YANDERE DOTTORE (SOULMATE AU) Early stages of obsession.
Warnings: This story explores darker themes, including obsessive attachment, psychological control, and societal rejection of individuals without soulmate.
In the world of Teyvat, love is not chosen, it is revealed. At fifteen, every person receives a soulmate mark, a sign of perfect belonging. Those without one are not envied. They are avoided.
Unmarked individuals are believed to bring misfortune, instability, and quiet ruin to those around them. Society does not need to punish them. It simply stops acknowledging them.
At twenty-one, you are still unmarked.
And in a place where absence is treated like a disease, even survival becomes something conditional.
People talk like it’s something soft.
Like it’s something kind.
You sit behind your friend, Emma, fingers already moving before you really think about it—parting, smoothing, dividing her hair into three even strands. It’s easier when your hands are busy. Easier not to think.
“I didn’t even see his face at first,” Emma says, hugging her knees, smiling into nothing. “I just felt it. Like—like something clicked.”
“Same,” Anastasia, your other friend laughs quietly. “It was warm. Not scary at all.”
Warm.
Your fingers tighten slightly as you cross one strand over the other.
Left over middle. Right over middle.
“He knew my name,” Emma adds, softer now. “I never told him, but he said it like he’d been saying it forever.”
“That’s how it’s supposed to be, right?” Anastasia says. “Like you already belong to each other.”
Belong.
You pull the braid tighter.
Emma shifts. “Hey, gentler.”
“Sorry,” you say, but your hands don’t really listen.
They keep talking.
They always do.
About small things—how their hands brushed, how their marks appeared, how everything suddenly made sense. Their voices blur together after a while, soft and glowing and distant, like you’re listening from underwater.
You focus on the strands instead.
They don’t change. They don’t leave. They don’t fail to appear.
"What do you think?” you answer, flat, continuing the braid.
A pause follows. Not long—but long enough.
“Maybe it’s just late,” Emma offers quickly. “It happens sometimes, right?”
“Yeah,” Anastasia agrees. “Some people just take longer.”
Take longer.
Right.
Twenty-one years.
Your fingers slow for just a second, then continue, more precise now. Tighter. Controlled.
“Or maybe—” Emma starts, then stops.Silence presses in.
“Maybe nothing,” she corrects quickly, laughing it off. “Forget I said anything.”
You tie off the braid.
Too tight.
Emma winces, reaching up instinctively. “Ow—”
“Sorry,” you repeat.
This time, you let go immediately.
You watch the braid settle against her back, neat and perfect and finished.
Unlike you.
Everything means something.
Especially what you don’t have.
You’ve learned that the hard way.
At eighteen, your parents stopped pretending not to notice. No shouting. No arguments worth remembering. Just a quiet decision made behind closed doors, followed by a bag left by the entrance and a door that didn’t open again for you after that.
No soulmate meant misfortune.
And misfortune spreads.That’s what people believe here.
You just learned to live inside it.
The Snezhnayan market is already awake when you arrive.
Steam rises from food stalls, voices overlap in practiced rhythm, and wrists—always wrists—are visible without effort. Marks curl across skin in different shapes, some faint and delicate, others dark and intricate, like signatures written directly into the body.
No one hides them.
There’s no reason to.
You keep yours covered anyway.
It doesn’t matter.
People notice.
They just don’t always show it.
A glance that lingers too long. A pause in conversation. A small, careful adjustment in distance as you pass.
Not cruelty.
Not openly.
Just correction.
Like you’re something slightly out of place in a system that otherwise works perfectly.
You stop at a bread stall.
The vendor greets the person before you easily, smiles, exchanges words, hands over food without hesitation. His sleeve shifts as he moves, revealing a mark around his wrist—clean, matched, certain.
When it’s your turn, the change is subtle but immediate.
“What do you need?” he asks.
“Bread,” you say.
Simple. Normal.
His eyes flick down—not to your face, but to your hands.
You don’t move.
The silence stretches just long enough to feel wrong.
“…your wrist,” he says after a moment.
Not demanding. Just expected.
You hesitate, then pull your sleeve back slightly.
Blank skin.
No mark.
No shape.
No answer.
The air shifts.
It’s almost unnoticeable unless you’re the one standing inside it.
“I can’t sell it to you,” he says.
You frown. “Why not?” He doesn’t look uncomfortable.
Just final.
“It’s not worth the risk.”
“Risk of what?”
He stops for a second, as if he doesn't want to be the one to say it.
“…misfortune,” he answers, like the word has already been decided for him long before you asked.
Around you, the market continues—but not around you, exactly. Around everything else. You can feel it in the spacing of people, the way movement avoids your position without ever directly acknowledging it.
You exhale slowly. “It’s just bread.”
“That’s not how it works.”
And that’s the end of it. He won’t look at you again.
You leave without buying anything. There’s no argument that changes a system people believe in.
Your chest feels tight as you stand there—not pain exactly, but something unfamiliar threading under your skin, faint but persistent, like pressure without direction.
You press your fingers briefly against your wrist.
Nothing. Still nothing. But the feeling sharpens anyway. Not randomly. Not scattered. Directed.
"You’re being corrected faster than expected.” The voice comes from beside you.
Close enough that you don’t need to turn to recognize it.
He doesn’t look at the people around you.He doesn’t need to.
They already know he’s there.
The change is immediate.
Movement slows. Conversations break off mid-sentence. Someone lowers their gaze too quickly. Another takes a step back without meaning to.
Fear doesn’t spread.
It just exists.
Already complete.
"I wasn’t aware she was—” the vendor starts from behind you, voice tight.
Dottore doesn’t look at him yet.
He tilts his head slightly. “You were aware enough to refuse service.”
Silence follows. Not empty. Pressurized.
“I… didn’t think—” the vendor tries again.
“Ah,” Dottore interrupts calmly.
“That explains it.”
The words are light. Almost polite. But something in them closes the conversation entirely.
He finally glances at the stalll.
Just briefly.
Not interested. Just confirming.
“Give it to her.”
The instruction is quiet. Unremarkable in tone. But it lands like something undeniable.
The vendor moves immediately. Too quickly.
Hands shaking slightly as bread is wrapped and pushed forward, eyes never meeting yours.
No one argues.
No one even breathes too loudly.
You take it slowly.
Nothing stops you this time.
The pressure in your chest eases the moment you hold it.
Not gone.
Just… reduced.
Enough that your breath steadies without permission. You notice it immediately. So does he.
“Interesting,” Dottore murmurs, almost to himself.
His gaze shifts to you properly now—not sharp, not soft, just precise. Like you’re a result that continues to confirm itself.
“Social rejection is consistent,” he says. “As expected.”
Then.
“However, proximity alters response efficiency.”
You don’t answer.
You can’t tell what would even be correct to say.
He steps slightly closer, and the relief returns again, subtle but undeniable, threading through the tightness in your chest like it belongs there more than the discomfort does.
You hate that your body reacts before your thoughts do.
He notices anyway.
Of course he does.
“Dependency is forming,” he says simple.
You tighten your grip on the bread.
Around you, the market continues carefully, like nothing important is happening, but nothing approaches either. Space bends around him without effort. People exist just far enough away to avoid becoming part of this moment.
I've had this in the back pocket for some time now, and I figured I'll do some tiny touch-ups and post it for the sake of satiating my troubled conscience, knowing that I'm not leaving this a wip.
While I'm not all too proud of this comic, it's nice to see that I can finally show off the weird Bio-IMP doo-dads that are a part of Elysium. I think they're fun.
...Horror romantic tension as well, that too.
You're transported into the fictional setting of a romance plot, except you're (Y/N)'s friend instead of (Y/N) themselves. Life is surprisingly chill, albeit a tad peculiar.
You stepped into an empty office, with only a handful of coworkers sitting around and chitchatting. What's going on, you asked, as one of the managers handed you a cup of coffee. (Y/N) got kidnapped again, he stated casually, it's the third time this month. Ah, so the billionaire CEO must've been away to save them. Less work for you.
Indeed, being a secondary character to (Y/N)'s dark romance comes with surprising benefits. You eye your fridge, stuffed to the brim with leftovers from your town's most exquisite restaurants. (Y/N) can never decide on what to eat, so your mysterious boss just orders everything on the menu and has you dealing with the rest.
Yet, something's off. Lately, you've begun to notice that your existence is interfering with the natural order of the universe. The love rival who's been fighting for (Y/N)'s affections suddenly gawks at you in utter disbelief; were you always there? How comes he never realized it until now? The shy underling who'd been secretly crushing on (Y/N) for the longest time hesitantly sits next to you, throwing you quick glances. The flirty manager who won't stop teasing (Y/N) abruptly stops by your desk.
It's as if the cast is only now becoming aware of your presence.
OKAY OKAY, now that we’re at this point, I can tell more of the story. As you guessed, this is Curly going back in time after his ass got frozen in the cryopod. Problem is, after having spent months unable to be alive, he's struggling to jump back in the grind (he kinda forgot how to fonction as a human)
Second complication in the mess of his life is : he's not the only lucky guy who got a second chance (?)
-----
I'm back, yeahhh🧌🫡
I'm sorry for all this waiting, I'm indeed continuing this little project, it's not done (I would say so if I were to discontinue it don't worry) For the people still here, well thank you all for all your kind words regarding my work and have fun reading that one! I progressed a lot since I started this so it took me quite some time to be satisfied with this part🫡
Zoom In, Don’t Glaze Over: How to Describe Appearance Without Losing the Plot
You’ve met her before. The girl with “flowing ebony hair,” “emerald eyes,” and “lips like rose petals.” Or him, with “chiseled jawlines,” “stormy gray eyes,” and “shoulders like a Greek statue.”
We don’t know them.
We’ve just met their tropes.
Describing physical appearance is one of the trickiest — and most overdone — parts of character writing. It’s tempting to reach for shorthand: hair color, eye color, maybe a quick body scan. But if we want a reader to see someone — to feel the charge in the air when they enter a room — we need to stop writing mannequins and start writing people.
So let’s get granular. Here’s how to write physical appearance in a way that’s textured, meaningful, and deeply character-driven.
1. Hair: It’s About Story, Texture, and Care
Hair says a lot — not just about genetics, but about choices. Does your character tame it? Let it run wild? Is it dyed, greying, braided, buzzed, or piled on top of her head in a hurry?
Good hair description considers:
Texture (fine, coiled, wiry, limp, soft)
Context (windblown, sweat-damp, scorched by bleach)
Emotion (does she twist it when nervous? Is he ashamed of losing it?)
Flat: “Her long brown hair framed her face.”
Better: “Her ponytail was too tight, the kind that whispered of control issues and caffeine-fueled 4 a.m. library shifts.”
You don’t need to romanticise it. You need to make it feel real.
2. Eyes: Less Color, More Connection
We get it: her eyes are violet. Cool. But that doesn’t tell us much.
Instead of focusing solely on eye color, think about:
What the eyes do (do they dart, linger, harden?)
What others feel under them (seen, judged, safe?)
The surrounding features (dark circles, crow’s feet, smudged mascara)
Flat: “His piercing blue eyes locked on hers.”
Better: “His gaze was the kind that looked through you — like it had already weighed your worth and moved on.”
You’re not describing a passport photo. You’re describing what it feels like to be seen by them.
3. Facial Features: Use Contrast and Texture
Faces are not symmetrical ovals with random features. They’re full of tension, softness, age, emotion, and life.
Things to look for:
Asymmetry and character (a crooked nose, a scar)
Expression patterns (smiling without the eyes, habitual frowns)
Evidence of lifestyle (laugh lines, sun spots, stress acne)
Flat: “She had a delicate face.”
Better: “There was something unfinished about her face — as if her cheekbones hadn’t quite agreed on where to settle, and her mouth always seemed on the verge of disagreement.”
Let the face be a map of experience.
4. Bodies: Movement > Measurement
Forget dress sizes and six packs. Think about how bodies occupy space. How do they move? What are they hiding or showing? How do they wear their clothes — or how do the clothes wear them?
Ask:
What do others notice first? (a presence, a posture, a sound?)
How does their body express emotion? (do they go rigid, fold inwards, puff up?)
Flat: “He was tall and muscular.”
Better: “He had the kind of height that made ceilings nervous — but he moved like he was trying not to take up too much space.”
Describing someone’s body isn’t about cataloguing. It’s about showing how they exist in the world.
5. Let Emotion Tint the Lens
Who’s doing the describing? A lover? An enemy? A tired narrator? The emotional lens will shape what’s noticed and how it’s described.
In love: The chipped tooth becomes charming.
In rivalry: The smirk becomes smug.
In mourning: The face becomes blurred with memory.
Same person. Different lens. Different description.
6. Specificity is Your Superpower
Generic description = generic character. One well-chosen detail creates intimacy. Let us feel the scratch of their scarf, the clink of her earrings, the smudge of ink on their fingertips.
Examples:
“He had a habit of adjusting his collar when he lied — always clockwise, always twice.”
“Her nail polish was always chipped, but never accidentally.”
Make the reader feel like they’re the only one close enough to notice.
Describing appearance isn’t just about what your character looks like. It’s about what their appearance says — about how they move through the world, how others see them, and how they see themselves.
Zoom in on the details that matter. Skip the clichés. Let each description carry weight, story, and emotion. Because you’re not building paper dolls. You’re building people.
You see a really weird "job" post online, and the money seems too good to be true. But you aren't really in a position where you can turn it down...
You hope it doesn't get weird.
---
It was a very… concerning “job” posting.
But desperate times, and all that.
It had shown up about a week ago, and it wasn’t hard to see why no one had taken the poster up on it as of yet.
Bedmate Needed
● 11 pm to 6 am
● $25/hour up front
● Riverside Motel
● Room 44
● Not a sex thing
The last note seemed tacked on in a later edit, but it was still… not great.
You’d have to be either a gullible idiot or a desperate one to go for a job like this. Unfortunately, you were the latter. Very much so.
You couldn’t take another night on the street. It was getting so cold out. The promise of a warm bed was almost enough to lure you in on its own. But the money… 175 bucks just to sleep in the same bed as some internet creep?
Despite the clarification in the post, this had to be a sex thing, right?
You hadn’t gone that far, despite everything. It’s not like you hadn’t considered it… but the thought was too terrifying. Making yourself completely vulnerable to a stranger that could just decide you were less than a person and do whatever they wanted to you? You had to draw the line somewhere.
But at this point, you weren’t sure that there was a line you weren’t willing to cross anymore.
. . .
The Motel wasn’t the seediest you’d ever seen around town but it wasn’t a place you would’ve voluntarily stayed at even two months ago. Back when you had options.
Creepy post guy opened the door after a couple of knocks, with an awkward, pregnant pause between them. He wasn’t quite what you expected for an internet creep, but he was still a sight to see.
Really bad posture and dark, greasy-looking hair, with the darkest circles under his eyes you’d ever seen. He looked like he was about to pass out at any second, but he held it together long enough to gesture you into the room.
“Hey…” His voice was low but he sounded nervous. And so, so tired. “You’re… You’re a little early. That’s…that’s fine. Uh, come in.”
You felt his eyes on you as you passed him, and it didn’t help your anxiousness. Not one bit.
“Hey so, I-I really…I uh, need a shower.” He stumbled over his words with a breathy, nervous laugh. “Unless you wanna sleep next to a… fuckin’ sweaty mess all night. Do you wanna go first or…?”
You must’ve looked nervous because his eyes went wider, digging into his pocket.
“I wasn’t tryin’ to… Oh, uh…here.” He nodded, pressing the money into your hand. “Up front, just… just like I said. You just…just seemed like you maybe sorta needed one too.”
Some part of you must’ve still had an ounce of pride left because your whole body felt on fire with shame, embarrassment so consuming that you froze up. It had been a couple of days…
He just looked away, seeming like he was embarrassed himself.
“I w-wasn’t gonna like… try to join you or peep on you or nothin’!” He tried to assure you, eyes darting in a panic and talking a bit too fast. “If I, like, go first? I won’t get mad if you change your mind and leave… I get it. I’m not gonna like… go after you or call the cops or nothin’ like that. I just…”
He stared at the floor, nails digging into his arm as he seemed like he was having trouble breathing.
“I really… I really need this.” He was so quiet, but his voice was so desperate.
You couldn’t really be considering this, could you?
He seemed more like a weird, awkward, sad guy than a real danger or some kind of pervert.
And you really did need a hot shower.
It seemed like a safer bet to have him go first, if you were really going through with this. And it would give you a chance to look around the room for a spot to tuck away your pocket knife, just in case.
When he was in the shower, you did just that. The spot between the mattress and bed frame would be easy to grab at if things got hinky.
If things got all touchy-feely, as you suspected they would, him finding that on you or leaving it in your pocket when your clothes got tossed wherever would be really inconvenient.
Steam rolled out of the bathroom when he stepped out, shirtless but with sweatpants and a towel around his neck. He was thin, almost alarmingly so, but you could still see muscle, enough to pose a problem should he decide to overpower you.
This was your last chance to back out, before you’d be vulnerable to this odd stranger.
But even if you left, the money wouldn’t last long, and it’s not like you had any other options.
You were so grateful that the motel tub wasn’t disgusting, but you would’ve gotten clean regardless. Two days worth of sweat and funk was washed away and it felt so heavenly… But it was hard to relax when you were trying to stay hyper alert of any noise that could be that man trying to get in or even eavesdrop.
But…
Nothing.
You finished your shower and brushed your teeth, doing everything you could to feel clean that a motel bathroom could provide. And there was no sign of the guy.
But you had to go back out there eventually. You supposed you could lock yourself in here and get a full night’s sleep indoors, even if it was on the floor of a motel bathroom with your back against the door, but part of you just said “fuck it” and warily peeked around the doorway into the bedroom.
The lights in the room were dim, but warm. He was sitting on the end of the bed, one knee tucked into his chest, staring at the tv as the bright colors of a nightly talk show reflected in his eyes, but something told you he wasn’t really watching. His eyes met yours and you froze.
“It’s almost eleven…” He mumbled, his head resting awkwardly on his shoulder. His hand ghosted over the spot on the bed next to him. “… Will... will you stay?”
So many thoughts raced through your head. What would happen if you laid down beside him? You could probably deal with sex… even if it felt a bit wrong. But if he wanted to hurt you?
Your brain reminded you:
What do you really have to lose?
When you told him you would stay, sitting next to him, you could see him relax. Just a bit.
“If you still want to leave-”
But you cut him off, almost afraid he would talk you out of it after you’d made up your mind.
Avoiding his stare, you told him you had nowhere to go.
The bed was cold, it might take a bit to warm up with the two of you in it, but it was the least of your concerns at that moment.
“So it’s...” He’d spoken up so suddenly, you hoped he didn’t see you flinch. He was staring at the ceiling, seeming just a tiny bit calmer. “... it’s fine if you just… lay there or h-hold onto me, or play on your phone or whatever, anything is fine. Just… just don’t leave ‘til mornin’. Okay?”
A worrying pause, but you told him you understood.
And that was that. He laid next to you unmoving for almost an hour before you had the nerve to move at all, shifting slowly to your side to face him.
His eyes were shut, his breathing even, but somehow you knew he was still awake. It was like he was trying to sleep but it just wasn’t coming to him. He looked so worn down, like he could just keel over any second. It definitely made him less intimidating, but you weren’t letting your guard down, no matter how much your body was screaming at you to just let go.
Despite your better judgement, you wondered if he really was being genuine about this not being a sex thing. It was a relief, sure, but it just raised more questions.
Why were you here?
. . .
You’d stopped looking at the bedside clock a while ago. It had to have been hours by then.
Your anxiety and dread somehow felt quieter under the lull of impending sleep. Despite everything, your body was at least grateful for a warm bed and hot shower, and if you didn’t sleep there now, you didn’t know when you’d be able to sleep somewhere warm any time soon.
Every moment that ticked by, you felt your resolve slipping. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to let go… This whole situation was weird, but you just wanted to sleep.
He hoped against everything that he would just fall asleep.
Just this once, he didn’t want to have to follow through with it. But he was so damn tired. There was this ache behind his eyes that he could feel in his bones, his mind never stopped racing…
He could feel your body heat in the bed next to him. You had either been very scared or very considerate, you’d only moved once since you laid down with him.
He hated that he had to do this. He felt sorry for you, he really did. But it was drowned out by the buzzing in the back of his brain. The constant whispers in his ear.
There had been so many before now, it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten caught. But this was a huge, dangerous city. Everyone in it was just a blip to anyone paying attention.
He could feel their skin under his palms buzzing at the back of his brain. How their eyes stared into his, burning with betrayal, fear, helplessness. How he saw them fade away.
How it was the only thing that worked to let him finally sleep. The only thing that quieted the whispers, at least for a little bit.
Some booked it after getting the money. Some just showed up and straight-up robbed him. Some tried to leave in the middle of the night, thinking he was asleep. But if they stayed and fell asleep, that was that.
He told himself that he gave them all a chance.
If you managed to stay up all night, you’d be safe. But he really needed this… It was already day three, and he’d never made it past day five without completely losing it. Trying to fight this, it was too hard. The longer he stayed awake, trying to avoid what had to happen, the worse he felt. The louder the voice got. The deeper the ache in his bones. But the more often he did it, the easier it got. And that was worse in a different way.
It was wrong. He wasn’t so deep in it that he couldn’t see that. The morning after, he always hated himself and what he did.
But as the days went on, it would all creep back in. And doing it again felt less and less horrifying to him.
You were scared. He could tell. And you had every reason to be, he told himself. But it just meant it would take you longer to fall asleep.
He could wait all night. And if you made it the full seven hours, you weren’t what he needed. You’d be free from him, from this. Hopefully you wouldn’t come back, no matter how badly you needed the money.
He wondered what you meant by having nowhere to go.
But he tried not to wonder too much. It would make this harder.
He could hear your breathing getting slower, your body relaxing into the bed. You wouldn’t last much longer.
His eyes shot open when he felt you suddenly touch him, tucking your forehead into his shoulder. You weren’t quite asleep, a cuddler? He almost laughed to himself when half-asleep you looked a bit frustrated, like it wasn’t enough.
You muttered something about being cold, lazily scooting your body closer to him up the bed. He felt his breath catch when suddenly, his head was pulled to you, tucked into your chest as your arm circled him. He was suddenly the little spoon, but facing you. He could hear your heartbeat.
He wanted to say something, wake you up or wriggle free to make what he had to do easier on you when you fell asleep. He felt a hand in his hair, playing with it and idle gentle nails on his scalp.
It was… nice. Everything felt calm, the buzzing and horrible thoughts were still there but they were being drowned out by the warmth of your skin, the thump of your heart in his ear.
You were mumbling something. He held his breath, trying to hear.
You told him, or whoever you were dreaming about, maybe even no one at all, that he was okay. That he was safe.
He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Something was different this time. He felt all his control slipping away, and for once, he wasn’t scared.
You woke to a sunbeam across your face, and the strange man in your arms, sound asleep. According to your phone, it was 10 am. You were grateful for the extra hours in a warm bed, but would he be mad? Did he have somewhere to be?
You couldn’t remember anything past drifting off next to him, but the two of you were tangled together, he seemed so comfortable.
Now that it was over, and your anxieties were much quieter, you really got a good look at the guy. He wasn’t… unattractive, you supposed. He was all elbows and ribs but laying against your chest made him look so soft and harmless.
Wasn’t the worst way you’d ever made 175 bucks.
You wondered if he’d shell out the extra 100, or if that would be pushing your luck.
Either way, it would be best to wake him up.
Gently scratching at his scalp, you told him it was getting late.
You watched as his eyes struggled to open, and for a few calm moments, he just laid against you. After a beat, he gasped and jolted up, head swiveling around the room in a panic.
“I…” He seemed really out of it, almost scared. “I actually…”
He stared at you, eyes wide. You told him it was ten in the morning, hoping everything was okay and if it wasn’t, that he wouldn’t take it out on you.
He grabbed you by the shoulders, and for a moment you were sure something bad was going to happen, but somehow, it was even worse.
He was crying.
Breaking down, sobbing hard as he just kept staring at you. Even with the odd night you’d just had, this was somehow the weirdest part.
Despite yourself, you asked him if he was okay. He pulled himself together and you were startled again when he touched your face, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. It was tender and sweet, and it was freaking you out a little. Just a tad.
“You… It was you…”
All you could think to ask was if you should get going, maybe trying to make it seem like you had someplace to be, or were at least trying to be considerate of his time. But it didn’t seem like he was taking the hint.
He grabbed your hands in his, the sudden contact made you jump. He pulled them to his chest, he was too close. The way he was looking at you…
“Can we… Can we do this again? Like tonight? Please?” He was practically begging, the look in his eyes changing. That nervous, achingly tired gaze was hopeful. And so warm.
“You can have the room, if that’s what you need!” he offered, maybe somehow having picked up on your current situation. “I can pay more too. Just p-please…”
He held your palm to his cheek, staring up at you.
a bit of a different one from me, but i kind of liked how it turned out
that feeling when your new yandere was totally gonna off you but you were just too comfy
he's never gonna let you go. you're the only thing keepin him from killing again, ya know?
i don't have a ton of yanderes that actually kill, as odd as that seems. but this guy is one of them
he's not supposed to be a huge commentary on any particular mental health conditions, i did a bit of "research" into psychosis induced insomnia (using that term VERY loosely), but like does he hear voices because he can't sleep, or can he not sleep because he hears voices? who can say? certainly not I, the dummy who made him
i wrote this one pretty much right after my last big deadline ended, but it got reworked a bit cause it just needed some tweaks:
the yandere started out as tired but crass, kind of a dick, and when he switched after that good night's sleep it felt off. It felt more interesting if he was a bit pathetic and creepy, it felt like less of a red flag for the reader to stick around
the reader was originally going to be a straight up s*x worker that got hired by the yandere for him to kill, but it didn't really feel like my place to make that commentary on violence against s*x workers or to more or less soften it with a yandere love interest. it just didn't feel right for something so unserious
but ive been having horrible writer's block lately, so i thought i'd finally put this one out. i need to read/play some yandere stuff and get inspired. let me know if you have any recommendations y'all ✌️
Hey! I loved your yandere!konig and ghost when their darling runs away. But how would they react if they're darling broke out. But couldn't bring themselves to go farther than 10 - 20 feet away. Cause if their anxiety of leaving the cabin?
Ah, the sweet, sweet betrayal of the own mind, I like that :D
Thanks for requesting!
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"Come on... Come on! Yes!"
With a sharp click, the front door unlocked. The wooden cabin creaked as if warning you to stay, but you were up and outside before you could even think to listen. For weeks, you had worked towards this moment, and as the taste of freedom—earthy like the forest that surrounded the lonesome cabin—caressed your senses, a big smile curled the corners of your mouth upwards.
Day after day, you had swallowed your pride, nodded, and agreed. Laid still next to your captor in bed at night and listened to his footsteps whenever he returned, hoping they'd pass by your bedroom. The first few weeks had been the worst, with you still shackled and panicked, the masked man telling you to behave at every outburst of yours. But how could you?
It took a lot of time until he trusted you enough to let you freely walk around the secluded cabin. It wasn't without punishments as you tried to escape so many times before, until your feet were bloody from his knife and your wrists sore from the restraints he put you back in, but you learned your lessons. Listened to him. Obeyed him. Waited like a good little spouse a few steps away from the entrance whenever he returned. Enough so that he started trusting you.
Enough so that he grew careless.
Ghost, he called himself. It wasn't the most accurate description as he was tall and burly, not exactly haggard. His skeleton mask could be frightening; that much was true. As was his strength and the ruthless use of force to cause you pain and torture you. It was hard to get to this point of him letting his guard down, and you figured pretty quickly that he wasn't just some random man; all his senses were sharp, and his actions were skilled as if he was trained for this. Ghost was lines of muscles and scars all over his body. He was a human predator as far as you could see, but it made his weakness glaringly obvious;
You.
Because the moment you cuddled up to him, his tense posture grew slack, his arms gentle around you, his hands massaging you as if you were a fragile being. When you asked for something, he'd simply say, "We'll see," but would return with it after his next grocery run without needing a reminder. Meals were always cooked the way you wanted, and the heater was always set to the temperature you decided on. Even if he insisted on sleeping next to you, he let you have his blanket if you stole it at night. You'd constantly wake up to him gently rubbing your back whenever you accidentally laid on top of him at night.
It was a gamble to try and make him careless. You couldn't be sure it would work. However, you still worked towards your goal every day, pretending to get along with him, slowly falling into a routine he could get used to without letting him find out you were merely playing him. And now, finally, it had paid off.
Mud and grass had never felt better beneath the soles of your shoes as you stepped down the porch and onto the forest ground. Freeing and inviting—alive. Compared to the outside, the air inside the cabin had been terribly stale, and the building made of wood weighed down on your mood. Here, you finally felt in control of your life and closer than ever to escaping the nightmare!
There was barely anything around besides the dense treeline in front of you. A stump with an axe rested on the right corner of the cabin, but there was no path, no signs of a car or any way out, meaning what Ghost had told you about the cabin being far away from any other living soul must have been true.
Your heart sunk a little at the realization. You had seen the forest through the windows, but the ones showing the front had always been boarded shut. It gave you hope that there was something you weren't supposed to see or know, but you realized now that it was to keep uninvited eyes out should anyone stumble across the cabin instead.
So where were you supposed to go? There were trees on the left and trees on the right. Undoubtedly, more forest awaited you behind the cabin, so your only chance was to go forward. Looking at the ground, you tried to find Ghost's footsteps, any indication that this was the right way, but despite his hefty stature, you found none that could lead you.
You were on your own.
"Nothing wrong with that," you muttered to yourself, curling your hands into fists before saying a quick pep-talk. Surely, you'd find back to civilization once you fought your way through the forest. You were well-fed and clothed, had slept a full ten hours last night, and were young enough to take one or two days trekking through the thicket easily. The thought made you nervous regardless, but everything would be fine. You just had to get going so as to not get caught by the man who was trying to ruin your life with his fantasies.
Frankly, any fate awaiting you outside was better than staying at the cabin with him.
Taking your first steps, you felt your pulse quicken, your nostrils expanding to let more air into your lungs. You knew you couldn't afford to overthink things. There simply wasn't enough time. Ghost stayed away for two hours whenever he went out, and you had struggled to open the high-security lock on the front door that stood out like a sore spot against the wood. It took you months to find out what you needed to do and prepare everything for this moment—you couldn't afford to waste your efforts now.
Months, huh? It had been so long since you'd been under people. This forest wasn't familiar to you in the slightest, but you've been to forests before. This was just another one that would surely end in a town or at least a street. Hopefully, someone would believe you when you were found and help you. You didn't even have anything to verify yourself with.
But it didn't matter, surely your family had reported you as missing! It had been too long since you last spoke, even if you weren't in contact regularly. They would have noticed you being gone!
Right?
You felt your throat constrict as you swallowed down the doubt. "It's all his fault," you cursed through shallow breaths, wrapping your arm around yourself in an effort to calm down. Ghost had been putting all these thoughts inside your head, and you were merely reaping the fruits of his manipulation now. It was unfair, but you were stronger than this! You'd not allow him to continue to hold you hostage, his ill-willed comments meaningless since he clearly wasn't sane.
"There are dangerous animals out there. Big ones."
You remembered thinking, 'Where the fuck did he take me?' when you first heard him tell you about the outside of the cabin. You obviously weren't in your hometown anymore, where the biggest animal was a freaking squirrel.
"He's just messing with you," you bit out, banishing your own thoughts. Even now, that psycho held way too much power over you, his words and warnings repeating over and over as your doubts and anxiety grew. If only you made it to the tree line, you'd probably be able to convince yourself that there was nothing more dangerous than Ghost out there. Moving forward, your knees wobbled when you were barely two steps away from the edge of the clearing.
But what if it was him coming for you again?
"I'll always find you," you remembered him continuing as he told you about the animals while he softly played with your hair, the distant sound of rain thrumming on the roof enveloping the otherwise reigning silence in the cabin. "Won't let any of these wankers 'urt you. I'll make them piss right off, you're mine."
He'd be gone for a while. If he could track out of the forest, go shopping, and come back in about two hours, you could do the same and find help on the way. He'd first had to come back and notice you were gone before even starting to look for you. By then, you'd be long gone.
It wasn't like you were going to run straight into his arms by going this way, right? Shivering, you remembered the pain of when he cut your soles with his knife for daring to make a run for the door the first time Ghost let you "off the leash". The way it hurt every time he forced you to walk to the bathroom on your own, and how you barely made it while he stood above you, clicking his tongue at the bloody footsteps you left on the floor. You remembered the harsh cold and huddling in the corner of the basement, naked in the darkness, until Ghost showed you mercy, allowing you back into his arms after leaving you there for who-knows-how-long, just because you refused to sleep in the same bed with him.
If these natural reactions—the "petty crimes"—landed you a punishment this bad, then what would happen if he found you outside, trying to run from him? What more could he do to you before you'd break beyond repair?
Looking back over your shoulder, you stared at the open door. Maybe you should go back to close it? Buy yourself some time by pretending to hide from him? You could take some food and water with you. Honestly, your preparation was still pretty bad. Perhaps it would be better to try this another time when you had better chances of running from him, the time was so short, and after all—
Your cheek immediately started to burn as you suddenly struck yourself with the palm of your hand. "Focus!" you chided yourself. Why would you let this moment go to waste?! Taking a few more steps, you managed to break through the invisible line that Ghost had kept you behind, the forest enveloping you—swallowing you, like a hungry animal.
You were going to get out of here! You were going to make it!
The branches and leaves snatching at your clothes and skin felt like Ghost's hands reaching for you, trying to pull you back. But with an iron will, you moved on, determined to get through this. All his tricks became meaningless as you powered through the thicket. The hold on you melted away as you used all your strength to escape it. It felt like hours as you rushed through the green, never looking left and right, your determination the goal.
It needed your body to give out beneath you to finally make you stop. You could barely breathe at this point, your vision blurry with tears you didn't know had collected. Your head was spinning like you hit it on something hard, and hundreds of small areas on your body hurt for no reason, but you must have cut or poked yourself on the thicket without realizing it. Your legs felt weak, but your mind was still determined to get through this! You had come so far, just a little more, and you could rest for the night that had surely already fallen, considering how dark it was all around you.
Despite your loud breathing, the silence around you was deafening. It felt exactly like the dark basement you'd been locked in a few times. Air didn't seem to be able to fill your lungs quickly enough, and the sound of your own blood rushing through your body was an uncanny reminder of the fact that you were alive and well. And you'd make it; you had already come so far!
The sound of branches cracking near you made you still instantly.
The animals, you thought. But it could just be a deer.
More shuffling, leaves against fur, hoves breaking through branches and thicket. You'd simply spring up and yell at it to go away! It would be that easy to send it off in another direction. There was nothing to fear; it was all one of Ghost's tactics to scare you of leaving, and it would not work for you anymore!
You knew what you had to do, knew how to behave, and yet, for some reason, your body didn't obey you. Not even as a white face came into few, looking over a bush and staring straight at you. You opened your mouth, ready to yell and scream so the creature would quickly take off, but only a pitiful croak escaped from your throat, everything so tight and clamped up. Your helplessness barely registered, your brain ordering your arms to lift up menacingly, but your fingers merely trembled, hands slack in your lap.
Nothing was working, and your vision grew even darker as you rapidly tried to blink the tears away that filled your eyes. "What's going on?" you asked, but you heard your own voice, incomprehensible, a mix of strangled grunts and breathless squeaks.
"[Name]?"
For some reason, the sound of another voice appeared much clearer than your own. You heard it even through your desperate groans. It sounded firm. Concerned. Safe. It wasn't the sound of an animal, no roar or yap or growl or hiss. You knew that voice, it was... it was...
Something dropped to the ground, and you squeaked in surprise, jerking so hard you felt the branches of the bush poke into your body again. Your senses slowly returned as you were enveloped in warmth, the familiar scent you had breathed day in and day out wrapping around you. Strong barriers held you tightly, lifting you from the ground and adjusting their grip on you, and you managed to worm your own arms around a firm neck, your legs slipping into position in the familiar feeling of being held.
Sobs overwhelmed you as you buried your face into the firm shoulder, the flesh molding around your features, giving you a place to hide. Immense warmth attacked you but hugged you just as tightly as the two arms wrapped around your body. "You're safe. Calm down, love."
The darkness clouding your mind dispersed as you felt the soft rocking of footsteps swaying your whole body. Finally, clear thoughts returned to you as you realized you were being carried. You felt the synthetic feel of a rain jacket beneath your fingers, which you had clawed into the fabric, while your breathing grew steadier, your lungs finally satisfied with the amount of air you were getting.
"What happened?" you slurred, still holding on to the person who had found you. Were you finally saved? Did someone rescue you, and did you make it out alive?
"Found you on the edge of the forest, all panicked and shit. For fuck's sake you doin' out here anyway, darlin'?"
The arms squeezed you a little tighter, almost uncomfortably so. But you squeezed back, holding on to your savior with all the strength you had left. "Running... outside... need to find..."
"Were you lookin' for me? Fuckin' hell... can't even punish you for that, sweet'eart."
"I... What?" you mumbled, clarity slowly climbing back into your brain. You heard the sounds of the steps changing from grass to wood, making you finally look up again. Blinking away the rest of your tears, your eyes adjusted, and you clearly watched the line of trees you had become oddly familiar with move away from you. The sight was enough to make you realize you were moving backward instead of through and out of the forest.
You weren't escaping anymore.
Straightening your back, you looked down at the black mask to your right, Ghost being preoccupied with something at your back, releasing one arm from you while he fumbled around with it. "Gave that lock a good kick, eh?" he commented as dread began running down your spine. He sighed, apparently bothered by having to replace the lock before he returned your gaze. He appeared to be relaxed, his eyes a bit lidded and his arms sturdy, giving no indication of his emotions.
But you noticed the blown-apart pupils, the way his gaze fixated on you like a crosshair. He had you all figured out—or at least, you managed to give him a fright.
"How did you find me?" you croaked warily, but the exhaustion made your voice sound sweet and gentle, not wavering and allowing him to hear the rush of nervosity in it. "I ran so far..."
"Told you, I'll always find you. Besides, you were collapsed in a ditch, lookin' absolutely horrified just in front of the cabin. First time 'avin' a panic attack, love?"
"Oh," you muttered, sacking back into his arms and forcing yourself to take deep breaths. You were fucked. Absolutely screwed. Messed up big time. Being carried inside the cabin, the dream of freedom vanished as Ghost squatted down in front of the couch. He slowly tipped you backward, making sure you'd not hurt yourself by falling off him, but instead of getting up, he stayed in the same position, finding your gaze no matter how hard you tried to avoid it.
"You were tryin' to find me, right?" he asked all of a sudden, questioning your motive after all.
"Y-Yeah..." you falsely admitted, your voice finally faltering. He was going to hurt you. Maybe you'd not survive this... would anyone notice if you were dead? Would anyone find you and bring justice to this unfairness you were experiencing? Why did you have to have a panic attack just from running away when all of this was a nightmare you wished to wake up from?!
When his hands landed on your thighs, you flinched, clenching your teeth together and bracing for the pain he was going to inflict on you any second now. You failed bitterly. So much so that you were already crying, tears dripping on his hands while you resigned yourself to your miserable faith.
Ghost rose from before you, pushing some weight onto your legs as he leaned forward, masked lips brushing against your forehead. "Don't do that again," he warned quietly, and you were sure he meant escaping rather than looking for him. "Don't want to have to break your legs just to keep you here, darlin'."
And with that, a firm but merciful warning, he let go, trudging off back outside, leaving the door wide open. Before the stairs leading off the porch, Ghost stopped, looking back over his shoulder, and you flinched—hard—noticing the cold glare he was giving you. "I'll go fetch the groceries. You stay."
With that, he left back towards the forest, making you watch as he brushed through the thicket and disappeared into darkness. Freedom seemed even closer with the unlocked door and Ghost's back turned. Just a few steps, and you'd be outside again. You could hide from him and then make a break for it.
Your body sacked, sliding deeper into the soft cushions of the couch.
"Next time," you mumbled. "I'll escape for sure."
Exhaustion took over as your eyes closed slowly. The last thing you saw was Ghost's silhouette marching back towards the cabin before your body collapsed onto the couch, the soulless eyes behind the skeleton mask drilling into your soul. Like a dog, trained to obey, you stayed.
And Ghost watched over you for a while, trying to push the thoughts of breaking your ankles out of his mind as he went to make you dinner instead. You've been through enough that day. This experience would teach you that you couldn't escape him. Even if your brain still fought, your body knew better than to disobey him. It even knew to cling to him for safety, so it was just a matter of time. He had chipped away at your psyche long enough for you to not even recognize what he had done. Slicing a carrot into two parts, Ghost knew he'd soon get to reap the fruits of his labor.
And once you were as broken as he was, you two would finally be happy together.
Summary: To get Silas to keep his end of an agreement, a hostage is taken, someone known to be very dear to him.
Warnings: kidnapping, blood, nsfw mentions, torture, blowing people up, murder, guns, gore, blackmailing, darling breaking, self guilt, angst, humiliation, and probably more along those lines!
Word count: 5.6k
“Let me go!” you scream as you struggle, for nothing, against the rugged men pulling you left and right.
“Be silent”, one of them replies in a sharp, rude tone, “or I'll cut your tongue.”
You're pushed down on your knees on a polished, wood floor that seem to be out of place. You run your eyes around the room, scanning anything and everything. The room is dim, with a big desk, armchairs and a decorative carpet. Your heart hammers in your chest, to the point of nausea. Just an hour ago you were in the backseat of Silas’s ar, waiting for him to be done with a mission. You had been left alone with two trusted drivers. They had been shot, quick and easy, as if someone had rehearsed it. And you had been snatched by the two men holding you.
A man sits in the big chair behind the desk. He smirks at you. Hes about Silas’s age with dark hair, dimples and piercing, blue eyes that shrinks you.
“So this is Silas’s little playmate”, he says, voice full of amusement, and leans forward in his chair to get a better look at you.
He stands up and walks around the desk, walks over to you and crouches down. He takes a grip on your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your neck strains painfully. The man snickers and touches your lip with his thumb, as if wanting to open your mouth—which you refuse. If he forces his thump past your lips, you're going to bite him. Hard.
“You're a pretty, little thing, aren't you?” the man mumbles and caresses your cheek.
You swallow. You remember how scared you had been the first time you met Silas, how you barely dared dared to move, but that wasn't nothing compared to this. You knew more about this world by now, know just what kind of things that could be done to people. But you also know what happens if you don't do anything—you get married to a mob boss. You slap the man's hand away. He raises his eyebrows in shock, and amusement.
“Feisty too?” he asks and tilts his head. “You'll regret that.”
“What do you want?” you spit. “I haven't done anything!”
The man laughs, a genuine one that doesn't sound taunting. You caught him by surprise.
“You're cute”, he says. “‘You'? What the fuck could someone like you do to me? This is about Silas, your husband.”
“Then get him, what the fuck am i doing here?!” you screech.
“It's simple. You're here as a trading prop.”
“What?”
“Me and Silas had an agreement and your husband hasn't fulfilled his part. I, personally, have much patience, but even i get tired of waiting. You are here in hopes of making him fulfill his part.”
“That’s not fair …”
“That’s how this world works, didn't you know?”
You glare at him.
“You don't know?” he asks, his small smile growing. “If I want something from him, I have to take something he holds dearly to get what I want, because that son of a bitch is as slippery as an eel.”
You glare at him. The man graces your cheek, staring into your eyes. You take a deep breath and keep it in your throat. You just have to keep out until Silas comes and gets you. Everything will be okay.
“And I know for a fact that Silas holds you very dearly”, he says. “The fact that I even have you here is a miracle. There are some who don’t even believe that you exist because of how protective Silas is of you. He is skilled at keeping you hidden.”
“He will kill you for this …”, you mumble and avoid eye contact.
He’s killed people for less when it comes to you.
“I’m going to get those papers if it’s the last thing I do”, the man mutters and stands up. “And if I have to do something like this to get them, I will. I’m tired of Silas seeing me as a joke. I’m in the mood to … kid around, a little.” He looks down at you and then at one of his men. “Send him one of his little playmate’s fingers.”
You gasp, letting out the breath kept in your throat. Before you’ve realized it, you’ve stumbled up from the floor and thrown yourself towards the double doors, in hopes of saving yourself of losing limbs, but they’re faster. They grab your arms and drag you back to the spot you left. You scream, kick and fight. When they let you go, the force makes you fly into the opposite wall, hitting your elbow and head in the process. A sharp, colorful pain fills your body. A faint ringing noise in your ear. You ignore it as you crawl together, hugging your trembling body and wishing nothing more than to become one with the wall.
The man snickers and watches you from afar.
“I thought you’d be more brave”, he admits and strolls over to you. “Aren’t you married to a mob boss? Haven’t you already seen all the horrible stuff he does? Hasn’t he done them to you? Or is he the type of man to hide it all from his sweet, little innocent darling? Just like he hides you from us?”
You don’t answer. Silas has put you through stuff, you can’t deny that. He’s been mean and scary, been your worst nightmare. But he’s always made sure that you were aware that he could be much, much worse.
“Answer.”
“He doesn’t show”, you whisper and swallow air.
“Well, I am going to. I am going to ruin you for him. If he wants you all innocent and pure, I’m going to make sure he gets a tainted wife/husband back. He won’t even be able to recognise you. That will make him second guess trying to trick me in the future.”
You’re sure that your heart has stopped and sunk down to your stomach. If there's something you could have Silas to thank for, it’s the fact that he’s shielded you from all the morbid things he does.
“Don’t look so scared”, the man smiles. “I’m not going to kill you. You will go back to Silas—you have my word. I’m just going to … roughen you up a little. Show you a different side of the world you live in.”
You try not to show how scared you really are, but you’re sure that you’re as open as a book. The man walks back to his desk and sits down.
“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay there”, he says. “Like a passed out alcoholic.”
The men who had kidnapped you leave the room, leaving you alone with the man who’s going to destroy you. You look around, searching for something to help you, but remain still. You have to get out somehow, have to escape!
Time seem to have stopped, but when the man looks up from the computer, your legs have gone numb.
“What’s your name?” he asked. “Silas is a clever bastard, hiding your identity. Don’t even bother with any type of lying, I will know.”
You don’t answer.
“Give me your name or I will rip your fingernails one by one”, he says threateningly and crouches down in front of you. “Do you get that?”
“Yes …”, you gulp.
“What is your name?”
“Y/N.”
He looks at you, studies your face for traces of lies, until he nods and stands up again. What would you have done if he hadn’t believed you?
“Y/N Achilleos”, he says, tasting your name on his tongue. “Interesting. Nice ring you have there, by the way, must have cost a ton.”
“Why do you want to know my name?” you ask.
“No reason, really. Just curious. I know so little about you. You’re interesting, whether one likes you or not.”
“What’s your name?”
He stays silent for a few seconds. “You can call me Tony. You weren’t involved in this world before, were you?”
“How could you tell?”
The man scoffs with a smile. “I get what Silas sees in you.”
He stands up and walks over to you, pulling you up and dragging your numb legs over to the desk. He sits you down on his chair, in front of the computer. He stands behind you, holding his muscular arms on either side of you, trapping you. You glance towards the video on his computer. The thumbnail is enough to make you sick. You can’t tell what it is, exactly, but there’s enough blood for you to question if it’s real or not. Someone’s tied to a chair.
“No”, you breathe out, shaking your head. “I don’t want to.”
“You’re going to watch every single video I show you, is that clear?” Tony hisses in your ear. “Or else I’m really going to cut one of your fingers and send it to Silas. I’m not kidding.”
He reaches for the mouse.
“Please, don’t”, you beg.
“Why? Are you afraid to see the truth of what your boyfriend is doing?”
You grow cold and turn your eyes back to the thumbnail.
“I-Is it Silas in the video?” you stutter.
“No. He’s not dumb enough to film his things, but I know for a fact that he does this kind of stuff too. Watch now, or else I’ll bring out the knife.”
He grabs the mouse and moves the pointer to the play button. The first you hear are echoes of sobs and painful moans. The entire screen is filled by a man with missing limbs. Two masked men are torturing him beyond what a human body should be able to handle. You clench your eyes shut and feel how Yony grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. your neck cracks.
“I told you to watch”, he hisses. “So watch.”
He throws your head back. Whiplash is hitting you in the tightest places of your neck and you hold a hand over your throat. You continue to watch the video with tears running down your cheeks, and the man hovering above you. You can feel how the image in front of you burns into your brain and you know that it’ll never go away.
“I must say, watching a video isn’t the same as actually experiencing it, don’t you think?” the man smirks once the video is over.
You feel sick.
“Just get Silas!” you almost shout. “Get him so I can leave! I watched your fucking video!”
“Did you think that we were done?” Tony asks. “No, not yet, dear. I’m not done. I’m going to taint you like you’ve never been tainted before. Better yet, I think I’ll break you.”
All his words makes you want to cry, throw up and melt into a puddle. All at the same time. Tony grabs your arm and pulls you up from the chair. He drags you out of the room, through a pair of dimly lit corridors and down a flight of stairs. You stumble in his harsh grip, still on uneasy feet. The room you stumble into reminds you of the worst of Silas’s basement, mixed with that video you just saw. The large room is divided into different parts woty invisible walls. Casino tables, machines made for pleasure you never want to experience, a bar and blood—a lot of it. A hedonistic paradise. The air is thick, hard to breathe, and smells of sex, drugs and blood.
“Trust me, spend ten minutes down here and you will be a new person”, Tony laughs.
You don't look at him. Your eyes are fixated down on the floor, which is the only place where you don't see anything you don't want to. You can't remember the last time you've been this scared. Your body has stopped reacting to the trial your brain is sending.
Silas, please. Help me. I will never take you for granted again, just please save me.
You’ve never wanted Silas to find you as badly as you want now. It’s ironic, in a morbid way, because usually you want him far away as possible.
“Let's go make some introductions”, Tony says and pulls you with him to one of the bar tables.
You stumble in front of a group of people sitting with drinks in front of them. You hit your knees on the stone floor, which sends lighting of pain up your thighs.
“Oh my, look at this little thing”, a seductive, slurred woman’s voice coos. “What a cutie, already on their hands and knees for us. Way too easy.”
You’re quick to sit back down and glare at the woman. She’s dolled up in old, torn clothing that once must have cost a fortune.
“Look at that innocent sparkle in their teary eyes”, another woman says, smiling. “It’s not often you get to see that here.”
You feel a hand on your shoulder, weighing you down like a stone.
“This is Silas Achilleos’s husband/wife”, you hear the man above you smirk.
The group of drunk people raise their eyebrows and lean forward to get a better look at you.
“Silas, hm?” a man asks and get oss his bar stool. “This is a bit too perfect, Tony.”
“He must be pissed that you took them”, the first woman laughs. “I’d pay to watch his face right now.”
You look around to see something else than their mocking, dissecting looks. Instead, you’re forced to watch all kinds of horrors. It all belongs in a nightmare. One you wish you could wake up from.
Silas, please … oh, God.
You feel how sobs build up in your chest and pushes up your throat. Your eyes fill with blurry tears. Oh, how badly you want to wake up.
“Yes, that’s it”, Tonny coos. “Cry for us.”
He pulls out his phone and films you. You try to hide your face in your hands. The woman who had taunted you crawl over and put their sticky hands on you, trying to pry them off.
“Let me go!” you scream and fight them off, voice breaking. “Don’t touch me!”
“See something you recognize, Silas?” you hear Tony murmur. “Y/N, turn around and tell your dear husband how badly you want him to save you.”
You feel sick to your stomach. There’s no way you’ll willingly give in to the man’s humiliating request. You have never been less dignified in your life, and never been this terrified. The women grab your face, their long nails poking into your skin, and forcefully turn your head towards the phone’s camera.
“Come on, Y/N”, one of them whispers in your ear, a sugar sweet slurring that makes you want to throw up. “Do it. Show him.”
You shake your head vigorously. They tug at your arms with their gnarly hands, twisting and pulling on you. Their nails sink painfully into your skin, drawing blood.
“Stop it!” you scream in agony.
“Beg your husband to save you”, Tony grins. “Let him know how scared you are.”
I hope Silas kills you.
“Silas, please”, you choke out and avoid looking into the camera. “Please help me. Please.”
You hear them chuckle around you. Tony cuts off the video and fiddles with his phone, most likely sending it to Silas. The woman let you go and you curl up, hugging yourself tightly.
Just a few minutes later, the same phone that recorded you rings. Tony smirks and presses ‘accept’, putting it on speaker.
“Only the Gods know what the fuck I’m going to do to you for this!” you hear Silas scream on the other side of the line, even before Tony has had time to say something. “And you better fucking pray that your mother will recognise your sorry ass after I’m done with you!”
Tony chuckles.
“I wouldn’t have to do this if you had fulfilled your end of the agreement, Silas”, he says, calmly. “I want my papers, and you’re going to give them to me if you want Y/N back.”
“Fine, you can have your papers, you disgusting filth! Tell me when and where and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Oh, no, not now. I’m too busy. How about tomorrow at five pm?”
“No, now!”
“Unfortunately, that’s not possible. I’m not done with your darling yet. I have so much more to show them.”
Silas’s voice is venomous. “Show what? What are you doing to them?”
“If you’re going to bring Y/N into this world, why be so stupid to not show them what you’ve forced them into?”
A few seconds of silence pass. You can see in front of you how Silas exchanges a look with his second in command, both of them trying to see if the other one knows what’s going on.
“You can’t!” Silas shouts. “You have no fucking right!”
“Stop me then, but I have to let you know that I’ve already started here.”
“If you touch a single hair on my wife’s/husband’s head, I’m going to cut off your cock and make you eat it. Believe me!”
You have never heard Silas this mad before. He really does care for you.
“I’m not going to hurt them, Silas”, Tony says. “That isn’t why I’ve taken them. Hurting them doesn’t help me in the slightest. I’m just letting them see the truth that you hide from them. The lies you tell. Meet me at the old warehouse by the highway tomorrow at five pm. Bring only two men and I will do the same. No weapons, no tricks.”
“I don’t need weapons to kill you. You’ll pay for this.”
Tony smirks and hangs up. He turns to you and pulls you up from the floor.
“Tomorrow at five you’ll be free”, he says and drags you out of the basement.
He says it in a way that makes it sounds like a promise, but to you it is nothing more than a reminder of the time he has left to taint you.
It’s the third man he’s beaten to death this evening. Silas hands are throbbing in pain and he’s not sure if the blood he’s drenched in is his own or theirs—probably both. But he’s not done yet. His body is trembling with anger. He sees red. Silas is sure that even the devil would be afraid of him if he saw him now.
“Silas”, SIC breathes out behind him, letting his eyes wander over Silas with sadness.
“Not a word”, Silas hisses, holding his hand back to silence him. “I’ll kill you too And I know I’ll regret that, so stay quiet.”
SIC licks his lips nervously and looks down at his hands, staying silent. Silas breathes out heavily and lets his shoulders slump. He wants to scream, but his voice has gotten stuck in his throat.
“Do you want to know the worst thing?” he asks without turning around to look at SIC.
“What?” he wonders.
“The worst thing isn’t that they’re gone from me. Y/N’s escaped before and I always manage to find them. I know how they behave once I get them back. No, the worst thing is that, this time, i can’t do anything to help them. I have no other choice but to wait for Tony to give them back to me. And until he does, he can do whatever he wants to them.”
SIC lowers his eyes.
“And I’m scared what state they’ll be in once I do get them back”, Silas says quietly. “I’ve done my best—I’ve worked my ass off, day and night—to make sure that Y/N doesn’t know what’s going on around me. I know that they shouldn’t be in this world and that it’s my fucking fault for dragging them in … but I’ve done everything in my power to make the best of the situation. All of this hard work, for nothing.”
“He could be lying”, SIC says. “Maybe he just said that to scare you.”
“No. I know him. He has shown Y/N filthy stuff. Worse than what they saw on that USB that brought us together. That’s the worst thing.”
SIC swallowed. Silas turns around and looks at him. His black eyes were red around the corners, tears in the bottom.
“I’d rather have my brother take them again”, he hisses. “Because I know Ares. I grew up with him. I know exactly how he thinks and how he acts. But I don’t know Tony, not like that. I don’t know how far he’s willing to go … no, that might be the worst thing, actually. Fuck!”
He screams out in pure anger and SIC flinches. Silas stumbles backwards until his back hits the wall, where he sinks down on the floor with his sweaty head in his bloody hands. Every ell in his body has lost adrenaline, leaving him aching and hurting in a way he’s never felt before. He can feel his heart breaking into pieces, feel it leaking blood into his lungs. SIC walks over to the wall and sits down in front of him.
“Y/N’s stronger than you think”, he says softly. “They’ve survived your basement more times than any of your enemies.”
“That’s because I go easy on them.” Silas’s voice has lost any power it had and is now nothing more than a whisper. “I know where their breaking point is and I don’t go further than that. Tony won’t go easy on them. Won’t care about them … even if they scream, or cry, or beg.” He leans his head back against the wall. “I should never have left Y/N in the car. I shouldn’t have brought them at all.
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have foreseen it. I knew I had fucked up once I saw the dead drivers. But it was already too late. How could I let someone take them?”
“You tried to shield them by letting them stay in the car. Otherwise they’d seen you kill someone.”
Silas rolls his eyes tiredly. “Seems like they’ll have to watch that anyway.”
SIC sighs.
“I’m going to kill that pathetic little insect”, Silas growls. I’m going to make sure his mother doesn’t recognise his disgusting corpse.”
“I’ll help you”, SIC says.
Silas looks at him.
“I will do whatever you want me to do”, SIC says. “Just say what, and I will do it. I will always stand behind you.”
Silas nods and hugs him. SIC hugs him back, petting his back.
“Let’s give that motherfucker butterflies in his stomach”, he says.
The night seems to never end. The hours have dragged by. You’ve seen more than you ever could have anticipated. Video after video. It never seemed to end. Tony has made sure that you have seen everything possible before five pm. You’re exhausted. The person you were yesterday seem to be so distant, so … different.
“Very well”, you hear him, “time to wrap up our little visit and send you back to your husband.”
“What if he doesn’t come?” you whisper, mortified by your own words.
What if Silas doesn’t want you anymore now that you’re not the person he wants you to be?
“If he doesn’t come to pick you up, I’ll keep you”, Tony replies. “You’ll be my own little guinea pig. I’ll force you to watch everything until your fragile brain breaks. Get up now, we have to leave.”
You stand up, slowly, to not activate the nauseating volcano in your stomach. The images of the night’s horror videos still visible in front of your eyes. They never had to touch you, never had to harm a hair on your head. They could break you, anyway.
You’re forced out of the building, feet dragged behind you. Placed in the backseat of a gray car, pressed between two men— “Bring only two men and I will do the same”. You keep your head down, eyes in your lap, for the entirety of the bumpy ride. You’re exhausted, hungry and broken. Even if Silas comes to get you, he’ll be too late.
When the car stops, you’re forced out and into an old warehouse. The cold, damp air is hard to breathe. Tony’s grip on your arm is bruising, painful.
“Now, let’s wait”, he says in a cocky tone. “Silas will be here soon enough.”
Not even five minutes later, you can hear the screeching of a car’s breaks. Your heart stops. Despite wanting nothing more than for Silas to come save you, you’re ashamed to let him see who you’ve allowed yourself to become.
The sight of him storming into the warehouse with SIC and another of his men makes your heart ache and your eyes to tear up. You’re so relieved to see that he came to get you, and so ashamed. You’ve never seen him this mad before. His black eyes seem to burn, his body language animalistic. His jaw is tightly clenched. He’s wearing his long, dark coat, his hands buried in his pockets. SIC holds a yellow paper file in his hands. Silas gives you a quick look, and all you can see is fury.
“One word out of you and I’m going to rip your eyes out”, he says coldly and takes the paper file out of SIC’s hands. “Give me what’s mine.”
“The papers first”, Tony replies and shakes you, “and then I’ll return your toy.”
Silas’s reply is short. “Don’t call them that.”
“They’re in my hands. I get to call them what I want.”
Silas eyes are enough to murder.
“The papers”, Tony says, raising his eyebrows.
Silas throws the paper file on the dirty, stone floor. One of Tony’s men walks over and picks it up. It takes everything in Silas’s power to not throw himself over him. As soon as the man has returned to Tony, you’re let go. For a second you look around, trying to confirm if you’re really free or if it’s just a test.
“Little thing, come”, Silas says and gesticulates for you to come.
You don’t need more convincing. Your legs move and before you have the time to register it, you’ve reached Silas’s open arms, a man you didn’t want anything to do with twenty four hours earlier. You’ve never been so happy to see him. You crash into his firm body and feel how he wraps his arms around you. He holds you tight, hiding your face into his shoulder.
“It’s okay”, he whispers. “It’s okay, little thing, you’re safe now.”
You break out in heavy tears, causing his heart to bleed thickly. You breathe in Silas’s familiar scent, happy to smell something else than the metallic scent of blood. He holds you firmly, mortified of having you slip away from him again. He searches for something to say to comfort you, tries his best to find the right words, but there’s nothing he can say to erase whatever happened to you. Silas glances towards Tony who is busy looking through the file. He wants to do something, something much worse than what that man did to you, but he won’t let you see anymore horrors.
“What did he do to you?” he whispers in your ear. “Tell me.”
“He forced me to watch videos of people … o-of people …”
You can’t repeat it, but you don’t have to. Silas understands.
“Did he touch you?” he whispers, trying his best to stay calm.
You shake your head without lifting your head out of his chest. He breathes out in relief.
“SIC”, he says over his shoulder.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Bring Y/N out to the car. I don’t want them to see what I am going to do.”
SIC nodded and took you out of Silas’s arms. His grip on you is softer than you’ve ever felt him be before. SIC walks out to the black car with you.
“Are you hungry?” he asks and sits you don in the backseat.
“More nauseous”, you admit quietly.
“Perfect, then you can drink some juice.”
He opens a bottle of sugary apple juice and gives it to you. You hold it in your hands, contemplating.
“I’m bruised”, you mumble. “What will Silas say?”
“I thought that you said that they didn’t hurt you?” SIC asks. “Did you lie to him?”
“I fought back when they dragged me around. Silas won’t like it.”
“He’s not mad at you, Y/N. He’s pissed at himself. I will cover all the mirrors for you, if you prefer that.”
“Thank you.”
“Now sit here and wait for Silas to come back. Drink your juice.”
Silas pulls up a gun from his pocket.
“We said no weapons!” Tony reminds him.
“You broke the rules by taking my husband/wife”, Silas smiles. “I’m just making it even.”
He’s quick to shoot the two men he had brought with him. They fall down dead beside him, their bodies leaking blood onto the stone floor. Tony’s terrified. Silas drinks it in. He gives the gun to his remaining man.
“I’m not going to shoot you”, he says and removes his coat, rolling up his sleeves. “I want to feel you die under my hands.”
He runs forward and throws himself over him. Tony’s knocked to the ground. He tries fighting back, but Silas’s anger makes him quicker, stronger. He sees your distraught face in front of him for every punch and wishes that he could kill him over and over again. How could he hurt you? An angel? Silas grabs his head in his hands and slams it into the stone floor, over and over again, until the man’s head shatters.
“Done”, he breathes out and stumbles away from them.
He grabs the yellow file and walks out to the car, wiping his hands with his handkerchief on the way. SIC looks at him, eyes asking if it’s time. Silas nods. SIC switches places with Silas and hurries into the warehouse.
“Hi, baby”, Silas smiles and hugs you. “How are you feeling? Did he make you drink some juice?”
“I’m not feeling like drinking juice”, you say. “But I appreciate it … i’m sorry, Silas.”
His eyes glow with worry. “Why are you sorry?”
“I should have been stronger.”
“You are so incredibly strong, my darling, don’t say that!”
“I tried to fight back.”
“I’m so proud of you. You’re safe now. I’m here now and you don’t have to fight anymore. I have already done that for you.”
“Is he dead?”
“Like a mammoth.”
Silas cups your cheeks and kisses your forehead softly.
“This is my fault”, he says. “And I will do everything to make things better. I shouldn’t have left you in the car. I shouldn’t have brought you at all. The car has been upgraded, no one will ever manage to break in again. Not that I will ever leave you alone in it again, but …”
He takes your hand in his and lifts it to his lips, kissing desperately. He’s never felt a guilt this strong before. It’s a piercing feeling cutting through his heart. You have a long road to go to feel better, and he will stay with you every step of the way.
“I hate to see you upset … tell me what I can do to make you feel better”, he pleads and hugs your hand. “I will give you anything you want. Nothing is too much. I will buy you anything. I will take you wherever you want to go. Do you want to meet your parents? We can go there, I’m serious.”
“I just want to sleep”, you sob and shake your head. “I can’t think …”
You want to escape this living nightmare in hopes of finding it easier in dreamland. Silas nodded and scooched in beside you, hugging you to his body.
“Just sleep”, he says softly. “Sleep on my shoulder. I’m right beside you.”
“I’m safe with you … aren’t I?”
“As safe as you can be.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise. Just rest. I love you. I’m so sorry for this. I will take care of you, whatever you need, I’ll get you.”
You lean your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes slowly. He holds his muscular arm around your shoulders to keep you close and wraps his coat around the two of you. His lips never leaves your face as he fights back tears. It grows like a bowling ball in his throat, but he refuses to cry. you are safe and that filth is dead, he tells himself. It’s all over, but his rage is still ravenous.
SIC walks into the warehouse and takes a quick look at the three dead bodies on the floor, in pools of their own blood. He walks over to the most gruesome one, not needing to see his clothes to know that it’s Tony. His broken skull is enough. SIC takes out a cylinder out of his blazer, a stick of dynamite he’s been waiting for years to use. He lights it and places it in Tony’s mouth before hurrying out of the warehouse. He hears the explosion behind him and smiles.
“Is it done?” Silas asks as he returns.
“Let’s say that he’s a hard puzzle now”, SIC laughs. “A thousand pieces isn’t enough to describe how many pieces I blew him into.”
“Thank you, SIC.”
“Of course. The one that messes with Y/N messes with you, and in turn with me. I told you that I would do whatever you wanted.”
“Thank you.”
“Take care of Y/N now. I will clean up.”
Silas nods and hugs you closer. You cling onto him.
“Thank you”, you whisper and meet SIC’s eyes.
“Of course”, he replies and closes the car door.
Silas hugs you and kisses your forehead. He has only two people in this world he cares about, and he will kill anyone that dares to come close to either of them.
I have a script for how this, I can't waittt to post the next part!!
Jimmy is going to be fun(terrifying) to work with. Also, imagine having to try to talk after been stuck without lips, face, hearing and everything for months-
AND having to deal with the fact that you fucked up bad
𖦹 TW: General yandere behavior, implied stalking, mentions of domestic violence (not done by male lead,) readers ex-husband gets his shit rocked
Your favorite part of the work day is riding the elevator to your floor.
Most of the company sees it as an inconvenience. Despite the constant flow of bustling employees, representatives from other companies, and the occasional delivery driver, there is only one elevator for the entire building. It's constantly packed, there’s barely any breathing room, and each poor individual is shoulder to shoulder together. Despite the plethora of people, no one ever says a word. The long ride to the top stays suffocatingly silent except from the occasional creak and shuffling of feet.
Well, at least when he’s there, anyway.
No one dares to look up at his towering figure, to make eye contact with the sharp gaze of the company’s CEO. While his striking appearance may cause occasional conversation, it’s quickly shut down with a hardened glare. Even for work conversations, if he’s not in his office, he won’t entertain them. He is notoriously short tempered, rumored to have fired employees solely over greeting him when he was in a bad mood. His presence is overpowering. Staring straight ahead at the doors doesn’t alleviate the tension, and any attempt at casual conversation is met with the feeling of being watched. It’s hard to pretend he’s not there. So everyone keeps their distance- or, tries to.
Except for you.
His sharp mannerisms have never bothered you before, as a matter of fact, you welcomed them. Despite his snippy comments, he’s never actually told you to be quiet before. You take this as an indication to keep talking despite the disapproval and worried glances of your peers. He is the reason that this elevator ride is what you look forward to most. The interactions you’ve had with your boss are short, but god, do you value them.
“Funny how we’re always here at the same time, boss!” You beam up at him, oblivious to the silence you seem to be interrupting.
Of course your paths collide. They always manage to. Whether you’re ten minutes late, or thirty minutes early, he’s somehow already in the elevator before you. Sometimes you wonder how you constantly missed him entering the doors. If it were anyone else, it might have been a little concerning. But the sheer thought of such a successful man taking time out of his day to stalk you is so absurd that the question dissipates from your mind. As you look up at him expectantly, the elevators begin to fill up, and the influx of people causes you to press your body into his. If there was elevator music, (there isn't, it wouldn’t be an awkward enough ride with music) the cab could be mistaken for some sort of strange corporate mosh pit.
“Yeah. Funny.” He coolly responds.
You take this as encouragement to keep going. “The team and I sketched some rough drafts for the next campaign. I really appreciate you trusting me with this.” You seem to be pressed into him more and more as the floors pass. When one person goes, two more enter. You’re packaged together like a can of sardines. “I mean, this is like, really important st-”
His breath hitches, you weren’t sure if it was because he wanted to speak, or due to the fact you’d just been pressed closer together. “That’s interesting.” He’s looking straight ahead, as a matter of fact, he’s looking anywhere BUT you. His face remains impassive, concentrated on something. Your chest lightly touches his arm, and he quickly looks away. His shoulders tense up and there’s a certain rigidity in his stature. “Just… make sure it’s done correctly.”
“Of course. You know, I just have a few questions…”
A loud sigh erupts from the elevator.
As the conversation continues, a majority of the occupants step off on the next floor. Whether it’s actually their stop or they’re simply getting off at some random floor from the sheer second-hand embarrassment they’re feeling is unknown. For everyone else, the tension is palpable. They can see that the boss is clearly annoyed and put off with you. If your social cues are so poor that you can’t see it, you deserve the unemployment that will undoubtedly come your way.
A couple of questions later, each responded to with a curt yes or no, the elevator dings. You look up and realize it’s your floor. A disappointed sigh escapes you and you look towards the opening doors. “Well, this is my stop.” You separate from him, fixing your somewhat disheveled clothes from the once-cramped space. Despite the now available room, neither of you had moved apart. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Boss! Same time?” You joke. He doesn’t respond. You continue looking at him, waiting for a goodbye, but it never comes. He just continues to stare, a stoic expression on his face. The tension in the air returns, but it’s different this time. As if he wants to say something, but can’t.
“Alright!” You don’t know what to say at this moment either, so you simply give him a thumbs up as the elevator doors close behind you, grasping for any kind of human engagement.
The next day, you’re late, which is slightly out of character for you. It’s not that you have perfect attendance, but you’ve always given a notice or called ahead. You would have, but you were just… preoccupied. You mindlessly fiddle with your wedding ring as you drive. It’s too tight, and you always preferred silver over gold. You pan towards your typically well-manicured nails that had been chewed down to the white. You’d… been under a lot of stress lately. When you saw your boss, you’d apologize. That is, if he cared about the excuse of one employee out of hundreds…
Your thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of the elevator opening. You were so out of it, you hadn’t even noticed you’d gotten out of your car and walked to your building. Head held down, you stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to your floor.
“Our company has a strict policy on lateness.” He states, standoffish. “If a similar instance occurs, a reprimand will be issued.”
You jump, clutching your chest. You whip around to see your boss, arms crossed and leaning against the support rails. Holy shit, when had he gotten there? You didn’t notice him at all.
“How… How long have you been there?!” You stammer, heart thumping and blood rushing around in your ears.
He doesn’t respond, and you notice that the air around him seems colder than usual. For the first time, you feel a little nervous around him. A couple of seconds pass in which neither of you speak, and you start to panic. “Oh god, boss, I’m so sorry. I overslept and the alarm didn’t go off, and, and, and…” You stutter, hands flailing around in nervousness. “My phone didn’t charge last night. You know how easily those cables break-” You tug on your turtleneck, god, it’s way too hot to be wearing this stupid thing. You’re in such a state of frenzy you don’t even find it mildly concerning why your boss is on the first floor elevator at 10:39 in the morning.
“I’m not interested in your excuses.” He takes a step toward you. “A no-show is a fireable offense.” Before you can begin to explain, to plead, state how desperately you NEED this job, he puts a hand up to silence you. “But, I’m willing to overlook this. You’re a dedicated employee. Just don’t let this happen again,”
You breathe a sigh of relief, thankful for his lenience. He really did recognize you as an employee. Maybe he even enjoyed your time in the elevator as much as you did. “Thank you.” You give him a soft smile. “It won’t happen again.”
He nods. “If you’re interested in continuing to work for the company, it won’t.”
You return his nod, humming a pleasant tune as the elevator continues upwards.
You call ahead the second time you’re late, giving the excuse of a nasty traffic jam.
You’re wearing a skirt down to your ankles. It’s in company regulation, but quite a sudden change from your usual attire. When you step into the elevator, your boss meets you once again. Today, you don’t look forward to your meeting. You’re snappy, and for once, just want some alone time. Your change in wardrobe must have caught his attention, because he looks you up and down with an inquisitive look. It irritates you. It's not like you want to wear this. You just… you just had a recommendation to wear it. A persuasive one to start dressing more femininely. To hide more of your skin, so other men- other people in general wouldn’t see.
“We typically advise against skirts due to the environment of the company.” Your boss looks down at you. “A potential safety hazard-“
“It’s a good thing I don’t need your advice.” You snap.
The elevator goes silent, and your cheeks instantly flush deeper.
“I’m sorry- I didn’t, I’m sorry boss. I didn’t mean to take that tone with you. I really didn’t.”
His expression remains neutral. “It’s fine.”
Neither of you say anything, the weight of your mistake putting an abrupt halt to your usual chattery nature. You hurriedly rush out of the elevator, not looking back at him. You don’t know if it’s out of humiliation or shame.
The third (and last) time you’re late, you’re in your husband's car. It smells like cigarette smoke and some kind of cologne that makes your nose wrinkle up in displeasure. It wouldn’t matter if you tried to say anything about it anyway. He’d continue to wear it despite your obvious dislike of it. The music you usually listen to in the morning has been replaced with some sports radio that’s much too loud for 8 in the morning. You don’t say anything that would give the impression that you don’t like it, instead, you keep your head low and avoid looking your husband in the eye. You sit in the passenger seat and stay seated even as you park in the garage. The passenger door opens, and you don't look at your husband as he takes your hand. He pulls you out of your seat with a tug that’s too rough, and you wince in a mix of pain and displeasure.
You look up and your eyes widen with surprise when you see your boss waiting outside the elevator for once. You go to approach him, to make another excuse that’s so far from the truth, but your husband puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes, uncomfortably tight, the fabric of your shirt pinching your skin.
“Brought ‘er here so she’s not late for once.”
Your boss doesn’t respond, but your husband’s one sentence is enough to make him furrow his eyebrows.
Your husband gives you a light push forward, and you stumble slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see your boss grit his teeth. Once you regain your balance, you slowly walk forward into the elevator, and your boss follows shortly.
As the elevator doors close, your boss’s gaze never leaves your husband’s.
You don’t talk for the rest of the elevator ride.
It’s a long ride, but you finally reach your stop. Before you can leave, your boss presses the button to close the door. You look up at him, lips parted in confusion. Your face has lost its lively glow, and you are almost a husk of your former self. Makeup is heavily powered on your face to hide your deepening eyebags and what you hope he doesn’t suspect is a bruise on your cheek. You feel so, so tired.
“Would you miss him?”
“What?” You respond.
“Your husband. Would you miss him?”
You meet his gaze. It’s no longer harsh, but filled with an unidentifiable emotion.
You don’t respond, walking out of the elevator with a sharp click of your heels. When you step out, you turn back to look at him. Unspoken words are exchanged through the moment of hesitation. As other employees enter the cab, neither of you break your gaze. The door shuts, and you’re left looking at the cold, metal doors.
Your boss isn’t there the next time you arrive at work with your husband. Not outside the elevator, nor inside. You feel a pang of disappointment, but it’s to be expected. The conversations (if you could call them that,) that you had once looked forward to had become tense and uncomfortable. You were snappy, and unresponsive to his typical short-answer responses. You knew it wasn’t his fault, you just had… your own problems to deal with. You tug at the edges of your sleeve, pulling them down just enough to cover your wrists, swollen with marks.The problems would be dealt with, you just… didn’t have the resources. No place to go, not enough money for the divorce proceedings.
As the elevator door opens, you step inside. But instead of pressing the button for your floor, you put your hands in your hair and begin to weep. Why has nobody noticed? Why has nobody come to save you? You didn’t need a prince charming or a knight in shining armor to whisk you away, you just needed support. But instead, you were stuck at your stupid dead-end job with a good for nothing husband, and you had just potentially ruined any semblance of a relationship with your boss by being a massive dick to him.
You rub at your red eyes, noticing the smudging mascara staining your palms. You must look like an absolute mess. You pat your pockets, trying to reach your phone so that you have something to see your reflection in, but you’re left disheartened when you realize you must have left it in your husband's car. It’s only been a minute, and you were sure you could catch him if you went out now. You hesitate for a second, thinking about the risk of running late again, but ultimately decide it’s better than having your coworkers speculate on why you’re constantly late and this time, crying.
You press the door to open the elevator.
You can’t register the sight at first. It’s just two people. Except one is on the ground. One of the people is on the ground.
There’s blood, a good observation to have. You don’t know who has more blood on them. Your husband, or your boss.
Your boss. He’s standing over your husband, rather, you think it's your husband, at least. His face is so bloody and crushed, beaten to such a pulp- nose clearly broken and face so puffy it’d looked like he had an allergic reaction. He's laying on his side, and a small red, puddle pools from his head. Your eyes subconsciously follow the pool as it spreads past his head down to his chest. There’s no movement. No breathing.
In horror, your gaze shoots up to your boss. For once, his cold exterior is gone, replaced by pure rage. You watch as his expression suddenly softens, and realize he’s spotted you out of the corner of his eye. His eyes widen as he takes in the shocked look on your face and realizes the gravity of the situation. He parts his lips, to explain or justify his actions. It’s no use though. You’ve already done the only thing your mind can think to do.
You press the button to your floor.
The door closes as he quickly begins to approach you. The rage isn’t aimed at you, it never was- and for a second, you see a flash of guilt in his eyes. However, you still don’t break eye contact with him. Your face doesn’t waver. As the doors shut, the silence that fills the elevator is a stark contrast to the scene you’ve seen. Dread overwhelms you. Your palms sweat and you notice a slight tremor in your hands. It's only when you feel a sudden coldness on your hand that you realize you’re crying. You softly touch your face as more begin to fall. A slow, creeping realization sets in, slower even than the pace at which the elevator passes through the floors. It wasn’t fear or sadness that you cried to. It never could have been.
It was relief. Pure relief. He was gone. The man who had oppressed, agonized, battered you for years of your life. Your husband. He was gone. He couldn’t hurt you now.
You were relieved. Over a murder. You should be ashamed, you should be mourning something, mourning the loss of your spouse, but you couldn’t stop the tears of relief from flowing down your cheeks. You try, hurriedly, to fix your face, to smooth out your clothing. It was a new day, with a new meaning. A new purpose.
And with that. You continue on with your work day. You don’t go to the police, you don’t file an anonymous tip and you don’t call for help. Papers are filed and notes and transcribed. You take the elevator down at 5:00 pm, and there’s no evidence of what you previously saw. You return home, take a shower, and head to bed.
It’s the best sleep of your life.
The next day, you drive yourself to work. You turn off the sports channel and play your music in the morning like nothing has happened. You walk to the elevator and press the button. Unlike the previous day, your boss returns to waiting on your floor. You step into the elevator, looking up at him. It’s as if nothing has changed.
“The weather is nice today.”
He looks down at you. “It’s fine.”
The elevator follows its usual routine. People get on, and people get off. People continue to avoid making eye contact with your boss
“The weather has been too cold lately.” You casually speak up. “Too cold for me. But now it’s warm again.”
He doesn’t respond, but maintains eye contact.
As the elevator continues upwards, you don’t get off at your regular stop. Instead, you continue to stand next to him. When you don’t move, he looks at you quizzically. When it’s just the two of you left, finally, you take his hand in yours.
He seems surprised, and takes a deep breath in. “This is against company policy.” He responds curtly, looking away from you. A faint red tints his ears, but he doesn’t push you away.
“Yeah, it is.” You smile.
The elevator reaches the top floor, your bosses office. It’s your last stop, and he’ll have to leave.
As the door opens, he steps out hesitantly. He looks back at you, as if the next time he looks away, you’ll disappear. “We can arrange the details of… your role at the company later. Over dinner.” He states matter-of-factly.
“That sounds good.” You nod pleasantly. That’s a date, right? He’s asking you out on a date? You feel like you should say something else, to address the tension in the room regarding the other… situation.
“Thank you,” You swallow hard, “For everything.”
As the elevator begins to close, he does something you’ve never seen him do before, not in all your time at this company.
