Yes the AO3 omega April fools joke was exceptionally funny but actually seeing AO3 on April 2nd without a beta status is sending me.
What do you mean it’s not in beta anymore? Isn’t that it’s thing? Just to exist in a perpetual state of almost ready. Do I too need to grow and change and become an actualized product? I am not ready.
synopsis: even when everyone starts to mysteriously avoid you, there are three hybrids who are more than happy to keep you company. and yet, something doesn't seem to add up...
part 1 can be found here
In all your years as a licensed hybrid doctor, you've never been this free at work. The office is eerily quiet, your schedule has a concerning lack of appointments, absolutely nothing. You've been staring at your screensaver for the past hour.
You could've sworn your regular patients were starting to disappear on you, actively avoiding you and choosing to wait in line for another doctor.
Come to think of it, it seemed like everyone was avoiding you. The hybrid fighters, the doctors, even the friendly old lady who works in finance only gives you an awkward smile before swerving in the opposite direction instead of striking up a conversation like she usually does.
Before you could come up with a possible explanations, your door slammed open, startling you.
In walked in the three exceptions to the situation at hand. Fenrir, Jörmun, and Zephyr. Top of the entire hybrid fighting league, these three hybrids were the only ones in this building who treated you normally. No averted gazes, no whispers behind your backs, or scuttling away from you.
Just a little too friendly at times.
"Doc!" Zephyr, the cheerful and extroverted hawk hyrbid exclaimed, with his arms oustretched as he rushed towards you for a hug. "It's been so longgg, we missed you so much~"
"Hey-" You held out a hand to stop the incoming hybrid but he only used it to pull you into his embrace. His arms wrapped around you tightly and his large wings closed in, effectively cocooning you in his embrace.
"It hasn't even been 24 hours, Zephyr," you huffed, resigned.
"And that is way too-" Before he could finish his sentence, Fenrir pulled him away while Jörmun guided you to his side, saving you.
Ignoring the hawk's protests, you turned to thank the snake hybrid, whose yellow slitted eyes bore into yours. "Apologies for his behaviour Doctor, but Zephyr's words do hold truth to them."
You laughed awkwardly at his admission. "I'm glad to see you guys too, but uh, Jörmun, your tail.."
You pointed at your calf, where a scaly appendage was slowly winding up and curling around it. Only then the snake hybrid backed away, reluctantly releasing his grip on you. He held his hands up in mock surrender, giving you a smile that didn't quite meet his guiltless eyes.
Your attention was brought back to Zephyr being grabbed by the cuff of his shirt by Fenrir, arguably the scariest of the bunch and the unofficial leader of the three. The contrast between Zephyr's pouting and Fenrir's annoyed expression made it hard to hold back a laugh, which immediately lightened the playfully hostile air between them.
"What are you all doing here anyway?" You asked, checking the time on your watch. "It isn't even lunch yet."
The stoic wolf hybrid dropped Zephyr from his hands. "We're leaving early."
"You're always cooped up in this tiny office, so we figured a change of scenery would be nice." Jörmun added, noting the confusion on your face.
"Yeah, you said you've been getting less patients too right? Nobody would even notice if you left a littleee earlier for your lunch break," Zephyr pointed out, readjusting his shirt collar from the earlier scuffle.
You simply shrugged, trying to ignore stinging reminder of how useless you felt.
"Come on love," Jörmun guided you to the door which Zephyr was already holding open. "It's a slow season for everyone right now. Let's enjoy it, hm?"
You cracked a small smile, noticing how Jörmun purposefully phrased his words to bring some comfort to you. "...You're right. Let's go then."
************
Walking out of the medical wing and up to the main lobby was a longer journey than you thought. Acting like you had every right to leave the building when the day just started made you realise you really were a shit actor.
You discreetly glanced at the people in the lobby as you walked, only to realise they weren't looking at you at all.
In fact they seem to actively avoid looking in your direction, some even turning away from you.
This again.
You frowned in confusion. You briefly registered Zephyr's rambling about cherry blossoms and how he was sure you'd love them, but you were too caught up on everyone's strange reaction towards you to reply.
The automatic glass doors slid open as you finally decided to ask. "Is it just me or is everyone-"
Just as you stepped out of the company building, a panicked looking man balancing a full tray of iced coffee turned in.
Your eyes widened at the incoming collision, mirroring the shocked expression of the man in front of you. You watched as the coffee cups swayed dangerously in the holder and braced yourself for impact.
In one swift motion, a hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you backwards. "Woa—!"
Your back was flush against Fenrir's chest. He growled from behind you, baring his fangs at the stranger. "Watch it."
You turned to look up at him. "It was an accident, no need to scare him like that." Your tone light and slightly chastising as you gently tapped his hand that was still curled around your waist. "But thank you, Fenrir." Only then did he slowly remove his hold on you.
You rushed forward to Zephyr and Jörmun who were helping the distressed man up. Jörmun turned to you, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"
You nodded before turning towards the empty handed man. "Sorry about your coffee...are you okay?" You asked, glancing at the spilled coffee all over the floor.
Instead of looking at you, he seemed more fixated on what (or who) was behind you. Almost in tears, he gave a hurried apology before scuttling off.
You raised a brow, turning back only to be greeted with the same impassive expression Fenrir always had on his face. What was he looking at?
"That was close." Zephyr sighed in relief. "But looks like he still got you a little."
You glanced down, easily spotting the stain on your sleeve.
"Well...it could've been worse."
********
After a quick pit stop to scrub off the coffee stain with some soap and water, the minor hiccup was soon forgotten. The scenic view of cherry blossoms (the ones Zephyr was so excited about earlier), light conversion and banter brought up the mood again.
In spite of this, you couldn't shrug off a strange feeling. The scenic walk through the park and lunch—everything felt weirdly romantic. With Zephyr leaning in to whisper little jokes and corny pick-up lines to make you laugh, Jörmun constantly calling you various terms of endearment ("dearest", "love", "sweetheart") and how Fenrir's arm never left the back of your chair. Or how they brought you to some high-end restaurant when it was just another lunch. And paid for your share, not even letting the bill touch your hands. "We're the ones who brought you here, of course we're not letting you pay," Jörmun reasoned as you watched Fenrir pass his card to the waiter wordlessly.
The more you noticed, the more you denied it. Ignorance was always the best solution to these awkward situations. Nothing good would come from acknowledging anything. Your job was stable, the benefits were good, and you didn't have to work endless shifts and burn yourself out like your previous stint at the hospital. You weren't going to ruin this for yourself. So, as far as you knew, everything was normal.
After finally convincing them you had to return to your office (even if you had no patients waiting for you), you waved them goodbye at the entrance of the medical wing, practically having to pry Zephyr off your arm in the process.
As the rest of the day dragged by, you were thankful that nobody came to visit your office. It gave you time to process. First, there was still the fact that everyone was avoiding you like the plague. Second, were those three hybrids, acting like... that. Third, was the undeniable fact that the those two ocurrences were connected.
How long could you continue to pretend?
********
Sleep escaped you that night. Even after all those hours of tossing in bed, you had come up with zero solutions. As you dragged yourself out of the house to head to work, an obstruction in front of your door broke you out of your daze.
"What the..."
A plain paper bag sat in front of you. The logical part of your brain screamed about the dangers of approaching any unlabelled, suspicious looking items. You picked up the bag anyway, peeking at its contents.
No way.
Three vinyl records, each as rare as the next. Some collectors could only dream of ever obtaining these and yet, there they were, right in front of you.
There was no delivery address or card. No return address either. You didn't need to guess who it was from.
You mentioned it yesterday during lunch, when the conversation shifted to hobbies, talking about your small vinyl collection at home. It was rare to find people so interested in hearing you ramble about your niche interest, so you found yourself getting carried away and talking about your collector's bucket list. You must have listed at least ten that day, talking about their origins, historical significance, and special facts about the records, and three were already delivered right to your doorstep.
This was too precious for you to accept. Who knew how much the hybrids paid to get their hands on the records in such a short time? Receiving such an expensive gift felt burdensome.
It felt wrong to just leave the records sitting outside your door so you made quick work of safe-keeping it before leaving the house once more. You'd have to speak to them about returning the records soon.
Only when you've made it to the office, did it hit you.
"I never gave them my address..." you muttered.
********
A distraction. You desperately needed something to get your mind off this... situation. You've avoided your office as much as possible in the morning, choosing to make rounds in the lower rank fighting rings, although it still stung when the patients refused to be treated by you.
Defeated, you walked towards the last remaining hope for avoiding the three predators. You held in a breath as you knocked on her door.
A warm response followed. "Come in!"
You entered the office, greeted by a familiar face. Piper, your lunch buddy and fellow practitioner who you've quickly befriended since you started working here. Like the everyone else, she'd been acting all distant with you lately, finding every reason to avoid having lunch with you. The main reason why you've been eating with Fenrir, Jörmun and Zephyr so frequently as of late.
Upon recognising you, the otter hybrid broke into a smile, a polite and distant one that made you miss the old Piper you knew. "What can I do for you?"
"It's uh," you started, feeling awkward all of a sudden. "It's been a while, Pipes, do you wanna grab lunch together?"
Her eyes widened, as if caught off guard. "Uh.. do your mates know you're not eating with them?"
There were rare moments in your life where you've been stunned into silence. Pure speechlessness. You gaped at her like a fish out of water, the words unable to leave your mouth. Piper gave you a confused look.
"M-my mates?" was allyou managed to sputter out. "They're not— I never... what??"
Piper's shock mirrored yours. "They haven't marked you yet?"
You didn't know where to even begin untangling this mess.
"I mean, I figured you were already mates, seeing how you're practically covered in their scent. Anyone with a nose-I mean, any hybrid with a nose would have picked it up. They clearly don't want anyone going near you. If I weren't mated already, I wouldn't even dare to be talking to you like this." Seeing the horror on your face, she winced. "Please don't tell me you didn't know."
The final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
A hybrid's sense of smell is a thousand times more sensitive than a humans. You would have never picked up on their pheromones on you, had Piper not mentioned it.
It was no wonder that all the other hybrids were avoiding you. Walking around smelling like those three, anyone who approached you would practically be asking for a death sentence.
"They didn't tell you, huh." Piper sighed. "Scenting someone without their consent..." She trailed off, or maybe you just tuned her out. Everything faded into the background.
All those signs you ignored--a lingering touch here, a longing gaze there...when did everything change? Why you? All three of them? Do hybrids even-
"Pipes, let's... let's do a rain check for lunch." You shook your head, desperately trying to clear your head.
Before hearing her response, you hurried towards the door. You needed to clear your head. Think things through. Find a solution.
You swung the door wide open, only to stumble back at the sight before you.
"There you are."
*******************
a/n: holy shit this was so hard to write. i thought i could get it out one week after part 1 but editing this was trickier than i expected... hoped yall liked part 2 because part 3 is going to take a while seeing how my brain hasn't come up with anything yet LOL
Sanguine eyes seize yours the moment you step into the throne room.
Your breath catches at the sheer power blanketing the area, syrupy sweet, tangible enough you can taste it. A lazy smirk stretches across the Demon King’s face, and he makes no move to rise from the throne upon which he lounges. His voice is velvet smooth, and it reverberates throughout the room.
“My saintess, you’ve come at last.”
“Yes,” you say slowly, unflinchingly. “I’ve come to kill you.”
He only laughs.
It is terribly beautiful. He is terribly beautiful.
Inky hair flutters as he shifts, and it glitters in the pale moonlight, as if made of the abyss itself. His head dips to the side. “Why? Doing so would grant you nothing.”
He’s wrong. Killing him — or at the very least, sealing him away — would grant you everything. You’d be able to solidify your position as High Priestess and amass your own power, and finally, you’d be able to break away from the control of those wretched Cardinals. The Church, the holy city, the world… All of it would eventually be yours.
Yet… things are never that simple, are they?
Now, with him face to face, the vast difference in your power levels is painfully obvious. The demon lord has been toying with you from the very beginning, and the only reason you are standing before him now is because he wants you to. He has been slowly, almost tauntingly, leading you closer and closer toward him as if you were a wild rabbit to be captured and tamed. He could have killed you, at any time, if he had wanted to. He can kill you, right now, if he so wants to.
His eyes glitter with sick delight, having read the thoughts right off your face. Standing, he glides down the dais with inhumane grace.
“Join hands with me,” he purrs, closing the distance between the two of you within seconds. “We could rule the world. All you have to do is say the word.”
“You mean you could rule the world,” you counter bitingly, stepping backwards.
There is no way the Demon King, the most prideful being that could walk the earth, would allow you to rule alongside him as his equal. No, he wants you as a doll and as a pet, as some pretty little treasure that he can keep forever chained to his side.
All the riches in the world, the boundless glory and endless land… If you joined him, none of it would truly be yours no matter how much he claims it to be.
Your back hits the main doors of the throne room with a soft thud. When your hands find its handles, you realise they are locked.
Refusing to be intimidated, you meet his gaze head on, glaring up at him venomously. By now, you are close enough your noses nearly brush. His arms rise, caging you in between him and the doors.
“What do you want from me?” you demand. “Why are you doing this?”
“Must you have me voice it out loud?” he asks in a low, honeyed tone. There’s a smile on his face, neither kind nor warm, but somehow, somewhat fond. His palm grazes your cheek, and if he were not the demon king, you would have described the motion as tender. “Very well. Though only because it is you.”
His lips brush the shell of your ear. “I love you.”
You are so startled you freeze, wide-eyed, jaw slack. “What are you —”
“I loathe you,” he confesses with a murmur. “So much so that I want to kill you, and consume your power whole. Slowly, torturously, I want to inflict upon you an agony so unbearable you cry and beg for death. I want to make you scream.”
The hand he has on the door falls, ghosting down your arm to grasp your wrist instead. The other hand slips from your cheek to cup your neck. His skin is ice cold.
“And yet… I desire you,” he continues, each word punctuated with the butterfly kisses he trails down your jawline. His fang-like canines graze your skin, and you can’t help but shudder. “I want to make you mine and mine alone. To see only me, touch only me, exist for only me. Your body, your mind, your soul — I want your everything.”
Somehow, your hand finds itself flat against his chest, a useless barrier between you and him. Beneath your fingertips, you can feel a parody of a heartbeat.
Gently, he takes your hand in his, shifting it from his chest to the small of his back. He places one last kiss to the corner of your lips, gazing up at you with dark, searching eyes.
“It is to the point that I chase after you, foolishly, despite knowing you feel nothing for me. If that is not love, then what is?”
Regaining your senses after his ridiculous speech, you push him away, forcing him off of you. He stumbles, ever so slightly, but it is enough.
“Love?” you parrot, scoffing incredulously, furiously. “That’s nothing but a twisted obsession.”
Curious eyes find yours. “And what, pray tell, is the difference?”
You don’t deign to respond, instead choosing to summon your magic, flinging it at him as if it were a dagger. It cuts into his skin, leaving a thin slash on his jaw that draws golden blood.
Surprise flickers over his face, and carefully, he brings a hand to inspect the wound. At the sight of ichor tainting his fingertips, he chuckles.
The grin on his face is positively manic. “You never cease to impress me, darling saintess. You know, I’m tempted to let you have your way with me, just to see what you will do. It’s bound to be entertaining, don’t you think?”
“You’re a crazy bastard,” you snap.
He shrugs loftily. “I’m well aware, but that is neither here nor there.”
In vexation, you click your tongue. This conversation is going nowhere. You’d have to use force to get your way, and you’d have to act quickly at that. The longer you leave your post at the Church open, the harder it would be to get things under your control when you return. Heaven only knows how eager those detestable Cardinals are to replace you, now that you are no longer their obedient little dog.
A ball of energy forms in the palm of your hand. It crackles and fizzles, black as the abyssal void below, yet shines with a pearlescent radiance. In your other hand, your weapon materializes out of thin air, a giant scythe made of pure, blinding light.
Your feet lift off of the ground, and the overbearingly sweet taste of the Demon King’s magic is swallowed by the crisp freshness of yours.
“If you truly love me…”
Your eyes begin to glow. Raising your hand, you aim the crackling sphere of magic at the demon lord.
“Then die for me.”
Your power surges down towards him, but instead of hitting him, crashes onto and fizzles out against a translucent shield he conjures up at the very last second.
Moving a step backwards, the Demon King takes to the air as well, a pair of ebony black wings unfurling behind him. His sclerae deepen to the colour of ink, and incomprehensible markings paint the surface of his skin. He grins, flashing a set of unnaturally sharp teeth.
“Patience, my saintess. The fun’s only just begun.”
Chaos ensues. Spells are cast and thrown, walls crumble and pillars fall. You’re a good fighter, there’s no doubt about that — but the Demon King is even better. It’s not long before your entire body begins to ache, your magical core nearly reaching its limit. You’ve sustained a few injuries, though they are nothing major, yet the demon lord remains entirely unharmed, looking more than invigorated.
He laughs, high and cold and cruel, eyes sparkling with malicious glee. “You know you will never be able to best me.”
Perhaps not, you concede. Not in the traditional sense, in a duel of skill and strength.
But all you need is one single moment, one single second where his attention strays, for you to get to his core. Once you destroy the core that tethers his existence to the mortal realm, you’d be able to seal him away for good.
And as for the location of that core…
Hoping to catch him off guard, you charge at him head on. The scythe in your hand disappears in a shower of glittering light, leaving both of your hands free to slam the Demon King into a wall.
The walls cave in at the impact, forming a deep crater in the vague shape of a man.
He lets out a choked groan, as if all the wind had been knocked straight out of his lungs. His wings twitch uselessly at his sides. You have your hands firm on his upper arms, your magic aiding you in pinning him down.
Despite being at a disadvantage, a salacious smirk flashes across his face. “Why, if I had known you were into this sort of thing, we could’ve just started with that.”
“Shut it, demon,” you order through gritted teeth.
Grabbing him by the collar, you steal his lips in a searing kiss.
He responds eagerly, greedily, giving as good as he gets. Like his magic, he tastes irresistibly sweet. You press yourself closer to him, keening into his body, forcing one of your legs in between his. His hands fall to your waist, and his icy touch has a shiver running up your spine.
With his chest flush against yours, you can feel the way his heart pulses with a slow, steady rhythm. Pulsing, you note, with rolling waves of magic, not with the thrum of rushing blood.
Eureka.
Tangling a hand in his hair, your fingers brush against a large, scaly horn. Shuddering, he moans into your mouth, his talon-like nails digging deeper into your flesh. He’s all flushed, pupils so dilated his eyes appear wholly black, gaze trained on you intensely, deliriously. He looks utterly intoxicated, and it’s all because of you.
You can’t say you don’t enjoy it.
Parting for air, he lets out a soft noise of protest, before swiftly cutting himself off with a gasp. You’ve got a hand clenched tight around his horn, which you use as a handle to force his head back. His Adam's apple bobs, eyes rolling, eyelids fluttering.
Your knee presses mercilessly into his groin. The fabric is already damp.
“[Name],” he says. It sounds like a sin. “[Name].”
You respond by turning your attention towards his exposed neck. Sucking, biting, licking, you trace the lines drawn by the markings tattooed on his skin. He moans the loudest when you make it hurt, when your teeth break skin, and shimmering ichor blooms in its place.
Fascinated, you can’t help but have a taste, a choice which you regret immediately. It burns, a fiery, cloying sweetness that stings your eyes and sours your nose, that lingers, clinging onto your tongue, almost addictingly, daring you to take another sip. Pulling back instead, you admire your handiwork.
He is beautiful, even still.
Starlight scatters across sweat-slick skin, giving him an ethereal, otherworldly glow. Half lidded eyes, red as a raging inferno, pierce into your soul. Pleadingly. Challengingly. Waiting for release you will never give.
You could get used to this, you think. It’s a pity you have to kill him.
Alas, he is but a thorn in your side, an unpredictable variable you can’t control. The Demon King is a walking contradiction in all ways but one — that is, he adores all that you do to him, so long as your eyes are on him.
And, well, who are you to deny a dying man’s last wish?
Your free hand slips to his chest, feeling the heart of his magic pulsating beneath your fingertips. Raw, primordial, and absolutely pliant, malleable to your every whim. An odd, shuttered whine slips from his lips as you continue to knead his skin.
“You know,” you start conversationally, the casual effect slightly ruined by your heavy, ragged breaths. A touch mockingly, you echo his earlier sentiment. “If I had known you were into this sort of thing, I would’ve just started with this.”
Ruby eyes glint dangerously. A sharp, lovesick smile spreads across his face. “You will never be rid of me for good.”
You don’t reply. Magic begins to pool in the palm of your hand. Poised right above his core, you clasp onto your magic and push.
He screams. Back arching, limbs jolting, his wings flailing wildly.
His flesh and bones melt away, coating your arm with a thick, syrupy ichor. You push, deeper and deeper until your hand brushes against something solid, further and further until your fingers close tight around a gleaming black gem.
He screams and screams and screams, but nothing is as spine-chilling as the sound of his scream morphing into crazed, deranged laughter.
“You can seal me away, rip my body to shreds, but I will always come back,” he hisses, rambling delusionally, hysterically. “Do you want to know why?”
“I am Sin — and you, my dear saintess, are the worst sinner of all.”
The gemstone shatters, bursting with a dazzling, blinding light.
“Goodbye.”
it's been awhile LOL
i think i scrapped like 10 different wips before finally finishing this one bec i have a hater and that hater is Me
anyway this y/n is supposed to have lore (and 2 more yanderes, an angel and a hero) but we'll see how it goes,,,, thanks for reading!
yan!system whose main source of enjoyment is taking dead souls from various worlds to make them participate in "games" they know absolutely nothing about! really gets to a point where one time you asked how they could even get that kind of power in the first place and they, well, uhh.. they dont know? wait, what were you even saying?
yan!system whose intention wasn't even to make you a participant in the first place, really! it's not like it was your choice to die so young either, eight? there's barely any difference, see... besides, now that we're here, might as well go with the flow, right? they very much apologize for the inconvenience– even if they don't sound as sorry as you'd hope.
yan!system who takes you from one world to another really quickly, because well– you're such a competent player! doing your missions quickly, so efficiently too.. you sure do wonder why it always seems to take you away very frantically moments not-so-long before you get intimate with the respective love interest of each world, if there's any.
yan!system who eventually seems to take great interest in you, and you wonder if that's the reason why you've been rewarded more handsomely and taken to fewer angsty, bad-end-leaning, cruel mirror worlds.. hey, why is that character so ooc?
yan!system who seems to not like the other characters very much.. to a very weird degree. they've always been really skittish with others, so much so that you wonder just how they ended up warming up to you so quickly.. maybe you got lucky! you're definitely not someone who would mind being treated as someone special by a seemingly all powerful, extraterrestrial, formless being ♪
yan!system who seems to be less active, lately. you're still getting spoiled, and the missions that you're given are still very, suspiciously, incredibly, oddly easy! even with all these perks, though.. you still feel somewhat lonely without them.
reckless!reader whose only source of entertainment are extreme physical activities that are less for fun and more of active suicide risks: in other words, a thrill-seeker. if not that, then you'll do nothing but play games within the confines of your room, so either way adrenaline rushes are so your go-to.
reckless!reader who died in.. well, you don't remember. you're pretty sure that you died in some unavoidable accident though; like in those microsized caves, or maybe you just fell off a really, really high cliff. oh well, you have little to lose.
reckless!reader who at the beginning, really, really didn't like the system. I mean, come on! you were fine with dying because you thought you'd be able to rest, not participate in world-hopping missions that just straight up threatens your whole existence! surely you'd be let go if you do the missions well with the best of your ability? or if you kept dying, resetting, failing and looping scenes?
yan!system who used to just enjoy seeing people struggle to live, and now is wrecking their not-brain and pulling out their not-hair from the constant frustration of seeing you actively looking to do things that will-most-likely-definitely kill you! it's for the rewards, you'd say; but you don't even do anything with them! giving you valuable items for no reason didn't even do anything, so clearly you're just doing this for the love of the game.
yan!system who was driven mad by the sheer amount of danger you put yourself in for your own entertainment. they thought you were doing all this to survive! do you just wanna die or something? though.. the sight of your beat up and battered face isn't so bad to see every once in awhile.
yan!system who eventually got sick of seeing you almost-die but not ever actually dying. ah, whatever, why don't they just cross this screen barrier and directly come to you? that way, they'll be able to keep you in their gasp forever.
reckless!reader who started noticing the pattern.. because why do these love interests from very clearly different worlds and different stories act similar, when they're described to be opposites? wait, you've heard exactly what A said in world X! there's no way that should be possible! hold on, you gotta reset and start over reeal quick!
yan!system who started fucking up stories.. for you. aah, they really didn't wanna do this, but literally no other method works on you. why won't you stop trying to die? stop resetting! they may be able to keep bringing you back, and the sight may not be as bad as they thought, but they're just so sick of it!
yan!system who isn't even acting like a system anymore. to hell with this whole thing, they've found someone that makes everyone they've ever toyed with pale in comparison. there's no way they're gonna be letting you go now.. and it's not like they've had any intention to do it in the first place. your latest death-reset simply solidified their decision.
yan!system who is finally taking you to their world! <3 see how there's no one here? see how there's absolutely no way that you'll be able to get out of here? it's the perfect sanctuary for the both of you! this way, the only reason why you'd be battered and bruised is them, and the sight will be reserved for them only.. haha, why do you look exhilarated? or is that fear? oh well, as long as you're with them now!
the sight that lies in front of your gives you nothing but freezing cold shivers. there stands a lone person– with quite possibly the most ethereal look you've ever seen your whole life, it's practically inhumane– standing drenched in blood amongst the many clones of the past characters that has acted as your love interests in the various worlds they made you travel through.
aah, you'd never thought you'd see a sight more beautiful than this. with such a visage, they look no different than a lovely gossypium that's simply been tainted by the lowly. crap, is this what you're into? like.. some sort of hidden kink or something?
"(name).." whispered the figure. wow, you think, face beet red. they just said your name, like, with their mouth. really pretty too, by the way.
"(name)," they repeat. "won't you look at me?"
you look at them. they grin, utterly enthralled.
"ah," they falter, then. "I've never properly received your gaze.. I'm so happy.."
that beautiful person– system? that beautiful thing cupped their cheeks, beaming the brightest smile you've ever seen them make in the short but definitely irl encounter you've had as of now. wow, you think, again, this person is into me?
amongst your daze, the system approached you, cupped your cheeks and examined your face ve~ry closely, doing nothing but making you even more red in turn. "your face looks even more fascinating when it doesn't have any bandages or bruise."
"r– really?" you stammer. "you think.. so?"
"ah, you're so cute, my player–" they reach out to hug you. it's gentle, but you also feel the sheer intensity of the way their fingers grasp your body so tightly it feels like you might get ripped apart. "–my (name), my (name), my (name).. you're with me, you're finally with me..!"
"with.. you..?"
"ha!" they giggle, "I'm your system, remember? not anymore now though, not really. you can still call me system, if you want! or give me a name. as long as it's from you, I'll accept it all the same."
holy shit, you think. this cannot be happening.
"aaall that matters is that you're now here with me, and that you'll never step out of this little space of ours ever again. so won't you look only at me?"
you don't think that would be that bad of an idea.. not for now, at least. how can you, when the sight of them alone is already taking away your ability to think of anything else?
blood drips from your nose. what were you here for again?
not.. proofreaded.. I am.. sloth.. too lazy.. waah
Thinking about Yandere! Male Leads x Isekaied! Female! Reader
Yandere! Male leads! X Isekaied! Female! Reader < pt. 3 >
Recap: Everyone's paddle hanged midair for a few seconds before they put it down and soon, no one dared to speak. You let out a relief sigh—thinking it's all settled—before someone else raised their wooden paddle.
"160.000 gold coins," a calm and particular voice cut through the silence.
You swore you can feel your heart stopped.
You quickly turned your head to the said person, who sat quite near to the stage.
You don't have to see his face before knowing that you're fighting against Arthur Percy—just to buy Willow.
This is not gonna end well.
As soon as Arthur raised the price for Willow, you know you're starting a war with the infamous scholar—Arthur Percy. You and Arthur kept driving the price higher, determined to outbid the other.
Everyone in the auction house are now witnessing the scene with high anticipation, clearly interested on who's going to win this battle. In midst of the bidding, Julian pulled your cloak slightly, trying to get your attention discreetly, "The price is getting higher and higher, are you sure you're able to pay?"
"230.000 gold coins," Arthur said calmly as he raised his numbered wooden paddle, igniting loud whispers from the rest of the audience. The butler's eyes brightened even more, "230.000 gold coins from number 13 over here! Anyone else?" He asked with a loud voice, looking around the room.
At the same time, you whispered—just loud enough for Julian to hear, "I need to get that kid, Julian. It doesn't matter how much I have to pay—I want to free him," And thus, Julian's hand on your cloak slowly releases its grip. Julian then sighed so soft you could barely hear it.
"Why?" He asked, tone indescribable.
Without turning to Julian, you asked back, "Isn't that the right thing to do?" then raised the price even higher, "250.000 gold coins!" Your words erupting more whispers from everyone.
"270.000 gold coins," Arthur bid again, his tone unchanged.
You bit your lip in frustration, not wanting to lose to Arthur in a silly bidding. Still, you couldn't stop yourself from pushing forward—hoping that Arthur, the most stubborn and relentless male lead out of the five, would finally back down.
Yandere! Guild Leader's eyes—locked onto your determined expression—soon turned to his fingers. Even in the cold room, he could subtly feel your warmth—despite only touching a small part of your cloak. He then absentmindedly brushed his own fingertips, as if he's savoring the remaining, yet fading, warmth.
Yandere! Guild Leader closed his eyes, replaying all of your words.
"I need to you to bring me to Light Kingdom"
"I-I don't want any of this! This stupid title, my fiance, the land, the honor, the legacy, everything! I just want to escape..."
"I'm sorry for lashing out..."
"Oh, please, both of us are hypocrites. You run this market so you can feed your guild and the commoners who is starving to death in a random alley. I'm going to buy that child and free him—end of story. We already have blood in your hands and it's better to admit we're a part of this corrupted cycle than to pretend that you don't, so deal with it!"
"Isn't that the right thing to do?"
Yandere! Guild Leader will admit; you're different than the nobles he had met. You're unique, weird, yet somehow you are all he can think of.
Well, it didn't take long for Julian to make his own conclusion.
The nobles—especially the royal family—are rotten to the core. Finding a kind-hearted noble is like trying to find a needle in a stack of hay. Julian has thrown away all of his expectation and hope when the judge ruled his parent's death as an accident and let the perpetrator loose.
Since then, Julian had vowed never to trust a noble again.
And yet—here you are.
Speaking of freedom, not power.
Willing to pay, not to control, but to help.
Every word you said, every action you made, every expression you showed; Julian wish he can trust you. Just this once, he wanted to believe in someone—anyone—and not get disappointed in the end.
So, don't make him regret his next decision.
Julian steadily raised his paddle, "600.000 gold coins," His voice echoed through the room. Everyone, including you, was stunned by his words. You quickly turned to him, shocked from both of his words and his actions.
600.000 gold coins? That's more than what he got than the Cross couple spent to get Lilian back!
You grit your teeth, "Julian, what are you-"
The butler raised the gavel. "600,000 gold coins. Going once..." You quickly turned your head to Arthur's position, breath stuck when you saw that he still has his left hand gripping the paddle.
"Going twice..." Then, Arthur's hand slowly loosened, while beads of sweat started to fall from your forehead.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Sold to number 17!"
***
After the auction, a member of Underworld brought you and Julian to a room behind the stage. It wasn't a big nor exquisite room, but a modest one—there are 2 long sofas, a coffee table, and a random flower in a vase. Both you and Julian sat facing each other with tight lips—you weren't sure what to say and Julian wanted some quiet.
You looked down to your hand, caught yourself unconsciously playing with your fingers. Many thoughts ran on your head but you can't grasp onto any of them. You didn't expect Julian to step up and buy Willow right in front of your face.
"Why?" You asked in a soft tone, gaining Julian's attention. Without moving his head, his eyes traveled to your figure. "Why did you buy Willow?" You asked again, this time in a louder tone.
Julian let out a scoff, "Well, I wanted to," He answered with an unreadable expression, resulting in you looking at him with a confused and insulted expression.
"What are you-"
However, the sound of knocking interrupted your conversation and the door opened, showing a member of Underworld and Willow standing.
"Master, I've brought him," The person said as he pushed Willow gently on the shoulder, then closed the door, giving the trio some space.
Willow stood there while staring at the floor, looking as lifeless as he was during the auction. Your heart squeezed at the sight of him—battered, tired, as if he already gave up on his life. You can't imagine how much he had suffered and endured all this time.
Before you realized it, your legs had already carried you from the sofa to him. With each step you took, your eyes stayed glued to Willow, afraid that if you looked away, he'll disappear. You kneeled in front of him, trying to look at his eyes.
"Willow...?" you whispered.
He didn't move, didn’t flinch, nor did he reply. WIllow kept staring at the floor mindlessly. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest proved he is still alive.
You bit the bottom of your lips gently.
"It seems like he's broken," Julian remarked, his eyes fixed on Willow as well.
You turned your head and shot him a disgusted glare, in which he just shrugged as a response, as if he's describing this morning weather.
Who would say such a thing? He's a damn kid!
You quickly turn to Willow and slowly reach out your hand. "Can... I hold you?" you asked Willow as gentle as possible. The fact that he didn't react at all—not even a twitch—sent a sharp ache through your chest.
This is the real life now... you thought, both of your hands slowly reaching up towards him. This is not a game, nor a lucid dream, (Y/n), this is reality...
"Please excuse me, Willow," you pulled him into a hug, pushing his head to rest on your shoulder as you wrapped your hands around his slim figure.
"You're safe now, Willow... You can rest now," You softly whispered as you missed a tear that fell from Willow's eye.
***
Don't worry about the gold I spent on Willow. We'll meet at the royal ball soon and I'll personally escort both you and Willow to Light Kingdom. Rest assured that both of you will be safe throughout the journey.
Yours Truly,
Julian Caelis.
You exhale a sigh of relief as you toss a small letter sent by one of Julian's assistant to the fireplace in your room, knowing you'll be free from the upcoming nightmare soon.
Leaving everything—your home, your parents, the privileges of being the crown princess—will be a shame, but everytime you think about the horrible endings, a huge wave of nausea hits you like a truck.
You glanced into the fire place, examining the fire that slowly burning the letter into ashes, but a soft knock at the door quickly pulls your attention away.
"Lady Ophelia, I've brought Willow," Maria's voice coming from the door.
"Come in," you said, now standing straight as you brush off any excess ashes on your dress.
The door swings open to reveal Maria looking as calm as ever. Behind her is Willow in a butler's uniform, trying to stand straight and look as composed as Maria. It's hard to miss but Willow now has more rosiness on his cheeks, making you smile at the sight.
"I've cleaned and dressed Willow as per your instruction, my lady," Maria stoically said as she closes the door. Maria then turned to Willow and pushed his figure towards you gently, "Try greeting your lady, WIllow, just like how I taught you this morning," She said in a motherly tone, giving Willow a small but sincere smile.
Willow looked at Maria with a concerned expression, as if he were afraid to mess up. Maria, in return, nodded softly at him, and Willow glanced at you before stepping forward and bowing stiffly.
"G-Good evening, Lady Ophelia. I am to attend you as your personal servant, my lady. I shall be at your service.”
You bit your bottom lips slightly, trying your best not to hug the stuttering and blushing mess of a boy. In the corner of your eyes, you can Maria bit her bottom lips too, trying to contain the laughter that's about to escape her chest.
You let out a polite cough and try to put on a strict and cold tone.
"You're here, Willow," You commented—in a harsher tone than you expected—as your eyes inspected Willow from head to toe from a distance, making Willow freeze. You let out a soft hum for a few seconds before clapping your hands, pulling both Maria and Willow's attention.
"Maria, you are dismissed for the day," you said as you waved your hand, your eyes still fixed on Willow. Maria blinked with surprise but quickly bowed and left, likely pleased at the thought of an early rest.
You walked toward the table when Willow suddenly exclaimed, "L-Let me do it for you, my lady!" he hurried to a chair and pulled it back, but stopped and glanced at you warily. "Uh… Maria taught me the basics..."
You let out a small chuckle before sitting down on the chair Willow pulled for you.
"Willow, sit down," you said, tone sounding more serious and concerned—a huge contrast from the happy expression you just showed.
"I need to tell you something,"
***
At the same time, a young white-haired lady sat beside the window, her eyes fixed on a shabby letter.
Just a few hours earlier, she had been happily cleaning her room—the maids of Cross Manor had tried to change her mind, but she had insisted—when she discovered a letter stuck to one of the bed’s endposts.
She knew Cross Manor was guarded day and night, both inside and out; it was impossible to imagine how someone could have slipped such a letter into a lady’s room.
Her breath hitched in her throat.
Or worse—someone had been placed there deliberately.
But who?
Despite her innocent, outgoing demeanor, Lilian Cross was far more observant than most people believed. She sighed as her brain starts listing everyone whom she believed to visit her chambers these past few days, where she soon got a headache from thinking too much.
Lilian then took and the letter between her fingers, examining the shabby exterior and thinking it's almost ordinary. Lilian moved the letter slightly every few seconds, studying the deep red wax from different angles. She couldn't make out the crest or any symbols on the wax seal.
With a mix of curiosity and dread, Lilian took a small knife and with a careful twist, she sliced through the seal, releasing a faint scent that made her catch her breath.
As she opened the letter, her eyes immediately recognized the paper inside and the difference between the content and the cover. Despite the dirty and old cover, the paper inside was thick and smooth, the kind used only for official events and gatherings, and the ink glinted slightly under the sunset.
A faint cent drifted from the page—rich, musky, and familiar. Lilian blinked, her mind and heartbeat now racing. It was the kind of smell she had once caught only in the presence of the king himself, though she had never been close enough with the king to be certain.
The subtlety was deliberate; whoever had sent this wanted the weight of authority known, but without drawing suspicion, especially with her elder sister, Lady Ophelia Cross, has been betrothed to the crown prince for quite some time now.
Her breath hitched as she read the words written in a careful, measured hand. The contents of the letter were startling, far more troubling and dangerous than she could have guessed, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. She pressed the page closer to her eyes, studying every stroke and curve of the letters as if the letter's content might change if she keep rereading the letter.
As she put down the letter to the table, her mind was spinning—why?
Author's Note: Hi guys, I'm back!! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! God, these past few months has been a wild roller coaster for me. Thank you so much for your kind words, encouragement, and patience when I announced my hiatus.
This chapter is shorter than my usual fics but I slipped in a few clues about Lilian and what the next chapter have for you guys. Can you guys predict what the king has in store for Lilian? Comment down your theories below!
Promo: Wants to commission me? Go check out my commission page! And don't forget to check out my ko-fi page too!
I hope you know that I spent like 5 minutes trying to make sure that ur a honglu fan too and genuinely flocked in pure unbridled joy to know that you love him and yan
ngl it's been ages since i played limbus but i adore this silly man with my whole heart
yandere gamer, who wakes up as the main character in the world of his favourite video game.
yandere gamer, who instead of following the plot, runs straight to the tyrant’s palace with nothing but the shitty starter equipment and the ragged clothes on his back.
yandere gamer, who begs you, the final boss, to take him in as a servant.
“please, i’ll do anything you want,” he pleads, staring up at you pathetically, kneeling at the foot of the dais where you lounge on your throne. “you don't even have to pay me, i just — i just need someplace to stay.”
he just needs to be with you.
you let out a loud, disbelieving scoff, turning to your chief advisor with an amused look. “are you sure this man — the one grovelling at my feet — is the very same man destined to kill me?”
“yes, your majesty,” the advisor replies easily. “i’ve already checked. he has the hero’s mark.”
humming thoughtfully, you sweep your gaze over his body. he shivers.
you notice.
a wicked, wicked smile stretches across your face, and the sheer brilliance of it captivates him wholly.
“tell me, hero,” you purr, “do you believe in prophecy?”
“i don’t,” he says quickly, desperately. “i really don’t — i didn’t even know magic was real until i —”
he’s silenced when you pull out a dagger from underneath your coat. you twirl it in your hand, tossing it up into the air and catching it gracefully. it glints in the light as you unsheath it, and he realises the handle is encrusted with jewels.
“a beauty, isn’t she?” you say, running your finger along the edge of the blade. “i could stab myself a thousand times over and still not shed a single drop of blood. but if it’s you...”
standing, you descend the steps until his face is mere inches away from your shoes. you are so close he can smell the scent of your cologne, so close he can see each individual gemstone woven into your clothes. if he only just reached out, he could touch —
you grab his hand roughly, wrapping his fingers around your dagger. he barely has the chance to react before you're yanking his arm, the dagger slashing you right across your cheek.
he jerks back out of pure instinct. stumbling to the ground, the dagger clattering to the floor.
you just — he just —
“your majesty!” your advisor cries.
his voice shakes. “why did you — your cheek —”
a droplet of scarlet red blood rolls down your face, dripping from the edge of your chin. there's a manic gleam in your eyes, and a satisfied grin on your face.
“you may not believe in prophecy, hero, but it is very, very real.”
body still trembling, he can only stare.
you're absolutely insane.
he loves it.
he loves you.
he can still feel the phantom warmth on his arm where your touch had been, and the tickle of the fur on your coat as it had brushed against him. he curses himself for not reacting sooner. you were right in front of him and he had done nothing —
you twirl on your heel, returning to your throne. your advisor uses a handkerchief to dab away the blood that stains your face, and envy takes the reigns in his mind. he clenches his fists tight.
that advisor is your most loyal servant, and the only person you trust in the entire world. he fights for you, a precursor battle before the climax, protecting you with his life.
yandere gamer always took pleasure in ripping him to shreds.
he regrets not being able to do that anymore. not if he wants to get into your good graces. but perhaps in the future...
“i suppose it would be a good idea to keep you alive,” you muse, largely to yourself. “it’ll be a hassle if the next hero is actually competent.”
he perks up ecstatically, completely disregarding your indirect insult. “thank you! thank you so much, i promise i won’t let you down.”
“hmm,” is all you reply with. you beckon him forward. “come here. i want to see your face.”
eagerly, he approaches the throne, only to yelp as you grab him, pulling him closer as if he weighed nothing. your hand comes to grasp his chin, your nails digging into his skin.
his mind goes blank.
you’re touching him. he’s sitting on your lap. your clothes are soft. your flesh is warm. he can smell you. he’s touching you. you’re real and you exist and you’re looking at him like he means something to —
“relax,” you murmur.
at your command, his body goes slack.
he sits there pliantly, nice and still for you as you inspect him as if he were nothing but an object to be had. you lean in even closer. your breath fans against his cheek.
he jolts, flushing a crimson red.
“tell me. why would a human want to serve a demon?”
your voice goes directly into his ear.
his brain shortcircuits.
“i — uhm — you —”
his lips part, but the words get stuck in his throat. millions of answers bubble up to the surface at once, but the one that comes out is —
“— i love you...!”
your brows draw.
he wants to shrivel up and die.
and then, you throw your head back and laugh. it bounces off the walls, echoing loud in his ears.
he’s starstruck. he’s never heard you laugh before. he knows all your lines by heart, like scripture etched into his soul. you’ve chuckled and scoffed and just about everything in between, but he’s never heard you truly laugh.
it’s... beautiful.
again. he wants to hear it again. he could drown in that sound and he would have no regrets. he —
“that means you’ll enjoy this, won’t you?”
you kiss him.
the noise that comes out of his mouth next can only be described as unholy. all rational thought is thrown to the winds. he melts into you, keening into your body, hands clutching onto your clothes.
you have a hand on his jaw, the other on his nape. you don’t so much as kiss him as devour him whole. you are a demon who consumes souls, and willingly, deliriously, he submits.
the world spins, his vision blurs. he knows nothing else but you. your scent. your taste. the thrum of your heart against his own.
more. he wants more. needs more.
he lets out a broken whine when you break apart, and he’s left panting, gasping for air with lungs that have forgotten how to breathe.
“[name], hah, i — ngh?!”
your eyes glow. your hands sear. magic wraps itself around his neck, squeezing and pulsing before settling solidly as a bejewelled collar.
gently, you ghost your fingers over his new accessory, brushing against his skin as you do.
he shudders.
you grin. it is not a kind one.
“the pact is complete, hero,” you drawl liltingly, half-lidded eyes glimmering with a sick sort of relish. “with this, you have forsaken your destiny. no god will watch over you now.”
he doesn’t need a god.
all he needs is you.
your thumb comes to wipe the saliva off of his bruised lips, with a gentleness that contrasts your tone completely. “the collar is imbued with my magic. one wrong move — one wrong thought, and you’ll be reduced to nothing but a husk of a human being.”
he nods, dazed, your words barely even registering in his head. he brings his fingers to graze the collar carefully, reverently. it’s cool to the touch, and almost weightless.
it’s embroidered with the crest of the imperial family, effectively marking him as yours.
if this is a dream, he prays he never wakes up.
“hu feng, arrange a room for the hero, and get him some new clothes as well,” you order. “i refuse to have a servant dressed like a peasant.”
the advisor dips his head. “yes, your majesty.”
he startles, whipping around to look at the man he had forgotten about entirely. the advisor doesn’t even spare him a passing glance, as if he is someone hardly worth noticing. he should feel offended, but all that he truly feels in the moment is a smug, smug glee.
he is the one in your lap, in your arms. he is the one who’s bound his soul to yours. and... he is the one who will win your affection in the end.
I'm not sure if I seen any posts going around discussing the recent VERY DETAILED (and honestly kind of poetic in how vitriolic they are) AI generated spambots on AO3.
I feel like I just need to spread the word, because these guys are NASTY. But they aren't real! You can tell that by the fact that they don't mention a fandom, a character, or anything even remotely about the fic itself.
Just wanted to put it out there in case anyone gets one of these and it crushes them. Never stop writing. Writing and story telling is one of the oldest ways of connecting with other humans. It's a gift to this world. Keep writing!!!
Look, you didn't ask for a best friend whose dad is the god of the sea. You just wanted someone to share blue Jolly Ranchers with during Algebra II.
But here you are.
Being friends with Percy Jackson comes with a lot of hazards. Exploding toilets? Check. Gym teachers turning into monsters you cannot see? Standard Tuesday. But the biggest hazard, the one nobody warned you, is the summer.
Specifically, the part where he vanishes to Camp Half-Blood, and you stay in the mortal world.
For Percy, camp is supposed to be a safe haven. But this summer, the monsters aren't outside the borders; they’re in his head. Every time he tries to sleep in Cabin Three, listening to the fountain drip, his ADHD brain doesn't focus on quests or prophecies.
It hyper-fixates on you.
And more specifically, on the guys who get to sit next to you in the cafeteria while he’s off fighting harpies.
He tries to Iris Message you, but the connection is always misty. Once, he saw a guy’s arm draped over the back of your chair. Just a friendly gesture, right? Not to Percy.
To Percy, that arm looked like a hydra head that needed lopping off. He spent the rest of the summer slicing training dummies in half with a little too much enthusiasm, imagining they were wearing varsity jackets.
By the time August rolls around and he comes back to the city, the jealousy has crusted over his heart like barnacles on a hull.
The reunion is supposed to be sweet. You guys plan a trip to the beach, Montauk, obviously. It's his turf.
He wants to show off a little, maybe walk on water, maybe just hold your hand without worrying about a hellhound jumping him.
Then you invite Kyle.
Kyle is perfectly nice. He’s in your biology class. He has floppy hair and a laugh that sounds like a seal barking, and he brought a Frisbee. He is entirely, tragically mortal.
"I didn't know we were bringing guests," Percy says when he sees him.
His voice is casual, that easy-going tone he uses when he’s bluffing a god, but his eyes are stormy. Sea-green, darkening to a violent, deep-ocean gray.
"Kyle just wanted to tag along," you say, smiling, oblivious to the fact that the air pressure around you just dropped ten degrees. "Is that cool?"
Percy forces a crooked grin. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah. Totally cool."
The drive is excruciating. Kyle talks about lacrosse. Kyle talks about his dad’s boat. Percy grips the steering wheel so hard the leather creaks, listening to the way you laugh at Kyle’s terrible jokes. In Percy's mind, he's connecting dots that don't exist.
She likes him. She forgot about me. I saved Olympus, and I'm losing her to a guy who wears Axe body spray.
When you get to the beach, the ocean greets Percy like an old friend. The waves get choppy, slamming against the sand with a rhythm that matches his heartbeat.
"Let's get in!" Kyle yells, peeling off his shirt and sprinting for the surf.
You follow him, wading in up to your waist.
The water is cold, waking you up, salty and sharp. Percy stands back for a second, watching. He watches Kyle splash you. As he watches you shriek and splash back. He watches Kyle’s hand linger on your shoulder to steady himself against a wave.
That's the line.
Percy walks into the water. He doesn't shiver. The ocean doesn't make him cold; it energizes him. He feels the currents tugging at his ankles, waiting for a command. Being the Son of Poseidon isn't just about talking to horses or breathing underwater.
It's about control.
And right now, he feels like he’s losing control of everything, except the sea.
"Hey, Jackson!" Kyle calls out, treading water out past the break. "Bet you can't swim out this far!"
Percy smirks. It’s a dark, sad little look. "You would be surprised what I can do."
He dives.
Under the surface, it’s silent. Percy opens his eyes. The salt doesn't sting. He looks at Kyle’s legs kicking aimlessly above him. He feels a pang of guilt a small, mortal part of him that says this is wrong.
But then he remembers the way Kyle looked at you, and remembers the long, lonely nights at camp wondering if you were moving on.
The jealousy roars louder than his conscience.
Percy clenches his fist.
The water obeys instantly. It doesn't look like magic from the surface. It just looks like a freak current. A riptide.
Around Kyle, the water hardens. It shifts from fluid to a vice. You’re only ten feet away, laughing as you wipe water from your eyes, waiting for Percy to pop up. You don't see the way Kyle's expression shifts from joy to confusion, then to sheer panic.
He tries to swim up, but the ocean grabs his ankles. It’s not a wave crashing down; it’s the depths reaching up.
The water fills Kyle's mouth before he can scream. It drags him down, heavy and relentless.
Percy stays under, watching. He ensures the current pushes Kyle deep, tumbling him along the sandy bottom, far away from you.
Far away from anyone. The ocean is vast, and it keeps secrets better than anyone.
When Percy finally breaks the surface, he’s right next to you. His hair is wet and messy, his eyes bright and innocent.
"Where's Kyle?" you ask, looking around. The water is calm now. Suspiciously calm. "He was just here."
Percy looks around, feigning confusion perfectly. "I don't know. Maybe he went back to shore? Or maybe he swam out further?"
"Kyle!" you yell, spinning in the water. Panic starts to set in. "Kyle!"
Percy puts a hand on your arm. His grip is firm, grounding. "Hey, hey. Don't worry. I'm here."
He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you to keep you steady against the gentle bob of the waves.
You're trembling, scanning the horizon for a friend who is already miles deep and miles away, carried off by a current that answered to one master.
"I’m sure he’s fine," Percy lies, his voice smooth like velvet. He rests his chin on top of your head, looking out at the endless blue.
The sea feels satisfied.
He feels satisfied.
The competition is gone. The doubt is drowned.
"It's just you and me," he whispers into your hair, holding you tight as the tide rolls in. "Just you and me."
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Hours later, the moon is high and the house is quiet.
You are asleep inside the rented beach house, exhausted from hours of crying and talking to the Coast Guard.
While Percy is sitting on the porch railing, his legs dangling over the edge, staring at the dark horizon. He’s drinking a blue cherry Gatorade, looking for all the world like a guy who’s just bummed out about a tragic accident, not a guy who just orchestrated one.
The air smells like rain and ozone. Suddenly, the scent shifts. It smells like a sea breeze mixed with Old Spice and suntan lotion.
Percy doesn't even look up. "Hey, Dad."
Poseidon leans against the porch support beam. He’s dressed in his usual vacationing in Florida attire, khaki cargo shorts, leather sandals, and a Tommy Bahama shirt with parrots on it that seem to be actually moving. He looks relaxed, but his eyes, those same green eyes Percy has, are narrowed.
"Rough day at the beach," Poseidon says. His voice is deep, like the rumble of a wave hitting a cliff.
Percy swirls the Gatorade in the bottle. "Yeah. Current was strong. You know how it is."
"I do," Poseidon says. "I also know the difference between a natural riptide and a hydro-kinetic execution."
Percy finally looks at him. There’s no fear in his face. Usually, Percy gets nervous around the gods, worried about smiting or turning into a dolphin. But tonight, he looks hollowed out and hardened.
"He was touching her, Dad," Percy says. It’s not a whine; it’s a statement of fact. "He was loud, annoying, and he thought he had a chance."
"So you drowned him," Poseidon muses, stroking his beard. He doesn't sound angry. He sounds like he's reviewing a batting average.
"I removed an obstacle," Percy corrects. He sets the bottle down.
"I spend all year fighting giants and Titans. I hold up the sky. I save the world. I come back, and some mortal with a Frisbee thinks he can just take my place?" Percy shakes his head. "I didn't survive Tartarus to lose her to Kyle."
Percy waits for the lecture, waits for Poseidon to tell him that heroes don't kill mortals, that he's crossed a line, and that Zeus is going to have a field day with this.
Instead, Poseidon chuckles. It's a dry, salty sound.
"You really are my son," the god says, a strange sort of pride in his voice. He walks over and puts a heavy hand on Percy’s shoulder. "I was worried you were taking too much after your mother. Too soft. Too forgiving."
Percy blinks, surprised. "You're... not mad?"
"Mad?" Poseidon looks out at the ocean, watching the moonlight dance on the black water. "Percy, look at me. Do you know how many sailors I have dragged to the bottom just because they didn't pour enough wine overboard? Do you know what I did to Odysseus just because he blinded my son? I made him wander for ten years."
Poseidon looks back at Percy, his eyes twinkling with ancient, chaotic energy.
"We are the sea, Percy," he says softly. "The sea is beautiful, yes. But it is also jealous. It is possessive. It takes what it wants, and it does not give it back."
He squeezes Percy’s shoulder. "You saw something that belonged to you, and you made sure it stayed yours. I can’t exactly fault you for acting according to your nature."
Percy breathes out, a tension he didn't know he was holding releasing from his chest. "So, I'm good?"
"You're fine," Poseidon assures him. "The mortals will call it a tragedy, the police will find nothing and the ocean keeps its secrets." He pauses, fading slightly into mist, ready to return to Atlantis.
"Just...maybe keep the body count low, son. It makes the paperwork annoying."
"Thanks, Dad," Percy says.
"Don't mention it," Poseidon says, his form dissolving into sea spray. "And Percy? She's a catch. Don’t let anyone else cast a line."
"I won't," Percy whispers to the empty porch. He looks back toward the window where you’re sleeping. "Never again."
content. 1.1K words, slice of life, mild fluff, takes place before he becomes the villain
intro post
“I really don’t see why you enjoy those trashy stories so much.”
Rolling your eyes, you glance up from your phone, only to find Erik smiling at you guilelessly. He seems pleased at finally regaining your attention. You hurl a pillow at his face. “They are not trashy. Well, okay, maybe some of them are, but there are also plenty of good ones if you know where to look. Like the one I’m reading right now, it’s —”
You pause. Why are you even trying to justify yourself to him? You know for a fact that he’s just doing this to distract you from your novel anyway.
Shooting him a dirty look, you roll over to the edge of your bed, turning away from him. “Stop bothering me. I just got to the good part. Don’t you have better things to do?”
“The good part?” he asks, sidestepping your rebuke entirely.
“Y’know, when the main leads stop being stubborn with each other, confessing their true feelings under the starlight and all. Wha — What’s with that expression?!” You huff. Why ask if he knew he wasn’t going to like the answer? “You’ll grow wrinkles if you keep cringing like that.”
Of all the people in the world, you would never have expected Erik to be this averse to the idea of love.
Erik Agapov is someone who is loved by all. He is wealthy beyond belief, good looking, intelligent, and most important of all, an angel of a person. He is, in all sense of the word, perfect.
For someone so beloved, it’s almost funny how hard of a time Erik has stomaching that same love.
“I can hear you judging me. Stop that,” you say lightheartedly. “I just find it interesting how far people will go for love. I mean, it’s kind of boring in real life, but fiction gives you the chance to see that feeling taken to the extreme.”
He hums thoughtfully, fidgeting with the pillow you threw at him earlier. “Since you’re such an expert, I’m curious to know what your books describe love to be like.”
“Honestly, it’s all very cliché,” you tell him, shrugging. “If you love someone, you’ll always want to be around them. Even the slightest bit of their attention will bring you joy. At the same time, you’ll feel as if you can’t live without them, and you’d be willing to do anything for them. You’ll see them as the most beautiful person in the entire world no matter what, and you’ll always feel drawn to them in a certain way. Also...”
You realise you’ve begun to ramble, and stop yourself then and there. Clearing your throat, you look back at him. “Yeah, that’s about it. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose it does,” he responds.
“You’re acting weird today,” you say. Through the corner of your eye, you look at him with a raised brow. “Why are you asking me about these things all of a sudden? Do you have a crush on someone, or something?”
He stays quiet, which is odd, for he is usually never without something witty to say. Turning to him fully, you open your mouth to tease him only to find him actually blushing.
“Oh my god, you do,” you breathe. When you move in closer to him, he goes noticeably pinker, averting your pointed gaze. It's the first time you've ever seen him so flustered. “Who is it? Tell me. Why didn't you say something earlier? Is it someone from school —”
Regaining his composure quickly, he shuts you up with a dazzling, roguish smile.
“Would you believe me if I said I like you?”
You blink.
A beat passes.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you grumble, scowling at him. Shoving him lightly, you return to your spot on your bed. “Just say you don’t want me to know. What was that for? Hmph. I won’t pry for now, but I swear I’ll find out eventually…!”
He only laughs in response.
You hadn’t known it then, but the impact that unassuming conversation had on Erik was far greater than anything you could ever have imagined.
—
A loud thud startles Erik from the book in his hands.
“Are you —”
He stops short when he notices you’re fast asleep. Your phone had slipped from your hand and onto the floor when your body began to relax. Beyond the windows, the full moon gleams against a starry, sparkling night sky.
Huh. Where has the time gone?
Gently, he removes himself from your bed, heading over to your side to pick your phone off of the ground. He sets it down on the nightstand next to you, and helps you plug it into the charger for good measure.
A light breeze causes the curtains to flutter. Seeing this, he carefully drapes the blankets over your shoulders, tucking you in. It wouldn’t do if you caught a cold, especially in this chilly weather.
He pauses when he notices his face is right over yours.
You’re sleeping so peacefully that he can’t help but chuckle to himself. There are so many people in the world that would kill to spend the night with him alone, and yet here you are, dozing off as if he is nothing but a piece of furniture.
Enraptured, he traces the lines and curves of your features with his eyes, counting every freckle, every mole. He’s close enough he can make out each individual lash on your eyelids, and hear the whistle of your breath as you breathe.
There’s a soft smile on your face. He wonders if you’re dreaming about one of those sappy scenes that happens in those romance books you love so much. Frankly, if it would make you happy, if it would get you to look at him a little longer, smile at him a little brighter, then he has no issue with recreating them in real life for you. He has the money, power, and the acting skills to pull it off, after all.
He can — and will — do anything for you, as long as you say the word.
His hair brushes against your cheek, and you squint, scrunching up your nose and shifting your head. Without thinking, his hand raises, moving to touch your face.
He catches himself before he does.
Swiftly, he straightens his back and turns to leave, startled by his own actions and train of thought. He glances at his clenched fist, feeling the phantom warmth of your skin on his fingertips.
THE WORLD’S GREATEST VILLAIN will stop at nothing to get what he wants — to kill the hero, and to have you.
pairing. yandere villain x civilian gn!reader
content. 1.2K words, identity reveal, obsessive behaviour, mild violence & bloodshed, established rs (hero x reader)
extra
It only takes the Hero one well placed punch to send the Villain crashing to the floor.
The sound of shattering glass cuts through the chaos.
Time stills. Pain blooms on every inch of his body. The tangy taste of metal seeps onto his tongue. When he shifts his head, agony sears through his skull.
Unrelenting, he forces himself up, and tiny, jagged pieces of what used to be his mask pierce into his palms. When his fingers graze his face, he realises that half of the porcelain has embedded itself into his skin.
The ground sways as he faces the Hero once more.
The Hero has his hands outstretched, a furrow in his brow. He steps forward. “Wait, you —”
“How dare you.” The words come thoughtlessly. Bitterly. “How dare you. How much more must you take from me before you are satisfied?”
The Hero’s frown deepens. “What in the world are you talking about?”
Playing dumb? Cynically, he throws his head back and laughs at the absurdity of it all. Hatred sharpens his senses, swallowing his pain whole.
Letting out a guttural scream, he surges forward, thrusting his blade into the Hero’s chest with all his might. The poison works fast, and the Hero, already weakened from their earlier fight, staggers to the floor.
Yet the Villain doesn’t stop. The blood that splatters onto his face only serves to invigorate him even more. He stabs. Again. And again. And again. His grip on his dagger is so tight his nails begin to dig into his palms.
“You sicken me. You stole everything from me, and yet you still have the utter gall to —”
“Erik…?”
That voice. Your voice.
Freezing, the Villain — no, Erik turns to face you, standing hesitantly by the doorway. Your gaze flickers between the two men, the mess that has become of the Villain’s headquarters, the blood pooling on the floor and his fractured mask.
Your expression morphs into one of abject horror. “Erik, you — That mask…”
Regaining his senses, he scrambles off of the Hero and takes a step towards you. His blade clatters to the ground.
“[Name], it’s not what you —”
You stumble backwards. Away from him.
His body goes cold.
No. No, no, nonononONONO.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. This isn’t supposed to be happening.
Erik Agapov is supposed to be perfect. In the way all suns are stars and the universe chases infinity, Erik is kind and gracious and good. In that very same vein, the Villain is cruel and selfish and unkind. The Villain is everything that Erik is not.
Friend or foe, virtue or sin… The line which drew that difference was a single porcelain mask.
And now, much like that mask, Erik Agapov's perfect life has become nothing but shattered pieces on the floor.
“You — you’re the one that’s been trying to kill Theodore. This whole time…?” Betrayal replaces the fear in your eyes, and the yawning chasm in his gut grows impossibly deep. “Were you planning on killing me too?”
“No, I would never, I —”
The Hero groans, shifting from where he lies on the ground. His flesh has already begun to knit itself together, with the colour seeping back onto his face.
“Theodore,” you breathe, rushing past him to kneel by the Hero’s side. Tenderly, you cup that man’s face, eyes filled with so much concern and worry that are completely wasted on a pest like him. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” the Hero forces through gritted teeth. He manages to sit upright with your aid. “How about you? You were —”
The rest of your conversation is drowned out by the ringing in his ears, the beat of his heart in his throat. While the rest of the world fades into the background, you sharpen to a vivid hyperfocus.
Your lips move. Your words come too loud, too sharp. Every twitch of your muscles coincide with the pounding in his chest. The throbbing in his temples intensifies, and it feels as if his body is splintering apart, as if he is unraveling at the seams.
Even now, as he stands stripped bare and broken before you, your gaze never strays from that wretched man.
Perhaps, Erik thinks, his life had been ruined the moment the Hero entered yours.
“Look at me.”
He means it as a demand.
It comes out as a plea.
You do, startled, as if you had forgotten that he was there in the first place. “Erik, how could you?! Why would you do this?”
And for all the eloquence and grace he usually has, Erik finds himself at a loss for words.
“Because I — Because of that thing you call a man —”
“He’s more human than you will ever be,” you retort harshly.
It lands like a blow.
He recoils. “I can explain, I swear. Listen to me. Please.”
“Go on, then,” you say. There are tears beading in the corners of your eyes. Brimming with disappointment. Hurt. Disbelief. “Tell me why my best friend has been trying to kill my lover for the past year. Tell me.”
“I only… Stop — stop looking at me like that,” he whispers weakly.
Like he’s a monster.
Like you’re scared of what he's become.
Like you hate him.
You’re not supposed to hate him.
Not you.
Never you.
He'd rather lodge his own dagger straight into his heart than have you look at him with those eyes. He'd rather die.
“I just… I just wanted you to see me.”
His voice breaks. He sounds fragile. Small. The same way he did when he was seven, the only day you ever saw him cry.
His vision blurs. The ground spins beneath his feet.
“What are you talking about?” you say, but you sound eternities away. “Are you okay? You look —”
His legs give way. Pillows seem to have replaced his limbs. Cotton clouds his mind, his thoughts scattering like dandelions in the wind.
You're getting up now, reaching for him. You look concerned. Apprehensive all the same.
He grasps at your ankles desperately, clutching onto your feet. He's rambling. Deliriously, frantically. “What does he have that I don't? What am I lacking? I'll do better. I'll do anything. I want to know — have to know — what I'm doing wrong. It could be anything. Is it my hair? My voice? Or is it —”
The world grows muddled. Dizzyingly bright. Suffocatingly loud. He presses his forehead against your shin, only to realise he's dirtied your precious skin with red.
He staggers backwards. “I'm sorry. I'm so — sorry — I didn't mean —”
The last of the adrenaline coursing through him fizzles out then, sapping his entire body of strength.
He collapses.
Despite his fading sight, he finds your gaze. It comes to him easier than it is to breathe.
Teardrops cling to your lashes like stardust, and a universe hides within your glittering eyes. You're speaking, but he can't make out the words amidst the lullaby of your voice. Childishly, he keens into the warmth of your palm as it ghosts against his cheek.
He's mesmerized by you, the same way he's always been, the same way he always will be.
“Finally, you…”
Even if it is only for this one moment…
Foolishly, Erik smiles.
this stupid thing took 2 months and 4 damn rewrites, so do with that what you will 🤧🤧🤧
anyway, this au (I've been calling it the superverse in my head LOL) will have four characters, and this is erik's introduction post. it was supposed to be a short story about 7k words, w more details about his backstory & rs w the reader, but I couldn't get it right even after 3 rewrites so I gave up and settled for this one scene instead
