when i love a series, i get DEEP into the lore, which is what i did here lol. but just to clear up some communication, it’s not stated in the manga that tamsy knows about the chokers or if gountess knows about tamsy’s real identity (even though tamsy was seen wearing a choker in his day off chapter). i wrote this oneshot ASSUMING that tamsy knows about the choker maker and since the doll festival arc is coming to an end, i theorize that tamsy will go after gountess now.
the first part of this oneshot (the convo between tamsy and rudo) also did happen in the manga, but rudo unfortunately brushes it off, like BRO YOU WERE SO CLOSE </3
ac goes to marushi_0y
synopsis: exposing tamsy, but this time, for who he really is.
the health room smells like antiseptic and metal and something faintly burnt, probably from the generators outside. the lights hum overhead, too bright, too clean for someone like amo, who looks painfully small in the bed.
she stirs.
it’s subtle at first. a twitch of her fingers. a shallow inhale that turns into a sharp gasp.
“amo,” you say immediately, stepping closer. your voice is gentle on instinct, like you’re afraid anything louder might snap her back in half. “hey. hey, you’re okay. you’re safe.”
amo’s eyes fly open.
they’re wild. unfocused. they dart around the room like she’s counting exits that don’t exist, until–
she sees the IV.
and she freezes.
then she starts shaking.
no sound at first. just pure terror locked in her chest, eyes fixed on the thin tube disappearing into her arm like it’s a snake that might strike if she breathes wrong.
“amo,” you say again, softer. you reach out, but stop short, giving her space. “it’s okay. that’s just medicine. it’s helping you, alright? you were hurt, so they put it there to make you better.”
she swallows. hard.
“i–” her voice cracks. she shakes her head, curls in on herself as much as the bed allows. “i’ve never… i’ve never had that before.”
oh.
that’s it. that’s all it takes for your chest to ache.
“yeah,” you murmur, nodding like that makes it less scary. “i figured. it looks worse than it is, i promise. it won’t hurt you. no one here will.”
behind you, you can feel tamsy before you hear him – leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, posture relaxed in that way that always feels just a little too rehearsed. rudo stands closer to the bed, stiff, eyes flicking between amo and the IV like he’s ready to rip it out himself if she so much as shakes again.
tamsy clears his throat.
“amo,” he says, smooth as glass. “do you remember anything? about who took you?”
the room goes quiet.
amo’s fingers curl into the sheets. she hesitates, eyes flicking nervously – not to rudo.
to you.
you nod encouragingly. “it’s okay. take your time.”
she breathes in. out.
“… a long-haired,” she starts, then stops. swallows again. “a woman.”
the word lands wrong.
not loud. not dramatic.
just… wrong.
you feel it immediately, like a stone dropped into still water. the ripple spreads in your chest, slow and cold.
tamsy doesn’t move.
doesn’t blink.
doesn’t even tense.
“a woman…” he repeats thoughtfully, like he’s testing the word on his tongue. “are you sure?”
amo nods, small and frightened. “i think so. i really can’t remember her face no matter how hard i try to. but i know… her hair was long.”
rudo’s jaw tightens.
you glance at tamsy.
he hums. “interesting.”
that’s it. no follow-up. no push. just that calm, almost pleased little sound before he straightens and smiles down at amo like he’s proud of her for remembering at all.
“you did great,” he says. “get some more rest, yeah?”
later, the lights are dimmed.
amo sleeps again, breathing steady, IV still in place, but no longer shaking like it’s a death sentence.
the three of you step into the hall.
the door clicks shut behind you, and something in the air shifts.
tamsy stretches his arms over his head, casual, unbothered. “so,” he says lightly, glancing at rudo. “you went to see the information broker, right? about the watchman series? and the choker maker?”
rudo freezes.
just for half a second.
but it’s enough.
he shoots you a look – sharp, panicked, because you and enjin explicitly told him not to say a word. because his brain is replaying that mission, the choker maker, the way sound itself didn’t feel safe anymore.
his shoulders tense.
“yeah,” he says stiffly, way too stiff. “uh. he said he has no idea… where to find the cho–choker maker. seriously. he’s such a piece of shit.”
the lie drops like a brick.
you can almost hear it crack.
tamsy studies him.
not angrily.
not suspiciously.
just… patiently. like he’s watching a bad actor forget their lines.
then the elevator dings.
“hm,” tamsy says, stepping inside. “that’s a shame.”
the doors start to close.
you move on instinct, slipping into the elevator beside him. rudo stays where he is, fists clenched at his sides.
tamsy turns back to him, smile easy. “you’ll keep chasing amo’s kidnapper, right? and the sphere.”
rudo nods.
tamsy’s eyes glint. “good. sometimes the hints are closer than you think.”
the doors slide shut.
“good night,” tamsy adds pleasantly.
the elevator descends.
and standing beside him, your stomach twists.
because amo said woman.
because rudo lied badly.
because tamsy didn’t react at all.
and because suddenly, everything feels too close for comfort.
the elevator hums softly as it descends.
it’s just you and tamsy now.
too quiet.
he stands beside you with his usual easy posture, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly like he’s already halfway checked out of the day. the fluorescent light paints him in pale gold and shadow, catching on his hair, his lashes. everything about him still looks harmless. approachable. polite. one could even say he looks like an angel.
your brain, however, refuses to shut up.
amo’s face flashes behind your eyes.
the way she froze at the IV. not confused – terrified. like her body recognized something before her mind could catch up.
a tube. thin. pale. trailing from her arm.
like a rope.
your stomach drops.
tokushin.
tamsy’s distaff. the rope it produces – smooth, obedient, alive in his hands.
your fingers curl slowly at your sides.
that wasn’t fear of medicine.
that was trauma.
and then – another piece clicks.
watchman series.
your pulse spikes.
no one told tamsy about that.
you, rudo, enjin, follo – only the ones who went on that mission knew. you were careful. paranoid. because of the choker maker. because sound itself couldn’t be trusted.
you step out together, walking down the corridor toward his room. your thoughts are racing now, colliding, stacking on top of each other until the picture becomes sickeningly clear.
amo’s kidnapping.
the “woman” with long hair.
the IV that resembles rope.
the watchman series.
the sphere.
it’s all him.
tamsy chuckles softly as he unlocks his door. “you didn’t have to walk me all the way here, you know. kind of you, though.” he glances at you sideways, teasing. “acts of service, i assume?”
you stop.
your voice comes out steady, even though your heart is trying to punch its way out of your ribs.
“can i come in?” you ask. “i want to talk.”
something flickers across his face.
just for a split second.
hesitation.
then like flipping a switch, his warm, polite smile is back in place. “sure,” he says easily. “if you insist.”
the door closes behind you with a soft click.
the sound feels final.
you don’t sit. you don’t pace. you just stand there, staring at him as he turns to face you.
and you drop it.
“no one told you about the watchman series…” you say calmly. “so how do you know about it?”
silence.
tamsy freezes.
not figuratively.
his entire body goes still, like someone hit pause.
inside his head, it’s chaos – idiot, idiot, idiot!, the word ricocheting as his smile dies mid-curve. he can feel the mistake burning under his skin, replaying the moment in the hallway over and over again, every inflection, every word.
too casual.
too confident.
he stares at you.
then he exhales.
long. slow.
his shoulders drop.
“… damn,” he mutters.
and just like that, the tension drains from him. not fear, but pretense. he rubs a hand over his face, then laughs quietly to himself, low and tired.
“you’re sharp,” he admits. “sharper than i gave you credit for.”
your blood runs cold.
he’s not denying it.
so he tells you everything.
about amo – how easy it was, how she struggled, how he made sure she lived. about the watchman series, how he doesn’t just know about it, but owns part of it. how the sphere and the ground are connected in ways no one else has figured out yet.
“i’m the closest thing you have to the truth,” he says softly. “whether you like it or not.”
your body shifts before you can stop it.
just a step back.
just enough.
his eyes follow the movement.
and his smile fades.
“… you’re going to tell the others,” he says quietly.
you don’t answer.
you don’t need to.
he sighs, almost disappointed. “that’s a shame.” he looks at you, genuinely regretful. “i was hoping you’d stay on my side. i really do like you, you know. i would’ve spared you.”
before you can react, tokushin unfurls.
rope snaps out fast, too fast. it coils around your wrists, your arms, your torso, binding you tight before you can even inhale properly. another strand wraps around your mouth, gagging you, swallowing your shout whole.
you stumble, restrained, heart slamming against your ribs.
tamsy steps closer, unhurried.
“shhh,” he murmurs. “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a book.
your heart drops.
black cover. familiar logo.
the watchman series.
panic floods you, hot and suffocating.
“this,” tamsy says calmly, flipping it open, “can alter memories. rewrite them. erase things that get… inconvenient.”
your thoughts are screaming now.
i’m screwed. i’m so screwed.
his smile softens as he looks at you, almost tender. “don’t look at me like that. this is just another act of love.”
in your head, you spit back at him, venomous.
is love redacted from your dictionary? you’re fucking sick.
tamsy tilts his head. chuckles.
“love is subjective,” he replies smoothly, like he heard you anyway. “and i’ve always been very… thorough with the things i care about.”
warnings: 18+ minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, smut, tamsy (the warning is tamsy), no manga spoilers but possibly manga vibe spoilers (if that makes sense?), tamsy is a freak, pretty graphic depictions of choking/fantasies about choking, noncon/dubcon, tamsy is jerking off on the reg to the mental image of you and your choker, tokushin being used as god intended, minor blood kink but only as it relates to possessiveness, mentioned human trafficking, tamsy is really out here trying to trigger a ptsd episode, submissive!reader, sadist!tamsy bc duh, manipulative!tamsy bc duh, yandere!tamsy bc duh
notes: tumblr didn't like my original title for this so I had to settle for this less good title and I'm sad. ofc my first fic in over a year was never going to be easy.
words: 4k
minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not comment, like, or reblog
Chokers are so universally worn on the ground that they hardly warrant a second glance. Some people try to turn them into a true accessory by attaching charms. Others wear them as bracelets rather than around their necks. But no matter how people dress up or style their chokers, there’s nothing remarkable about them.
And yet, Tamsy finds himself unable to look away from yours. At first, he thinks it’s as simple as wanting to savor the sight of something wrapped around the elegant column of your throat. He’s spent countless hours imagining it’s one of Tokushin’s ropes circling your neck instead of the communicator. He’s spent just as many hours fisting his cock and imagining taking Tokushin’s rope once it’s around your neck and tightening it with his bare hands until your teary eyes roll back as you lose consciousness.
But for as much time as he spends fantasizing about your throat, his hands, and navy rope infused with Anima, he knows it’s something more than that.
So then, he thinks it's because he's the one who gave it to you when he found you, when he saved you, and recruited you for Team Eager. Just knowing that an object he gave you is constantly hanging around your neck, and that it carries his blood, is enough to make him hard — especially when he thinks about how your blood is imbued in the choker around his own neck.
He remembers that when he first cut his thumb to swipe his blood along your choker, it took monumental self-control to keep from shoving it past your closed lips and forcing you to drink his blood straight from the source — so that a piece of him would always be part of you. And when you hesitated to cut yourself for a brief moment, looking to him first for assurance, before nicking your finger and giving your blood to his choker, the urge to grab the digit and give it a harsh suck had been almost painful to suppress.
However, even his sick satisfaction with knowing that you never take off the choker, not even when sleeping or showering, isn’t enough to explain what has him so obsessed with the ubiquitous device.
The answer finally comes to him one day, months after his perverse fixation began, when you’re sitting innocently across from him and he’s daydreaming about stringing you up in Tokushin’s net and fucking you from behind, your bonds only tightening with every brutal thrust of his cock into your dripping and abused cunt. You’re complaining about the paperwork Semiu has been nagging you to complete, protesting that as a giver who rarely, if ever, sees combat, you’re ill-suited to filling out reports. You insist that it should be Team Eager’s leader — giving Tamsy a pointed look — that should have to complete them.
It’s as he gives you an indulgent smile and gently admonishes you — just enough affection and amusement in his voice to keep it from feeling like he’s lecturing you as he says that Semiu is just doing her job as the Cleaners’ receptionist — that he gets to the part in his fantasy where reality crashes down on him with all the strength of a trash beast.
Because in his head, he imagines slipping his fingers beneath the back of your choker and yanking on it hard enough to have your back arching in an unnatural angle, or as unnatural an angle as Tokushin’s iron restraints will allow. But then he realizes that you’re wearing your choker so tightly that he doubts his fingers would even fit between the thick cord and your fragile skin.
Where everyone else's chokers hang loosely around the base of their necks, roomy enough that they usually leave the hollow of the throat exposed, yours is snugly wrapped around the middle of your neck.
The revelation — because it truly is a revelation — goes straight to his cock, and he’s thankful for how the many layers of fabric that make up his baggy uniform, the table between you that hides his lap, and his unflappable nature all work in his favor.
In all of his many, many, many fantasies, never once has he imagined that having something tightly wound around your neck — whether it’s his hands, Tokushin’s ropes, his belt, his tie, the hose to his oxygen tank, a seatbelt in the backseat of one of the cars, even his own long, silky strands on more than one occasion — would actually be welcome.
There’s a small part of him that’s disappointed. Your tears, your choked pleas for him to stop, your nails biting into the backs of his hands, your fingers frantically trying to yank whatever’s around your neck loose, your gulping gasps when he withdraws his cock from your throat that last only as long as it takes for him to constrict your air supply again, and the look of betrayal in your shining eyes as the light fades from them have always been integral to every fantasy.
But the disappointment is quick to pass because while you clearly prefer having your choker snug, he thinks that if you were ever forced to confront it, you would be left lost and confused about what it might say about you. After all, when he found you, when he saved you, the first thing that you had done was to beg with tear-filled eyes for him to break the constricting metal collar that your captors had welded shut around your neck.
So his fantasies begin to take a slightly different shape. You’re still helpless beneath him. You’re still desperately trying to loosen the grip on your throat. You’re still crying and pleading and wasting what precious little breath you have to ask him why. But now there’s an added layer.
Because now, when he dreams of you helpless beneath him, your pussy is dripping with the sticky strands of your arousal. Now, when you desperately try to loosen the grip on your throat, your pussy clenches down around his cock in time with every squeeze of his hands. Now, when you’re crying and pleading and wasting what precious little breath you have to ask him why, it’s not why are you doing this to me, Tamsy, but instead why do you like it when he does this to you.
He knows it might break you to realize that the symbol of your captivity, when your worth was measured only in a monetary amount, is the same thing that makes you wet. And he hopes for it.
It’s easy to find you alone, wandering the halls of HQ late one night. It’s no secret that you’ve always kept odder hours. However, it’s not him who finds you but Tokushin, one of its threads silently trailing after you in the dark. The yarn is light enough that you don’t notice it as it slides up your body, closer and closer to your neck.
You remain so clueless, even as the thread reaches your choker, that Tamsy feels like it’s his duty as a fellow Cleaner to caution you about being more aware of your surroundings. But for now, he’ll reap the rewards of your ignorance as he uses Tokushin to pop open your choker and remove it from your person entirely.
He watches you from the other end of the hallway with a frown as you continue to walk away, Tokushin retreating towards him, the end of the string wrapped around your choker. You really should be paying better attention, even in the safety of HQ.
When it reaches him, he plucks your choker from Tokushin’s thread before it rewinds itself around the wooden spindle in his pocket. Anima drains from the object and it becomes a simple distaff once more.
The choker is warm between his fingers, still carrying your body heat after having been flush with your skin for so long, and Tamsy can’t help but rub it slowly against his cheek with a contented sigh. He could spend the rest of the night just savoring the feel of your choker, but you’re about to enter the stairwell and he doesn’t want to let you get too far.
He calls out your name and you come to an immediate stop, your foot hanging in midair above the first step down. You look back and when you see him walking towards you, you turn to face him fully, the curious frown on your lips quickly morphing into a cheerful smile.
“I didn’t realize you were back already. I thought the job was gonna take another day or two,” you greet him. “Did everything go all right?”
He smiles in return with a nod and an affirmative hum, but your attention is quickly drawn away from the topic of his assignment to the choker twirling around his index finger. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. You instinctively bring a hand up to your neck, only for shock to light up your features when you realize that it’s your choker that Tamsy is twirling around his finger.
“You dropped this,” he needlessly points out, both the dark and your surprise providing him with enough cover to keep his gaze trained on your fingers as you rub the bare skin of your throat where your choker usually sits.
“Yeah, I guess it got loose. Thanks for grabbing it. It would have been so annoying if someone else found it first,” you reply, your nose wrinkling at the thought. “I’d never hear the end of how I’m constantly losing things.”
“It’s a good thing I’m around,” he offers, his tone benign. He gestures for you to come closer and a rush of satisfaction courses through him when you close the gap between you without a second thought. You hold out your hand to take the device from him, but he shakes his head and leans down to meet you. “Let me.”
Your eyes briefly widen in surprise, before hesitation creeps into your demeanor. You slightly curl in on yourself and your hand drops from your throat as you begin to play with your fingers, a clear sign of your nervousness.
“A-are you sure?” you ask, suddenly extremely conscious of how little space there is between you.
“Mhmm. This way I can make sure it’s on right,” he explains, entirely rational. He’s already opening it and raising the band before you can protest any further.
It’s a simple thing — all he has to do is loop it around your neck and snap it shut, maybe give it a gentle tug to ensure the clasp isn’t faulty. But he didn’t orchestrate this late-night run-in to be done with it all in a few quick seconds.
So, he leans even closer in and takes his time sliding the choker around the back of your neck. He skims his fingertips along your skin under the pretense of trying to guide the band to the exact spot where he knows you wear it. You’ve never had a very good poker face, and even if there weren’t only a few inches separating you, he would never miss the shiver that runs up your spine at the sensation.
“You know, I’ve noticed that you wear your choker a little tighter than most people,” he remarks absently as he fiddles with the ends.
He thinks if you weren’t so thrown off by the unexpected turn your night has taken — or if you weren’t so trusting of him — you might think it odd that someone with his skills in combat is taking so long to do what’s essentially an everyday task.
“Y-yeah, I guess…” you murmur, clearly distracted by the way his thumb sweeps a small line right up the center of your throat. “I haven’t really thought about it. It just…seems like that’s how it should fit.”
When he brings his face just a little closer to your neck, he can feel each one of your exhales on his temple. He’s sure you’re aware of it as well, considering how your breathing starts to quicken.
“It’s just a little surprising since you spent so long with something trapped around your neck,” he says. His tone is casual, like the observation just came to him and that he doesn’t think much of it. His words are punctuated by a soft click! as he snaps the choker closed, and the noise combined with the abrupt mention of your past has you freezing. “And they kept it tight, didn’t they? I can still see the scar here.”
“I d-don’t…it’s not…” you stumble over your words, unnerved by the reminder of your time in captivity and the collar that you had been forced to wear for so long that it left a permanent ring etched into your skin.
You can faintly recall how self-conscious you used to be of the scar when you first joined the Cleaners, and how it was only the scar that took up almost half of Tamsy’s face that eventually eased your anxiety. Because, while you don’t know the history of it, if he could wear a scar so prominently on his beautiful face without a care, then shouldn’t you be able to as well?
“Actually, I remember being surprised you took the choker to begin with. I thought I’d have to convince you to at least wear it on your wrist,” he muses with a soft huff of laughter. He continues to fiddle with the clasp, tightening it so slowly that you don’t even notice — like a frog jumping into warm water without realising the temperature is incrementally increasing.
He’s so close that he doesn’t only see you swallow, but the sound echoes in his ears. Your tongue peeks out as you lick your lips and he has to hold in his sigh of longing at the hint of pink, settling instead for relishing how your wet lips now shine in the moonlight filtering in through the windows.
What he wouldn’t give to see you drooling around his cock, your spit messily trailing past your chin and down your throat to coat Tokushin’s fibers, your saliva becoming another cherished part of his Vital Instrument.
“Y-you said it was important for me to wear it. That it connects us,” you finally reply, breathless from the position he has you in and the topic he’s brought up. He glances at you to see the slightly dazed way you’re staring at the ceiling, fully exposing your throat to him, too trusting to be aware of the danger he poses.
“That’s right,” he hums pleasantly. “It ties us together.”
With your gaze directed up and away from him, he allows his mask to slip for the briefest moment, his lips stretching into a wide, sadistic grin as he suddenly tightens your choker beyond how you normally wear it. Your reaction is instantaneous — you gasp, your body tenses, and your hand makes an aborted gesture to grab onto the front of his jacket, your senses half a second behind your reflexes, before it changes course and reaches up to the choker itself, only for him to bat your hand away.
“Tamsy! It’s too tight!” you protest, although it comes out as more of a wheeze, your chest rising and falling rapidly as panic begins to build. He’s never heard you say his name with such anguish and it sounds so beautiful, like a perfect melody.
His posture straightens as stands back up to his full height, looming over you in the dark, and when he sees the mixture of confusion, fear, and alarm on your face, it’s almost enough to make him groan and shove you to your knees — all that’s missing are streaks of his cum.
But it’s the desperation he sees in your eyes that will stay with him forever, the way you’re pleading with him because you know that he’s the only one who can provide you clemency. It’ll fuel every fantasy he has of you from that point on. Every time he imagines something wound around your throat or his cock pistoning in and out of your pussy or your knees forced wide open by Tokushin’s strings, it’ll be with the same desperation coloring your expression.
He turns pitying as he looks down on you. He’s released the choker — it’s tight enough that it stays in place without needing to be held — but his hands are still loosely hanging around your neck. He soothingly rubs small circles on your throat with his thumbs as he shushes you, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal.
“Shhhhh, you’re fine. It’s just a little snug,” he consoles you, every word dripping with condescension as he makes light of your distress.
“Tamsy,” you beg, helpless to what you believe is his uncharacteristic cruelty, but he just shakes his head and gives you a look of sympathy.
“I can’t make it looser. It could just fall off again,” he explains, as if he’s telling a child why they need to take their foul-tasting medicine. He almost sounds pained, like it hurts him as much as the choker is hurting you. His thumbs haven’t ceased moving along your throat and he softly gives you another shush. “You’ll get used to it.”
It looks like you’re about to protest and tell him again that it’s too tight.
“Be good for me and take it, okay?” he breathes into what little space remains between you, and he’s surprised he doesn’t come on the spot with how quickly the fight drains from you at what appear to have been the magic words.
“These chokers are the only way you and I can stay constantly connected,” he murmurs as he watches how your breathing begins to calm, your tension easing with each rub of his thumbs. “So, you have to be good.”
You nod dumbly in his hold and he lets one of his thumbs trail just slightly down until it’s right above the center of your choker. He waits half a beat and then applies just enough pressure on the middle of your throat for it to be noticeable. He wonders if it’s going to set you off again, especially when your hand suddenly grabs his wrist, but rather than trying to push him away, you simply cling to him — like those pathetic little kittens hanging from branches in those lame motivational posters that turn up every so often in the trash.
While his expression remains sympathetic, as he takes in the way your lips have slightly parted, how your pupils have blown wide, and how your breathing is picking up again, only this time not from panic, he can hear the resounding cackle in his head as his internal self celebrates the realization of his fantasy.
He stays perfectly still, allowing himself another minute to savor the moment, before he loosens his hold on your neck, although he refrains from releasing you altogether. Instead, he returns to fiddling with the clasp of your choker, as if he’s checking one final time that it’s secure.
“Now, aren’t you gonna say thank you?” he gently teases you. However, the small, playful smile that tugs at the corner of his lip is belied by the flash of something darker in his eyes.
It takes you a moment to come back to yourself. Your eyelashes flutter as you blink and your tongue makes a second appearance that evening when it darts out again to wet your lips.
“T-thank you, Tamsy,” you say in a broken whisper, and he internally scoffs in disbelief over how good his luck is that not only does he have his hands around your throat, but you’re actually thanking him for it.
“Anything for my favorite teammate,” he assures you with a smile so genial that it has his eyes turning into two crescents. He slowly lets go of you entirely. But as he drops his hands back to his sides, it doesn’t escape him how your own hand is reluctant to release his wrist.
He takes a step back, putting a more appropriate amount of space between you, as the tense and heated aura hanging over you both slowly begins to dissipate. However, he can see how the awkwardness still continues to linger in your form, like you’re not sure what’s just happened or how to act.
“You really should get on a more regular sleeping schedule,” he gently chides, his tone laced with concern. “Don’t I owe you a trip into town soon? How am I supposed to take you if you’re going to sleep just as the day is starting?”
The nagging seems to reestablish the sense of normalcy you were desperately scrambling for because your features scrunch together unattractively. He watches with hawklike eyes as your hand absently reaches up to instinctively adjust your choker before you realize what you’re doing and drop it.
“You’re starting to sound like Delmon,” you grumble, your fingers toying with each other again to keep them busy, and he snorts with amusement. “Fine. I’m off to bed.”
You give him a half-hearted wave as you begin to head in the direction that you both came from. But just as you pass him, he says your name and loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you before you can make it much further. You look up at him curiously only to freeze, because while he’s still wearing the same smile that you’re so used to seeing from him, there’s now something about it that unsettles you.
You don’t know what it is or why you feel your skin breaking out in goosebumps, your hair standing on end. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about how he’s looking at you, but for some reason, you feel like you’re trapped in the threads of a spider’s web. What confuses you even more is the unexpected urge you feel to squeeze your thighs together.
“You look good with a collar,” he says, looking pointedly down at your choker.
Your mouth suddenly feels dry. Dread pools in your stomach. A small tremble appears in your fingers.
Not once have you ever thought of the choker you willingly wore — that keeps you connected to the people you’ve come to care so dearly about — as anything similar to the collar that tore your skin and chained you to your captors.
But is he right in referring to it as just another collar? You’re becoming increasingly aware of how tight the choker feels around your neck all over again.
“Tamsy…” you trail off, entirely helpless before him.
He simply smiles in return, as if his words hadn’t sent you spiraling, and lifts a hand back up to your neck, his baggy sleeve sliding down his forearm as he does. He manages to squeeze the tip of his left pinky — the only one he still has — beneath the band’s center, making you flinch harshly. With the finger he’s hooked around it, he gives it an unexpectedly harsh tug that has you tripping slightly towards him, before he releases you again. Your own hand comes up reflexively to rub your throat as you watch him with wide, teary eyes.
“All that’s missing is a little bell, so I always know where to find you,” he teases, but there’s something slightly darker in his tone that makes you think for a second he’s not joking. You forcefully shake your head and tell yourself to forget it because this is Tamsy. “Be good and get some sleep, okay?”
You can only nod dumbly in response as he gives you one last smile before walking away towards the stairs, where he soon disappears from your sight. You’re left alone in the dark and silent hall, confused, shaken, and with no one for company but the shame that creeps up on you as you notice how wet you are.
synopsis: tamsy likes to do fucked up shit to you and then take away your memory of it :( | Season 2 / Chapter 88+ SPOILERS
tags: noncon, mentions of memory altering, gaslighting, defending ones self from accountability, noncon bc thats the whole fic really, restraints, female reader, p rubbing on v (idk what this means¿) fingering, mentions of oral sex, noncon again to be safe...., underwear as protection idk, tamsy is his own tag(¿)
wc: 1.3k
an: i am an enjin girly i swearrrrrrr..... however manipulative men really get me on my knees so. get him out of my brain! if theres any errors i apologize in advance! this is either my second (or first) public post since maybe 2022 and i wrote this originally as oc x canon content but reformatted to share with the world. not expecting tew much outta this but i hope this finds its way to the right people i suppose... also not rlly proofread, im pretty much editing as i import from notion to tumblr since again this was written as ocxcanon content beforehand
Curiosity is a wonderful, human, little thing. Humans crave to understand what they do not know, and some go as far as to let their curiosity kill them where they stand.
That is one thing Tamsy has noticed since coming to The Ground.
Mainly, when it comes to you.
Ever since he wrapped you into his orbit, he has noticed how curious you are about the world, about the practices of others, about your own Jinki.
And with that, Tamsy has started to devlop his own curiosity — and ever since finding the Watchmens Book, and thus the ability to alter memories — he has been able to stretch the limits of his curiosity in a non-harmful way.
He's been testing it, curious to see just how much the human mind can take before it breaks; and you are his favorite and only test subject. He led you to the dungeon a few days ago; he just wanted to see you panic a bit, the intention was never to go this far. He meant to stop it long before it got to this point, but you are such a beautiful captive.
Really.
He blames it on the curiosity.
Leaning back, Tamsy settles against the wall, making himself comfortable on the floor. His hands flex, squeezing the meat of your waist experimentally as you squirm helplessly on his lap.
It's wrong, he knows it is.
The way you got frustrated when he shoved you to the ground and began shackling your arms together. The way you tried to ask questions while he ignored you. Those were your usual reactions.
But the crying, the pleading? Thats when Tamsys curiosity finally caught up to him.
It was new.
The way you shook under him when he kissed you. The sound of your breath hitching when he licked and bit at your neck. The panicked sobs when he started tugging off your pants, begging in the sweetest tone he's ever heard.
Even now, you're still crying so beautifully.
“Tch, I told you to stop doing that.” Tamsy hums, finger tugging on the band on your thong and letting it snap back against your skin.
You sniffle, body still shaking with ridisual sobs. “I-I can't. I’m uncomfortable a-and you're touching me!” You wail, body starting to twist in his grip again.
Digging his thumbs into your skin, he forces a squeak from your body; completely disregarding your resistance. His cock twitches in his boxers, already having discarded his pants before pulling you on top of him. He wonders what's going through your brain; when the horror will stop or how long your have to endure being trapped in his claws.
He drags your hips across him, flush together with his as your body moves along his cock.
Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and fucking forth.
It's not long before precum starts collecting against and his thoughts start to turn in his head.
It's not bad if he doesn't actually penetrate you.
He's just curious.
That's what he'll keep telling himself anyways.
“I’ll be gentle. At least, I’ll try to be. Kay?” Tamsy chuckles softly, forcing you off his lap and onto your back; adjusting himself on his knees after lazily shoving his boxers down.
You cry, kicking you're legs in protest. “W-Wait! Tamsy! I-I thought we–we were friends! I-I—Please! Wait!” You sob, one of Tamsys hands coming down to dig into your flesh of your hips in warning, holding you firmly in place on the cold and unforgiving ground. With his free hand, he presses a finger against your clothed core, dragging it along your folds and tracing the outline. Your pussy flutters, and he fights the urge to lean down and lick at you instead, wondering if you taste as sweet as you sound.
He dials it back, rocking forward slightly on his knees; his cock begging for attention that he's too preoccupied to give it.
He has so many ways he wants to break you.
There can always be a next time. A first time all over again.
He can alter your memories over and over again, have you experience true fear in a cycle you will never remember.
He finds your clit through the thin material of your thong, rolling the bud through it with this thumb. Your sobs begin mix with unsure moans, every sound you make is music to Tamsys ears. Each sound and whimper more intoxicating than the last, and it quite possibly one of the most beautiful sounds hes ever had the pleasure to hear.
Its not long before wetness starts collecting, slowly starting to seep out of you and dampen your underwear. Smiling to himself, he glaces down to you; your cheeks fluttered red, tear streaks dragging down your face, eyes squeezed shut.
Thats okay, he doesnt need you to look.
He pushes a finger against your entrance curiosly, panties slipping inside of you with a slick squelch. You moan, arms fighting against the shackles, desperate for something your brain can't figure out. Your back arches off the floor, hair splaying so beautifully underneath you even as it begins to bunch up around you.
He's not actually touching you. So it's fine. Thats how it works.
At first, Tamsy feels like it's an experiment, teasingly prodding your hole over and over until both your underwear and your body fall compliant to him.
"T-Tamsy–nngh—" You sob, choking on your words as he slides two fingers inside of you, fighting against your underwear to get deeper. Despite your cries, your body seems to be enjoying every last plunge of his finger as Tamsy finds a simple rhythm.
He hums approvingly above you, eyes trained on where his fingers join your bodies together. Your underwear does little to stop him; in his eyes it's doing its job. He retracts his fingers for a moment, before pushing them back in with more force then necessary, adding a third finger.
A sob claws it way from your throat as you start twisting and turning in his grasp again, the strech of Tamsys fingers is all but tearing you apart; fresh tears starting to leak from your eyes. "T-Too m-much, 's too much! Tam—f-fuck—T-Tamsy!" You whimper, finally opening your eyes to try to find his gaze.
Even as you cry, he doesn't let up, completely absorbed with watching your body react to every stroke of his fingers. He can feel your gaze on him however, eyes flickering up to meet it; he might as well at least offer a shred of kindness. “It's not. You can handle it.” He coos in response.
You always will.
Your body responds to him like you doesn't have a say, toes curling in your socks. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave; crashing over you with enough force to steal yur breath, body pulling taut at the foreign feeling. It feels good, and you hate that it does, gasping as fingers work you through your orgasm.
Above you, Tamsy smirks.
Cold and calculating, as if you are nothing more than a means to end for him.
That this is something he must do, something unavoidable.
Your brain is fuzzy, soft sobs still licking at your throat, cries begging to be heard.
“You're doing so good for me, not even fightin’ back as hard as I thought you might.”
You aren't isn't sure how long the torture continues for, mind blanking out as you come to terms with your very real reality.
The daze is broken however when you feel his cock brush against you, sliding along your folds as he retracts his fingers, still not satisfied.
He uses his hand slready soaked with your juices to pump himself twice before hes rutting up against you; free hand digging into your hip and using it to guide your body against his. Tamsy can feel his control slipping, nails biting flesh like pinpricks and you thrash underneath him.
You struggle, crying at every roll and snap of his hips as he tries to let this be enough.
This has to be enough.
“You're okay.” Tamsy murmurs, bringing his unclean hand to your hair, dragging to down your face to cup your cheek. “This isn't so bad—nghh—I’m being so good, so gentle with you, aren’t I?” Hes talking, but hes not really looking for a response, absorbed with rutting against you until he's content.
Content: Tamsy Caines is Bad at Feelings, POV Tamsy Caines, Tamsy Caines Spoilers, Gachiakuta Manga Spoilers, Reader-Insert
Pronouns: None
Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!
This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.
Tamsy hated you.
You were supposed to be nothing more than a pawn, less than that even. And yet somehow—someway, he found himself adjusting his plans around you specifically. Honestly, you were making his fun easier. You were a sickeningly sweet person (if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that you were a liar him), easily making friends with those you met. Rudo was one of those many, of course.
He had played with many, many ideas of hoe he could use you to further Rudo’s plummet into madness.
He could lock you away for a while like Amo, but that would be boring (and he might not even give you back). Maybe go on a mission as a pair, but come back alone? Claiming that you were ravaged by the trash beasts (it should be him), leaving all the best parts up to Rudo’s imagination.
A fun thought he had was to tell you everything, then rewrite your memories, but leave a few things intact. Give you a sense of déjà vu every time you looked at him (keep your eyes on only him). And if you were to ever speak up about it, no one would believe you because he was just “Tamsy” and by that point you would just be “you”. No, you’d be a shell of yourself by that point, who had already falling to these feelings you had about him. And, instead of pushing you away, he’d pull you in closer. Forgive you for everything, and—tell you everything all over again! Relishing in the way your face crumbled or the laugh that left you breathless. Two sides of the same coin of despair—The loveliest part of you. But alas, all good fun died out eventually, and so, before you’d run off and run that pretty, pesky mouth of yours.
Then he’d do it all again.
Ah…what the fuck was he doing.
Tamsy hated how he loved you
This man has infected me like a fucking parasite. Do y'all know how many times I've refreshed the "tamsy caines x reader" tag? A LOT.
This feels like shit, but I need to do SOMETHING we need more fics around here and STAT
