about. Now he knew, and he likely wouldn't stay around for much longer. And unless the rain delayed the execution, by noon tomorrow you would be sent up to the sky in a plume of darkened smoke.

Your fate was sealed.

With that realization, your spirit broke for the second time that night and you began to sob, overcome with grief while you curled into yourself with your head in your hands, tears obscuring your vision. The rain outside was beginning to come down harder, and in one spot of the room, a bit of the water was beginning to drip onto the pile of fabrics, but you were too distraught to notice.

“Why are you crying?”

Razor sounded genuinely confused when he asked that a moment later.

After a few moments of trying to compose yourself, you shakily answered “I-I'm really go-going to die tomorrow.”

“Why are you so certain of that?”

“Because you can't help me,” you answered just as your mind began going wild with many terrible thoughts.

You'll be cut up and stuck like a pig. Burning coals placed in and against you. Whipped until the skin of your back was raw and bloody. Placed inside horrific devices that would make you yearn for death.

The fire will be a mercy

Razor hadn't said anything, and with the way you held your head in your hands, you were too scared to look up, afraid that when you looked over to him again, you would find that he was gone, no longer interested in your particular set of unfortunate circumstances. Or perhaps he had never been there. Perhaps your mind had broken and you had made up a figure you could talk to, one who was willing to believe your side of the story and offer even the smallest bit of comfort but that the delusion was only able to go so far, only last so long before you realized what your mind was doing.

It was bitterly cold in that tower now, the many candles placed around the room doing nothing to keep you warm.

Then, above the sound of the rain, you heard movement in the room. That of someone climbing to their feet.

You didn't look up.

The footsteps you heard after were muffled by the way they stepped on the ruined gown and the other materials still strewn about the floor, but you heard the way someone came closer to you.

That someone then knelt down in front of you.

…. It sounded real. And you could sense that there was a person sitting in front of you, feel just how close they were to you.

Was Razor real? But if he was, why was he still here?

A large form suddenly overtook yours, and you gasped as two strong arms wrapped around your back and pulled you in close. Your head shot back up in time to see that it was Razor; he was still in here with you, and upon feeling his touch, you found that he wasn't any sort of hallucination. Without a word, he pulled you up from where you were curled against the wall and against his chest.

Razor was holding you.

Outside, the rain began to come down even harder, the sounds of the multitude of droplets descending from the heavens far more audible now on the stone tiles.

“Tell me,” Razor said, “what do you want?”

“… What I want? Why does that matter?” you asked.

“Because I'd like to hear.”

“Why?”

“Just tell me,” he said.

It was strange. Why was he interested in any of this? Why did he care enough about you to ask? What did he get out of it?

…. Who really cared if you were going to die soon?

Taking ahold of his shirt, you leaned your head against his chest as you answered “All I want is for them to not hurt me.”

Razor was quick to ask “and by 'them', you mean the inhabitants of this castle and the village beyond?”

You nodded.

“Say it aloud,” he ordered.

“Say what?”

“Say that you want me to save you from those people.”

“Why?”

“Because that's the only way I can save you.”

“….. You want to save me?”

“I do.”

Razor clutched you tighter as he continued with “so say it. Say that you want to be saved from all those who would wish you harm.”

Was that truly all it would take?

You questioned it in your mind for only a moment, as you were quickly reminded of what would happen once the guard came to collect you. Torture and death. Undignified, humiliating and painful. All before an uncaring crowd who only came to your execution so they could have an outlet for their anger at the previous tragedy or simply for the entertainment of watching you die.

You weren't going to go through that. You refused. You had done nothing wrong and you didn't deserve a fate like that.

“Please, Razor,” you whispered, “save me from all of them.”

The unexpected happened once again when Razor leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. But you were given no chance to question that as you heard when the rain outside manage to come down even harder.

Then came the sound of thunder, a deep rumbling that shook the very foundations of the tower you sat inside. It almost sounded like the growling of an animal. The winds were picking up as well, whistling past the castle and through the buildings of the village beyond, forcing open the doors and shutters that had not been properly bolted shut. In the distance, you could hear a single voice exclaim in surprise.

A lightning bolt struck.

One that was so close and so bright that you could see the light that came from it beneath the door of your cell. The thunder that accompanied it was even louder than the rumbling before, and you pulled your hands away from Razor's shirt to cover your ears while the entire building shook violently.

Even with the protection over your ears, you heard as the guard outside was startled awake as he fell from his seat, calling out in shock.

More voices called out in the distance, sounding less surprised and more frightened.

And then the hail came.

It started off the same way the rain had, falling innocently upon the roof. The small pellets bounced off harmlessly, clinking against the tiles. But just like the rain, they began to come down harder, and the longer they fell, the more of them began to batter against the roof with even more force.

The guard outside left his post, hurriedly running down the stairway.

The hail came down stronger still, and you unintentionally whimpered, the noises from the outside worrying you the longer they went on.

Razor spoke then.

“You'll be fine. Just wait for it to be over,” he told you.

Something crashed into the room.

You snapped your head over to where the sound had come from, only to find that several of the candles had gone out. The howling wind was easier to hear now, as was the ever present thunder. And, while it was harder to make out now, you thought you heard similar crashing noises coming from outside the door, as well as voices that screamed out in response.

More objects crashed into your cell, and within moments all of the candles had been snuffed out. Now you were in the dark, the only bit of light coming from the lighting that raced across the sky above the tower.

You kept your hands over your ears while you cowered against Razor. He continued to hold you, and you felt him shift around you, positioning himself so that he shielded you from the worst of the storm that got in through the holes in the roof.

In the chaos that the storm brought in and around the castle, it took you some time to notice that the figure you were huddling against seemed…. Different. The body positioned above you felt larger, the muscled arms felt stronger than before and at the ends of his fingers, you felt claws that lightly pressed into your skin through the fabric of your clothing.

Even though you knew you would see very little if you tried to look up at what exactly was shielding you, you kept your eyes squeezed shut, too afraid that you would see something you shouldn't.

How you eventually fell asleep during that ordeal you would never know.

Droplets of water landing on your cheek were what roused you from sleep, and while at first you mindlessly brushed them away, once you to fully regained consciousness you shot up into a sitting position, remembering the storm of the previous night while you took in the state of the room.

It was in shambles. Ruined fabric strewn everywhere, jewels and threads scattered about, the door now hanging open on one hinge and a multitude of holes punctured through the ceiling, allowing in the dripping water and small streams of sunlight. Many of the jewels had been broken to pieces, torn apart by some unknown force. And after moving a sheet of fabric that you noticed had a hole in it, you found that whatever had pierced it had also gone straight through the floor beneath it.

Yet you were unharmed, and currently you were laying on top of your unfinished projects, a few of the larger pieces sliding off of you that seemed to have been placed on top of you while you had been asleep.

….. You'd been asleep. And you had been that way for quite a while, judging by what you could see of the sun through the roof.

No one had come for you?

You then looked to the door, and then realized that what you were seeing was wrong. Why had it been left open? Who had wrenched it open in such a way that it had been damaged?

Where was the guard? Where was the lord and his wife?

Where was Razor? Not here, that was certain.

Quietly, you pulled yourself to your feet before you approached the open door, keeping your footsteps light as you tried to listen for anyone who might be coming your way.

You heard no one.

And after exiting your makeshift cell and finding your way to the stairs, you stopped when you came to a small window, looking out at the village beyond. Even with the distance, you could see that the village had sustained just as much damage as the castle, if not more. And perhaps it was only because of that distance, but you couldn't hear any activity coming from there. No sounds of any villagers either attempting repairs or to go on with their workday as best they could. All of it was silent except for the distant sound of the waves from the nearby sea.

You continued going down.

The first person you found was a guard at the bottom of the spiral stairway, stiffly splayed out at the bottom of the steps, weapon still in hand. You didn't need to get close to see that he was dead. When you saw him first you stopped, not wanting to get any closer. The markings you could see on his armor and body worried you. But if you wanted to leave the tower, you needed to step over him. After a few moments of gathering up your courage, you descended again. Once you got closer was when you discovered the cause of his death:

Holes.

Dozens of holes that ranged in size were all over that had punctured through his body. The majority of them had struck him in the back, though when you carefully stepped around him, you saw that there had been a few that had struck him up top through the head and shoulder. He'd been standing when he was first hit, and whatever had pierced him had continued to do so until the storm had ceased. No doubt he had been dead long before then.

The thought of 'what could cause such a thing' was a brief one – you quickly caught sight of the hailstones that still littered the ruined hall, and you noted a few that were colored red, matching the blood that had oozed out of the guard's puncture wounds.

The hail had been strong enough to pierce through the roof, you remembered. If it had no issue with that feat, it had no issue going through human flesh.

How many others had died?

You began to wander the halls, stepping over hailstones and pieces of the castle that had crumbled in the storm's wake. Soon enough you were stepping over bodies as well, all of whom were in a similar condition as the guard you had first seen. You found other guards. Then servants. Then nobles. You recognized two of the lordship's daughters, both huddled together beneath a barely upright table, their desperate attempt at shelter failing miserably as the hailstones slowly melted into the blood around them.

All of them with riddled with holes.

No one had survived. No one other than you.

…. You needed to leave.

If anyone from the outside discovered this scene and found you the sole survivor, you would be questioned as to how you of all people had lived. That ran the risk of receiving more accusations and death sentences if you couldn't come up with a good explanation. No, it was better to take whatever food you could find in the kitchens and then travel as far away as you could for a fresh start.

No one needed to know the truth.

You only payed attention to the structure of the castle from then, limiting your attention to the bodies of the dead to brief glances. Some of the damage to the walls had been extreme enough that you feared parts of them could come crumbling down. Even more reason to leave this place.

The kitchen wasn't hard to find, situated at the lowest level of the building. There were bodies within that room as well, but you kept your focus on the contents of the room, immediately going to scavenging for the food that was still edible. A loaf of bread and a few apples were quickly placed into a bag you found nearby that appeared to be in good shape, and you slung the bag over your shoulder as you began a search for water. You wanted to make as much distance between yourself and the castle, so you wanted enough food and water to last you for a few days. If all went well, you would have found somewhere else to stay by then. Where that would be exactly or what you would be doing, you had no clue, but you would deal with that when the time came.

Catching sight of the closed door of a storage room, you began to make your way there.

Only you noticed the body that lay just before it.

Another servant, this time a man, who had been filled with holes like the rest. Only the state this particular body was in was different from the others you had seen. Parts of him were missing. Specifically one of his arms and pieces of his legs that had been torn away. With the way the meat of his flesh had been torn off, it almost looked as though an animal had gotten to this one.

What sort of animal could devour an entire arm and leave nothing behind?

Something snapped in half behind the storage room door.

You took a few steps back as your attention was now there, listening as a sickening noise echoed within the confines of that room. Another snap like that of a bone, and then the sound of tearing, like tough meat being ripped apart. A loud chewing sound followed, accompanied by unearthly grunting. And then a crunching noise that followed sounded as though whatever was in there had just broken a bone with the strength of it's jaw alone.

…. There very well could have been the remains of some large animal within that room, one that had been hunted the day prior.

But taking another look at the man who lay in the middle of the kitchen floor and the state he was in, the missing arm and the state of his legs, and you found yourself having a hard time believing that whatever was in there was feasting on a mere animal.

Leave now.

Before it turns it's attention on you. The water can wait.

With that, you held tightly onto your bag of food as you turned and swiftly made your way to the door that lead outside. You'd taken hold of the handle and you were about to pull it open when-

Stop

A voice that reverberated in your head made you freeze, and despite your best efforts to break free, you were petrified to that spot, still tightly gripping the handle of the door that lead the way to freedom.

Why couldn't you move?

The door to the storage room creaked open and you felt your blood freeze, your breathing coming in heavy as you were certain that whatever that thing was that was now coming out was going to kill you-!

Instead of a beast-like creature that you anticipated charging at you, footsteps sounded against the floor. They were coming towards you and you felt an odd feeling of deja vu.

“Ready to leave, I see.”

You recognized that voice.

And as soon as those words were spoken, you had control of your body again, allowing you to look over your shoulder to the figure who now stood behind you.

It was Razor.

He smiled at you and placed a comforting hand upon your shoulder as he said “forgive me for leaving you by yourself like that. You seemed like you needed the rest and I thought I'd take a look around before we left.”

“…. Before we left?” you repeated, asking “I'm going with you?”

“It's a fair trade for saving your life, don't you think?” he asked in return.

You looked about the room again, focusing on the hail that had managed to make it's way down there and the bodies within that were just as battered as the ones on the levels above. Everyone within the castle was dead. And then you remembered that the village was in the same state, if not worse. At this point there seemed to be little doubt that anyone there had managed to survive.

“You did all this?” you asked. You felt the horror in your own expression, that Razor was capable of so much destruction.

He raised an eyebrow at you, asking “why do you care? These people would have happily killed you if not for me.”

He misunderstood what you meant, but you weren't given any chance to explain yourself as he wrapped a hand around your shoulder and pulled you close.

“I'll protect you,” Razor said, “and all you need to do in exchange is follow my every order. That doesn't sound bad, does it?”

His black eyes were staring down at you again. Staring at you, daring you to disagree with him.

Do what he wants, your mind told you. And since your voice currently couldn't work, you gave a small shake of your head to answer 'no', that it didn't sound bad.

The fact that you felt otherwise was besides the point.

Razor smiled at you, and the squeeze of your shoulder that accompanied that indicated that he was pleased with you.

“We should get going,” he then told you. He pulled you away from the door and took the handle, opening it for you. You wanted to ask where you were going, but you still couldn't find your voice. When he held the door open and looked at you, you followed his silent order and walked out the door, clutching the bag of food while you kept your gaze on the ground in front of you. Razor was soon leading you through the desecrated courtyard, making sure you were never too far away from him.

And as he took you through the castle gate, you wondered just what sort of future was in store for you. Your gaze went back to the man – spirit? Demon? – as you wondered what fate was in store for you now that Razor controlled it.

#reader insert #yandere x reader #razor x reader #yandere razor #hxh razor #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere hxh #hxh x reader

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uvobreakmylegs · 15 days

Text

Death by Stereo [Yandere Chrollo x Reader] [Vampire AU]

Title: Death by Stereo [Yandere Vampire Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re just a nobody living in a small town when a mysterious stranger with a leather jacket, good looks and a penchant for kissing your hand rolls in, just in time for the ever-popular summer carnival. Things are going great, until dead bodies start piling up.

Word count: 17,510

Notes: yandere, vampire AU, descriptions of dead bodies, some violence, gore, abuse

Thursday

Is there anything more wearisome than a small town? Small towns grind you down so slowly that you don’t realize your feet have been eroded into useless nubs before it’s too late, and you have nowhere to run, even if you had the inkling to get away.

A small town has its charms, as they say--but it has its burdens, too. You know all the faces, but all the faces know you; some of them have even known you since you were just an ultrasound picture carried dutifully in your mother’s purse, pulled out at coffee shops and book clubs.

They know when you got your first period (age 13, in the middle of gym class--you were wearing white shorts); when your first boyfriend dumped you (at the school dance, right before he made out with the third most popular girl in school); what colleges you applied to, and later--why you dropped out (your dad got sick) and how he was doing (not so great but getting better) and where you worked, how you liked your coffee, and all these impersonal and personal details that made up the monotony of your life.

It was a trap, this small town life. A faux bubble of intimacy that your parents embraced, but you’d never fully believed. Because despite knowing so much about you, no one here really knew you. They could tell you that you looked just like your mom at her age; they could sling down a mug with your coffee order without you opening your mouth (black, 1 sugar, 1 cream, no milk)--but they didn’t want to hear about how much you wanted to travel; how much you wanted to see.

Did it matter? You weren’t getting out anytime soon, anyway.

Like all small towns, yours had a claim to fame. While others might boast being the hometown of some B-list celebrity or the site of an all-you-get-eat seafood festival, your particular small town had one edge over the others: a summer carnival right on the beach, designed to appeal to nearby tourists who came to much larger, resort-friendly beaches for the summer season.

The tourists loved to flock here on that singular summer weekend, pretending they were enjoying a quaint local carnival where they got drunk on cheap beer and sampled funnel cake until they puked. And if the locals hustled them as much as possible, overcharging for drinks and parking and sightseeing maps, was that so bad? Small towns needed to leech off new blood once in a while, after all.

The carnival was four days long--Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. Sunday was, of course, the grand finale. There was a massive fireworks show on the beach, a huge concert with local and sometimes vaguely familiar bands. A lot more booze traded hands on Saturdays, and the beach was lit up with more than just fireworks; the local volunteers always spent the next week picking up cigarette butts and discarded joints in the sand.

The carnival can be fun. Although like anything that happens every single year in a small town you’ve lived in your entire life (save the one year of college you managed before your dad’s test results came back) it gets wearisome.

Still--you go. What else is there to do? Besides, you’d be stupid to deny that it’s more fun to spend your summer weekend wandering the carnival, riding a few rides, speaking to people, than to sit at home or pick up an extra shift at the diner.

That’s why you’ve wandered into the carnival today--Thursday. Thursday is your favorite day of the carnival, because it’s the most quiet, relatively speaking. There are tourists here, sure, but they’re not rowdy yet. Not as overcrowded. There aren’t gaggles of kids running around with lobster-red faces and arms because they’re parents didn’t understand the necessity of sunscreen; there aren’t groups of women traveling in packs with matching sunglasses and hats, enjoying a summer break away from their rich and distant husbands.

It’s mostly locals on Thursday. People like you, bored coffee shop workers with nothing better to do on a Thursday evening.

Or people like Jake Jenson over there, currently aiming a colorful dart at a row of balloons in one of many carnival games that would hustle drunk tourists out of their money this weekend.

Jake was the town drunk--a title he gave himself, and others were only too happy to oblige him. He stuck to himself most of the time. During the carnival, he won as many carnival prizes as possible, and traded them to tourists with shitty aim for beers or cigarettes.

And over there--the early birds. They’ve come three years in a row, you think from somewhere in New York. They’re attached at the hip, constantly rubbing their noses together like some twee movie couple, and you’ve heard them complain that the boardwalks in their part of the country are a lot more “authentic.’

Sure, there’s the familiar faces, but unfamiliar ones, too. An older gentleman and his wife, who walks next to him more slowly, with a cane. He’s balancing a plastic plate with a fresh funnel cake in his hand. They’ll find a bench to sit down and enjoy it, maybe people watch, like you.

It’s time for one of your favorite games: making up stories for the various tourists you probably won’t ever see again. This couple--this is the last trip they’ll take together, because the wife got an awful diagnosis, and they’re spending what would have been the rest of their retirement savings on the dream vacation she always wanted to take. They met during the war, decades ago… he was a soldier and she was a nurse, and he hurt his leg, maybe, and wound up in a field hospital.

It would have been terribly romantic.

Your eyes shift away from the couple and onto a few other new faces.

Maybe that’s why you liked the carnival. It was nice to look at new people and imagine where they came from, what they did. The kind of life they had, which was surely more interesting and worldly than yours.

With people watching in mind, you abandon your bench in front of the games and head deeper into the carnival, weaving yourself in between snack and ticket booths, stepping over large black cables that kept the rides running.

Dusk had already settled in, and the warm glow of the summer had been replaced with a deepening sense of evening. The carnival lights had already begun to play against the darkening sky, creating that magical atmosphere that couldn’t be replicated during the day.

You don’t notice the stranger at first. It’s dark, the lights are a bit dizzying, and there are plenty of people simply wandering around and taking in the sights. What’s one more stranger, when over the course of the next few hours and days, the summer will be increasingly filled with them?

But this particular stranger shows up in the corner of your vision and immediately strikes you as… odd. He’s just standing there.

Watching you. Staring--right at you. What the fuck?

He’s wearing all black, and there’s some sort of scarf or cowl over his face. His eyes look impassive but there’s something awful in them, even in the brief glances you get from catching him from the corner of your gaze.

What a creep.

It sours the mood, and you decide to leave, or at least take a break and shake off whatever out-of-towner decided to pull off his best edgy horror movie impression to creep you out. It wouldn’t be the first time a tourist behaved like a jerk, or a weirdo, especially if they’d be drinking.

Something about nighttime at the carnival made people go wild.

So you head away from it all, from the couples trying to win stuffed animals, from the giggling shrieks of people on rides that spun them upside down until they wanted to puke. And maybe you should just head right home, but it’s not fair to waste a night of good weather.

Cool, but not too cool. Pleasant. The moon is out and the stars twinkle overhead.

Heading out on the dock might be nice. Tourists don’t bother with it, at least not on Thursday, when the beach isn’t lit-up and there’s no particular reason to head out this way.

But you’d been to this beach in the evening before; you weren’t scared of the dark. By contrast, you liked the way the beach sounded at night. The water moving in and out, slow and sure. The occasional sound of wildlife splashing in the water. And the din of the carnival behind you, all rainbow lights and indiscernible human happiness.

Your joy is cut off by the sound of footsteps. Your heart leaps in your chest and your hands slam into your pocket instinctively, fumbling for your keys. Fuck, how were you supposed to use these in self-defense again? Put them between your fingers?

Your heart hammers and you slowly turn around, squinting as you make out a figure approaching you in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” a voice calls out, penitent. “Did I scare you? I’m trying to get reception.” The man wiggles a small silver object in the air, raising it above his head. A small LED screen lights up and your heart rate begins to calm, slowly but surely.

After a few beats, he sighs, and shoves the phone in his pocket.

He turns, apparently to leave, but then looks back at you. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

You swallow, lick your lips. Feel stupid for the keys in your fingers. He seems nice enough. A typical tourist. “Um, yeah.” You laugh, an empty sound. “I guess I’m just a little jumpy tonight.”

The moonlight doesn’t give you a clear view of the man’s features, but you can see him tilt his head a little. “Jumpy?”

The keys in your pocket rattle when you let them go, and pull your hands out to point back towards the carnival. The man follows your finger with an almost studious interest.

“Someone was following me, maybe? Or he just seemed a bit creepy.” You laugh again, a habit ingrained after years of dealing with men in odd situations--defuse, tread lightly, always. “He was staring at me, but I couldn’t see his face. He had a scarf over it, I think.”

The man in front of you hums in acknowledgement after a moment. He almost seems a little amused, which is both irritating and relieving in its own way. You were just being silly, jumpy, overreacting, weren’t you? Maybe the guy wasn’t even looking at you in the first place.

“Can I walk you back to the carnival? It doesn’t feel right to leave you here alone.”

Ah, no, you think. Sure, the man in front of you might just be a tourist in search of reception, but that doesn’t mean you’re stupid. This is how people get murdered. Or attacked. Or like, hoisted into white vans and never seen again.

“No, that’s okay. I was going to stay out here longer and look at the stars. I’m going home soon, anyway.” Not a complete lie, since you did really want to go home. Something like this is usually enough for most people to take the hint, right?

The man doesn’t turn around. Instead, you see the shape of his smile, lit only by the moon in the sky above.

“You want me to walk you back to the carnival,” he says simply, and offers his arm out, like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman.

Oh. Of course you do. What were you thinking, staying out here on the dock at night? Mosquitoes would eat you up, anyway.

You smile in return and take his offered arm, stepping lightly as you make your way back to the carnival with a complete stranger.

Only by the time you make it back to the threshold of the carnival, which seems to be eaten up by the darkness surrounding all of the twinkling lights, he’s not really a stranger, is he?

And as you get closer to the carnival, the natural darkness of the beach gives way to an abundance of artificial lights that allow you to see him better. He’s cute--no doubting that, with dark hair that frames his face, and a bandage around his forehead. Maybe an accident, or an unfortunate birthmark.

Even if you weren’t familiar with most of the town’s residents in one way or another, you’d know he was an outsider from the way he’s dressed. A slim motorcycle jacket and dark jeans… not the type of guy that hangs around here for long.

As you stop at the border of the carnival, he asks where you live, and you tell him--”around.” He admits that he’s only in town for the carnival week.

“I figured,” you say lightly enough.

He raises his eyebrows. “Is it that easy to tell?”

You put your hands into your pockets and look around you.

“I mean, it’s a small town, right? Everyone knows everyone, after a while. A new face stands out pretty easily.”

His smile is charming. Practiced, but charming. Or maybe being practiced is how it’s so charming in the first place. “That makes sense.” He considers you for a moment. “You like to watch the tourists, then?”

You shrug and gesture with your chin towards a mom with a toddler clinging to her hand, pulling her along towards one of the games with enormous stuffed animals.

“I like people watching, I guess. Sometimes,” and as you’re saying it, you don’t know why you’re telling him this so openly. “Sometimes I like to make up stories about people I see. Like, where they’re from or what they do or a backstory like they’re from a movie or whatever.”

Your cheeks feel suddenly, stupidly hot. Christ, you meet a handsome stranger on the beach and your first major conversation involves you admitting you make up stories about people? You’ve got to get out of this town more.

But he doesn’t seem like he’s judging you. If anything, he looks interested.

“And what would you imagine for me?”

The question is unexpected.

“I think…” You try to force your mind to wander like it does when you people watch organically. What would you imagine, if you came across him walking around the carnival in the evening? He’d be on his own, surely, maybe his hands in his pockets. Quiet. A soft smile on his face, maybe?

“I think you’re some sort of… librarian. Or a curator. A collector?” You shake your head, unsure of exactly where you want to go with this one. “The point is, you’re traveling around the country, looking for things to add to a museum or library or something like that. And you came across an ad for a summer carnival and thought you’d take in some local culture.” You gesture towards the carnival--the lights, the crowd of people, the humanity on display. “But walking around here makes you feel lonely. So you walk down to the beach in the hopes of distracting yourself. Only,” you add, with a cheeky grin. “To come across the most amazing small town waitress in 100 miles standing on the dock like a weirdo.”

He doesn’t smile at your story. Not exactly. Instead--and you look away when you notice, feeling too rude for staring--his eyes widen just a smidge and he purses his lips in a thoughtful way.

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “May I have yours?”

Chrollo is kind of old-fashioned, you decide. Perhaps you were more spot-on than you realized with your story.

Maybe you shouldn’t give your name. But there’s a giddy feeling inside your chest. Something akin to what you used to feel when you were a teen and you snuck out in the middle of the night for bonfire drinking parties.

I mean… a handsome stranger in a motorcycle jacket who escorted you back from the beach wants your name? You’d be stupid to say no.

So you give it.

At that, he finally smiles again.

“Well, then,” he says softly, saying your name in such a way that makes you hope he’ll say it again in the future, “I hope I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Help! Someone help me! For God’s sake!”

Jake Jensen cried out these words as loudly as he could--as clearly as he could, with booze slurring his words and making his mouth all mumbly. But he wasn’t loud enough. No one heard him. Not over the music and delighted screams of the carnival.

He had been chased away from the beach, past the dock, into a little storage shed used for kayaks rented to tourists during the summer. His worn out body protested with every movement, his lungs hacking from years of cigarettes.

His attackers, who blocked the door frame, said nothing. They only looked at one another, silent words passed between them, and the taller of the two grinned in the darkness.

Jake Jensen died screaming.

Friday

You tell yourself that you’re only sitting here on this bench, munching on fresh hot popcorn, because you had a hankering for carnival food. Definitely didn’t come here in the hopes of seeing a certain someone. You tell yourself this even as your eyes dart here and there, looking for any sign of the not-quite-a-stranger from last night.

The sun has just set, and it’s a bit hard making out faces in the glow of the early evening. There are a lot more people here tonight, a new wave of tourists drowning out the familiar faces. Not that the locals shy away from the carnival--you spot your former best friend from high school, your old math teacher, one of the regulars at the diner… Jake Jensen isn’t in his usual spot at the games, but maybe he’s sleeping off a hangover. He never misses a summer carnival.

“Hello again.”

Oh--you choke on your current handful of popcorn just as Chrollo appears suddenly in your line of sight, hands in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket, a casual smile on his face.

“Hey,” you say, coolly, like you didn’t just nearly spit chewed popcorn kernels in his face when he approached. The silence between you doesn’t last long, but you fill it anyway. “You um, want some popcorn?”

But when you hold out the now half-filled container, Chrollo only looks at it curiously. Like he’s never seen popcorn before or something? But then he takes a small handful and pops it in his mouth. Chews--but he might as well be chewing broccoli, for all he seems to enjoy it. Oddly, he watches you while he chews, seemingly studying your face. Did you have popcorn in your teeth?

Better to fill the silence again.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, grinning, popping another handful in your mouth. “It’s my favorite because it’s fresh, and that booth actually uses real butter. Not the fake oil stuff.”

Chrollo hums in agreement. “I see. I thought that tasted like real butter. Thank you for sharing.”

You decide on the spot that you’re going to make the most of this evening, popcorn-in-teeth or no. So you shrug and give your best smile. “No biggie. Buuut… you will owe me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And what will I owe you?”

It’s your turn to hum as you look out towards the carnival, scanning past the numerous faces, the booths, children running with balloons and sticks of cotton candy. “A ride on the Ferris wheel once it’s properly dark would be nice.”

A snort, though his nose. “I think I can manage that.”

He offers his arm again, and you take it, not minding how old fashioned it was. Somehow, despite his jacket, his sleek hair, the hint of motorcycle oil mixed with cologne, old-fashioned seemed to suit him.

Lots of things seemed to suit him, actually. You learn this as the evening wears on. He’s great at carnival games, choosing only a select few that he claims to be an expert in. He wins you a few stuffed animals that you pass on to little kids, save a smaller teddy bear that you can shoved inside your purse.

You learn other things, too. Like, he’s a great listener. He lets you talk--about yourself, about the town--and doesn’t interrupt or tell you that you talk too much or make it clear he’s not listening to a thing you say. He even asks you questions, which shows he’s actually listening, and not just thinking about other things and waiting to ask you to go somewhere “private” like some other guys.

It’s nice, surprisingly nice, to find someone from out of town who’s so thoughtful.

The line for the Ferris wheel is always long once the sun goes down, and you’re one of the last rides of the night.

When the carnival worker locks the bar down over your waists, you kick your legs and wait for the strange rush of adrenaline and pleasure that comes with the Ferris wheel. It’s a beautiful sight--all colored lights contrasted against the night sky, whisking you high into the air and giving you a view of the entire carnival and the ocean beyond.

But your body always reacts to the imagined danger of being carried so far away from the safety of the ground, and when the Ferris wheel reaches the top and begins to circle over for the first time, your stomach lurches and you gasp.

“Are you scared?” Chrollo’s voice is low--you could swear he’s teasing, but there’s something else in there, too.

“Yeah,” you say, breath catching as you're brought back closer to the ground, only to be whisked away again. “Of course. What if something goes wrong, and I fall off and break my neck?”

Chrollo tilts his head. “You’d be dead.”

You can’t help but grin. He’s so to-the-point sometimes. It’s charming in its own way, although you can’t exactly describe what “its own way” means with Chrollo. It’s like he stepped out of some old fashioned film but also came out of a cooler city. A biker who carries around an embroidered handkerchief, or something like that.

“And I don’t want to die, hence--the stomach flipping.”

Chrollo looks ahead, then, taking in the view as the Ferris wheel carries you over again. “No? How long do you want to live, then?”

The snort is involuntary. A philosophical question on the Ferris wheel--not exactly what you expected from tonight. But maybe it’s not so bad. He’s good company. And Chrollo looks earnest in his question, too, which makes you feel guilty for snorting in the first place.

Maybe it’s the lights of the Ferris wheel that dazzle you; maybe it’s the way being on the Ferris wheel at night makes you feel like you’re in some wonderful haze of a dream.

Whatever it is, you fling your hand into the air, towards the carnival, towards the stars.

“Long enough to achieve my dreams,” you breathe out, earnest, almost sing-song. “Whatever they might be. I haven’t figured them out yet.”

Chrollo turns his head to look at you. His eyes almost seem magnetic against the night sky, with the lights of the carnival playing in them.

Then, as the Ferris wheel brings the two of you down towards the ground, you see him. The man from yesterday, with the cowl over his face. He’s looking right at you, and it’s no mistake or figment of your imagination.

Your head swivels to the side and you grip the bar of the Ferris wheel until your knuckles hurt. You jerk one hand out and point to the stranger on the ground with a trembling finger.

“There--look! Look!”

Chrollo takes a moment to respond, and follows the sight line of your finger.

But now--there’s no one there.

“What do you see?” He asks, clearly unknowing that the object of your terror has vanished into thin air.

“The man… the man from yesterday. He was right there. I swear.” Your chest hurts; fear hurts.

Unbidden, Chrollo pulls you close to him, and you let him hold you tight.

“You’re all right. I’m here.”

He holds your chin in his fingers. “You’re safe, do you understand?”

The fear in your chest seems fuzzy now, like it had almost never been there in the first place. How silly of you to be scared, when Chrollo was right here. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s touching you so intimately, does it? So you nod--yes, yes, you understand.

Chrollo smiles.

“Let me kiss you,” he says simply.

And you will. Of course you will. What else would you want to do?

But as you lean forward, eyes already closing, he pulls himself away.

“Wait.” You blink, head clearing, and he continues, words slow, careful. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Now, you think about it. Maybe it was too hasty. But the lights of the carnival are beautiful and Chrollo is beautiful, and he’s been so thoughtful all day, and now he’s here, holding you, promising to keep you safe from carnival creeps.

A summer carnival is the time for a flirty romance, after all.

“Yes,” you answer, simply. “I would.”

Chrollo’s finger strokes your chin as you lean in and share your first kiss on the Ferris wheel, glittering lights and carnival music dancing in your mind.

The wife died first. Too quickly, but perhaps it was all the alcohol in her system; $1 margaritas at a local watering hole on a Friday night did nothing to make her more agile when being chased by predators while running in black city heels that had no place in a small town carnival.

Well, to the dying woman’s credit: it was the heels and alcohol and the sliced tendons in her ankle. Taut wires cut through her flesh like butter and she was down for the count, crawling, sobbing, begging for her husband, for God, for anyone to help her.

No one did.

Those pitiful cries, too, were cut down by a wire pressed into her throat; silencing her vocal chords, yes, but spilling blood over her neck that was as pretty as a sight as anything to those watching her choke and scrabble her hands against the ground, eyes wide, gaping, wondering--how is this happening to me?

The margaritas may have hindered her before her unfortunate ankle accident. But they did make her blood taste sweet and tangy. Metallic, rich, with a twist of lime. All that was missing was a miniature umbrella.

This joke was said aloud, once everyone had a taste of her. A few laughed, blood on their teeth.

Her husband didn’t seem to find it funny, but perhaps he was more preoccupied with his own current slow death. An arc of his blood spurted into the air--”Don’t fucking waste it, Uvo”--before a greedy mouth latched onto the wound, beginning to suck him dry.

The husband, like the wife, would be shared.

Soon, though, there would be no need for sharing.

There would be enough for everyone to have their fill--and beyond that.

There would be enough to gorge.

Saturday:

Three people are dead.

You didn’t know them know them, but the shock is still there, making your hands tremble a little as you pour morning coffees and deliver plates of steaming eggs and overcooked bacon to tables of locals and tourists in almost equal measure.

Jake Jensen is one of those people. The identities of the other two are unknown--”Due to the state of the bodies, no identification could be provided at this time,” said the sheriff, above a rolling news ticker that had been on the diner’s singular TV all morning--but they might be a couple. A man and a woman.

People die all the time. Sure. But… dead bodies are not often found in your small town, where gossip typically revolves around couples breaking up or a local store not putting up enough holiday decorations to appease the older crowd.

Yet now, in one morning, there are three.

Jake Jensen, who was found near the beach.

And an unknown man and woman (John and Jane Doe) who were found in a wooded area near the carnival.

“Mighta been a bear,” says one of your regulars, gnawing on a piece of his burnt bacon. He liked it that way.

“I heard they were drained of blood!” Your head--and others’ too, you suspect--turns to the voice. It’s not a local. Someone who’s far too dressy for the diner, sipping on a coffee they brought from home while they sample your diner’s less than stellar fruit salad option. He’s oblivious to the stares, to the eye rolls, to the immediate dismissal that his outsiderness earns him. “Two puncture wounds on the neck. Heard it from a cop while I was walking in this morning.”

Someone murmurs a joke about vampires and the locals chuckle, then go back to their coffee, their eggs, their eyes now and then glancing up at the old TV screen.

Your eyes roll, too, but then you wonder.

If they were murdered--and it’s an if, of course, because it could have been animals and Jake Jensen could have gotten so plastered that he fell off the dock or something, murders just don’t happen in your town--then… could it have been that creepy guy from before? The one who’s been following you around the carnival?

Shit, maybe he was waiting for the chance to get you alone, so he could drag you off to the dock or the woods and slit your throat. The thought gives you goosebumps, and acrid coffee tries to climb its way up your throat, before you swallow it down.

It was a good thing you had Chrollo around for the past two days.

And you’d be seeing him again tonight.

They weren’t canceling the carnival--it brings in too much money. And while a part of you is all sore and soft for poor Jake Jensen (who was never mean, just drunk) you try to brush it away. It’s sad. But life is sad.

You don’t want to be sad tonight. You want to look nice--for Chrollo? He wasn’t the first out-of-towner that had flirted with you, that you’d flirted with back. He was the first one that you’d ever genuinely looked forward to seeing again, though.

So.

You want to be wearing your best smile when you meet Chrollo again tonight.

And you can’t do that if you’re thinking about Jake Jensen’s body washing up on the beach or if there’s a small, tickling question dancing through your mind--

What sort of animal leaves two pretty little puncture wounds on the neck?

You sit on the same bench as before; the bench, in your mind, where you and Chrollo have taken to meeting up these past few days.

There’s no room in your stomach for popcorn tonight, though. Or rather, there’s room--your stomach growls--but you can’t imagine chewing anything rich, hot and buttery right now. Your thoughts flit between horror (poor Jake Jensen, one time, when you were younger, he helped you fix a flat bike tire) and romance (Chrollo’s lips on yours, warm, the breeze tickling your neck, the lights of the Ferris wheel twinkling around you).

You feel bad for wanting to enjoy tonight. But that’s not fair, is it? Another small town tragedy: caring too much about someone you didn’t really know as anything more than a passing familiar face that you can’t even focus on a hot date.

Fuck.

“Daydreaming again?”

The evening sky above you is a wash of deepening colors, devoid of actual sunlight but clinging to the last vestiges of it like a child refusing to let go of his mother’s hand on the first day of school.

He’s holding up a stick of bright pink cotton candy in one hand, while the other arm is offered for you to take--the contrast between his leather jacket, the ball of fluffy sugar he’s holding, and the way he sometimes acts like an old timey gentleman out of the movies is enough to make you smile.

Perhaps there’s bitterness in it, because as soon as you’re standing, Chrollo regards you with a measured look.

“Are you all right?”

Well. You don’t want to ruin your evening, but it would be stupid to pretend everything was all sweetness and sunshine, wouldn’t it? It’s better to get it out of the way.

“Sorry, it’s… I don’t know if you saw the news?” He says nothing, and you continue. “Those people that they found dead this morning.” Your lips press together. “I mean, the guy--I knew him, sort of? Everyone did. He was drunk all the time, yeah, but he wasn’t a jerk about it.”

Chrollo hums.

“I can imagine that would be shocking for you to hear.”

Your smile is shaky, and you nab a piece of cotton candy from the stick and shove it in your mouth. The sweetness contrasts awfully with the words that pass through your lips. “For you too though, right? I mean, it’s not every day three people turn up dead at some small town carnival.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow in a way that seems to say that he is not particularly shocked by the news.

“Shit, really? What are you in your non-touristy life, a mortician or something?” A sudden realization washes over you, that Chrollo has an entire life outside of you and these carnival evenings; he has a past, and family, and friends, and a job. Hopes, dreams, the whole nine yards.

“Something like that,” he says. When you move to apologize, he shakes his head. “It’s alright. I’m not terribly shocked by these things, I suppose, because of what I see in my day to day.” He looks at you a little curiously. “But I can see how it would rattle you.”

You open your mouth, but you don’t know what to say. Sugar sticks to your teeth.

“Come on.” Chrollo drops the cotton candy into a nearby trash can, and leads you towards a row of carnival games. “I know what might take your mind off things.”

For once, you’re glad to see the carnival games; the fast-paced spitting words of the barkers trying to hustle money from kids and couples, the sound of darts popping balloons, the triumphant music that plays before the obnoxiously difficult water shooting game.

You’re even glad to see the tourists in all of their Saturday glory, which isn’t so much “glory” as it is a sort of restlessness. Saturdays were always a strange day at the carnival; the last middle day before the grand finale. An unusual mixture of sleepiness, anticipation, and a buzz that held everyone together until tomorrow.

Strange day, strange faces. Some stranger than others. Staring up at the bell at the top of the Test Your Strength game is an exceptionally tall man with wild dirty blonde hair. By the size of his muscles, he might just break the game, which hadn’t been replaced in the many years you’d been coming here in the summer.

You tug on Chrollo’s arm and point the man out. “What do you want to bet the carnie will try to get him not to play? He might just break the thing…”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beside you, Chrollo snorts, but doesn’t linger on the man as he leads you further into the carnival.

The two of you walk, and talk. About nothing and everything. He asks you to come up with stories for a few tourists, and you do. Light ones. It really does take your mind off things. At some point, Chrollo buys you fries, which taste slightly sweet; probably cooked in the same oil as the funnel cakes.

You dig in your heels in front of the fun house, but Chrollo shakes his head, and won’t go in.

“Are you scared?” You tease. At night, the fun house was all lit up, and the clowns painted on the front had a ridiculously sinister air to them.

But Chrollo doesn’t smile or laugh. “They make me dizzy,” he says, quietly. There’s something behind his words, but you don’t know what. A medical problem? A bad experience? You apologize and then he does smile, shaking his head, at himself, or you, you’re not sure. “Think nothing of it, dear.”

Dear.

You want to hold onto that bit of affection like the sky holds onto the sunset on summer evenings. At least as long as you can, which tonight, seems to be until Chrollo takes you on the Ferris wheel again.

This time, he holds your hand as soon as the attendant locks the bar down. Your fingers interlock and squeeze and it sends butterflies rushing through your chest. What was there to worry about, to think about, when you were sitting next to him?

It takes a few turns around the Ferris wheel to remember what you were supposed to worry about, because on the trip down, your stomach fluttering from romance and gravity alike, you see him: the strange man. The stalker. The maybe-serial-killer-on-the-loose.

He’s standing still in the crowd walking here-and-there around the Ferris wheel, couples intent on getting in line, children running from tired parents as they beg for another carnival game.

And he’s staring straight up at you.

You don’t think this time. You grab Chrollo and point straight down and practically screech out the words: “There! He’s there! Look, look--look!”

And the stars must be aligned, because Chrollo actually sees him. His grip on your other hand tightens and he pulls you closer to him as you make your way back around the Ferris wheel and the man goes out of sight. By the time the two of you are at the top again, the stranger is gone.

Your goosebumps remain.

“We should talk to the police,” you murmur, a quiet, scratchy whisper.

Chrollo turns towards you. You recognize the look. The “Do you really think the police will do anything about this?” sort of look.

“I’ve been thinking…” You squeeze Chrollo’s hand and he squeezes back and that’s all you need to keep going. “That maybe he might have something to do with those people? The ones they found this morning?”

Chrollo’s eyes widen just a little. It’s both comforting and worrying to see him look taken aback, even if it’s only a bit.

“I heard…” You feel stupid saying this. But you shouldn’t feel stupid, not with Chrollo. He hasn’t given you a reason to feel like you can’t tell him things. “Someone at the diner today said they were found with puncture wounds on them. I was thinking, maybe… like an ice pick? Or a screwdriver or--I don’t know. But maybe they were killed.”

“Perhaps he’s a vampire,” Chrollo offers, voice low, lips curled into a smile, and your face must reflect the flash of offended shame that rushes into your chest, because he immediately apologizes. His sigh flutters against your cheek. “Well. He wouldn’t be the first killer to prey on crowds or small towns, would he?”

At least he didn’t say you were crazy to connect the two things, vampire joke aside.

He keeps you close once the ride is over, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ll inform the police,” he insists, when the two of you finally stumble on a pair of deputies patrolling the carnival. He leaves you standing next to the Test Your Strength game, where the carnival barker has agreed to keep an eye on you. It made you feel like a child, but for once, maybe that wasn’t a bad thing--to be watched and protected.

You watch, biting your nails now and then, as Chrollo and the deputies talk. In the end, they shake his hand, and you feel cool relief in your stomach. The police will know what to do with the information. If this guy’s a killer, they’ll catch him. If he’s not, well. The carnival was almost over, and you wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer.

Things will be normal soon.

When Chrollo returns, you take his arm without hesitation, but this time he begins to lead you away from the carnival.

“I was thinking,” he says, “that we might go for a walk. Get away for a bit. If you don’t mind, that is.”

You don’t mind at all.

“Do you like trails?” You ask, steering him towards a trail that leads from the beach to a popular hiking spot for locals. “It’d be a bit more private. As long as you’re not scared of the dark.”

Chrollo chuckles. It’s a warm, dark, rich sound, and it sends a delightful thrill right through you.

“I’m not if you aren’t,” is all he says, and that’s enough for you to point out the way.

Thoughts of dead bodies and stalkers fade away with the carnival, whose sights and sounds fade bit by bit as you and Chrollo leave the beach and begin making your way into a wooded area with a paved hiking path lit on the other side by electric trail lights.

“I’m surprised to see these,” Chrollo says, quietly. He pulled his phone out at the start of the trail to give the two of you more light, though the trail lights were decent enough, especially since you’d been up here more times than you could count.

“Mm,” you murmur. “Locals come up here all the time at night. Especially teens. Usually to make out and stuff.” Chrollo gives you a look and your cheeks hit up, but you don’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to know about your high school escapades. “They added them to avoid the inevitable lost-teen-in-the-woods-at-night rescue scenario, I think.”

“Clever,” he says.

The waterfall is loud when you’re this close; so loud you can’t hear anything in the moment but your own thoughts, which have grown louder and louder somewhere between the hiking trail and this popular waterfall spot. So popular that it’s lit with a flood light near the top--supposedly a teenager slipped in one night and drowned in the shallow pool, though you’ve never been certain if it was a true story or not.

Regardless, you’re not sure you want to stay. No--you know you don’t want to stay.

This is a bit much, is what your thoughts are starting to scream. Chrollo is nice, but you don’t really know him, do you? And you just walked somewhere alone with him in the dark after being surprised by a maybe-stalker, the day that three people were found dead around here.

Yeah. A bit much might be an understatement. You should really get back to where there’s more lights and people and civilization in general. If Chrollo is a nice person (and he is, you insist, you’re just being smart!) he won’t mind.

“I think we should go back,” you say, but Chrollo can’t hear you. So you cup your hands around your mouth and lean closer to his ears. “I think we should go back!”

You expect him to nod and take your arm and lead you carefully down the lantern-lit trail, perhaps still using his phone to guide the way. Instead, he takes your chin in his hands--you move to jerk it out, you’d rather wait until you’re back at the carnival to kiss again--but his grip is impossibly strong.

“It’s all right,” he says, and it’s the strangest thing, you can hear him so clearly despite the roaring waterfall just a few feet in front of you. “You know that you’re safe with me. You don’t want to go back yet.”

How strange. How silly. Why did you want to leave, when you just got here? You didn’t even show him the best part yet.

“Come on!” It’s your turn to pull him along as you carefully walk the path leading to the front of the waterfall, which has already begun to soak water through your clothes.

“Is there a cave?” Chrollo asks--and again, you’re struck by how easy it is to hear him, despite the water rushing down in front of you.

“You sure know your way around local watering holes,” you jest.

He merely smiles. “I travel a lot.”

With that, you grip his arm tighter and run through the waterfall, shrieking in delight. Both of you emerge on the other side soaked; you, grinning, and Chrollo, looking around with interest.

The inside of the cave was lined with endless rows of fairy lights, courtesy of a local high school group. They had also brought in the two couches--used leather, frayed and flecking, but good enough for a hang out. When you were younger, there were only folding chairs; which were great for sitting, not so much for much less.

“Do you like it?” You ask, then feel stupid. Why do you care so much what he thinks of some local hang out spot, especially one you hadn’t been in for ages? The same reason why you’d spent all day telling him about your daydreams, about small town memories, bits and pieces of local lore that he didn’t brush aside but seemed to enjoy hearing.

Chrollo was so different from the others you’ve met at the summer carnival.

Maybe that’s why your heart begins to beat fast the moment you catch his eye again. His skin looks almost dewy in the glow of the lights, thanks to the water; his eyes shine, reflecting a soft, warm twinkling glow.

It’s just the two of you. No tourists, no locals, no would-be stalkers. Even the carnival itself seems far away; the lights blocked from view by the rushing water and canopy of the forest, even the wafting smell of popcorn and stale beer was long gone out here.

It was just you and Chrollo in a cave at the end of the evening.

But… it didn’t have to be the end of the evening, did it?

You ask him, this time.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

“I do,” he says. “Very much so.”

This time, your kiss is tinged with the tang of river water.

Five bodies lay scattered in the grass. Young men, young women. Teens that had been giggling and stumbling through the forest, flasks of pilfered whiskey in their bags.

Now some dead and going cold, their limbs twisted, their mouths open in silent screams.

Two were still alive, whimpering, weak hands beating against monsters’ chests as open mouths hungrily lapped up their life blood. They had screamed, all of them, but no one could hear them in the woods--over the water.

“This is a lovely spot,” said a woman, brushing back her blonde hair. A bit of red gore had stuck to the strands and she tsked at the sight of it. “The waterfall adds a nice touch.”

The man hummed, and stuck his hands in his pockets. The slightest touch of red showed on his lips; like a woman pressing her lipstick-covered mouth onto a bit of tissue to get rid of the excess.

The carnage made him indifferent; the whimpers of the dying, even more so. But as he looked around at the carefully placed lights on the trail, the way they flickered against the waterfall and its hidden cavern like delicate stars, he smiled.

“It came highly recommended.”

Sunday: The Final Day

Chrollo was in your bed last night, and you thought he’d be there in the morning. But when the sound of birds pulls you delightfully out of a restful sleep and you blink your eyes open to dappled sunlight through your blinds, you realize that the bed is half-empty.

Just you and the sheets and the leftover smell of Chrollo--cologne and, more faintly, sweat and sex.

You freeze, listening for the sound of someone meandering about an unfamiliar kitchen. He could be up and about already--making coffee or breakfast. The image of him serving up a plate of bacon and eggs almost makes you laugh.

But the apartment is silent, save for your breathing, the sound of a clock ticking in the living room.

Your heart lurches and shame pricks at the back of your eyelids. He fucked you and ran, didn’t he? Just like the others, just like--

But just when you’re about to give into the temptation to scrub yourself all over with hot water and erase every trace of Chrollo that ever existed in your presence, you see it: a piece of paper, torn from a notebook you keep on your dresser. Carefully folded over and placed on the side table next to the bed.

Your name is on it, written in a surprisingly beautiful, scrawling hand.

Curiosity and leftover shame-tinged dread curl together in your stomach as you sit up and slowly pick up the note.

Dear--

Your heart lurches again, for a different reason this time.

I apologize that I did not give you a proper farewell. I had an urgent matter to attend to. Forgive me, won’t you? We will see each other tonight, I hope, for a memorable and unforgettable evening.

Of course he didn’t fuck and run. He wouldn’t do that. And tonight would be--well, memorable and unforgettable, just as he said.

The pitter-pattering inside your chest takes on a new delightful cadence as you get yourself ready for the day. No work--you had Sundays off, thank God, maybe literally, for that. It was a shame Chrollo didn’t tell you where he was staying; presumably, the only hotel in town. But maybe he was at one of the B&Bs or was shacking up at a room for rent.

It would be nice to see him in the daytime, too.

But he didn’t, so you’re left with nothing to do but flick on the TV and make yourself a cereal bowl. Well, that’s wrong. That’s not the only thing you could do. You could go to your parent’s house and help out your mom; she could use a break with caring for your dad.

But… was it wrong to be selfish, just a little, for just one day? You didn’t want to see Chrollo tonight with something unpleasant sticking inside you, on the potential chance that your dad was having a not-so-great day.

It was better to approach your last evening together with a sunnier attitude.

Although you don’t really have a choice, because the first thing you see when the news returns from a commercial break is a giant banner scrolling across the screen: TWO MISSING TEENS FOUND DEAD AT LOCAL WATERFALL. POPULAR TRAIL CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

In the background, the sheriff recites familiar lines about respecting the privacy of the dead, about putting the full energy of the police force into finding the investigation, about how there is no need to panic. He says that it may not have even been foul play.

Somehow, you don’t believe that. You just know.

Sugary cereal seems to lodge itself inside your throat. You were just there. You were just there, kissing Chrollo, holding his hand, and now two teenagers are dead and lifeless and, and--

And if it was that same man… the one who was staring at you, stalking you… how close did you and Chrollo come to dying last night?

Tears prick at your eyes and you grab your purse. Maybe you would spend the day with your parents, after all.

You should be more excited to see Chrollo. And you are, truly. But between the news this morning and the dull realization that this would be your last evening together ever, it’s hard to feel too enthused.

Chrollo would be going home after tonight. Tourist trap over, no need to stick around. Something childish in you thinks: maybe I can convince him to stay a little longer. And if he stays a little longer, he’ll see how nice it is here (it’s not) and maybe he’ll want to settle down (he won’t).

Oh, how stupid. It’s like when you’d meet the endless stream of New Best Friends every summer weekend as a kid, and you’d beg their parents together to extend their vacation.

It wasn’t going to happen. You’ll never see him again after tonight, and you’ll go your separate ways, and that’s that.

Reality sucks sometimes.

You’re still stuck in the dreary shit cloud that is reality when Chrollo’s now somewhat familiar footsteps approach you on the bench. The bench, your spot--your spot? As if you and Chrollo had anything that could be called an actual relationship that warranted the use of “your” plural.

You shake your head, hoping it shakes those silly childish delusions, and force yourself to smile.

Chrollo, to your surprise, doesn’t smile back.

Instead, he leans down, and takes your hand. His eyes roam over your fingers like they’re something special and it makes your stomach flutter stupidly.

“You seem a bit sad,” he says, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss. The way that makes you feel is something you love and hate in almost equal measure. It’s not fair, is it, that he makes you feel this way--when he has to leave, and you’ll never see him again.

Perhaps it’s the knowledge that you will part ways after tonight that makes you speak freely.

“I’m just sad that you’ll be leaving.” He blinks at you, and turns his head a little. “That we won’t see each other after tonight,” you clarify.

You expect him to nod and agree, and perhaps say something trite but comforting, like, “We’ll just make the most of it.”

Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze.

“We don’t have to part, you know.”

It’s your turn to blink. A silly, little-kid-in-you hope does a twirl. He could stay--and this could maybe, possibly, in some far off millimeter of a chance, turn into something more serious than a summer fling. “You could extend your vacation? Your job would do that?”

Chrollo finally smiles at you.

“My life is flexible. But,” and now he pulls you up so that you’re standing. It’s a fluid, easy gesture for him, almost too easy--he’s stronger than he looks. “I was thinking that instead of staying here, you would come with me.”

The world around you is not silent. The carnival is always producing an eternal cacophony of sounds--screaming patrons hung upside down on the more thrilling of rides, cheery carousel music, laughter, popcorn endlessly beating like a fast paced drum, everything and anything all mixed together into a swirl of sound.

But it might as well be silent, because you feel like all you can hear is your heartbeat in your eyes for a few stretched moments.

“What? You’re not serious.” You smile, too, but it feels fake. Like it’s plastered on and cracking underneath. There’s a brief thought--maybe he means, like, for a weekend?--but you instantly know that’s not what he’s talking about.

This is too much, too fast. Too out of the blue.

Chrollo looks at you in a way that almost makes you uncomfortable. Like he wants to see something inside you that you’re keeping for yourself. Then that gaze is gone and he’s smiling softly, charming, a little bittersweet.

Bittersweet is familiar territory, and the ringing in your ears fades in favor of a carnival barker offering 2-for-1 prizes on the Test-Your-Strength game.

Chrollo’s voice cuts through it all, jovial, unassuming.

“We can talk about it later, if you’d like. Let’s go enjoy the carnival a bit more before the concert.”

That would be nice.

“I’d like that.”

And you mean it--you do. You shake your head and let Chrollo intertwine his fingers in yours, and it doesn’t take long for his question to fade away from your mind as you weave in and out of the crowds.

If you weren’t so distracted, so disarmed, you might have noticed an uncomfortably familiar figure clad in black watching the pair of you intently.

The Ferris Wheel worker should have kicked you off several spins ago, but Chrollo had slipped him a twenty as he buckled the safety bar down. It’s nice, this extra time with him--it’ll be the last time you ride the Ferris wheel together, after all.

What did it say about the state of your love life--or your life in general, actually--that slipping a carnie 20 bucks made your heart soar (and twist, and ache) even a little bit?

The night is prettier from the Ferris wheel. The world, too. Up here, you can’t see the grit and grime. The fermenting candy apples littering the ground, dropped two days ago by careless kids; the too-drunk couples arguing about whether they should stay for the concert or not; the exhausted carnival workers smiling hard no matter how much they get yelled at for their rigged games.

All you can take in from up here is the broad vantage point. Crowds and happy sounds--squeals and music interplaying above crowds of people, including a growing crowd on the beach in front of the black stage, waiting for the concert to start.

Chrollo’s grip on your hand tightens and draws your attention back to him. Even he looks more beautiful from up here, with the rainbow lights of the Ferris wheel playing on his face.

“I’ve enjoyed our time together,” he says softly.

Ah, you realize. The extra spins were for the inevitable “we’ll never see each other again but it was a blast” speech. You knew it was coming. Doesn’t make it any less bitter in your mouth. But what good is holding bitterness against your tongue?

“Me too,” you say, and it’s not a lie, even if you hate the way the conversation must end. You try to focus less on the sourness and more on the sweet that came before. After all, Chrollo was… well. Handsome, yes, magnetic, yes. But more than that. He seemed thoughtful. He listened to you prattle on about yourself and your small town, and he didn’t even make fun of you for knowing so many local stories.

He was good in bed, too, wasn’t he? You blink and realize you don’t actually remember all that much about last night, except that he wasn’t there in the morning. Vague snatches rush through your memory. You remember his mouth on your lips, his hand trailing against your skin, removing your clothes. You remember his mouth against your neck, then this teeth, nipping, and--

It’s all fuzzy. But you weren’t drunk. So why--

“Have you thought about what I said?” He asks, and once again you’re pulled away from your thoughts, although this time you’d like to focus on them. Why couldn’t you fully remember last night?

When you don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows.

“About coming with me,” he says, a bit louder, as if you can’t hear him over the carnival din.

You let out a soft puff of a breath, then, and force yourself to focus on the current conversation. For now.

“You’re serious?” You don’t mean to sound so flippant, but you do. Chrollo frowns, just a little, and you feel like a bitch for it. “Sorry. I just--I didn’t know if you really meant it.”

“I am,” is all he says.

You didn’t like the idea of the conversation headed towards Chrollo leaving, but you like the idea of him genuinely asking you to come with him even less. Partly because you know you never could, and partly because there’s some small, stupid, fantasy-of-your-hair-blowing-in-the-wind-wearing-a-leather-jacket-on-a-motorcycle part of you that wants to say yes.

“Chrollo, I can’t do that. I have a job here. A life.”

Chrollo doesn’t let go of your hand, but you can sense the way his muscles tense.

“A job at a local diner slinging hash browns,” he says, voice dry and almost hurtful. You must look offended--are you? You can’t tell--because he turns a little in the seat, trapping you with his gaze. His voice is earnest now, drawing you in.

“Don’t you want more out of life? The ability to pursue your dreams--to figure out your dreams?” One hand goes to your cheek, and his knuckle brushes against your skin. “You could travel. See so much more than your little town. Imagine it.”

An image starts to build in your mind. Unbidden by you, but there, somehow, nonetheless. Of you riding behind him on a motorcycle, holding onto his waist as he takes you wherever you want to go--wherever he wants to go, together. Life would be wild and unpredictable, but easy and fun and--

“My family,” you murmur, and Chrollo seems surprised that you’ve spoken.

His lips press thinner. “You could write to them, call them. No matter at all.”

Whatever fantasy has built in your head gets swept away and the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop. The seat rocks back and forth and the bored (but $20 richer) carnie lets you off. Chrollo helps you as he’s done every time.

You wait until he’s escorted you away from the Ferris wheel to turn and address him.

“Chrollo, I can’t--” You try to find the right words, but there are no right words. “I don’t know you. Not… really. Not enough to give up my life here.”

Chrollo is quiet. He considers you, turning his head a little. You feel awful--maybe you should just end the night here, on this shitty, sour note, because you’ve probably ruined the rest of the evening anyway. You wish he hadn’t asked again before the night was over, but there’s no way to fix it now.

You’re ready to leave, to bite your cheek so tears don’t come. You’re prepared for Chrollo to say something low and insulting, to dismiss you, because why should he waste another minute on someone who would rather stay here in this shitpot of a town than--

“Come along,” is what he says, finally, holding out his hand--to your utter confusion. He still wants to go to the concert? With you? Now?

But you take his hand anyway.

“It would be wasteful to end our evening early and miss the concert.”

His grip is harder than it has been, but maybe you’re imagining it as he pulls you along, weaving in and out as the crowds grow larger and a little more drunk the closer the pair of you get to the beach.

This doesn’t feel right, suddenly. He’s upset, that’s why he’s holding you so tightly. Or maybe you’re upset and imagining it. Either way, it doesn’t feel good. Your primal gut instincts are telling you that it’s better to cut your losses and leave now, then to spend the night with a flipping stomach.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you yell over the crowd.

Chrollo stops, and you stumble forward a little, but he catches you in both arms before you make an ungraceful acquaintance with the ground. The hand not gripping your own gently grasps your chin and he leans in, not quite kissing you. His breath smells off, like rust.

“And miss the grand finale?”

You should insist on going home. Everything’s gone shitty. It’s too crowded and the music will be too loud, and Chrollo is clearly irritated with you--

“Come to the concert,” he whispers, and none of that seems to matter anymore. Of course, you’ll go to the concert. What else would you do?

He keeps his grip on your hand as you walk onto the warm, crowded sands of the beach, even though you have no intention of leaving.

Booze, sweat, and popcorn. That’s all you can really smell now, surrounded as you are by crowds of people jumping and swaying to some rock band you’ve never heard of before; but no one really cares what the music sounds like on a night like this, when alcohol has been flowing and summer is at its peak.

Even Chrollo seems to be enjoying himself, although he’s not dancing. Just holding you, his arm around your waist, pressing his lips now and then to your forehead.

You feel bad. That must be why there’s a pit in your stomach. You were being rude to him. Of course he’d ask you to come with him--if he’s the type to live so freely, he wouldn’t think twice about making the offer. He just doesn’t understand what it means to be rooted down, willingly or not, the way you are.

You can’t hold something like that against him, so you don’t.

Instead, you sway to the music, hips bumping against Chrollo now and then. Maybe after this, he could come back to your apartment again, for one last…

All thoughts in your head are stomped into the stand when you spot the strange man with the cowl in the crowd. He’s standing stock still while everyone around him jumps and dances and flaps their drunken arms.

And he’s looking right at you.

“Chrollo--” There’s no time to waste, and you grab his arm and jerk him towards the direction of the stranger.

But he’s gone. He’s just fucking gone. Cold terror seizes your chest.

“What is it, love?”

The nickname doesn’t even register.

“That--the man--the guy from before--he was there.” Your voice begins to tremble, frightened tears welling in your eyes. “Can we leave? Please?”

Chrollo pulls you closer to him and you feel dim comfort as he wraps his arms around you and presses his lips against your head. But he doesn’t tell you that of course, we’ll leave, of course, I’ll get you somewhere safe, of course, let’s talk to the police.

“Hush.” One hand begins to pet your hair. “Not much longer now. It’ll be over soon.”

“What do you…”

Behind Chrollo, you see another familiar face. Vaguely familiar. The tall man with wild blonde hair, the one who looked like he could snap the Test Your Strength Game in half if he really wanted to--he’s standing still, like the man from before, while everyone jostles happily around him. He’s not looking at you, but that doesn’t make it any less unnerving.

Your eyes dart over the crowd.

There are others, standing still. Others who seem out of place immediately, either because of their appearance or something awful you can’t describe. A woman with pink hair looking impassively as she scans the crowded beach, keeping her body perfectly still. A man with long black hair and something shiny and thin strapped to his shoulder. A woman with blonde hair in a smart black tailored suit that no one in their right mind would wear to a summer night carnival concert. Others, too, all out of place and making you want to be anywhere but here.

And then in a few blinks, they’re all gone. Like they were never there.

Dizziness overtakes you, along with a strange sort of fuzzy fear. Is this what a heart attack feels like, maybe? No, it’s just panic. Understandable but undeniably awful panic.

“Chrollo,” you manage, voice shaky. “Something’s wrong. There’s people, they seem--it’s---I don’t know how to explain, we should--I think we ought to--”

Chrollo doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns you around, keeping you in his arms as he makes you face the stage.

“You’ll miss the concert,” he whispers in your ear.

Helpless irritation courses through you. Who cares about the concert right now? You have half a mind to ask him why he’s not listening to you, but that impulse is gone the moment you see the tall man with blonde hair and impossibly large muscles leap onto the stage.

The guitars and drums come to a confusing, stuttered halt. The lead singer, clad in an oversized black t-shirt with a skull on it, looks like he wants to throw his guitar at the intruder.

“Dude, what the fuck, we’re playing up here, you can’t just--”

Even from your vantage point, you can see the large grin the blonde man sports on his face as he raises his fist and knocks the lead singer’s head off with a single punch.

The body remains standing for a moment before collapsing without grace onto the stage. Blood spurts from the wound, spritzing high enough that it sprinkles the faces of those closest to the stage.

There’s a noise from the crowd that almost, for a moment, sounds like a burst of startled laughter.

And then the blonde man leaps onto the corpse, opens his mouth until it’s gaping far too wide to be human, and begins to suck on the headless neck like a crawfish.

It’s that moment when people finally begin to scream.

Your head jerks towards one of the screams, and she’s there--the woman with the pink hair. Latched onto someone’s neck while blood dribbles from her mouth and the person, eyes bugged out, cries out in wordless pain. His body is cross-crossed with strange cuts, like someone pressed him through a sieve.

You spin around, looking away from horror, only to see it again: the man with the long hair swings something out--a sword?--and strikes someone’s arm clean off his body, then pins that person down and begins to suck at the spurting blood.

That’s not all he hit. The person in front of them, a woman holding two drinks, staggers to the ground. Half her face slides off, revealing bone and brain. Lukewarm beer and gore meet the ground together.

You’re not entirely sure if you said Chrollo’s name, or when he let you go, or what you should do. All you know is that when you finally pull yourself together enough to look at him, he’s simply watching the events around you like a boring television show.

Like people aren’t screaming and running and bumping into you. Like blood isn’t flying. Like you aren’t seeing things that you’ve only seen in shitty horror movies.

He’s in shock. Fuck. So are you, maybe? But it will be up to you to get the pair of you to safety, so you grab his arm and shake him hard.

“Chrollo! We have to go! Now!”

He doesn’t move. You shake him again, and he finally looks at you.

He smiles, and holds out his hand, ignoring your jostling.

“You’ve had time to think about it, haven’t you? Will you stay with me?”

Oh, he’s definitely in shock. That doesn’t stop the impulsive words that flee your mouth as quickly as the people around you are trying--some not successfully--to flee the beach.

“You’ve lost your fucking mind. Let’s go!”

You don’t register what’s happened until you’ve hit the ground. Someone finally ran smack into you, and something--their elbow, maybe--strikes your head, hard. Pain blossoms in your knees and the side of your head when you hit the ground, then explodes when someone steps right on your hand.

There’s a feeling of lost gravity when someone yanks you up--Chrollo--but when you’re on your own two feet, he’s not there anymore.

You call his name. Once. Twice. Three times, four. He might not be able to even hear you over the din, if he’s nearby. Maybe he got swept away by the panicked people. Maybe his shock wore off and he ran to get help. Or ran--and left you.

There are a few moments where you almost run deeper into the crowd to look for him. A stupid thought. But then the wild, shock of fear inside you turns to complete ice and you’re not sure of anything in the world because he’s there.

Standing in front of you.

Close enough to touch.

Your stalker. The man with the cowl. Only the cowl is down, now, and his mouth is covered in a smear of blood. He smiles at you, and it’s not a nice smile at all. His smile grows wider, and you have to blink several times to realize what you’re seeing.

He’s got fangs.

Two of them, red tinged. Sharp enough to puncture your neck.

They’re vampires. Actual vampires. Actual, damn bloodsucking vampires.

There’s a brief, panicked thought--where’s Chrollo?--before your flight kicks in, and you’re scrambling through the crowd like everyone else. You stumble, of course you do. Over bodies, some dead, and you almost fall flat on your face when you make it off the beach and your ankle rolls on the uneven grass-covered ground.

If you were thinking logically, you might have run to the car park, and hopped into your car. You might have run in the direction of the crowds thinking the same, and gotten lost in them.

But there was no logic. Only pure primal panic, the realization that you people were being murdered all around you like animals, and you were one of those animals because one of the monsters was chasing you.

You didn’t dare to look back to see how far away he was; you just knew, deep down, that he was following you now. Running wouldn’t work: you couldn’t run forever, not with the pain in your ankle, and he’d catch up with you even if you weren’t panicked and in pain.

You had to hide. But where? The carnival was all lit up at night, and the beautiful lights that had been fun to see just a day before now made you want to scream. He could see you, just about clear as day, no matter where you ran.

Unless you can find somewhere to hide inside.

It’s this thought that pushes you to dash inside the fun house, sneakers pounding on the silver ramp leading into the entrance painted over like a mouth devouring any children who enter.

The stillness inside startles you more than anything else. The lights are on. The music is playing, quiet, delightful. It’s hard to hear it over the dulled screams coming from outside, and from the awful, pounding rush inside your ears.

You follow the short hallway until it leads to something which you’d forgotten about; but it wasn’t your fault. Panic made you stupid, and you hadn’t actually been inside a fun house in years.

The glass maze. All-see through panels that you’d smash into on an ordinary day, much less this one, where your mind is fried from panic and adrenaline keeps your body from coordinating properly. You smash against the panels a few times before you see it… something, behind you.

No. Not something. Someone behind you. Or near you. Or far away.

You can’t tell exactly where this person is, because of the fucking glass maze, but the fact remains:

He’s there--he’s here--he’s going to get you and kill you and it will hurt so bad.

You scream, at some point, and it’s dumb because the sound simply bounces off your current glass predicament and hurts your ears.

Maybe panic pushes you through, or maybe you’re just good at completing mazes when you’re in fear for your life; whatever the reason, you make it out. You stumble through a hallway made of rollers that nearly send you sprawling, until you’re at the end of the hallway.

A small red spiral staircase, barely usable for adults, is your only hope.

You don’t try to be quiet now and the metal stairs clang under your feet as you run up them, feeling dizzy, feeling like this might be the last thing you ever do in your short, stupid life.

The second floor isn’t entirely enclosed. It opens out onto the carnival in the front, and there’s a slide to take you down near the end. The wall behind you is covered in a series of mirrors--the kind that make you tall or short or wide or impossibly thin.

It’s not the mirrors that catch your eye, though. It’s what’s down below.

They’re all down there. The monsters from the beach. All covered in various amounts of blood and gore. Splatters. Smears. Like they’ve all gotten into different scrapes--killed people different ways.

All of them have blood around their mouths.

Fear rings in your ears. You want to wake up, more than anything. This is a nightmare and you want to wake up.

You don’t wake up.

Instead, you hear a metal clang.

Then another.

And another.

Someone is coming up the stairs.

Thoughts dart here and there, but there’s nowhere for them to go. If you go down the slide, well. There’s a gang of monsters waiting to kill you down below. If you stay up here, well. There’s still a monster waiting to kill you.

The metal clangs again, and again, and again.

He’s coming up the stairs and he’s going to kill you. You’re going to die. Today. Now.

Warm urine runs down your leg and thoughts come, too quick to really process: Mom-dad-school-work-never-did-anything-my-childhood-dog-that-one-time-we-went-to-Canada-to-visit-my-aunt-I-kissed-a-boy-under-the-bleachers-I-forgot-to-tell-dad-I-loved-him-yesterday-I-I-I--

It’s not the monster with the cowl who comes walking up the landing of the stairs.

It’s Chrollo.

It’s like you blink and you’re in his arms, clinging to his shirt and sobbing like a child. He presses a kiss to your hair and you realize, gratefully, that he doesn’t look hurt. No blood on him, no scrapes, no bruises.

“Thank God you’re here. Thank God you’re okay,” you say, reflexively. “Thank God, thank God, thank God.”

Chrollo pulls you tighter against his chest, and murmurs, “God? An interesting choice, my dear, considering…”

You aren’t even really listening. You’re just happy. Delirious, even. Chrollo’s here. He’ll help you. You can make it out together. Somehow.

There’s an almost giddy sort of hope in your chest--until you hear the metal stairs clang again. And again. And again.

You whimper stupidly and pull on Chrollo’s arm.

“We have to get out of here. Somehow. I don’t--maybe we can distract them?” Your eyes glance down at the monsters below you, who only seem to be watching more intently. The man with the blonde hair, which is now caked in blood, has an awful grin on his face. You imagine you can see his fangs, even if he’s too far away for you to properly make them out.

Chrollo doesn’t move. Shock again? Or he sees them, too, and knows the two of you won’t make it a step off the slide before being attacked.

The footsteps on the stairs stop. You look behind you, and your bowels clench at the sight of the monster with the cowl, pulled down, that same small, mean smile on his face.

Your hand tightens on Chrollo’s arm. A sentimental, if selfish, thought: At least I won’t die alone.

Chrollo turns, too, and looks at the man who’s been haunting you for days. Looks at the monster who has already killed people and feasted on their blood; at the creature who will now undoubtedly kill the both of you. Lovers for only a few days, but forever in death.

Chrollo sighs, and inclines his head towards the man.

“Wait a moment, will you, Feitan?”

There were many things you might have said in this moment. Eloquent things. Meaningful things. Things borne from inner betrayal and horror and anger. But all that comes out of your mouth, which gapes ridiculously, is:

“Huh?”

And then something clicks, and realization dawns like a morning you don’t think you’ll live to see. The idea comes naturally, somehow. Borne of a childhood reading books and watching movies about vampires. Bloodsuckers.

Your head turns, and you look over towards the wall of mirrors. You’re stretched thin like taffy about to break, your features a jumble in the dirty, cheap material.

In the mirror in front of Chrollo, which should make him ridiculously short, there is nothing at all.

When you look back at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, he’s no longer the person you met a few days ago; the person you took to your bed, the person you were lamenting leaving. The person who kissed you and made you feel good, inside and out, if only for a while.

He’s a vampire.

“I advise you not to run,” he says quietly, if not, perhaps, a bit sympathetically.

You do, because you aren’t a fucking moron. Though you don’t make it far, as it doesn’t do you any good to run towards the staircase. You run right towards the other monster--Feitan--who grabs you with ease.

He’s faster and stronger than he looks. Maybe they all are. Your body and brain don’t care about that, though, so you struggle with all of your might.

In response, your arm is deftly twisted behind your back and you expect this monster to stop, you expect your arm to meet its natural resistance while you struggle.

He doesn’t. It doesn’t. Your arm snaps and the pain is so sharp, so sudden, that your vision goes blind for a few seconds. In those few seconds, you scream.

When you’re aware of the world again, there’s still the pain. Sharp and awful and renewed every time you jostle your body in any direction.

Chrollo, walking up to you, hums in sympathy.

“I know it hurts, dear. But this is what happens when you don’t listen to my orders. Do you understand?”

The strangest thing (and in a world where the man you fucked last night is currently standing in front of you with fangs, that is saying something) is that Chrollo’s expression is not wild or monstrous at all. If you thought about it, and you’re having a hard time thinking with the pain of your arm and fear of impending death, you might say he looks hopeful. That you will understand. That you have learned something.

And you have. You’ve learned that he’s a liar, that everything he ever said and did was just to keep you around long enough to literally eat you, that he has no morals, no empathy, that he’s not even a person.

“I understand,” you manage, voice tinged and weak with pain, “that you’re a fucking monster.” You spit at him. Or try to. Your mouth is too dry to manage more than a stringy dribble that sticks to your chin.

At this, Chrollo sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns.

“You didn’t speak so crudely to me earlier this week.” A little smile. “Last night notwithstanding.”

Bitter tears well up in your eyes. It was all just a game to him. Cat and mouse. Every smile, every thoughtful word. Every kiss. Your bodies pressed together, his mouth on yours--

“I didn’t know you were a… a… fucking vampire earlier this week.”

Chuckles, from down below. Feitan, behind you, snorts.

Chrollo doesn’t look angry, but you can feel a flash of it ripple through the air. It quiets the chuckles. Feitan tightens his grip on you, and the flash of pain makes you groan and slump forward.

“Regardless,” Chrollo says, “respect must be maintained. I expect you to refrain from these little outbursts. Do you understand?” There’s still a tinge of cooing sympathy in his voice--it makes anger bubble up in your chest.

“Fuck you.” This time, the spit flies, and hits his cheek.

The gestures are slow. Unassuming. He wipes the spit off with the back of his hand. He wipes the back of his hand on his pants. And then he nods at Feitan.

Feitan’s hand reaches around your throat and when you glance down, you see that his nails grow. And sharpen. Sharp enough to cut, sharp enough to--

He drags his hand down your collarbone, and you feel the awful, deep sting of it before you see the blood spill out from your flesh. It coats the bare skin between your collar and the top of your shirt like some sort of morbid camisole.

You cry out, you shriek, but he doesn’t let you go until Chrollo gives him another nod. You’re shoved towards Chrollo, who doesn’t grip you, but merely lets you stand, swaying, in front of you.

When you finally get the courage to look up at him, his pupils are blown up like a shark’s.

“I’d like you to stay put this time,” he tells you, voice deeper, richer, at the sight of your blood. “And not run away from me. I’d like you to listen, and refrain from being… impulsive.”

He leans in, and the scent of rust hits you, but this time you know what it means. “I could make you do it, you know. I don’t have to ask.”

Realization hits you again, and it hurts even more this time. That night, on the dock. And on the Ferris wheel. And how many other times he’d told you to do something, feel something. What was really you, and what was him?

And now, despite all this, despite the scent of blood in the air and the wails of horror coming from the beach, he wanted you to listen to him? The audacity of vampires--it might have been funny, if you were in the mood to laugh.

“Like hell,” you mutter.

Chrollo breathes out through his nose. Impatient.

“I don’t believe I heard you, dear.”

You look up at him, gaze sharper. Heart sharper.��

“Like. Hell.”

The slap you give him is weak. You’re surprised your good arm even managed it, all things considered.

But the shock of the act that ripples from Chrollo to Feitan and even down below is what gives you a few microseconds to escape, to run, ears ringing from the pain of your jostled broken arm, and throw yourself down the slide.

You don’t have a plan. How could you? As soon as you get to the bottom, you’ll just run. Run and maybe die but maybe you’ll get away, someway, somehow.

You don’t get more than a few steps before you fall. Not fall, exactly. Trip. You trip over something that shouldn’t be there, something taught and thin. A wire?

You see, from the corner of your vision, the woman with pink hair yank her hand backwards and the wire that shouldn’t be there slices deeply into both your ankles. Blood seeps through your socks before you even hit the ground.

Your ankles burn and bleed, and new sparks explode behind your eyes when your broken arm smacks the ground at the worst possible ankle. You think you scream, but it’s hard to tell, over the pain.

Chrollo and Feitan jump down from the second story of the fun house. It should break their ankles--it does not.

Someone turns you over on your back with their boot and you’re left staring up at the sky, ink black and throbbing with stars. It was such a pretty night, before all this.

Above you, Chrollo and Feitan look down with decidedly different expressions. Chrollo regards you coolly, with no real expression on his face; it’s like a porcelain mask, indifferent, never-changing. Feitan, on the other hand, is smiling--he’s looking not at you, exactly, but at your blood.

It’s Chrollo who speaks.

“I would like an apology for your behavior.”

If your eyes were not safely attached to their retinas, they might bug out of your face entirely. You are laying on your back with bleeding, mangled ankles; your arm is broken, flopping, useless; a collar of blood adorns your neck. Vampires are standing above you, fangs at the ready, having already spread carnage through an entire beach of concert-goers.

And he wants an apology?

You want him to go away. To not be real.

You want your mom, and your dad, and your childhood bed with covers big enough to hide you.

So you shake your head, helpless, like an infant lying on their back.

Above you, Chrollo says your name. Sternly. Just once.

When you muster up the words, you taste copper. You must have bitten your tongue after tripping.

“F…fuck you.”

Stupid words, you know. But you’d rather your last words be this than pointless begging. Now that would be stupid, begging for your life in front of grotesque creatures who want nothing more than to devour your blood.

Somewhere above you, a gruff voice says, with a hint of glee in his voice:

“Want me to do it, boss?”

Your eyes dart around, but you can’t see anyone else. Even Feitan seems to have stepped back, leaving you with no one but Chrollo in your line of sight.

Chrollo tilts his head a little, considering.

“No,” he says, finally. “Feitan will handle it. I appreciate your methods, but you might break something a little beyond repair.”

Whoever spoke chuckles, but doesn’t disagree.

The words reach you, but you don’t take them in for a slow moment.

Break… break… what else can they break, what else can they possibly do--

There’s a weight above you. A dark one that smells of blood and metal. It’s Feitan. He blocks out everything else, just for a moment, staring into your eyes with their big pupils and blurring tears.

When he pulls back, you see him move, but don’t know what it means until you feel an explosion of red hot pain in your hand--the hand you slapped Chrollo with. Your fingers crunch and break and you try to pull your hand away, but Feitan’s boot keeps it pinned down, grinding his heel until you shriek so loud that you think the inside of your throat will blister.

Time itself is hot and painful. You’re not sure how long it goes. You’re only sure that when you try to move your mangled fingers, they don’t move. Hot, thick pain shoots down them and it makes you stop trying to get up.

It’s not like you could run, anyway.

At some point, you hear a new sound. Sirens in the distance. Police? Ambulances? There’s no hope in your chest, no thought that they’ll save you. Even if they got here in time, the monsters would kill them.

Somewhere above you, Chrollo talks, though his words sound like they’re being spoken through water.

“Take care of them, will you? We’ll meet up near the waterfall before we head out.” A question from someone. A pause. “Yes, I’ll handle her.”

The voices fade away. Either because they’ve walked away, or you’re finally going to die from the shock. That might be a mercy compared to whatever grisly end Chrollo has in store for you. Is this how he planned for you to die, after all? Or was it meant to be swifter? You might have screwed it all up with your running and spitting.

Before Feitan broke your hand, you might have been proud of the spitting. Now you just wish you’d let them kill you quick.

Finally, Chrollo returns to your line of vision. He’s a bit blurry from your tears, from your pain. Probably a bit from your blood loss, too.

He kneels down next to you, and you tense. Even tensing hurts, and you whimper.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Beside you, Chrollo coos. A soft, sticky sound. He takes your broken hand and your voice wants to shriek, but all you can manage is a strangled cry. He kisses your broken fingers like a gentleman.

“Kill you? Of course not.” He presses a last kiss to your mangled hand. “I do want to see that sweet girl from before.. the one who daydreams about strangers and holds onto my hand so tightly on the Ferris wheel.” An indulgent look crosses his face and he gives your broken fingers a painful squeeze that has you groaning.

“She’s still in there, no doubt.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, pushing away the dried salt of your tears. “Buried under fear and pain and newfound knowledge, no doubt.” He smiles nostalgically. “But those can be remedied with time.”

He’s crazy. I mean, you know he’s a vampire, sure. But he’s also fucking crazy.

“I want to go home,” you croak. Even though you can’t reason with crazy. “Please. Please.”

His eyes blink down at you. How old is he, anyway? Centuries? Longer? To him, you must be nothing. Insignificant. Ridiculous.

He doesn’t mock you, though. He only continues stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be your home now, wherever we go. And we will go so many places.” There’s some sort of dulled excitement in his expression that turns your stomach. “And from now on, you’ll do what I say, won’t you?”

Tears spill over your eyes, trickling down over his thumb. You don’t have the energy or the lack of survival instinct to say no. But you won’t say yes, either. You can’t.

“Well. I can make you obedient, if you’d rather be stubborn.”

You’re about to ask--”What?”--when he kisses you, shutting you up entirely.

You’re afraid to move. Your lips tremble against his, thinking only of death--of his fangs. His lips move and brush against your neck, and a mocking forgotten memory of last night flashes through you. He kissed your neck last night, too, a wet, sucking kiss that had your toes curling. Your toes curl now, too, out of fear. The blood from your ankle makes your toes slick inside your shoes.

And then his fangs sink into your neck and hot, searing pain shoots through your entire body, masking everything else. Your ankles. Your broken hand. Your brutalized arm. The cut on your collar. None of them matter compared to this pain, which is not localized at the sight of the bite but spreads throughout your bloodstream, making it impossible to think of anything but how much it hurts.

You’re dimly aware of your screaming. A helpless sound you heard from countless others tonight. Your legs kick, and you realize, vaguely, that you can’t really feel them anymore. They hurt, yes, but there’s a numbness behind it. Are you really moving them at all?

There are more screams now--from the beach. You don’t know how you know, but you do. It’s like you can see it in your mind although you’re flat on your back in front of the fun house with a monster draining you of blood.

The world spins as you imagine how the first responders must be dying right now, while you’re dying. Are they wishing they never responded to the emergency calls? Are they thinking about their families, their friends, and their little dogs, too?

Chrollo’s mouth is against yours again, and you taste yourself on him. Bitter metal, still warm. He’s blurry as he pulls back and bites against his wrist. What should be vivid red blood is dark and ugly--dead. He hovers his wrist above your mouth and the substance drips onto your lips. It’s cold, vile.

A final insult before you die, making you drink this nasty stuff. Vampires have a sick sense of humor.

But what did you know about vampires, anyway?

You black out as Chrollo murmurs something above you.

At least, you think, this is finally over.

You do not wake up in heaven or in darkness, either.

You wake up in a man made clearing, sitting against a tree, with a blanket draped over you. In front of you there is a fire, not roaring but alive enough in the night; a pot with spilled chili lay on the ground. Behind the fire is a camper van with its door wide open.

The corpse of a man is propped against the door of the van, keeping it open. His mouth is slack and ah, he’s not dead yet, is he? There are two glaring puncture wounds on his neck, but he’s still around. His fingers twitch and seem to register you with tired eyes, that drift from your face over to the far end of the camp.

You follow the look, and oh. There are two dead teens piled next to the fire. Already drained, already dead. His children, you think.

The world seems to come into more focus then.

You are, as far as you can tell, alive. You’re propped up against a tree. It’s night time. The people--the monsters, the vampires--are here, in this campsite. Some of them glance at you once they realize you’re awake, but no one says anything.

Strangely enough, you’re not in much pain. Soreness, yes. But you should be in agony. Your hand feels okay--sore fingers, but no longer blinding pain, and you can bend them almost normally. Your arm, too, feels sore but mended. Your hands reach up to your collar, your neck, but there’s no trace of the wounds except a thin scar on your collar and two small bumps on your neck.

How did it heal so fast? Did they bring you here to hurt you again? Keep you like some sort of blood bag?

Your eyes travel down to the blanket draped around you. It’s heavy, comfortable, and stained with blood.

You jerk like you’ve been electrocuted and throw the soiled blanket from your body.

Someone nearby laughs. “Picky princess, huh?” You vaguely recognize the voice--the tall man with wild hair. The one who knocked a man’s head off at the beach.

Just as renewed panic begins to awaken inside you, Chrollo appears from seemingly nowhere.

“You’re finally awake, I see.”

You shrink against the tree, and look around. Could you run into the woods? Were you still in the trail by the beach? How far could you run?

Chrollo smiles, and sits down next to you like this isn’t horrifying or unusual at all. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. There’s nowhere to go.”

Your throat is dry and your words stick to your mouth several times before you can speak.

“Where… are we?”

If you’re close enough to home, you might still get out of this. Somehow. Find a gas station or a rest stop and beg for help.

“Far away from that little town, I assure you.” Chrollo jerks his head back and you finally see the row of motorcycles parked near the campsite. “We won’t stay here for long. We rarely do. Just long enough for you to get healed up, this time.”

Which means he plans to take you with him--with them. For how long? And where? And why? Why take you? Why not kill you, why not drain you dry in front of the fun house and leave your corpse for survivors to find?

You could ask all of these things, but you’re not sure you want the answer. Instead, you give the only answer your mind can manage, which is to curl up against yourself and cry.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, out of practicality more than anything. Your mouth is so damn dry.

“None of that,” he says, a little sternly. His expression softens when you flinch, and he brushes the hair from your face. “Don’t waste your breath on such a silly sentiment. You’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

“You said you didn’t know me well enough to leave with me,” he continues, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, then a warmer one to your unwilling lips. “You said you hadn’t had time to figure out your dreams. Now, you can take all the time you need for both of those things. We’ll have eternity, after all.”

Dull, cold horror pools in your gut.

Eternity.

“Did you… am I… did you make me--”

Your hands shoot to your mouth, to your teeth, feeling for fangs. But there’s nothing new inside your mouth, unless you count the awful cotton dryness that blankets your tongue and teeth like film.

He smiles indulgently, and you hear someone nearby snort.

“No.” A pause. “Not yet, not quite.” He smiles at your ignorance and takes your hand away from your teeth, giving it a kiss that feels like mockery even if you get the sense that he isn’t trying to make fun. “That may come later, if you behave. For now, I’ve made you…” Another kiss, this time with a smile on his lips, as he seems to debate on what to say. “… let’s say, mine.”

You shiver. From fear, and from cold.

Chrollo presses another kiss to your lips, until he can shove his tongue in between your teeth and run it against your own. You taste yourself on him, still, that rusty taste. It makes you gag, and he pulls away.

“You must be cold. I don’t want you catching a chill so soon. Why don’t you go sit in front of the fire and warm up?”

You shake your head, wanting to spit out the taste in your mouth, but not having the courage to do so.

He watches you for a moment. Calculating, cold. He makes you think of an animal, in this moment. An animal thinking on what to do when his prey does something odd in the wilderness.

“Go sit in front of the fire,” he tells you.

And without wanting to, without meaning to, you do. Your body jerks up and you walk over to the fire, with its spilled chili and corpses left in its wake, and sit down.

It’s like before, at the carnival, but different now. There’s no warm suggestion, no soothing manipulation. Only an order that you obey, and that’s that. When you try to push yourself up, you find that you simply can’t make your body do it. You can flex your fingers, your toes. You can move your arms up and down. But you cannot, in any way, stop sitting in front of that fire.

“I’d prefer you to do things willingly,” Chrollo says from his spot near the tree. “But I don’t mind giving orders either, love.”

Love.

You’re not sure he knows the meaning of the word.

But neither do you.

Despite the fact that there are two dead kids and their dying father just feet away from you, you find the fire comforting. It’s warm. It’s bright. It’s everything that the monsters around you aren’t; and you aren’t one of them, not exactly (not yet, your brain screams, he said not yet) and maybe you can cling to that. Cling to your humanity, to get you through this.

The fire crackles in front of you. At some point, Chrollo sits down, and offers you a bowl of chili that they must have set aside for you before knocking the pot down.

It’s lukewarm, and a bit bland. The dying man wasn’t a great cook. But you eat it, slowly, carefully, while Chrollo watches with an almost serene expression on his face. Like watching you eat was the most endearing thing in the world.

Above you, the night sky watches the scene with indifference.

#OH #OH OH OH #this was such a delightful read #the setting #the way you broke things up with the four days #the deaths #holy shit the deaths #and the way Chrollo is so fucking insidious and charming #and whenever that charm factor isn't enough to control reader #time for the mind control #also lol at Feitan being a lil creep and watching his boss go on dates #makes me wonder if he's secretly interested in reader too?#or maybe he just got a kick out of freaking her out #immediately knew this was Lost Boys inspired when I saw 'leather jacket' 'vampire' and 'carnival' all in one paragraph #I WAS SO EXCITED #this fic is so so SO GOOD #carnivals and beaches and the slaughter of innocents #damn tho did they go all out for that last night #also really loved how Chrollo refused to go into the fun house #and how we ended up back there at the end #it added a really nice touch for the reveal #the way the deaths were used to show that more of the troupe were there was cool #wires? that's Machi #blonde woman? yay Paku!#17k words of perfection #absolutely love it #wonderful wonderful fic

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uvobreakmylegs · 15 days

Text

Little Game

A fic inspired by the lovely @cherrysha , the bestie, the discord kitten, the light of my life, the meow meow to my purr. Know I say all this to be annoying. She made a wonderful post on wrestling nsfw with Phinks, linked here, and I had to make somethin too :D

Warnings: nsfw, female reader, size difference, strength difference, established relationship, possessive behaviour, 2k words

It'd started when you jumped on top of him while he'd been getting ready for bed, grabbing his hands and pinning them on the mattress. You didn't know why you'd done it, merely an impulsive whim that had felt good in the moment. The second you'd pinned him down, you'd jokingly asked if he'd surrender.

Instead of what you'd expected, which was a short chuckle and him freeing himself to pull you down in bed next to him so you could cuddle, he'd smiled a bit mischievously, seemingly sharing your mood, he'd allowed you to keep holding on to his hands while he twisted around, making you end up holding the wrists of a man now hulking above you.

"Since you're feeling playful, let's play a game." He said. You swallowed and just tried to ignore what the current position made you think of. It'd truly not been your intention, truly, but with him just out of the shower, his skin still glistening from the water and his hair still damp, you weren't complaining. "I'll show you some wrestling moves, and you'll try to get out of them. Since I can already hear you telling me the games' unfair, I will use minimal strength and give you hints if you can't figure it out."

Hiding how on board you were, feeling it'd be embarrassing, you just furrowed your eyebrows, like you were still doubting. "I don't know, this sounds pretty premeditated. You sure you didn't practice before mentioning it?"

"Let a man have some hobbies." He said amusedly, already looking up and down your body, planning what he'd do. "Now, you up for it? Seems you have energy to burn."

"What's the cash?" At this point you were stalling, the very idea that you'd soon be pressed up close against him making your heart beat in your throat. Even after having been together for quite a while, you still felt like a lovesick girl who couldn't control herself whenever he was any type of forward.

"Oh, I like that idea." As if you'd already agreed, which you'd inadvertently had, he shook off your grip on his hands and flipped you over on your stomach. Immediately he wrapped his arms around your neck and pressed down on your shoulder blades. "How about if you win, I'll give you a massage for your back and shoulders."

Ohh... that was nice. Razor was remarkably good at that sort of thing.

Finalizing his position, he put your right arm between his legs, locking them in place with his knees, though you guessed the squeeze of his thighs would've been sufficient as well.

With his arms around your neck, stretching your spine in a way that wasn't all uncomfortable, you couldn't speak too loudly, but you managed to still get out what you had to. "And if you win?"

"How about you wear my jacket tomorrow?" His legs tightened their hold on your arm, and you were proud of yourself you didnt moan at the feeling. That would've been humiliating. "Weather report said it would be a little chilly tomorrow."

You couldn't think of a single reason why that would be his wish, but since it was easily managed, you decided it didn't matter that much. Maybe he was just so convinced you'd win his little game that it didn't matter what he asked for. Unlikely, knowing him, but maybe.

"That's- That's fine." You acquiesced.

"That's good." He said, sounding much closer than you'd envisioned mere moments ago. "So? What are you waiting for?"

It took a little wriggling, during which your face grew impossibly warmer, but eventually you managed to pull your right arm free, turn around and push the arms covering your neck off. True to his word, he didn't hold you too tightly, meaning that as long as you moved in a way that didn't attempt to pull his body in a different direction, you could get out.

When you'd managed to pull your head free, you looked up at Razor with your lips slightly parted. "And? Was that okay?"

All the while knowing you already looked flustered, Razor's expression and body language didn't betray anything beyond the cheerful smile on his face.

You realized immediately you shouldn't have asked, as his response only made your body tense up further with desire.

"Perfect." He reached for you again. "Now let's try another one."

Over the course of many different positions, each which formed a new little puzzle to get out of, the game continued. Razor's body was a pinnacle of controlled strength and agility as he executed each maneuver, precision shining through each motion. With a firm grip, he demonstrated the art of balance and leverage, his muscles and skin firm against your own. As he guided you through the motions, your bodies intertwined in a dance of grappling and resistance, every movement deliberate and purposeful. You mirrored his actions, competing in this insane game with a determined intensity.

Up until the point that he held you in a position that you couldn't get out of, and despite knowing frustration should be the emotion you'd portray, all you felt was immensely attracted to the man that held you so tightly.

"What- What should I do now?" You asked, nervously giggling when Razor slightly shifted his hold. His body was behind you as he held your hands above your head, his knees wrapped around you and locking your legs still. You didn't really feel like you could slip out of his hold on your hands, but squeezing your legs free didn't seem easy either. Meanwhile, Razor had a whole arm free and could stop you if you managed anything. "Can I get a hint?"

"Hm. What would I do if I were in your situation, or what you should do?"

"If I held you like this you could just tug your hands free." You said, imagining what that would even look like. You'd look like a backpack. The mere thought made another nervous bit of laughter escape your lips. You didn't know why you were so giggly, considering having Razor hold you in this position was a lot, but funny wasn't the specific word for it. "What should I do?"

"Well, I will be honest, this isn't an easy position for you to get out of." He placed a kiss to the side of your face, making you shiver, the current air of competition making the affection feel way more intense. "You could try to headbut me, perhaps, but we both know that won't do a lot. Do you want me to let go of one of your hands? Even the playing field?"

"Would that even help me?"

"Maybe." His own free hand moved to the bottom hem of your shirt, slipping underneath it and quickly finding your chest. He squeezed one of your boobs, and you felt him smile against the back of your head. "It'd be easier to stop me if you had a hand free."

"Then do it." You said, your upper body squirming against him as he continued to fondle your chest. It was insane how aroused you were, and you were glad Razor couldn't directly see your face, though your nervous laughter probably made it clear enough. "I'll try to think of something."

"Sure." He opened his hand, letting you quickly pull out both of your hands. You immediately surged forward, no longer having your back directly against his skin.

While he didn't have to, probably able to just pull you back into position through his hold on your breast, Razor moved up, and pushed your back way further, a gust of air escaping you as within seconds he was now seated on his knees with you on your stomach, your legs still locked.

You hid your arms beneath your chest, but he dug beneath you quite easily, pulling both of your wrists back one at a time. You were once again fully subdued, this time in a lot less comfortable position.

"Hn. This isn't fair." You said, having already known this would be the outcome when you decided to tease him. In truth, you could hardly take it anymore, your cunt clenching painfully with each movement. You just wanted to end the game and get to the part you both knew this was intended to head towards.

"I let you have one of your hands, you took both." He leaned forward, his pelvis directly aligned with your ass. "That's cheating."

"...All is fair in love and war?"

"And which is this?" He chuckled, slowly starting to grind against you. Your breathing was starting to get labored, your mind feeling hazy as you waited for him to fully drop the act. "And by that logic, recapturing you is just as fair isn't it?"

"It-" You moaned loudly as he grinded forcefully enough against you for the bulge to brush against a much ignored bundle of nerves. "I can't do anything against you."

"And yet you were doing so well."

"That's only because-" You realized halfway through the sentence that you didn't want to say it. Didn't want to boost his ego by saying what he already knew. "Just..."

"Hm?"

"Not gonna say it." You said, looking over your shoulder. A mistake, you decided, as seeing Razor half-naked looming over you only served to make your heart beat faster. It was unfair, so so unfair.

Even if he wouldn't rub it in your face or gloat, it felt like losing. Not that you were winning, per se, the original 'contest' seeming far off from what it had turned into.

His smile, the usual one tinged with just the tiniest bit of smugness, widened as he hummed and let his free hand snake around your middle toward your cunt. Even clothed as it still was, feeling his broad fingers push against the fabric felt so good it nearly made your vision double. "Say what?"

"Hmm- Nothing." You tried to increase the pressure against your clit by pressing against his fingers, slowly grinding against the little relief he'd given. "And how- ah, fuck- do I get out of this one?"

"Do you even want to?" He said mockingly, pinching your clit and rolling it while he spoke. "Seems like you're having fun."

You were reaching the end of what you could take, his low voice so close by your ear while you were nearing an orgasm he probably wouldn't give you, and felt your last remaining wall of dignity fall down. "Can't you just- please just- just fuck me?"

"Hm, I don't know." Despite his words, he did increase the pressure he put on your clit, your ass pressing against him just to try and persuade him to just stop this game. "Since that means you're willingly staying in this position, I'd call that your loss, wouldn't you agree?"

You'd wear the jacket for a week if he'd just fuck you at this point. "Fine- fine, I lose, I lose."

The way he rolled your clit around, giving you just enough to feel your body start to shake, but just not enough to cum, made you want to bury your face in the pillow and scream in frustration. He didn't give in just yet. "You sure?"

For a few seconds you couldn't imagine why he would want to win so badly, considering you wearing his jacket would be his sole prize. Immediately you concluded that he was just serious about his games, no matter how silly, which would've been a fair assessment knowing him, but suddenly a thought occured.

You were planning to go out tomorrow with friends.

He'd definitely make you wear the jacket all day if he won, which would be noticeably big on you, notifying everyone with a brain that you were taken or, for those less clever, really into oversized training jackets.

It was a little possessive, and it'd make you seem like a little bit of a dork next to all your friends if they dressed fancy, but it was also quite nearly the hottest thing he could've asked for, you decided.

"I'm sure." You said, looking over your shoulder to make eye contact and smile. "You win."

#aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh #the thought of being pinned down by a beefy man is #o////o #and that man being RAZOR?#yes yes yes please #lol the way he made it easy enough at first to get out of his grip #but ofc eventually he's gonna put you in a position you can't get out of #a shame. getting a massage from Razor sounds really nice #v good v good

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uvobreakmylegs · 15 days

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I have to say, what you wrote was really good. Darlings reasonings from beginning to end, uvo's manipulation, it shows how a victim eventually falls down and becomes hopeless anyways. Reading it i felt trapped also, i even felt uncomfortable but i read it through the end because i wanted to see how it progressed. Then the uvo+nobu you rb. That one was entirely different. I read the tags, ik what im signing up for but that fic still made me extremely uncomfortable and disgusted and that felt scary....did you guy have like personal experience or smtg because 😭

I'm really happy that you thought what I wrote was good but I hope that neither fic affected you badly Dx

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uvobreakmylegs · 15 days

Note

doyou ever write with prompts¿ if so how do you explore a prompt

I don't think I've ever tried using prompts before. Not sure why

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uvobreakmylegs · 26 days

Text

Fight

Pairing: Phinks x Reader

A/N: idk what this is... smthn short for the blond bastard himself... not edited at all purely half baked smut.

Word Count: 700

Warnings: Manhandling

“Want you to work for it.” he smiles down at you, eyes bright as you try to wriggle free from his grasp. He’d taken your phone in a fit of jealousy, lamenting at how addicted you’d been to scrolling and ignoring him.

He was so childish at times, and sometimes that was part of the appeal. For now you could admit his playful tone and wandering hands had you in a bratty mood. He’d started this fight and you were determined to finish it.

You’d been locked in this wrestling match for over half an hour, but only now did he choose a new tactic. His hands are tight on your wrists, forcing you to arch up against him as you try to pull away. His hips grind down into your own, and try as you might, you couldn’t help the whimper that escaped you. Just like him to play dirty, a cocky smile plastered to his face at the way your attempts to get away quickly died with every thrust against your core.

He stills and it takes you a moment before you’re struggling again. Phinks laughs at your renewed vigor. After a few moments of your fruitless attempts to break free, he decides to take pity on you as he lets your hands go. As fast as you were able you scramble backwards, giggling as he lunges for your hips, tearing the fabric of your shorts in the process.

“You’ll pay for that.” you mock growl at him. Phinks laughs again, his chest heaving with the motion and you take the opportunity to slam your body against his, knocking him over in the process. You scramble to keep the upper hand this time, both of you fighting to control the other’s movements, with you also trying to force your hand into his sweatsuit pocket that contained your phone. Unfortunately for you Phinks was much quicker, and stronger. In no time he had your wrists pinned in your lap with one hand, the other grabbing your hip as he thrusted upward, forcing you to whine at the sensation.

“You’re so fuckin’ bad at this, sweetheart.” He chuckles, grinning as you throw him a petulant look.

“If I’m so bad at this, then let go of my hands.” the taunt, as it always does, works and Phinks acquiesces. His nature was so predictable, easy to take advantage of if you played your cards right.

You lunge for his throat, gripping tight enough to shock him, laughing at the look on his face.

When he easily pries your hands away, you squeal, hastily trying to reorient yourself on top of him before his hand roughly grabs at your hips.

“Good job baby….goin’ straight for the throat” his breath is warm against the shell of your ear “shoulda squeezed a little harder. Then, maybe you would’ve won.”

—

“Try to get out of this one baby.”

He’s got his arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling them up to your chest as his hands clasp tightly behind your head. You don’t know how exactly you’d gotten into this position. All you knew was that Phinks had successfully rendered your body and mind into putty.

“C-can’t Phinks” you whine, breathless as his cock drags in and out of you.

“Don’t be a fuckin’ quitter.” he growls, hips snapping up and into you at a punishing pace, uncaring that the angle is driving you to the brink of sanity.

The only sound in the quiet room was the incessant slap of skin on skin. Everything felt hazy, the air heavy as you take breath after shuddering breath.

“Just flex your legs, baby. Break my hold and you’ll be free.” You try to do as he says, but the heat in your abdomen belies any fight you have left in you. The struggle only seems to make Phinks laugh again, the movement forcing your head further down so the only thing you can see is the way Phinks’ cock obscenely fills you with a wet squelch.

His bare chest is warm against your back, heat radiating through you as you try to focus. The overwhelming feeling of being stuffed full only worsened with the angle of which he was driving into you.

“Much better than bein’ on that damn phone, huh?”

#omg Phinks #the man gets jealous when you don't have 100% attention on him #but it's also cute how reader goes along with the playfighting #tho I wonder how often Phinks ends up ripping his SO's clothes #I feel like with anyone in enhancer trio it's probably a lot #also that position they were in at the end #o////o #very nice

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uvobreakmylegs · 26 days

Text

Eviction Notice

A commissioned fic by the sweetest commissioner I could've thought imaginable! Apologies for my lack of content, a bitch has got carpal tunnel. Enjoy, but do read the tags before reading please.

Warnings: yandere, yandere! poly Uvogin x Nobunaga x Reader, noncon, violent thoughts, manipulation, size difference, dead dove, 6k words

Let it be known first and foremost that you’d been the most understanding girlfriend in the history of relationships.

It’d been the topic of many conversations with friends, with family even. Furrowed brows and incredulous looks asking you why you’d agree to the life that came with being in a relationship with Nobunaga Hazama. By now you had a script ready, one filled with well thought out arguments and idioms you’d found browsing blogs of military wives and long-distance relationships advice boards.

It’d been part of the deal, introduced very early into what had been an exciting and passionate honeymoon phase. Your boyfriend was away for long periods of time, of which he couldn’t speak, and while that had taken quite a while to trust as just being a fact of life, you’d been understanding and agreed that would just be a facet of the relationship. You didn’t mind being alone, and he always made sure to love you properly when he came back, though you still sometimes had stress dreams that he secretly had a family across the world that he told the same story. It was irrational, you told yourself, but it helped how dumbfounded he’d been when you’d drunkenly shared the fear.

Here, for many, the worry ended, and your relationship with him was deemed unorthodox, but understandable, as long as it was in the name of love.

You had a few more caveats you kept your mouth about.

Primarily being that along with his absences, he was a bit unsociable. You didn’t exactly live in the city, having chosen to buy a steal of a house in the hicks a few years back just for more privacy and room, the one-bedroom apartment in the city having felt way too cramped. Nobunaga had found the place and arranged most of the sale, the only thing you’d had to do was transfer some money and sign some papers, and now it was yours. The important thing was that there weren’t many people around, and Nobunaga seemed absolutely thrilled about that, which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t also discourage you from being social when he was there, and leave for the other half of the year..

Pleading looks asking you not to stay away too long were the least intrusive of his methods. Arguing over the fact that you were leaving him by himself in the little time you two had together was the more annoying one, always accompanied with arguments that often led to fights, and while you couldn’t prove it, you knew for certain he had hid the car keys once or twice to try and stop you. Immature, annoying and overly clingy, but something that maybe time and communication could heal.

Sadly, you had to admit, inviting people over was worse, since he had a bad habit of making guests feel unwelcome, the cherry on the pie being your cousin asking you why Nobunaga had handed them a ticket to a flight back home three days before they were actually supposed to leave. When you’d confronted him about it, he’d apologized and grumbled that he didn’t like people around his place for such a long time, but that he’d felt too bad mentioning it, knowing how much you were looking forward to it.

Which was the absolute summit of irony, as far as you were concerned.

You put the plate down, taking a deep breath with your eyes closed when you heard the tell tale slamming of the front door. For a second you dreamed the heavy footsteps would just go upstairs, but of course that’d be too convenient.

Grabbing a few forks and scrubbing them clean, you tried to pretend you didn’t hear Uvogin walk into the kitchen.

“Hey.”

You pretended like you hadn’t heard him enter the kitchen, as if that was possible, and shortly looked over your shoulder. “Oh, hey. Back already?”

This man.

Uvogin.

Currently more aptly named ‘the bane of your existence’ in your mind.

Last summer, when Nobunaga had come back, he’d brought back a friend in tow, someone he’d mentioned a few times already but who you’d never met before. When Nobunaga had spoken of his so-called ‘brother’ it’d always been with a smile on his face, recounting Uvogin’s strong personality and penchant for getting in trouble often enough for you to know they were incredibly close.

Whatever you’d pictured, probably someone looking at least remotely like Nobunaga for some reason, the mere sight of Uvogin walking up to the house with Nobu by his side had shocked you so much that you’d barely regained yourself by the time they arrived. He was huge, a dark-skinned giant with unruly long hair, his body probably nearing nine feet in height and broad to match. It looked as if they were both dressed from different periods of time, Uvogin wearing a full-blown bear pelt over his shoulder and some shorts while Nobunaga wore his traditional clothing.

You’d been informed beforehand that he’d stay a while, and you’d looked forward to the company, deciding that a friend of Nobu’s was a friend of yours.

Considering how pushy Nobunaga had been in making sure guests never stayed over for long, it’d surprised you when one week turned into two, which turned into months. You didn’t necessarily dislike the man, despite how cold he’d initially been, but it’d taken a while for the two of you to get along. Even if you had liked him from day one, he was staying over ridiculously long, and Nobu deflected the subject every time you brought it up.

Not a problem, you could be understanding. Again. It was just that Uvo, now that he seemed to like you, seemed to like you a bit too much for your comfort.

“Yeah, wasn’t much to do anymore, especially since it’s gonna rain.” He looked over your shoulder, standing about a few feet too close. “What have you been up to?”

You continued washing dishes as if nothing was wrong. “Eh. Work things. Nothing special.”

“No big plans either?” He placed his hands on either side of the sink, caging you in. You felt the heat coming from his chest and decided this was multiple boundaries crossed in one go. The proximity made a surge of discomfort roll down your spine and you found it hard to imagine he didn’t see you shiver. “You should come along one of these days if you ever get bored.”

“No thanks.” You said definitively, turning around partially to look at him. Casual, composed. As if you weren’t scared of him. “Could you step back? You’re a bit close.”

This wasn’t the first time he’d offered to have you accompany him to his ‘errands’, and it also wasn’t the first time he’d caged you in like that. He always backed off when you asked, but the fact that you had to continuously ask him to back off was annoying in its own right.

Nobunaga entered the kitchen as well, moving past you to grab a beer from the fridge. It was nice weather still, so you’d probably be either spending time by yourself while they both hung out on the porch, or you’d have to suffer through more of Uvogin’s flirtations while Nobunaga just sat there doing nothing. It had put a little bit of a strain on your relationship, you noticed on your own end, though Nobu still claimed to be as in love with you as when he’d first met you.

“For someone as obsessed with her own personal space, you sure don’t hold Nobunaga to the same standard.” A wide grin formed on his face as he mimicked Nobunaga and grabbed some beer from the fridge. “Can hear you two going at it from outside the house.”

The words took a few seconds to sink in, both men already nearly out the door before you realized how fucking rude it was to say something like that, how uncomfortable you were with being addressed like that.

“Could you stop making comments like that?” You asked incredulously, hoping being earnest would work the charm, since historically passive aggression seemed to fly right past him. If he didn’t want to hear you and Nobu have sex, he shouldn’t be overstaying his welcome for weeks on end. “I don’t like them.”

“Hmm? Which part?”

“The crude part.”

“Don’t like the idea of me listening in to you getting fucked?”

“Excuse me?” You sputtered out, looking at Nobunaga for some backup. While he did frown a bit, he didn’t say anything, and for a second you were ready to break up with him immediately. What use was he, was this entire relationship, if he didn’t even protect you when you were being made uncomfortable. “Excuse me?”

Uvo tossed you a smile over his shoulder, one that seemed to invite you to argue further. “Don’t need to repeat it.”

With a final look at Nobunaga, who just shrugged, you turned back to the dishes, taking a deep breath through your nose. You were too angry to think- to speak even. The sole thought going through your head was not just on how to get rid of Uvogin now, but that useless waste of space that you called your boyfriend.

It was a thought you had earlier, but you felt you owed it the five years you were already with him, of which most had been good, to calm down before you made any permanent decisions.

Let it be known that you were the most understanding girlfriend in the world.

Let it be known.

That night Nobunaga, reeking of beer, crawled in bed behind you, waking you up. He placed an arm around you, and to your own surprise you hissed at him, slapping his arm away as if he’d burned you. Wide awake immediately, you pulled the comforter off and stepped out of bed. You’d sleep somewhere else, the thought of lying next to him right now making you boil with anger. Despite your earlier comments, you hadn’t calmed down at all, the very sight of him trying to cuddle with you without even a word said re-igniting the anger that you’d called ‘under control’ before falling asleep.

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!

“I want him out by tomorrow.” You said, steadfast in the ultimatum you’d decided upon before falling asleep. “If you can’t do that, I want you both out by tomorrow.”

For all the agonizing you’d done thinking of what to say, the response to your anger wasn’t nearly as eloquent as you’d imagined. You’d thought of arguments, of ways to de-escalate the situation, of things to say to convince him that it was better for you both if Uvogin would just leave already.

He frowned distastefully. “For fucks’ sake, calm down.”

A comment like that you hadn’t prepared for.

“Calm down? Are you serious?” You crossed your arms, both to comfort yourself and brace yourself for the chill draft you felt course across you now that you were out of bed. “I can’t even have my family over for two days before you start having meltdowns, but he can stay for months on end, trashing my entire house all the while creeping me the fuck out? He makes me incredibly uncomfortable with his continuous harassment, and you pretend like it’s not even happening? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s- I thought you were hitting it off?”

“Yeah, before he started fondling me right in front of you and you acted like you didn’t see it.” Sniffling, you blinked profusely, not wanting to cry, but already feeling like it was a lost battle. Not yet. Not yet. “Do you just not care?”

“Babe-”

“Don’t fucking babe me.” You sneered through the upcoming tears. “I want him out.”

“He doesn’t mean it in a bad way.” Nobunaga tried to appease, sitting upright now. “I promise. I’ll tell him to take it down a notch, and we’ll figure this out, okay?”

Silence fell for a few seconds as the two of you stared at each other. Nobu looked around the room, breaking eye contact, not answering the pleading of your eyes. He opened his mouth and closed it. When he spoke again, he was scratching the scruff on his neck.

“Are you coming back to bed?” He said motioning to the empty spot next to him. “Must be cold standing there like that.”

You looked at the bed and wondered if something was getting lost in translation.

“Are you even listening to me, Nobu?” You tried a softer approach, lowering the pitch of your voice. He seemed discomforted by the sight, which only made you feel worse, bitterness bubbling in your stomach as he couldn’t even face you properly. Why couldn’t things go your way for once? You made so many sacrifices for him, lost so much, but it’d been worth it. This didn’t feel like it was worth it. “I feel like I’m talking to a wall here.”

“We can talk about this in the morning.” He fashioned a smile, one you presumed was intended to goad you towards him, to calm down. “C’mon, I’ll take you out to eat tomorrow, we can make a day out of it. That’ll cheer you up.”

Ah.

“You really don’t take me seriously at all, do you?” You asked honestly, wondering how you could’ve lived together with a man for so long before realizing something so fundamental. Emotions were high, and you’d have understood him advocating his own case, but he wasn’t speaking to you like you were an equal. He was speaking to you as if you were a pet, one that had heard thunder and was quivering underneath the bed. “I’m not asking, Nobu. I want him out. I’m not telling you this so you can calm me down. I’m not telling you this so you can tell him to take it down a notch.. I’m not telling this for you to offer me a different solution, i’m telling you this so you can man up for the first time in weeks and tell your friend to get the fuck out of my house.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Final answer?” You asked coldly.

“I’m not throwing him out, babe.” Nobu ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the bed frame. “And neither are you. Just come back to bed and we’ll fix this tomorrow morning. He’ll apologize to you, I promise, and we can go on. Now, come here.”

Looking at him, you felt a surge of disgust roll down your spine, judging you for ever having found him attractive and amazing. He didn’t have your back, and that was not something you would accept, not after having accepted the twenty-thousand other disadvantages to being with him. At one point, it just was not worth it anymore. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

You turned around and stalked out of the bedroom, a very final feeling of determination pushing you forward. As you closed the door behind you, you heard Nobunaga mumble a very low “I wouldn’t do that.”.

Of course he’d say that.

But you’d do it. You’d find Uvo. Inform him that he’d have to leave, despite what Nobunaga would say tomorrow, and then that would be that. You’d force Nobunaga into a discussion on your relationship with him as soon as Uvogin would leave the premises, and unless he swore to change for the better, you’d kick him out too. Good riddance.

Looking to your right, finding Uvogin turned out to be easier than expected, the man sitting right by the window at the far end of the hall. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself, feeling the edges of your mouth still pull down. You were sure your eyes were puffy, and in your desperation to be heard, you hadn’t had the peace of mind to first change clothes. So here you were, in some short pyjama shorts and a t-shirt, telling a man whose head grazed your ceiling even though you’d measured them being 9 feet high during renovation that he’d need to fuck off.

He looked down at you as you approached, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Good evening.”

“Good-” You stopped your greeting, feeling it was disingenuous. You bunched your hands into the fabric of your shorts “ Sorry for springing this on you right now, but I want you to leave tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Uvogin raised an eyebrow and stood up to his full height, purposefully slow, and took a step towards you. “Why?”

The lighting was low, only the open door to the bathroom providing light for a partial view of the man in front of you.

You looked sideways to the wall, eyes flickering between the bottom of his jaw and the wallpaper. Courage was seeping out of you, the idea of forcing conflict to occur suddenly not seeming like such a good idea. With an even and non-threatening voice, you repeated your sentiments painfully and deceptively calm. “I feel like you’ve been pretty disrespectful to me lately, and overstaying your welcome. I’d prefer it if you left my house.”

The last of your affection for your boyfriend was seeping out of you at the lack of noise behind you. Not a step or a creak of a door. Why hadn’t Nobunaga come out by now to back you up? Did he really just go back to sleep after seeing you storm off? There was no way. He could hear every word from there. Realizing that made you realize Uvogin had probably already heard your entire argument with Nobunaga.

“Damn. Didn’t expect you to come out and say it.” Part of you wondered why you’d even found him here, gazing out the window. What had he been doing in this part of the house? The guest bedroom was downstairs. “Didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Hm. Well.” You were biting on the inside of your cheek. “You did.”

“Sorry about that.” He didn’t try to make the statement not sound like bullshit. “But don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it at least a little bit.”

You sighed, exhaustion overriding the sheer shock you still felt that he felt comfortable saying shit like that. “I didn’t. Now can I get your word you’ll leave tomorrow?”

“Don’t think so.” He leaned forward, looming over you, and you took a deep breath out of shock. “I think you’re lying to me.”

You blinked. “About what?”

“I think you like having me around.” He tilted his head as he tried to read your expression, and you had no idea what you were showing him. “I think you’re just embarrassed you want to fuck me.”

“What?” You hadn’t expected that, but it would stand to reason he was delusional, considering how little attention he’d given to your attempts to make him back off. “No, I’m not.”

He chuckled lowly, and you avoided making eye-contact completely at this point, fearful at the overwhelming lack of sympathy you found in his eyes. “I think you do. You’re just a lil hung up on what Nobu would think.”

“Isn’t- Isn’t Nobunaga your friend? Don’t you think it's rather mean to openly go after me while in our home?” Trying a different angle, you took a step back, the hallway suddenly feeling much smaller compared to when you’d walked up to Uvo. He mirrored your move, not allowing you to increase the distance between the two of you. The urge to sprint away crawled up your spine. “Aren’t you supposed to be friends?”

“Oh? Then where is your knight in shining armor right now?”

“Fuck. I don’t know? Sleeping?”

A miniscule moment before you finally decided to start running, Uvo’s hand shot forward and encompassed the entirety of your head. His palm covered your face, and you felt your breath hit his skin.

Despite your hands immediately shooting up to loosen his grip on you, it felt like pushing concrete in its futility. You couldn’t see anything, the sudden darkness terrifying you as you had no idea what was happening. You flinched as you heard him huff.

“If I lift you up, carry you over to your bedroom and take you as I like in front of Nobu, do you think he’d stop me? Tell me off? Tell me to pack my shit?” Your hands froze in their mission to push and prod and feel for weaknesses to get him off of you. Unbeknownst to you, Uvogin licked his lips at the sight. “If your answer is anything other than him shutting up your cries for me to stop by making you suck him off, I wouldn’t count on it.”

Your voice was muffled, and as soon as the man holding you noticed you were trying to say something, he dragged you to the nearest wall and repositioned his hand so that he was firmly choking you instead of covering your face. Struggling to breathe was hardly an improvement, but at the very least it wasn’t so dreadfully dark anymore. “That’s- please stop, I don’t-”

“Well? Do you think he’d do differently?”

“He wouldn’t do that!” You said, trying and failing to claw at the hand covering your throat, both out of fear and an incessant need to breathe freely. He lifted up one of his knees, digging it in between your legs, using it as leverage to lift you up, allowing you to see face-to-face with him. Your lips trembled at the clear intent leaking through every single one of his actions. He pressed you tighter against the wall, urging you to elaborate, the idea sprouting in your mind that he could kill you so very easily. “Would you- Nobu wouldn’t do that!”

“How about we make a bet?” Came the amused response. Uvogin seemed to be sure of his case, and you hoped dearly you knew Nobunaga better than him. Despite hoping for it to be true, you weren’t sure, and that was agony in itself. “I’ll carry you over there, and if he in any way objects to me touching you, I’ll stop immediately and leave. If he, however, is okay with me showing you a good time, you’ll be a good girl for us both while I take what I want.”

“Hng- I-”

“It’s that, or I take you right here, and we’ll see if he wakes up and joins us before I’m done.”

Nobunaga was still seated upright in bed, wide eyes fixated on the ceiling.

He needed to get up, interrupt what you were doing and get you safely back in bed with him, but for some reason his muscles wouldn’t obey his command.

He knew what would happen. He knew it. He’d known Uvogin his entire life, and there was no way you could walk up to him wearing as little as you did right now without setting him off. Nobu could see it perfectly clear, how you’d walk up to him with puffy cheeks and shimmery eyes, a slightly frightened look in your eyes while asking Uvo to please leave tomorrow, too terrified with him to sneer as you had done with him.

The entire situation was fucked.

At first he’d told Uvo to back off, annoyed he’d even have to ask his best friend to not openly flirt with you, but when Uvogin had told him he was interested in sharing you, Nobunaga had sputtered and acted outraged, but the seed of the idea had been sown. He’d fucked you that night, and despite trying to push away the thought, kept imagining how Uvo was probably jerking off to your cries right now, his hand stroking slowly up and down that massive cock that Nobu had caught glances of in passing, pearly beads of white running down the shaft to the sound of Nobunaga fucking you into the mattress.

And the next day, when you’d been busying yourself re-organising on of your bookcases, and Uvo had slapped your ass while walking past you bent over before loudly exclaiming he’d be back before dinner, instead of loudly telling him to fuck off and apologize, he’d just stared and wondered how your ass felt after a tap like that, the slight burn that was sure to remain after a man like Uvogin put his hands on you, only breaking out of his haze when you’d incredulously turned around and asked him ‘what the fuck that was’.

He’d made excuses for Uvo, protected him from your cute but bothersome wrath for a little longer, all because he couldn’t firmly say that he didn’t want Uvo with you.

Next to every argument made directly by his cock, it also just sounded right to him, natural even. His initial anger at the idea was just having to get used to it, having monopolized you in his mind and in reality for so long already, but now… he could see the appeal.

You’d be angry, sure, but you’d been laughing with Uvogin when he’d just arrived! You clearly liked him, you were just a little overwhelmed by the man, which most of Uvo’s friends tended to experience at one point. It’d also be nice to have someone else out here, someone he could trust not to fill your head with nonsense like those horrid family members and friends you insisted on keeping in touch with. They meant well and clearly meant a lot to you, but he had a very low tolerance for civilian bullshit, and having to listen to their droning on what a normal relationship looked like sometimes made him want to reach for the closest knife.

When Uvo came bursting into the bedroom, you slung across his shoulder, Nobunaga still hadn’t fully made up his mind, but when he saw the look on your face, it seemed you’d made the choice for him. You wouldn’t just forgive him if he called off Uvo, you were terrified and he was the one who’d let it reach this point. Nobu hadn’t even considered the possibility of you leaving him until you brought it up as an option before you’d gone out to confront Uvogin, but if that was an option to you, it’d be better to let this happen.

Rather to have you and share you, even if it was forcefully, than lose you entirely.

Uvo and him made eye contact, and while Nobu didn’t speak, the nearly imperceptible nod he gave Uvo would be enough indication for the latter to know he was in the clear. A wide smile formed on his friend's face as he took you off his shoulder and wrestled you onto your stomach, the shorts torn off without a second thought.

Nobunaga sat up straighter, biting the inside of his cheek as you were manhandled down into the mattress right in front of him, and decided he’d save his excuses to you for when his dick wasn’t more erect than it had ever been.

They were monsters, you decided.

It was the only explanation. No normal human being would do something like this to another person, certainly not one they claimed to love. You wanted to screech to past you to walk past Nobu the second you first met him, to never speak to him, to never move in with him, to never allow this situation to have formed in the first place. How were you supposed to have known?

You cried out as Uvogin pushed your head into the mattress, his hand again covering the entirety of your head. Primal fear set in as your shorts were ripped off, even more so when Uvo pressed his clothed erection against your cunt, the sheer size you could feel making you try to crawl away, a useless endeavor when the man behind you didn’t even seem to have to extend any effort to stop you from doing so.

Nobunaga hadn’t said a word yet.

You tried to lower your ass, to make it more difficult for Uvo to enter you, but his other hand just repositioned you again, a painful squeeze around your head warning you not to try again. He could warn you however much he liked, you weren’t in a state of mind to just lie down and take this. You wanted to flee, to run away and never come back, to call someone you trusted and have them pick you up so you could cry against a normal human shoulder.

Uvogin rubbed the tip of his dick between your folds, and you once again tried to surge away in panic. This time, it didn’t make even the slightest of differences, as he still managed to force his cock in a little. The stretch was painful, the lack of foreplay and arousal on your end making an already tight fit even less comfortable.

“That hurts-” You tried to say, muffled by the comforter. “Stop!”

“Damn,” Uvogin chuckled. “You need to relax a bit. Can’t fuck you like this,” He laughed louder. “and that surely can’t be your end goal.”

It felt like you were about to be torn apart, the sheer size difference already proof of how this wouldnt work, something Uvogin didn't seem to agree on. He shallowly pushed the tip of his dick a little further inside you, the sheer stretch of just the first two inches already making you freeze up in panic.

"How about I just fuck you like this huh? Would you be on board then?" The humor underlying his voice ensured you that he was making fun of you, and that you couldn't trust a word coming out of that mouth. He let go of your face and held your hips with both his hands, allowing you to look up at the traitor witnessing this. Nobu bit his lip and leaned back against the headboard, the fucking coward just enjoying the anger he saw on your face as his best friend kept trying to stretch you out. "Would that be better, huh?"

"Just- just pull out." You said with difficulty, your hands no longer trying to pull at the edge of the bed, having learned it just made it feel like you were tearing yourself apart instead of getting away from the behemoth above you. "It hurts."

"Hmm. Not gonna do that. I'll keep fucking you with the tip until you relax. I don't care if that takes a minute, an hour or the rest of the fucking night." He placed a hand on your lower back, arching your back further. You shuddered. “Does that sound good? Being stretched out by my cock for hours, teased until you can’t take it anymore?”

The very idea that he'd be inside you for that much longer was horrific, but there was something agonizing about being fucked so shallowly, even as girthy as he was. You wanted it done, over with, a bad memory to deal with later, not dragged out like this.

A monkey paw curled somewhere as Uvogin suddenly surged forward, forcing his entire length inside you within a single roll of his hips.

You cried out silently, the very ability to make noise taken from you with a single thrust, as he settled down, letting you get a little used to the new feeling, a very high-pitched noise finally left your mouth before you forcefully tried to focus your eyesight.

He leaned forward and placed a kiss against your sweat-stricken brow, his hips taut against yours and his entire body looming over you, his hands pressed into the mattress at either side of your head. Sounding horrifically pleased with himself, he laughed as he told you "Just kidding."

Barely able to breath, you looked up from the frumpled up duvet to look at Nobunaga with something akin to incredibility and shock.

Your entire body felt on fire, your cunt burning and aching at the sudden intrusion of Uvogin's cock, and all you could do was stare at your boyfriend and wonder how he could just sit there with his hand rubbing through his underwear, doing nothing but froth against himself while watching how you were being violated.

He'd told you he loved you, you lived with him for fucks' sake, had thought of marrying the man for the last few months.

"I hate you." You whispered to Nobunaga as you felt Uvogin caress your ass. "You fuckin' coward!"

Nobu just exhaled shakily.

"Don't be a bitch." Uvogin spoke for Nobu, the hand on your skin suddenly lifted to slap down, making you surge forward to escape the pain. He didn't allow you to move too far from him, thrusting forward to ensure you stayed full even as you processed the pain. "He's being good. Now if you will just settle down, we had a deal."

"I wasn't speaking- aH!"

Another slap took you off guard, and you nearly bit your tongue.

"See, I know you're pissed at Nobu, but he's a little bit of a freak who gets off to this, so good luck trying to appeal to him." While he spoke he rolled his hips against yours, your body shivering at the feeling. "You’re simply gonna have to get used to this, sweetheart. I’ll let things go tonight, since you’ve taken care of Nobu so well and have been a good host, but after today I’ll expect you to be a little more… willing, if you catch my drift.”

You groaned in pain, the place he’d slapped feeling like it was burning, the spot probably turning into a hand-shaped bruise by the morning. You felt that you’d be lucky if your injuries stopped at that.

Raising your head to curse them both out again, refusing to let them ignore you, you were silenced before the first word even crossed your lips, Uvo once again burying your face into your bed.

“As I said, I’ll let it go for today.” He squeezed your thigh as he moved. “But from tomorrow on, you’ll be ours, and that’ll be that. Now, if you can’t say anything nice, Nobunaga might as well make use of that mouth of yours. How’s about it, Nobu?” “That sounds-” Nobunaga spoke for the first time since the two of you had re-entered the bedroom. He looked straight at you, his eyes focused on a sight he’d dreamed about for months. “Really good.”

#OMG UVO YOU FUCKING MENACE #he takes what he wants #absolute bastard #I love him #poor reader tho #they stood no chance Dx #they let him take too much and now they're cut off from the rest of the world #and left alone with those assholes #my thoughts are still scrambled because #Uvo's lines in this #goddamn #'we'll see if he wakes up and joins us before I'm done'#OMGGGGGGGGGG #Uvo knew EXACTLY when reader's patience with him would run out and when he'd get to do what he wanted #and he knows what Nobu's like so he knows how it'll turn out #aaaaahhhhhh I love this #so so so good!!!!!

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uvobreakmylegs · 26 days

Text

Interim

Uvogin x reader

Warnings: mentions of captivity, abusive relationships, abuse, violence, blood, kidnapping, mentions of death

Word count: 9k

2:09 AM

A familiar nightmare wrenched you out of your sleep, one that left your heart pounding and your limbs shaking as you instantly reached for the table lamp, blindly scrambling at the lamp's base before you moved your hand upward to find the light switch. You needed the light on. You needed to be able to see clearly. You needed to know that you were alone – that there wasn't a large figure standing at the end of your bed watching you, waiting for you to become aware of his presence before he snatched you up.

You needed to know that you were the only one in your little apartment.

The light came on and you looked all about the bedroom.

And……

Nothing.

There was no sign of anyone being in there with you. The few pieces of furniture and personal items you owned were in the same places they had been when you went to bed the previous night, and with the exception of your work shirt that hung off the back of a chair, nothing in the room was in any sort of disarray. Nothing torn up or destroyed, no clothes that had been roughly shoved into your aged backpack that hung off the hook on the bedroom door.

And when you looked to the foot of the bed, you didn't see anyone standing before you.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief as you fell back onto your mattress.

Like the other times, it was only a nightmare. It wasn't real, it was only your deepest fears coming out from your subconscious, bringing forward the fears that you tried your best to keep at the back of your head every day. A possibility for your future that you were desperate to avoid.

But despite how often you'd experienced that particular nightmare, that only did so much to calm your rapid heartbeat. After all, he could still find you. Even though you had run so far and done so much to cover your tracks so that following you would be a near-impossible feat, no matter what you did, the fact remained that Uvogin could find you.

With how long you had been away from him, you felt pretty secure that you hadn't slipped up anywhere when you left; if there had been any clue you left behind, any images of you on a security camera that he or one of his friends would be able to see, then he would've gotten you by now. The fact that months had gone by and you didn't see any sign of your former captor had you feeling secure that you had done well when you got away from him.

But he could still find you.

Uvogin liked to travel around when he wasn't with the troupe, usually in search of strong opponents or ways to increase his already astounding physical strength. It was always possible that he might come to the town where you now lived for training purposes. Or maybe he would come for a different reason; maybe he'd come just to see what a remote town in the middle of a frozen wasteland looked like.

Either way, he could always find you. And no matter how much you assured yourself that the chances were slim, the fact that those chances still existed would never allow you to feel completely at ease.

There could always be a morning where your nightmare became a reality.

That thought made you shudder, and you pulled the blanket back up around your shoulders as you curled beneath it, not bothering to turn off the light. You'd need to go into work in four hours, but there was no way you were getting back to sleep before then. At least savor the warmth of your soft blankets before you need to go out into the cold, you told yourself.

You also told yourself not to think about Uvogin while you did that.

But of course, that was an impossible task. The instant you told yourself not to, images of him popped into your brain and he was all you could think about.

It wasn't fair.

After all this time being away from him, the months you'd spent building back up a normal life for yourself as you tried to integrate into your new home, your mind went back to him with every other thought. You couldn't help the way you wondered about what he was doing. Where he was. If today he would casually destroy numerous innocent lives that he wouldn't bother to remember, or if he would decide that the day was going to be a peaceful one. You couldn't imagine his way of life had stopped completely, but it wasn't like every day you had spent with him was one where blood was spilled.

It was only the really bad days that were like that.

Was Uvogin even still alive? That was something else that you thought about. The stress at the thought of him finding you was constant, but if you could have some sort of confirmation that he was dead, it would mean that all of stress could taken off of your mind. Maybe you wouldn't even need to keep living here and go back to the way your life had been before Uvo decided to mess it up for you.

It seemed like a long shot that he'd be dead, though. Especially when you remembered what he was capable of. You had too many memories of the way he could crumple up metal in his bare hands, or how he could take hits that would have demolished a normal person. Hell, not even bullets could do anything to him. So what the hell could even kill a man like him?

You sighed.

It'd be nice to imagine that he'd given up on you, at the very least. That you running and hiding away for so long had caused him to lose interest in you and that he'd shifted his obsessive focus to someone else. A thought that made you feel bad for that hypothetical third party, but it would technically be good for you.

….. What an awful thought to have.

You groaned as you pushed your face into the pillow.

It wasn't fair how he consumed your mind. It wasn't fair how you had this same internal dialogue every morning. It wasn't fair that he was always somewhere at the back of your head from the moment you woke up to the time you went to sleep. It wasn't fair that even in your dreams you weren't free of him.

Why did he need to pick you?

It was useless asking that question – you'd never get an answer for it. Not one that you'd be satisfied with, anyway.

Glancing up again at the time, you found it to be 2:16 AM.

Work was in four hours and you couldn't get back to sleep.

5:35 AM

You winced the second you stepped out the door, the cold air of the outside biting at your exposed skin without mercy. Unfortunately, as much as you wanted to barricade yourself in your apartment until the weather was better, you had to get to work.

And it wasn't like things would get any warmer; the days in Mowbray were freezing all year long.

Being located in one of the coldest areas in the world tended to do that; the town was surrounded on all sides by an icy tundra, a completely barren and snow covered land where nothing was able to grow. The harsh weather conditions meant that for the majority of the year, the main way in or out of Mowbray was by airship. There weren't any roads that connected the town to the outside world, and the vehicles that were capable of getting across the rough landscape were generally reserved for true emergencies. So the only visitors that the town would get that came by land were unusually determined people – Hunters, generally – and they only came into town during the summer months. The rest of the year no one dared venture out into that wasteland for fear of dying and being forever lost, buried beneath the snow.

With conditions like that, there weren't many people living there. The town's total population was just below the three thousand mark, and with a lack of anything one could do at Mowbray, it was a rare occurrence to get many out of town visitors. They usually ranged from relatives of other residents to the aforementioned Hunters, either coming in for a social call or for a job of some kind.

For the people who lived in the town year-round, the majority of them were those who had been born here and were happy with the way their lives were. Things here were simple and quiet, and very few had any desire to leave the life that kept them separated from the rest of the world. Some people moved to the town later in life in search of that peace, finding the way that the world worked outside was too overwhelming. Sometimes those in the latter group decided a few months in that it wasn't worth it and left, but a majority of that group was happy to stay.

And then there were the people whose sole purpose in coming to the town in was order to hide. Like you did.

You weren't the only one, as there were several who lived in the units around yours that raised suspicion. Like the old man who lived across from you with the long-healed burn marks on his hands that he tried to keep hidden. Or the younger woman who lived in a different building who you occasionally saw staring at a photo from a locket around her neck whenever she stepped outside to smoke. And then there was the tenant below you looked to be around your age and was constantly on alert as they always looked around them whenever they went outside, as if they feared they were being followed.

You speculated on what their stories were, what exactly had brought them to a place like this. And you could assume that they did the same with you: watching you pass them by while they quietly wondered what in the world had made you come here of all places.

Those weren't stories that would ever be shared as it was better to keep such things quiet.

As you trudged out into the snow so you could start your shift at the grocery store, you were annoyed with yourself that your thoughts once more went to Uvogin, and you subconsciously pushed the scarf around your face just a bit higher.

At least with living here, it was considered normal to cover up half of your face when you went outside.

5:59 AM

Only the faintest hints of the sunrise were beginning to color the sky when you entered the store and began to set everything up for the new workday. Turning on the lights, checking the shelves to see if any stock was out of place and making sure everything was clean before you unlocked the front doors to officially open the place. You had a routine in place that you followed religiously as you were desperate not to disappoint your boss, an elderly woman named Helena. She owned the place, and she was nice enough to give you a job despite the large gap in your work history, nor did she question you on why you had come to the town in the first place. She had always been warm to you, treating you as though you were one of her own. So after such a sweet old woman had taken a chance on you, you were determined to show her judgment hadn't been misplaced.

Helena had never doubted you, although that sentiment didn't seem to be rubbing off on the other long-time residents of the town.

The bell above the door chimed twenty minutes after the store had opened, and you called out a greeting. There was a mumbled reply in return, and then two sets of footsteps walked further into the store. As you anticipated that whoever had entered likely wouldn't be around long, you took your place at the register so as to be ready for them.

You then overheard part of their conversation.

“What'd you think is making them so antsy?” one man's voice asked.

“Dunno. Could be weather,” a different man answered.

“The weather? Do the dogs get that nervous over that?” the first one questioned.

“Sometimes. Could be that we're in for a bad storm.”

There was a brief period of silence before the second voice continued to say “then again, it could be something else completely.”

“Like what?”

The second man sounded slightly exasperated as he answered “I dunno. We'll have to see what happens.”

The first man seemed to take the hint to stop asking as nothing more was said.

Based on the conversation, you had a good idea as to the identity for at least one of the men, and as the two rounded the corner of the aisle, you found that you were correct in assuming one of them was Marlow, an older man who kept sled dogs. The man who was accompanying him was slightly younger, and you were pretty sure his name was Hugh. Both were carrying drinks and pre-made sandwiches, and they set them down on the counter in front of you.

You began to ring the items up as you asked “find everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

The response you got from Marlow was curt, the exasperation still present in his tone. He wasn't in a good mood.

A shame. You wanted to ask about his dogs, especially with what you had overheard moments ago. But it was better not to as you knew it was likely he would snap at you if you annoyed him too much.

Maybe when he was in a better mood you could ask if his dogs were alright.

They paid quickly once you had finished scanning the items, taking the jenny you'd given them in change and leaving the store to go to their jobs in the oil fields. You and Hugh made eye contact just before they left, and you smiled as you told him to have a good rest of his day.

He looked uncomfortable as he gave a brief nod in response before vanishing out the door, the bell above the entrance ringing out loudly.

It was a little sad that a majority of the townsfolk didn't like you. Most of them merely tolerated your presence while they looked at you with suspicion, not trusting you for a moment.

Helena told you that people would open up eventually. That you just needed to be around for a while before the close-knit community would be willing to let you in. Just be patient and it'll happen someday.

9:03 AM

The front door bell ringing out followed by a “hello there!” brought you out from the back area as you greeted your boss, who seemed happy as she headed towards you.

“How busy has it been so far?” Helena asked.

“It's been pretty slow,” you answered.

She nodded as she removed her scarf, saying “sounds normal for a Thursday.”

“Yep.”

You then remembered the conversation you'd overheard this morning, and you mentioned “I heard someone saying we might be in for bad weather, though, so it could pick up.”

“Really? Who said that?”

“Marlow. I heard him saying that his dogs were nervous.”

“Well, animals do have better senses than us, so they would be the first to know if something was off,” she said.

Helena pulled her coat off as she said “if we are in for some bad weather, it wouldn't be a bad idea to make sure we're fully stocked out front, just in case.”

You nodded, saying “sure. I can get started on that.”

She laughed.

“Not now. Do it when you get back from your break. You look like you could use one,” she said.

“Oh. Okay.”

She was hanging her coat up in the back when you asked “do I look that tired?”

“It's noticeable,” she told you, “did you not get a lot of sleep last night?”

“Not really,” you answered, “I woke up a bit too early this morning and I couldn't get back to sleep.”

You noticed the way her brows furrowed when you said that and you quickly added “it's fine, though. I'll just go to bed early tonight.”

She didn't seem completely convinced, but Helena nodded slowly as she replied “as long as you're sure. But don't be afraid to ask if you need to head home early.”

“I'll be okay. But thank you.”

She let you go after that, and you sat down in a small break room while you did as she had told you, taking out a drink you had packed from your locker.

Now that you weren't keeping busy with work, your mind went back to Uvogin.

It'd be nice if you could talk to someone about it, you thought to yourself. Helena had told you that you could talk to her about anything, and you wondered if she sensed that you were hiding something from her. It'd be nice to let out everything that had happened to you, who had taken you and why you were hiding here.

But doing that felt selfish. Did you really want to destroy an old woman's peace of mind by letting her know that there was a chance a man who happened to be mass murderer who was also obsessed with you might be come here one day? And would she still be nice to you once she learned everything?

It was better to keep it to yourself.

11:00 AM

A new shipment of goods arrived only a few minutes ago Helena left you in charge of the front while she made sure everything was in order. Doing as your boss had told you, you made sure to put out on the shelves wherever there was room. Currently you were restocking some of the shelves of soup that had already been running a bit low.

The bell above the front door rang out while you were kneeling by the shelf, and as you grabbed another can from the box next to you, you called out “welcome! Let me know if you need anything.”

There wasn't any response to your greeting, but you didn't pay much mind to it. You only made a mental note to keep an eye on the checkout counter so you wouldn't leave whoever it was waiting.

Though they didn't say anything, you heard them walk off the mat in front of the door as their footsteps sounded on the hard tiles of the floor. Those same footsteps walked over to the refrigerated section on the other side of the wall, and the hum that came from that section grew louder when one of the doors were opened.

At that point you didn't pay much attention to the other person, your mind going back to the task at hand while you continued to fill up the empty spaces on the shelves in front of you.

You needed to do some shopping of your own when your shift ended, you remembered. The contents of your pantry were starting to run low, and if the weather was going to be taking a turn for the worse, you didn't want to be stranded in your apartment without a decent supply of food.

With that thought in mind, you decided to leave one of the soup cans in the box so you could buy it for yourself later. That was at least one perk to working in a grocery store, and as minor as it was, you smiled to yourself.

The shadow of a person suddenly overtook the end of the aisle that led to the door. Still in the middle of restocking, you placed another can on the shelf as you instinctively looked over to the new presence that you sensed.

You froze.

You stayed in place, looking at the person who was now standing before you and you wondered if this was reality or another bad dream. The shudder that ran down your spine and the feel of the cold floor against your knees confirmed that this wasn't in your head – this was real.

Uvogin was here.

Standing at the end of the aisle.

Staring directly at you.

You stared back, unable to say or do anything, as for a moment, your mind stayed blank.

Then your mind began to race as you were forced to come to terms with your worst-case scenario that was playing out before you: he had found you. You were face to face with the man you had run from, the entire reason you had come to this town in the first place in the hopes that you would never see him again.

But now he was here, right in front of you.

All that time, all that effort had been for nothing. All of it was made meaningless the instant he laid eyes on you. The only thing that was guaranteed from this point out was that you were going to suffer for it, because there was little doubt that he was angry with you.

Your heart began to race and you felt like you were having trouble breathing. But you didn't look away from him.

He hadn't said anything.

What would happen now?

You had imagined him finding you at the store before this. In the times this awful scenario played out in your head, Uvogin would always grab you, toss you over his shoulder and carry you outside, regardless of if you were dressed for the weather or not. You doubted that he wanted you dead, but he wasn't against having you suffer if he felt you deserved it. Would he actually do what you'd imagined for so long? Or would he use threats to get you to drop what you were doing and make you go with him willingly?

Whatever he would do, he would act immediately. That was what you had believed.

Yet Uvogin wasn't saying anything. He was still standing there, his gaze boring holes into you while his mouth was pressed into a hard line. Meanwhile, you couldn't say anything. You were barely able to breathe at the moment, let alone try to get any words out.

A brief bit of hope made your heart skip – maybe he didn't realize it was you?

That hope was quashed within moments as you realized what a dumb thought that was. There was no chance that he didn't recognize you – Uvogin wasn't stupid. Whatever changes you had made to your appearance wouldn't have fooled him into thinking that you were another person, and definitely not after he'd spent so long staring at you. The way he was looking at you now meant that he definitely knew it was you. Trying to act like you were a simple shop worker and nothing more would probably only make him more angry.

Don't make this any worse for yourself

You said nothing, waiting for him to make the first move.

Helena and the deliveryman were still in the back, and no one had come in after Uvogin. It was only the two of you in the store at the moment; a perfect opportunity for him to grab you and take off. Maybe there would be people around outside to see the two of you, but even if they did witness your kidnapping, they wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

Though seeing someone being taken against their will would spur most to action. That thought made you shudder. You really hoped none of them were suicidal enough to try and stop Uvogin. Those were deaths that you didn't want on your conscience. It would be better to beg for their lives now. Promise that you'll do everything he says just as long as he didn't hurt any of the residents of the small town and that the only one he should punish is you. You were at fault for what happened, not them.

You licked your dry lips as you prepared to speak.

Uvogin beat you to it.

Motioning over to the register with his head, he said to you “you gonna ring me up or what?”

He held a six pack of beer in one hand that he lifted up slightly while he said that. Somehow you'd managed to miss that before.

You needed to run his sentence over in your head a few times before you understood.

“Oh…. Okay.”

You kept an eye on him as you made your way to the register, anticipating the moment when he would roughly grab you and take you away from this place.

Yet he didn't do anything other than keep an eye on you as well, and when you made it behind the counter, he dropped the six pack in front of you. You couldn't help but flinch at the loud sound it made when it landed.

You looked at him and then back to the beer. Still no move on his part to grab you.

He…. He really wanted you to ring him up?

With only a single item to scan, the price of the item plus the sales tax added up to the total he owed, which flashed on a small screen in front of him. Upon seeing that, Uvogin frowned.

“Stuff is a lot more expensive here,” he commented.

That time you managed to get out something that resembled a coherent sentence, though you couldn't bring yourself to speak loudly.

“Just about everything comes in by airship,” you mumbled, “flying supplies is automatically expensive.”

Uvogin scoffed.

“So this place is in the middle of an empty wasteland, cold as fuck and you need to pay twice as much for a thing of beer? Seems like a shitty town to me.”

“….. The quiet is nice,” you said.

“Yeah, I'm sure the fact that this place is quiet is why you came here,” he answered sarcastically.

“…. Part of it.”

“Sure.”

You could hear Helena speaking to the deliveryman in the back. As nice as she was, she had a bad habit of chatting with people for just a bit too long.

It was just as well. If she came out and saw how you were right now, she'd assume that Uvogin had done something to you and demand that he leave or threaten to call the police. Depending on his mood, Uvo would respond in one of two ways: laugh it off if he was feeling good or kill her if he was annoyed.

She couldn't save you from him. No one in this town could.

And none of them deserved to die because of you.

Uvogin hadn't taken the beer nor payed for it, and you stood behind the counter, your hands folded in front of you while you waited for what was to come next.

When nothing happened, you chose to break the silence.

“What happens now?” you asked quietly.

“That all depends on what you do,” he answered.

“…. Are you going to kill anyone?”

“That depends on what you do,” Uvogin repeated, “there is a scenario where no one gets hurt and they all live on happily, but whether or not we go that route relies completely on where you choose to go from here.”

Uvogin crossed his arms as he asked, “so, you gonna give me any problems?”

You shook your head.

“Good. Now, where do you live?”

You kept your head low as you answered “Lerch apartments. It's a set of blue buildings.”

“What unit?”

“17E. On the second floor”

Uvo held out his hand as he ordered “give me your keys.”

You complied, reaching down to get the key ring in your pocket and taking off the one that unlocked your front door. He snatched it out of your hand when you held it out for him, and it quickly vanished into the pocket of his jacket.

“Do I need to be worried about any roommates?” Uvo asked.

“No. I live alone.”

“What about nosy neighbors?”

“They shouldn't bother you. The people there tend to keep to themselves.”

Uvogin nodded, then looked to the clock on the wall behind you.

“When do you get off?” he asked.

“Uh, in about an hour and a half.”

“Hm. Alright,” said Uvogin, “finish up your shift and we'll talk more when you get back.”

“Finish up?” you asked. That seemed strange to you, that he'd let you go about business as usual and let you finish your shift at your job. Hadn't the fact that you'd run away bothered him? Didn't he want to leave with you as soon as possible?

“Yeah, it'll look less suspicious that way,” he replied, “unless you wanna get off early.”

You shook your head.

He smirked as he said “I figured. You would rather try to delay the inevitable, wouldn't you?”

“N-no, it's not that. It's Helena. She's older. She needs help,” you said.

“She looked fine to me, but whatever,” he said, shrugging as he added “use her as an excuse if that's what you want.”

It wasn't completely an excuse. She did need help with some of the heavier lifting.

“I'm not using her as an excuse. She's been good to me and I want to help her out,” you told him.

He shrugged again as he reiterated “whatever. As long as you show up in ninety minutes.”

You nodded.

An hour and a half. That was all you had left of this little life you'd made for yourself up here. After that, you would return to what your life had been with Uvogin. Following him around like a pet as he journeyed to wherever he pleased, going with his whims to find whatever interested him most. You had no say in any of it, and if you kicked up too much of a fuss, he'd respond with some sort of violence.

What would he do to you for running?

“Anything else I should know about?” he asked.

“I don't think so.”

“Alright then. I'll be heading off.”

“But before I do that,” he added, “there's something you need to do for me first.”

You immediately became nervous as you asked “what?”

He smirked as he pointed to the cans of beer that were still sitting in front of you on the counter.

“Cover this for me,” he said.

You stared at him for a moment before looking back down to the beer. And after double-checking the amount that was owed, you let out a quiet sigh as you got out your wallet, putting your money into the register and getting out the change.

All this time and he still refused to carry cash.

“Gimme the receipt,” he told you.

You didn't question why he wanted it and just did as he said, printing it out and holding it for him to take.

But when you thought he was reaching for it, he instead grabbed you by the arm to pull you forward, causing the edge of the counter to dig into your stomach while he leaned in so he could whisper in your ear.

“By this point, we both know that you're prone to doing stupid shit,” Uvogin whispered, “and while you won't get very far with this weather, it'll be annoying to hunt you down in that tundra. But if you decide to do that anyway, just know that I'll level this entire fucking town before I go and get you.”

You could sense the grin on his face as he continued with “I'll probably start with grandma back there. Maybe splatter her brains across the walls before I move on to whoever's closest.”

“Please don't do that,” you whispered.

“Then don't run off.”

With that, he let go of your arm, took the receipt that you were still holding, and grabbed the case of beer as he began to head towards the front door.

Before he left, he looked back at you one last time.

He was grinning at you, but there was a look in his eyes that betrayed how he was truly feeling.

You were wrong about what you'd been thinking earlier.

He was angry.

Uvogin was angry at the lengths you'd gone to try and escape him. And now he'd be sitting at your apartment for an hour and a half, stewing in his emotions and becoming angrier and angrier until you got back.

A full body shudder ran through you at the thought of that.

Silently, you walked away from the counter and returned to the box of soup, settling yourself down on the floor before placing the last of the cans on the shelf. The box was empty when you were done, and as you got up slowly and collected the empty cardboard off from the floor, another shudder ran through you at the thought of what he'd be like when you returned to your apartment.

You should've just gone with him.

12:33 PM

The blue building looked foreboding as you approached it, the place that you had called home for so long now feeling like anything but. The dread of what awaited you in that apartment had long since settled in, and every step you took through the snow felt even more weighted down than normal. Yet you tried to keep your pace quick. You told him ninety minutes. That was how long he would be willing to wait before he went through with his threat.

Uvogin would absolutely go through with what he'd told you. He'd likely be even more inclined to destroy the town because of the remote location. Even if someone managed to get to a phone or a radio before Uvogin got to them, it would take hours before rescuers would arrive, and by that point, survivors would be an impossibility.

It was the first time you had considered that scenario, and you felt stupid for it. You had been so desperate for a place that was away from the rest of society that you didn't think about anything else.

But it wouldn't happen. You weren't going to let it. Ninety minutes later and you were returning, just as you'd promised.

Though not without some minor incident. After Uvogin left, Helena had noticed how far your mood had dropped and she'd asked you what was wrong. Unable to tell her the truth, you lied to her and told her that everything was fine. But even with your insistence that everything was fine, she didn't seem to believe you, even if she eventually let it go.

You wished you could've said goodbye to her. A proper farewell to someone who had been so kind, as there was no chance that you would ever see her again. Or anyone here. Helena and all of your neighbors would all become memories of a different time. And you would vanish from their lives without much of a trace. Would any of them wonder about what happened to you? Helena would – she would definitely worry over you, and you already felt guilty for that, for the stress you had yet to put that sweet woman under. Whether the others would care enough to bother worrying wasn't as clear.

You shouldn't be so worried about them, the selfish part of you said. After all, they weren't the ones that needed to deal with Uvogin. You did.

And a different line of thought began to run through your head once again as you made your way up the stairs.

What was Uvo going to do to you?

…. Nothing good, that was certain.

You stopped yourself before you could go any further. It was better not to think about it. Just let it happen so you can get through this faster.

The faster he's finished punishing you, the faster the whole ordeal is over with.

Reaching the door to your unit, muscle memory kicked in for a moment as you reached for you bag with the intent of pulling out your key before you remembered that you'd given it to Uvogin. Still, you tried the knob anyway.

It turned out that he'd left it unlocked as the door opened easily.

You didn't waste any time getting inside, quickly and loudly shutting the door behind you. There. He knew you were back now, like you promised.

Maybe that was enough to put him in a better mood.

Pulling yourself away from the door, you turned and walked in, finding that snow had already been tracked onto the carpet; Uvo hadn't bothered to remove his boots before he barged in. Clearly there was no point in doing so in his mind. You wouldn't be staying here anymore, so who cared if things got messed up?

You found him sitting back against your cheap couch, one foot propped up on your coffee table with a can of beer in hand. There were already two empty cans on the floor next to him. The rest of the room was in a messy state, and when you glanced towards your bedroom, you saw your things had been strewn about. He'd been going through your stuff while he waited for you.

Uvogin smirked once he saw you.

“I'm glad you chose not to be stupid,” he said.

You gave a short nod.

Uvogin pulled the can of beer away from his lips, one of his eyebrows arching up in question as he looked at you.

“What, got nothin' to say?” he asked.

“I don't know what you want me to say,” you answered.

“No? How about 'sorry I put you through all of this bullshit'? That might be a good place to start.”

“… Will me saying that I'm sorry change anything?”

“Nah.”

He pulled his foot off of the table so he could sit up fully, telling you “but after the way I needed to track you down, the least you can do is grovel for me.”

You looked down at your feet, finding it hard to maintain the eye contact he was giving you, and you mumbled out an “I'm sorry.”

“Hmm. Not sure that's good enough.”

A full body flinch ran through you when you heard him stand up, and every part of you wanted to run back to the door of your unit, to try and get away from him. Your hands started to sweat as he approached you and you were scared. You were so scared of what was going to happen from this point.

You made yourself stay in place by repeating in your head that running would only make things worse.

He was on you in moments, and you were reunited with that sensation of how small and weak you felt whenever he towered over you. How easily he could break you if he wanted. How easily he had broken you, snapping your bones whenever you had gone too far for him to laugh off whatever line you had crossed, and that was usually followed by him telling you that it wasn't that bad. You falling asleep while you cried in his arms was an occurrence that was far too common, and only ever served to make you feel even more pathetic. That even after he'd been the one to hurt you, you accepted the comfort he so patronizingly offered you, and the reason why he did so seemed to simply be because it amused him.

Before you met Uvogin, you hadn't thought of yourself as being weak, and during your time away from him, you felt as though you were gaining back some of the independence and confidence you had lost. All it took for those illusions to come crumbling to pieces was a few minutes in his presence once again.

Something violent would follow, you told yourself. Maybe he'd hit you, or maybe the way you were avoiding eye contact would annoy him enough that he'd yank you up by the hair and make you look at him.

Yet the violence you expected didn't come. Instead, he placed his hand on your cheek, his warm skin coming into contact with yours that was still chilled from the bitter cold outside. You stiffened.

What was he doing?

“You wanna try again?” he asked.

Uvogin's tone contrasted the almost gentle touch on your cheek. It held more than a hint of warning – there was a promise that things would be awful for you if you didn't do what he wanted.

You cleared your throat before you spoke again.

“I'm sorry, Uvogin,” you said.

“Yeah? What for?”

“For making you come out here to get me.”

“And?”

“For…. For running from you in the first place.”

“Anything else?”

…. What else was there to say?

“I'm just sorry in general,” you mumbled.

He hummed again, the hand that had been softly caressing your cheek stilling once he heard that.

“Sorry in general,” he repeated, “that's it?”

It was probably the wrong move, but you nodded.

Uvogin hummed again before he made you look back up at him. Surprisingly, he didn't seem too angry. If anything, the look on his face resembled that of disappointment.

“You make loving you really hard sometimes, you know that?”

“Loving me?” you repeated.

“Yeah, loving you,” Uvo said, raising an eyebrow as he asked “why are you questioning that?”

“…. It doesn't feel like you love me,” you answered.

“Why else would I come out here and chase you down?” Uvogin asked.

“Because you're controlling and you don't want to see me get away from you.”

He hummed, shrugging as he said “well, you're right on the second part.”

Somehow, despite the terror you felt of being in his presence once again, you managed to scoff at that. A horribly dumb mistake, as Uvogin's hand on your cheek stilled and he zeroed in on you.

“Got something to say?” he asked.

“….. No.”

“Oh, come on. Tell me the truth,” Uvo said. When you refused to respond, he tsked.

“This is why we have issues, babe. Because you refuse to open up like you should.”

“…. You say that like the issue isn't the fact that you hurt me,” you answered.

“If I treat you rough it's because you're the one who chooses to act out,” he replied, “I've been plenty good to you; the only reason the bad outweighs the good is because you keep fighting me.”

“And you sure haven't helped yourself with this stunt,” Uvo added, “but if being the bad guy means keeping you by my side where you're supposed to be, I'll be the fucking bad guy.”

The air around you suddenly felt a lot more dangerous. Your lip began to wobble while you trembled in his hold. Tears began to well up in your eyes, which Uvogin noticed immediately.

“Starting the waterworks already?” he asked, his tone mocking while he smirked at you.

That was it. The sight of him looking down at you like that was what finally made your composure snap, and useless words began to spill out of your mouth as you clutched at his jacket.

“Uvogin, please – let me go,” you began, “I can't go back to that life you live. Watching you do horrible things to innocent people – I can't do that anymore. I can't stand it. Please just let me stay here. I won't ever leave this place and I won't bother you ever again. I won't say anything to anyone about you or the troupe. Just leave me here.”

Uvogin said nothing, but judging by his expression, he wasn't at all impressed by your speech.

You pushed further.

“Uvo, please. This is what would be the best for both of us. If you really cared about me-”

The next thing you knew, you were on the floor. The side of your head that laid directly on the hard surface was aching, and there was a stinging pain in your opposite cheek as well as on your lip. You reached up to gingerly touch your face with your gloved hand, wincing as the pain worsened when you did so. Running a finger lightly over your lip, when you pulled your hand back, you saw a smearing of blood on the fabric.

It finally registered what exactly had caused that pain, the feeling of a palm against your face that struck you so hard your brain rattled about inside your head.

He hit you.

You finally got him mad enough that he hit you.

You should've expected it – no, you had expected it, and yet it still managed to come as a surprise.

Uvogin's boot roughly connected with your shoulder, and you cried out as you were forced onto your back. The only good thing was that he didn't pin you down like that, pulling his foot away from you after.

He was speaking.

“The cold air must've gotten to your brain, babe. You really think I would just leave you after I found you?” he asked, “that after everything, I'm just gonna say 'sure' and leave you behind in this wasteland? You really fucking think that there's some scenario where you're not coming out of this place with me?”

You felt the blood coming from the gash in your lip, dripping into your gaping mouth and bringing with it the taste of iron. Tears began to flow freely as you brought your hand back up to your mouth in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding.

Uvogin knelt down next to you, saying “I didn't hit you that hard; you'll be fine.”

That statement was horribly familiar. The way he shrugged off your injuries and making it clear that he felt you were overreacting. A single hit from him could kill the average person, but you mattered enough that he would control his strength because he didn't want you dead.

Uvogin scratched at the back of his head as he added “I have to ask, though: what the fuck you were expecting when you say shit like that?”

You didn't reply. Anything you said was likely to make him hurt you more.

After a few painfully silent moments where Uvogin watched you while you began to sob, he got up without saying another word, leaving you where you lay on the floor. You followed him with your eyes, watching until he disappeared into the kitchen, and a few moments after that, you heard the sounds of him opening and closing your cabinets and drawers before he found what he was looking for.

Uvogin returned, settling down next to you and pulling you off of the floor. You protested, feeling the ache in your head becoming worse from how he moved you. He ended up pulling you into his lap, holding a dish towel up against your busted lip.

“Use this before you bleed all over the place,” he told you, encouraging you to take the towel.

When you did as he said and you clutched the fabric up to your face, Uvo kept one hand on your back, rubbing up and down in a manner that was soothing.

Already you were back in that routine. Where he'd hurt you and then follow it up by making a show of kindness, as minimal as it was. And already you were accepting it by leaning into his touch.

Because what else were you going to do?

Uvo's voice cut through your thoughts as he said “we're gonna leave soon. I've got your bag packed, but if there's anything I didn't put in that you wanna keep, now's the time to take care of that.”

You didn't respond. And when you curled in on yourself in his lap while you tried to stifle his sobs, Uvogin didn't say anything further.

1:09 PM

You wished you could've watched as you left the town, as today was the last time you would ever see it.

Technically, you could've done that. But the coward in you feared what Uvo might do to you if he saw that. While you knew that the hit at the apartment was only the beginning and wouldn't compare to whatever punishment was awaiting you once you left the area, it was better not to test his patience and make him angrier with you.

You'd made him plenty angry by now.

At least your lip had stopped bleeding, and instead of clutching the dish towel to your face, you held on tight to the backpack Uvogin had packed for you while you sat in the passenger seat of the heavy duty off-road vehicle he had brought you to once you left the apartment. You didn't recognize it, and it seemed to be doing well enough on the area around Mowbray. He'd stolen it, no doubt, getting the vehicle so he could avoid anyone who would see you two if you left by airship.

Doing it this way was faster, too. Uvo likely had a schedule in his head that he wanted to keep to.

If you making him wait ninety minutes had caused a delay in that schedule, you'd probably end up paying for that, too.

There hadn't been any further violent incidents because you didn't give him any reason to respond in that way. Once he decided that it was time to go he pulled you off of his lap and told you to collect your things, you did as he said, quietly following behind him once he left the apartment.

Uvogin didn't seem quite as angry anymore. And as he drove you further and further away from the small town, he started talking again.

“Anybody there gonna kick up a fuss when they find out you're gone?” he asked.

“… I don't think so,” you said, “my boss will probably be worried, but I don't think she'll be able to do much.”

“You talking about that old woman?”

You nodded.

A terrible thought then occurred to you, and you felt compelled to say “I didn't tell her anything about you. She doesn't know anything beyond that I moved there for a change of pace. She's not a threat.”

Uvogin laughed.

“Relax. If I was worried about that, I would've gotten rid of her before we headed off. And even if you did tell her everything, what the hell is she gonna do about it?” he asked.

Hearing that was bittersweet. It did nothing to make your situation any better, but at least Helena wouldn't suffer because of you.

At least there was that to be grateful for.

Outside the vehicle, it was clear; not even the wind was making any effort to batter at the car. You idly thought how it definitely wasn't bad weather that had been bothering Marlow's dogs.

Another thought: it would've been nice to see them again.

“You gonna miss this place?” Uvogin asked.

“I don't know.”

He laughed a little.

“What, you went out of your way to come here and you didn't even like it?” he asked.

“I was trying to hide,” you began, “and it was away from the rest of society and seemed like a good place to lay low.”

You sighed as you said “but I was never able to escape you, even before you found me.”

You heard the confusion in his voice when he asked “what does that mean?”

Before you could wonder on if you should answer that question, you spoke.

“I thought about you a lot,” you admitted, “every day from when I woke up until I fell asleep, I was wondering how you were doing. You were constantly on my mind and I couldn't help it.”

There was silence after you said that. A silence that lasted longer than you would've expected. And now you were left to wonder if saying that had been a mistake and if you were going to pay for that as well.

It felt like it was impossible for you to stop from screwing up.

Then you heard him chuckle to himself.

….. Why was he laughing?

“I'm really happy to hear that,” Uvogin said.

“…. You're happy?”

“Yeah.”

He then reached over with his hand and tapped against your head as he added “because if you're worrying about me while you're away from me, that means there's some part of you in there that knows you're supposed to be with me. If you really hated me, why would you bother expending that mental energy, right?”

His hand settled on your shoulder, and when you didn't respond he began to squeeze as he asked again “right?”

“… Yeah,” you whispered.

Uvo's grip lessened and he patted you on the shoulder, saying “you should listen to that part of you more often. Then we can avoid shit like this.”

“Okay.”

He patted you again at your soft spoken response before he pulled away, and when you glanced up at him, you noted that he looked pleased with himself.

Today had been a good day for Uvogin. Even though he'd needed to go to extreme lengths to find you, he ultimately did just that and was now on his way back with his reclaimed prize. For him, things were going to go back to the way they were supposed to.

For you, it had been less than eleven hours since the simple life you made for yourself was destroyed with no chance of you ever reclaiming it. The chance that you would be able to escape Uvogin again was next to nothing as he would be sure not to slip up again when it came to you. Your busted lip still hurt, but it would heal up. As would the other wounds that would come as a consequence for your escape.

He would be there for you while you healed, offering those soft touches and kisses while he wiped away your tears. And you would accept them, all the while knowing that every minute you spent in his hold, internally you were breaking more and more.

#reader insert #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere uvogin #uvogin x reader #uvo x reader #yandere #yandere hxh #hxh x reader #hxh uvogin

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