⛓️ Pairing: Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter (Bullseye) x reader
👁️ Word Count: 1.906 words.
⚠️ Content Warnings (CW): Intense codependency, extreme jealousy, obsessive behavior, and stalking. Reference to a past incident where the reader was cornered and groped by a stranger in an alleyway, it's a non-graphic depiction of the trauma. Detailed descriptions of physical assault, breaking bones like wrists, fingers, and jaw, and vigilante justice/murder.
Depictions of panic, shock, panic-induced crying, and emotional numbness/dissociation post-assault.
And... Dex's canonical mental instability and desperate need for validation/orders.
📜 SUMMARY: You know very well that you should fucking leave him. He is a ticking time bomb. Living with Benjamin Poindexter means navigating a minefield of paranoia and an intensity that borders on madness. But when the system fails you and the police offer nothing but empty notes...
Dex is there to solve that problem.
So when he returns from the pouring rain with split knuckles, you realize he has crossed the point of no return just to buy back your peace. You are forced to face the terrifying truth: he is a monster, a psychopath with blood on his hands, but he is your man. And in his arms, you have never felt safer.
A/N: My native language is not English, so writing all this in Spanish and translating it into English might not end up reading as it should (which saddens me a little, I won't lie), but I will still release the Spanish version. I'm getting back into writing, so I'm open to advice ❤️
You know very well that you should fucking leave him.
You should leave this relationship, your mind was constantly screaming at you to run away. He was a ticking time bomb, sometimes volatile and unpredictable. Somehow, when he had those weird episodes that you couldn't quite name, Dex became suffocatingly jealous and dangerously paranoid.
The final straw was with Elton, a coworker of yours. He was always kind to you, he always opened doors for you and casually invited you out for a coffee after lunch. He had a girlfriend, a very nice one, but unfortunately for Dex, a girlfriend wasn't enough to clear him of suspicion.
Before you knew it, your life had turned into a series of exhausting interrogations. It always ended up in: "Where have you been?" or "Did you know he pretends to be nice just to pick up women? Because his girlfriend doesn't exist..." followed by a barrage of unsettling, deeply personal facts about Elton’s life that you never wanted to know in the first place.
Yet... you refused to let him go.
Because the raw, carnal intensity of his touch was an addiction, a mind-blowing, intimacy that ruined you for anyone else. Maybe you were losing your mind, or perhaps that was the real reason you hadn't packed your things and left his ass.
Until three days ago.
You were heading home when you got cornered in a dark alley with a knife pressed against your ribs. So you were forced to choose: fight a man twice your strength and risk your life, or endure the sickening, forced hands groping your body. You let it happen, doing what you had to do to stay alive, but the trauma of those forced touches left a heavy, suffocating distance between you two.
After you finally broke away and collapsed into Benjamin's arms that night, your shattered state was all the evidence his unstable mind needed. For days, you remained lost in your own thoughts, pretending everything was fine. You went to the police, but it wasn't enough. The cops asked those stupid questions to find a culprit, but the investigation was going nowhere.
But to someone like Dex, it was an unforgivable declaration of war. And Dex knows that when he set his mind to something, he didn't stop until he found that shit or achieved his goal.
And he was going to achieve that fucking goal one way or another.
Which brought you back to the couch, Dex hadn't arrived yet. It had been more than two hours since he murmured: "I'll be right back, darling..." before kissing your forehead and stepping out into the storm.
You keep listening to the relentless rhythm of the rain that had been drumming against your windowpanes. Suddenly, the door clicked open, and you snapped back to reality. Finally, he was home. You tried to convince yourself he had just gone out to buy something, a habit he’d picked up over the last few days, bringing home cookies, chocolates, cereal, anything to coax an appetite back into your body.
You were about to get up from the sofa to ask where he’d been all damn afternoon, but the moment he stepped into the dim light, the words caught in your throat. His knuckles were badly split, dripping fresh crimson onto the hardwood floor. His hair was damp and messy from the rain.
"Don't turn on the lights..." Dex murmured.
You slowly sank back into the cushions, your eyes locked onto him. He didn't offer a greeting. He didn't apologize for the blood or the lateness. He just strode toward you slowly until he stopped right in front of you. Without a word, Dex dropped heavily to his knees right between your thighs, looking up at you from the floor. His large, trembling hands stained with dried blood reached up, wrapping gently around your wrists.
"He won't ever look at you again..." Dex whispered against the skin of your wrists, his grip soft enough as he tilted his head back. He didn't want to give you any clinical details that you didn't want to ask for.
And as in his twisted mind, he enjoyed it.
He didn't want to give you the clinical, gory details. Actually, Dex didn't need to tell you that he had tracked down the bastard who had touched you and how he had cornered him in a desolate alleyway.
How he enjoy the satisfying wet snap of one of the man's wrist breaking, or how he had methodically shattered the bastard's fingers of the other hand one by one after pulverizing his jaw, and how he had left that motherfucker to faint from the agonizing pain in the filth of that desolate alleyway. Dex didn't tell you how his pulse accelerated after seeing him dead.
In his twisted mind, he had enjoyed every single goddamn second of it.
"I took care of it for you."
Your mind was still trapped in a dizzy, detached state of shock. "Benjamin…" you murmured softly, running a trembling hand through his damp hair. You rarely used his real name, but tonight was different. Dex’s head snapped up at the sound of it. "What did you take care of?"
The question didn't bother him. He leaned forward, his hands resting on the couch on either side of your thighs. "The man, sweetheart..." he whispered, and his hands tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. The way he spoke to you so gently as he confessed what he had done: "The one who made you cry. The one who thought he could put his filthy hands on you in the street."
A small, dark smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked like a man who had just returned from a holy war, satisfied with a job completed with absolute, brutal precision. He grabbed your hand with a sudden, desperate urgency, guiding your trembling fingers to his face.
"The police… they're useless. They ask questions, they take notes…" He let out a short, humorless huff of a laugh, pressing your palm flat against his cheek, forcing you to feel the heat of his skin and the grit of the dried blood clinging to his bruised jawline. The bastard had clearly given him a fight. "I did it for you." Dex kissed your palm gently, tenderly, keeping his eyes closed for a brief second. "He won't ever touch you again. I broke him, sweetheart. I broke him so thoroughly he'll never even remember the feeling of standing up, let alone walking toward you."
He opened his eyes, looking like a stray dog waiting, breathless, to see if he would be petted or kicked.
"Dex..." you said softly, your voice cracking as your skin crawled with an intense, confusing discomfort. "You didn't... you didn't tell me you were going to do something like this."
Dex put your hand away from his face, not with roughness, but with urgency, and he pressed your palm flat against his bare chest, right over his heart. He needed you to feel the violence of his pulse against his ribs.
"Because you didn't have to ask!" he snapped, his voice rising in a jagged burst of raw emotion that made you flinch, before instantly dropping back into a desperate whisper. "You didn't have to ask because it’s done. It was a necessity! You were shaking sweetheart. You couldn't even breathe because of what he did. You were terrified."
You were completely paralyzed by shock. You remembered how Dex had always told you, in his quiet, intense way, that he would kill for you if the world forced his hand. Fuck.
You just never truly believed he was capable of executing it with such cold efficiency. You hoped it was just a joke, since he loved dark humor, but you would soon realize that… it wasn't dark humor.
Before you could speak, his grip tightened on your wrist. "I did it so you could sleep. Because I love you..." he rasped, a rare, terrifying vulnerability through his stare. "I did it so you could walk down the street without looking over your shoulder ever again."
The silence that followed was suffocatingly dense.
"Because you're my woman..." he added. You looked at his bruised face, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the small table lamp, and the terrifying truth finally settled in your chest: he had ruined a man for you.
You didn't feel disgust toward him, but the sheer gravity of what he had done broke something inside you.
For more than three days, you had been holding your breath, burying the terror of that alleyway deep in your chest while trying to be strong. But looking at Dex now, looking at his split knuckles and his desperate, pleading eyes, the dam finally broke.
A choked, ragged sob escaped your throat.
Dex flinched, feeling that perhaps he had gone too far, or perhaps he should have done things differently, anything but make you cry. His face was turning pale. "Darling—..."
Before he could pull away, thinking he had completely terrified you, you leaned forward and collapsed against him, you buried your face into the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as tears finally streamed down your cheeks. You felt relief, you were really sobbing over the situation you had been through, over the fear you had of going out when you had to go to work (although now Dex was the one who took you and brought you back home, something he still feels guilty about not having done before), and even the fear that kept you awake at night.
And you were sobbing too for the reality that this man had crossed the line of no return just to give you your peace back. Dex went completely still for a second, his brain was trying to process that you weren't running away.
"Thank you..." you whispered.
Then, a shaky, broken breath left his lips. He crawled up onto the sofa, his arms wrapping around you, Dex pulled you into his lap in the dim light of the living room while the rain kept drumming against the windows. His pink knuckles carefully stroked your back, avoiding staining your clothes, while his face buried into your hair.
"I've got you..." Dex whispered, he was trembling. You could hear how his voice has that emotion that he rarely showed. "I've got you, baby. It's over. He's gone. He can never, ever hurt you again."
You couldn't speak through your tears, but you tightened your grip on his neck, letting his heavy, solid warmth comfort you. He was a psychopath, a man with a shattered psyche and blood on his hands, but in his arms you somehow felt safe.
"Wash your hands…" you choked out against his skin, after kissing his cheek. "Please. Let's just…let's clean you up."
Dex nodded against your hair, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "Yes, ma'am..." he murmured against your skin with that soft smile on his lips, his tone dropping into that quiet, devoted obedience that belonged only to you.
He didn't leave you on the couch. Instead, he lifted you effortlessly in his arms, carrying you into the bathroom with him. And as you watched him wash away the split skin and the remnants of his grim work you realized that you were entirely safe in the care of Dex.
You wake up cold in the middle of the night. You grope around behind you to find the blanket and reclaim some of it from your man. You tug at the blanket, but he's hogging it and you can't get enough to cover yourself. You scoot back against him and grumble that you're cold. He drapes it over you and spoons you. You're too sleepy to notice the fabric is smooth and different, or that his arms are bigger. Everything's bigger. He's warm. You drift off in his arms, wrapped in his robe, and your boyfriend’s body is getting cold on the bedroom floor.
serial killer!theo x writer!reader | fluff but in a dark way | wc: 647
summary: theo plots a murder for his ex while his friends watch
tw: mentions/references to death
“I’m going to kill him.” Theodore grumbled out.
You were currently hanging out with Theodore and some of his friends—Mattheo, Lorenzo and Pansy—with Theodore currently pacing around the room in anger.
Pansy had decided to invite you out for a fun drinking game that they often did in their childhood. You had quite a bit of fun with the game, talking about your book and exes that the five of you all had. Mattheo had talked about his secret rendezvous with various women while Pansy talked about her issues with men in the dating scene—which eventually had started a conversation about your toxic ex.
Suffice to say, Theodore did not like him after this.
“It’s okay, my love.” you murmured out, watching as Theodore paced around the couches. Pansy and Lorenzo seemed to be looking a bit fearful of his pacing. Mattheo was sitting next to you, a large smirk on his face as he watched Theo pace.
“It is not okay!” he exclaimed—his voice cursing out in Italian like a bow running sharply against the strings of a viola. “I swear, I’m going to strangle him.”
“I can get you rope.” Mattheo said ecstatically. “Or a wire.”
Theo stood in place at that, pointing at Mattheo for a moment before nodding. “Rope.”
You sighed dramatically. “I was going to use him for a part of my book.” you murmured quietly.
“Can I choke him?” he asked you, walking over to you with an almost pleading look in your eyes. “Please principessa? I promise to make it poetic.”
You rolled your eyes. “Something clean.”
“Theo. Clean.” Mattheo scoffed. “Yeah right.”
“He doesn’t even deserve clean.” he grumbled, sitting down next to you much like a petulant child might. You weren’t quite sure why Pansy or Lorenzo were scared of him—you knew that Theodore wouldn’t do anything to hurt people that he loved. “He deserves to be in pain.”
You sighed quietly and shook your head. “What are you thinking, Teddy?”
“I’m thinking something torturous.” he murmured quietly, kissing your cheek and wrapping you into a cuddle on the couch. His body rested between your legs as his head rested on your chest—while you rested your journal on top of his back to write on it. “Maybe something involving bleach. Or fire.”
“Bleach?” Lorenzo murmured quietly, both him and Pansy sitting in shock still.
You scoffed quietly. “You’d have to buy quite a bit of bleach and matches. Wouldn’t be good on a receipt if he was looked for.”
“Okay, then I’ll dismember and drown him.” he said to you.
“That’ll bloat him.” you murmured quietly to Theo, writing something else down in your notebook. “Plus the body parts might float upstream. They might find him.”
Mattheo scoffed at the banter you two had. “Okay Ms. Perfect, what do you suggest then?” he asked.
“Acid?” you said. “I could use it as a metaphor.”
“That sounds—” Theo murmured quietly before sitting up a bit straighter. There was a look of awe in his face that he had almost always been showing you recently—ever since you had figured out that he was a serial killer and helped him with his processes. It was more prominent now than before though, a small smile growing on his face. “Where does he live?”
“Near that bakery.” you mumbled non-committedly, flipping to the next page of your journal.
He laughed quietly and pulled you in for a kiss—lips caressing yours for a moment before he stood up and rushed out of the house.
“What the fuck was that?” Pansy asked you incredulously. Lorenzo was following close behind her, though his friend Mattheo had been bursting out in laughter the entire conversation.
You shrugged quietly. “Nothing serious.”
“How the fuck does a serial killer have more game than us?” Lorenzo asked incredulously, sighing dramatically and sinking into the couch. “God, I hate my life.”
hello everyone, i hope you guys enjoyed! just another small drabble here <3 this fic contains both serial!killer theo and murderer!mattheo, but murderr mattheo isnt toooo important so u can just glaze over that. thanks so much for reading!
Contents:
Green flag yandere, puppy love, sociopathic behavior, canon-typical child soldiers, mentioned child on child violence.
The Nara were more similar to the Uchiha than they’d like to admit.
More secretive than the Aburame, more obsessive than the Uchiha, and as loyal as any Inuzuka. The Nara didn't like to advertise their predisposed intensity, preferring to be kept off any political radar. Geniuses willing to go to any extreme for loved ones? They’d never be left alone by the village elders.
And speaking of hiding things from the Hokage, Kagemane no Jutsu is, on paper, a hiden technique. Passed down through knowledge and clan teachings.
It’s not.
Knowing that foreign villages such as Kumo seek to steal unique and powerful kekkei genkai, the Nara reclassified their genetically inherent shadow symbiosis as an average teachable technique a long time ago.
This should have been easy to hide, but when you deal with letting shadows into your body, you also let them into your heart and mind.
Fifty percent of those with the Nara’s kekkei genkai suffer racing thoughts, headaches, fatigue and last but certainly not least, obsessive hyper-fixations.
Whether it’s on a book series, a certain branch of science or an obscure hobby, Nara are known around the village for finding something that piques their unending curiosity and diving into it unrestrained by social norms.
At least that’s what it’s like when it’s not a person.
Among those fifty percent of Nara, there has always been a rare chance, mostly among main branch members, that a Nara would develop a fixation on a human.
It could be platonic or romantic, or a queer combination of the two.
No matter who it is or what their relationship evolves into, they are always classified as their Sunlight. The shining force of warmth and energy that darkens their shadows and soothes their chaotic minds.
This phenomenon isn’t usually talked about with clans other than the Akimichi and the Yamanaka, who know only the basics of what a Sunlight means to a Nara.
All the other clans know is that the Nara are weird. They don’t know the specifics, nor do they really care to know. After all, what did those lazy brainiacs even have to hide?
A whole lot more than you’d think.
You see, every few generations, a recessive quirk emerges within a main branch member. A mutation of the mind, predisposing them to the eventuality of fixating on a Sunlight so precious and all consuming that they even have a different label for it.
A Moonlight.
Whereas a Sunlight brings out all the repressed positive aspects of a Nara, a Moonlight shrouds a Nara in a darkness so deep and dreadful that it makes the long term “guests” in T&I sound sane.
In the past, if a Nara was found to have fixated on a Moonlight, they were culled no matter the age. It was merely a matter of clan safety and security. If set off in any way, even an untrained Moonlit Nara could decimate squadrons of Shinobi.
They were just unwilling to risk the spotlight on their clan.
So when their normally lethargic five year old Shikamaru just would not shut up about the tiny girl in his class with skin as soft as mochi, hair light as the moon and eyes like chestnuts, his parents sighed good-naturedly and assumed he had developed an exceptionally early fixation on this poor girl.
Darling thing had no idea what being a Sunlight entailed. They should really invite her over for dinner sometime…
Then one day, not even a month into his first year in the academy, Yoshino Nara got a telephone call from his teacher to inform her that he would be staying late that day for detention.
Shocked that her unmotivated little boy would ever do anything extreme enough to warrant staying after class, Yoshino asked what could have possibly happened.
“Shikamaru-kun got in a fight.”
Well, was it really considered a fight when it was a one-sided beat down?
Nara children aren’t known for their strength, stamina or passion, so fights among them are almost unheard of.
And little Shikamaru for all five years of his life had fallen into that exact stereotype. Too lazy to bother, too physically weak to win.
All that caution and carelessness however was thrown out the window when tiny Tomoko-chan’s braid was chopped off by a jealous girl with a kunai.
A girl?! Yoshino was shocked. Not only did her baby boy start and win a fight, but he beat up a girl too?!
That’s when Shikaku and Yoshino knew that something was wrong with their son.
Deeply, profoundly wrong.
Her child had been acting in ways very unusual for a Nara youth, the teacher explained further.
He’d been caught spacing out in class, which he normally wouldn’t have blinked an eye at, except for the fact that Shikamaru had instead been staring unblinkingly at Tomoko the entire time.
When tasked with pairing up for projects, Shikamaru would always choose Tomoko, even turning down the Akimichi heir! And when someone had already chosen Tomoko, the teacher noticed that said child would suddenly freeze before stiffly walking away from the confused girl, leaving room for the young Nara to take their place.
Then weirdest of all, during taijutsu practice, when Shikamaru was matched up with those that had gotten a hit in on the smaller girl prior to sparring the Nara heir, they were viciously beaten down both verbally and physically. Even without the use of his shadow!
“He’s unusually strong for a child from your clan, I-I mean, no offense to the Nara! It’s just so out of the ordinary for them to, well, apply themselves so effectively in taijutsu!”
Unusual physical strength. Signless Kagemane. Unwavering hyper-fixation on a human.
And at such a young age?
Yoshino paled.
Sunlights inspired loyalty, protectiveness and jealousy. This however. This was more.
There was an emergency meeting of the Nara elders called that night. One that would decide the fate of Shikamaru Nara’s life.
Spare the child, in this era of peace and prosperity?
Or extinguish the boy’s life out of tradition and fear?
Of course, his parents advocated for his continued existence.
He’d been such a good child up until now! Sure he complained, but he never once failed to clean his room or do his chores when asked.
He got above average grades, his Kagemane was proficient for his age group and he made fast friends with the next generation of Ino-Shika-Cho!
Some elders argued that none of that mattered if it would draw attention to the clan’s true power and proclivities.
Others stated that they’d like to see how an adult Moonlit Nara would behave. They were curious to know of Shikamaru’s future power.
But the argument that won the minds of the meeting was this: Shikamaru’s inevitable value as a potential weapon for the clan.
“Nara protect their own.” But the Nara were still a shinobi clan, and an old one at that.
There would always be a fascination with power among ninja. It was practically written into their DNA.
And who knew when there would be a need for a terrifyingly fierce Nara on the field? Hints of unrest and whispers of disloyalty spread throughout the clans like wildfire these days...
Wouldn’t it be better to have a Moonlit on their side?
Shikaku and Yoshino left that meeting simultaneously relieved and unsettled.
Whatever they knew of their son, his personality, his character, his relationship with them as his parents? It was no longer relevant.
Little Tomoko’s desires and ambitions now defined their son to his core.
The unbreakable leash that encased Shikamaru’s neck was wrapped snuggly around Tomoko’s dainty little finger.
And she didn’t even know it.
Moonlit Nara were rumored to have drastically changed personalities after meeting their Moonlight. The growing darkness in their mind suppressing their principles of right and wrong.
Yoshino cried that night, mourning the loss of her son as she knew him. Shikaku cursed the Nara genes for choosing his child to grow into an unrecognizable monster.
But surprisingly, Shikamaru didn’t seem all that different, even weeks after his first outburst.
He complained about chores, he did well in school, he was kind to the deer.
The only difference was that he was with Tomoko at every possible opportunity.
He walked her home everyday from the academy. They would go hang out with other children and grab ice pops on the weekends. He cloud gazed with her during recess, taking the opportunity to nap on her lap.
Waiting for the other shoe to drop was driving Shikamaru’s parents crazy.
When would they finally lose their baby?
Finally, as Shikamaru announced his arrival back home, Shikaku had decided that he’d waited long enough.
“Shikamaru, come, have a game of Shogi with me.”
As his son sat across from him, Shikaku noticed a few things.
Firstly, Shikamaru’s eyes seemed dull and unfocused. Not like how they were when he was with Tomoko, alive and engaged.
His eyebrows were pinched too. At first glance it just looked like he was focusing on the game, but Shikaku knew his son. He was in pain. Was it a headache? From being away from Tomoko? But it had only been a couple of hours?
Thirdly, Shikamaru was already closer to beating him than Shikaku was comfortable admitting.
“You don’t have to pretend right now. I’m your father, you can let go.”
Shikamaru’s relaxed posture tensed at that.
“How?”
“How, what?”
“How did you know there’s something wrong with me?”
Shikaku sighed and began to explain the concept of Suns and Moons and their Shadows. Things they don’t normally teach Nara children until they’re much older.
Shikamaru listened politely, only interrupting a couple times to ask clarifying questions.
When it came time to explain the Nara elder’s decision on what to do with him, Shikamaru merely nodded.
“It’s the choice I would have made.” He shrugged.
Shikaku didn’t show it through his poker face, but he was honestly surprised at how well the conversation had been going so far.
“So what’s the real reason you dragged me out here?” Shikamaru drawled, placing a piece on the board.
Shikaku’s move.
Shikaku withheld a nervous swallow. Time to talk emotions.
“Why? Why are you acting like this?” Why are you still acting like my son?
“Acting like what?”
“Like a normal kid.” Shikaku wasn’t very religious, but he prayed in that moment that Shikamaru would respond like a normal child and that all this Moonlight nonsense was just an abnormally strong Sunlit reaction.
Shikamaru’s placid expression turned blank.
“Cause Tomoko-Chan likes me like this. If I’m not, I scare her. I don’t wanna scare her anymore.”
Shikaku’s heart dropped. He placed his last piece in the winning position, but still felt like he had lost something irreplaceably important.
In reality though, nothing was lost that day, as there was never anything to lose.
They were far too late to do much more than hope and pray that Tomoko would be a good influence on Shikamaru’s newly rewritten psyche.
Maybe it was time to meet the girl that now owned their son.
Tomoko, Shikamaru’s parents found out, was a well mannered civilian-born child.
She was exactly how Shikamaru described her. White hair, brown eyes, pale skin. Her hair had been cut into a bob, in response to the impromptu haircut she was given a few weeks ago.
Shikamaru made sure she sat next to him at dinner, chairs close, but not unnervingly so. Even then, he focused entirely on her the whole event. Sweetly asking her questions and gently teasing her about things that happened at school that week.
He was acting like how he always did, at least before he discovered Tomoko.
It was only after seeing the difference between his recent behavior at home and how he acted with the girl that Yoshino and Shikaku truly realized just how empty their son was without her.
The girl ate neatly in front of them, despite Shikamaru pointing out that she was normally a messy eater at school lunch. She playfully shoved his shoulder whining about making good first impressions.
At the casual touch, Shikaku noticed his son’s pupils dilate wide and blown out, a sleepy smile graced his round cheeks as he gazed happily at Tomoko.
Neither Shikamaru’s mother nor father had planned on getting in between their son and his Moonlight. Not only was it sacrilegious to do so, it was basically suicide.
But, even if they had been, any thoughts of wishing for separation dissipated when Shikamaru made Tomoko snort so hard milk came out of her nose. He laughed loud and genuine at her giggling whines for help, tenderly dabbing her face with his napkin.
The boy was genuinely smitten.
He might claim to only be pretending for her sake, but deep down Yoshino and Shikaku knew that he would be okay.
As long as Tomoko was at least.
Inspired by a combination of my ongoing 16 year long Naruto phase and the Nara Fixation Ao3 tag. Specifically inspired by the concept of "Lights" and the possibility of Light fixated Nara going insane instead of growing stronger in Sealed by DeerHarts on Ao3. I wanted to see what would happen if both happened at the same time, muahahaha.
Once I wrote this thing about Jason Todd having a crazy, toxic, insecure girlfriend. And how into it he was.
Like, think post revival Jason who so desperately wants to be loved and is but can only see it through cracked lenses in which ‘They used to love me. When I was small and happy. But I’m broken. I’m wrong. They’ll never love who I am now.’
And this girl who he had this massive crush on before he died. Who kind of misread every sign he threw her way. Only for him to reveal himself to her one day and it’s really everything he wanted out of Bruce and Dick and-
Everyone really.
He can tell he was missed. Because she shows it in a way he understands.
And she is textbook toxic insecure gf only they aren’t even in a relationship. And he is so, so into it because he feels wanted. Needed.
Like, she goes through his things, checks who he’s following on social media, puts trackers on him without his knowledge (but he finds them), and she steps into his line of sight when he even glances at the door. Possessive.
Sure, eventually they’ll have to get therapy. But he is so happy and feels so loved because someone finally wants to keep him.
She doesn’t care that he’s a murderer or what he did or how broken and filthy he is and how much he doesn’t deserve the shit she gives him. She just doesn’t want him to leave.
Writer's note: i hope this is what you wanted! Im so sorry if it sucks ass. I wasn't sure what to write as a situation so please let me know if it sucks!!˃͈◡˂͈
WARNINGS: mentions of murder, mentions of suicide, horror themes, psychological torment, knife use, swearing, stalking, toxic dynamic, mild yandere behavior
Famous Woodsboro murderer Y/N decided to take a souvenir home after a killing-- oh how much they regret it (or do they?)
Y/N was finishing up a murder after an intense chase with the victim. They were one of the most infamous murderers in the Woodsboro community, known as Ghostface. While finishing up, they noticed a gaming console by the victim's television, with a game tape on the floor. Out of curiosity, they went to the tape and crouched down to see what game it was. The label read Legend of Zelda. They looked around. The owner of the game was dead, so technically there was no one to stop them from taking it home... They pocketed it and quickly left the residence.
When they arrived home, they showered and hid the costume and mask away in their closet. Y/N sat down in front of the television in their room and inserted the tape into the console. "It's like a reward... I get a new game for murder. Life is great," Y/N said as the game started. They played for a while. "Huh? Is this part of the game?" they wondered as Link suddenly burst into flames. It was weird, but this was their first time playing Legend of Zelda, so they weren’t sure if this was supposed to happen. The music was also creepy--like it was reversed. Y/N couldn't deny it creeped them out. "What the hell? Is this supposed to be happening?" they murmured, staring at the screen with a nervous expression. They knew Legend of Zelda wasn’t a horror game, so why did it have horror elements? Words appeared on the screen.
"Hello Y/N."
Y/N’s eyes widened in shock and fear. How did this game know their name?? Their hands froze on the controller as they stared at the screen, paralyzed.
"Respond. Now."
They gulped. Sure, they might have been a murderer--but this was something that could creep even the scariest person out. "What...?" they said, timid and nervous. Y/N decided to turn off the game, but instead of the screen going black, new text appeared:
"You shouldn’t have done that."
"Go away!!!" they yelled, fear evident in their voice. Then, BEN appeared on screen. They suddenly stopped yelling, tilting their head as they looked at the boy. "Who are you?" they asked, curiosity now mixing with their initial fear. BEN laughed, clearly sensing they were frightened. He reached out of the screen--Y/N gasped as the character (or rather, spirit) appeared in front of them in real life. "You can--wha--huh!?" Y/N stammered, momentarily forgetting their fear. "You look cute, but I liked it better when you were scared," BEN said with a laugh. Thinking his guard was down, they reached under the bed for the knife they had hidden there and attempted to stab him. But to their surprise, the entity teleported--reappearing beside them.
"You hide a knife under your bed? If you don’t wanna be caught, I recommend cleaning it," he said mockingly, flashing a shitty grin. They looked down. Sure enough, blood was still on the blade from their earlier killing spree. "Who are you!?" Y/N snapped, frowning. "You kill people too?" BEN asked casually. Y/N let out a frustrated sigh, realizing he was dodging their questions--probably just to mess with them. "Why won’t you answer my--wait, wait, wait... too?!" Y/N exclaimed, just now catching what he had said. "You kill people too!?" BEN grinned. "You could say so" he laughed. Their confidence shattered. Being face to face with a teleporting killer? Not exactly comforting. "Uhm... I... please don’t hurt me!!" Y/N begged, dropping their knife. "I’m sorry I tried to attack you! I won’t do it again!!". BEN laughed again. "You look so cute when you’re begging. Might have to scare you more if this is how you react!" he said, flashing that shit-eating grin. "Don’t worry. I don’t wanna kill you--yet. You’re my most interesting victim so far. A killer meeting a killer... so interesting~"
Y/N gulped, about to say something, but he suddenly disappeared. "He’s—he’s gone?" they said, confused, looking around their room. "But what’s his name!?" they added, frustrated.
·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳Weeks Later˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
Over the next few weeks, they began to question why they were even scared of BEN in the first place--because that asshole was now tormenting them everywhere!
Y/N would be watching TV--sudden static. Listening to the radio? Glitched and reversed music. Even in public, the boy sent creepy messages to their phone, just like the ones during the game. He was messing with them, mentally, and doing a pretty damn good job at it. They assumed it was all part of his twisted plan. Y/N was Grumbling while getting ready for another murder spree, Y/N muttered, "What the hell is his name?" Suddenly, their phone began spamming notifications. "Huh? What’s this?" they said, looking down. "BEN DROWNED." Over and over again. "BEN Drowned, huh? More basic than I thought," they shrugged. They picked up their old-school phone to call their next victim.
"Do you like scary movies?" they asked into the voice changer. The victim was their former school bully--someone who had humiliated them by getting one of her guy friends to fake-date Y/N for a bet. Y/N frowned as the line went to static. "You've gotta be kidding me! Is this BEN!?" they fumed, slamming the phone down.
"Whatever... I’ll just do it without the stupid call. Stupid BEN. Stupid everything!" they muttered.
He has a cute grin... No!! What the hell am I saying!? they thought while driving to the victim’s house. "He’s—he’s stupid and mean and cruel!!" they tried to convince themselves. While driving, they stopped by a videogame store and traded the tape in, hoping it would put a end to fheir tormet--and maybe make them stop thinking of him
·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳At the House˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
They heard a TV inside. The girl was home alone--she’d bragged about it all week. Y/N lockpicked the back door and snuck in. Hiding in the house, they called her again. "What!?" she snapped while putting a videogame store bag on the floor, making Y/N roll their eyes. "What’s your favorite scary movie?" they asked with the voice changer. "My favorite--what!? Ugh, I don’t know... Don’t Breathe or whatever." She said sassily while pulling the game out of the bag and carelessly dropping it to the floor.
"Don’t Breathe? What would you do if you were in the old man's situation?" Y/N asked. "Why are you asking me this?" she asked nervously.
"Look behind you," said the voice. She turned--and Y/N stood there, full Ghostface costume on. They lunged, but she bolted. A 30-minute chase ensued. In a large bedroom, the girl shoved a closet at them. Y/N gasped and dodged, crashing to the floor.
While they were stunned, the girl got on top of them and they wrestled. She suddenly ripped the mask off. "Y/N!? Oh my god!!" she shrieked, bursting into laughter. "You seriously tried to kill me!? Are you that upset!?" she laughed. Y/N burned with embarrassment. She had the upper hand--again. "Can’t even kill right! You truly are useless at everything. Hahahaha!!!" she cackled. Y/N shoved her off and ran downstairs. As they fled out the door, they heard her yell: "I’ll tell everyone what a useless killer you are! Rot in jail, loser!!" Y/N swore they could’ve cried from frustration. Before they left, they saw Legend of Zelda by her TV. Had she bought the copy Y/N traded in? They hoped she had--so BEN could torment her.
·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳A Few Days Later˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
Y/N was anxious. No cops. No sirens. No knocks.
They turned on the news during breakfast--and gasped.
"Teenage Girl Found Dead in Her Home—Apparent Suicide."
It was her. Their bully. "Suicide? Was she suicidal? She never seemed that way... always bragged about her perfect life," Y/N murmured. Karma. They giggled. Then--a knock on the door. Her heart dropped, she assumed it was cops. They opened it. The Legend of Zelda copy was on their doorstep. They took it in and rushed to the console. "Ben? Ben? Are you there?" they called out. BEN appeared on screen--then appeared in person, just like last time. He laughed sadistically. "That girl had a weak mind. Only took a few days of torment before she offed herself. Most victims last longer." Y/N looked confused--but touched, a blush spreading on their cheeks. "Why would you do that?" they asked softly. BEN scoffed. "I dont want my favorite victim to be stuck in jail! How will i see you then~?," he laughed. He did it... for them Their blush deepened. "and besides, i've grown a liking to you, so only i can torment you, i dont like others doing my job". He said. He then looked at her and said "You’re so adorable when you blush. You're making it really hard to pick between tormenting you or helping you. Your fearful and blushing expressions are both so cute~". Y/N scoffed. "Shut up, idiot! My god, do you always ruin sweet moments?" BEN laughed. "I usually do!" They sighed. "I'll stab you" she pouted. BEN grinned and said "the human species will be extinct by the time you succeed" which made her huff.
He might be a pain in the ass—but damn, he was attractive.
Ya girl posted a new fic so here's the memes about it
It's called Trust Exercise it's about Techno and Phil getting married for a peace treaty and then Techno and Kristin dealing with assassins while Phil's off doing Politics.
Nikolai perched on an ammunition crate, shirtless and battered, a fresh cut splitting his left eyebrow where Price's rifle stock had clipped him during the extraction. He looked like a wolf that had lost a fight with a bear, grinning, bloody, and entirely too pleased with himself.
"You are insufferable," Katya muttered, but there was no heat in her voice.
She stood between his knees, swallowed by his telnyashka—the white-and-navy striped undershirt he’d tossed her when they stumbled in from the rain. It hung to mid-thigh, sleeves rolled back three times to free her hands, collar slipping off one shoulder to reveal scar tissue. She looked small in it, delicate almost, if one didn’t know that the hands holding the suture needle had killed three men before breakfast.
"Hold still," she commanded.
"I am holding still." He reached for her immediately, his big hands spanning her waist through the cotton, thumbs tracing the stripes. "You are the one shaking, malen'kaya."
"It is cold."
"It is July in Eastern Europe. You are nervous because you want me." He leaned in, a soft, tired fondness in his eyes. "Admit it. You stole my shirt to smell like me."
"I stole your shirt because mine was soaked in blood."
"My blood. Very romantic." He pressed his uninjured cheek to her sternum and breathed deep. "You smell like gunpowder and soap. And me. My soap. The cheap stuff from the PX."
"You are impossible." She threaded the needle, but her free hand found the back of his head, fingers weaving through his hair, brief and possessive.
"Impossibly handsome. Impossibly brave." He pecked her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, the line of her jaw. They were quick, hungry kisses that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with needing to feel her alive after nearly dying tonight. "My little Sova. My pocket-sized assassin."
"I am not pocket-sized."
"You fit here." He demonstrated by cupping her hips, fingers touching at the small of her back. "See? I could fold you up, put you in my cargo pocket, take you out when I need stitches or other things."
He squeezed her tighter.
He kissed her shoulder through the cotton, then her ear, then the corner of her mouth.
Katya gripped his chin, forcing his head back to access the wound. "If you move, I will sew your mouth shut."
""But you know I’ve never been good at following rules."
She started the first stitch. The needle pierced and pulled. He hissed, not from pain, but because it gave him an excuse to pull her flush between his knees. His arms wrapped around her thighs, locking her in place, his face pressed against her stomach like a drowning man clinging to the only solid thing in the world.
"You are being clingy," she said, but she didn’t stop him. Her fingers stroked his hair.
"I took a brick for Price. A brick, Katya. I am traumatized. I need comfort." He nuzzled at the cotton, then lower, kissing her navel through the fabric, then the skin just below where the shirt had ridden up. "Cuddle me, wife. I am an old bear who needs his Sova."
"You are forty-six, not eighty."
"Forty-six is ancient in this business. I have earned the right to be clingy." He looked up at her, one eye swelling shut, the other bright and warm. "Besides, you like it. You are not stabbing me."
"I am literally stitching your face."
"But you are not stabbing me. That means you like it." He pecked her wrist, the one holding the needle. "You like my hands on you. You like wearing my clothes. You like that I am alive."
She tied off the second stitch, precise despite his palms sliding up her back, tracing her spine through the thin cotton, mapping her like territory he intended to keep. "You are making this difficult."
