Hello ! can you please do One shot for Yan!sigma with s/o who runaway from him ?
If this idea is not good, just reject it, thanks!
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You didn't specify how dark you wanted this to get or anything like sfw or nsfw so I just went with the direction it took, which came out very dark, so I'm sorry if you didn't want that. I love your idea by the way!
Warnings: 18+, Gun violence, implied character deaths, implied past harm/abuse, yandere themes, implied Stockholm syndrome
You weren't quite sure you understood your own motives, and he sure didn't either.
You were so well cared for. Everything, from the smallest want to big expenses was provided for you, all wrapped up in a big bow in the name of Sigma's love.
Yes, that fickle thing that drives him crazy. You don't love him, and he knows that. It drives him so insane. How is he supposed to make you love him, when all his "gifts", all the things he does for you, are so unappreciated?
Just tonight, he'd found you, running down the side of the road and waving down a car-- his car- for help. He saw it all- you weren't looking for him-- the way your face dropped, your complexion paling, the way your already red eyes filled with tears.
There was no emergency the way you'd tried to tell him, no animal in the building, no scary pest in the corner; he didn't even bother to look. Why would he? You were using him. Using him, lying to him, keeping your love from him out of pure spite. He knew. He didn't even have to look you in the eyes to know that the look you gave him was one less of fear and more of brutal hatred.
You had long stopped fearing him. Let you death come, and let it come swiftly if you disobey, you had begged him one evening when he sliced the soft skin on your chest, pale and shaking like a leaf, as a weakly acted upon warning to be obedient to him. Obedience. What a funny word. That incident was a year past now, and obediently, like a good dog, you'd learned to do whatever he asked of you. Cook dinner, clean the house, fill the hummingbird feeder every week, then come inside and lock the door behind you and give him the key.
This time would be no different. For a year, you had been his good dog, never disobeying, always heeding his instructions with the utmost care of a broken shell of a person walking on eggshells miraculously thinner than the one's you'd come to be made out of.
And then you heard it. There it was, that scream of anguish echoing down the steps of your tiny, two bedroom house, the sounds of a broken man, one who gave everything, God willing, to you, cracking and shattering like all the eggshells had just been crushed, crushed by your false devotion, crushed by his heavy hand, which would certainly come down on you later.
For a moment, you don't think when you hear the click of the gun barrel snapping into place. You don't move. The question is, is the bullet coming for you, or will he put it to his own head?
The trigger must be burning his finger, he who has not decided who God's reckoning will bear down on yet. All he is sure of is that someone must face retribution tonight.
Carefully, he loads a second bullet. Too soft, you'd never hear it.
One step, two steps, three steps, four steps. He's padding down the stairs, little bedside pistol he always kept in hand, pointed at himself.
"Me or you?" He asks flatly, eyes dead and dull.
You cannot live this life without him, that routine existence interspersed with brutality you could not recover from.
He cannot live this life without you, who burns his heart like the scorn of the sun.
"Both." You whisper, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.
One last look. One last look into your accursed lover's eyes, equally tearful as he points the gun at you, no longer shaking with innocent fear.
There is no goodbye, no words of reassurance.
Just the silence of impending death.
