Here’s sit with me while I tell you my favorite idea 💡
✨So the hunters (all if possible) come back to the manor after a long match of smelling sweat and blood upon walking towards their shred room with reader they catch a scent of their lovers perfume- mind going a mile a minute with the idea of their lover being in they arms and just melting from the stress of the day ✨
Thoughts 💭
ANON. anon...... this is the kind of scenario that makes me CRAZY uegh.. when their judgment's clouded by bloodlust but inhaling your scent brings them back to their senses >>> 🤒 let me be your lighthouse home etc etc. sign me UP.
for some blurbs, this turned into a broader "hunter comes straight to you after a rough match" without the perfume bit. kind of misunderstood the assignment but either way, here's this!
🌪️✂️👘🏳️🏴🦌🐍🪞🎻🔩🐟🕯️
🌪️ Ithaqua brings an air of gloom with him into your bedroom. Driven by nothing but a searing want for you, he skips over any pleasantries to tear off his mask and shove you onto the ground. A bed of wind tries to break your fall, but his impatience gets the better of him; he pins you to the floor with such force that he disrupts his own gale from cushioning your way down. Not that you care in the moment. You’ve been waiting to have him in your arms all day. He leaves a scattering of love bites and wet kisses up your neck.
✂️ Jack has one particular tune that he hums after his worst matches. Months of living together have left you all too familiar with it. His song begins from the foot of the staircase and steadily crisps itself to your ears as he draws nearer. Afraid of the state you might find him in, you rush outside to meet him at the top of the banister. He pauses with one foot on the next step. “Curious,” he says, greeting you with a cordial smile. “It’s not often a little mouse stands in my path—not on purpose.” His blouse is soaked a shade of reddish brown, and no amount of easy banter can hide the weariness in his eye. “Well, you’ve saved me the trouble. I was on my way to ravage you next.”
👘 Michiko drags her nails along the walls of the corridor, leaving a dull streak of blood behind. She doesn’t make a sound when she slips inside your room, practised in her delicate step; you don’t even feel the dip in the mattress before she has her shoulders arched over you. Eyeing you tenderly, she rolls a warm thumb over your cheekbone. “I’m home,” she murmurs. “Your sweet scent led the way again.” She realizes she left a smear of red on your skin, and her hand jerks away, startled by the reminder of what she had been doing just minutes ago.
🏳️ Bi’an’s arms wind around the small of your back, drawing you into his chest for a slow, tender embrace. It’s the first thing he does after returning to the manor: falling straight into your arms. As his lips trail down your forehead, peppering soft kisses in their path, you wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer. A whisper escapes you about how out of the blue this is, and in response he brings a kiss to the corner of your eye, prompting them to flutter shut. “Let me have you, just for a little while…” Those sweet kisses he’s so good at descend your neck, growing rougher the lower he goes.
🏴 Wujiu’s arms wind around your stomach, pressing his chest flush against your back. He hasn’t uttered a word since returning from his match, aside from a tepid “Nothing worth mentioning” when asked about his day. This sudden affection takes you by surprise. You try to turn your head to face him but he catches your chin, steering your gaze back to the wall. “Don’t look at me.” Whatever is clouding his mind today is better left alone, you realize. You lay your hands on top of his, squeezing them, encouraging him to let your presence blot out everything on his mind. Warm breath fans your collarbone as he nuzzles into your neck, drinking in your scent.
🦌 Bane doesn’t like to discuss his matches. It makes no difference whether they are quick or slow, a win or a lose, they always weigh on him the same way. He sits on the edge of the bed lost in thought. You decide to break the tension first by greeting him with a hug from behind, your chin hooking over his shoulder. Bane isn’t big on physical affection. But after a while he cups a tender hand to your temple, palm taking up the entirety of your face, and presses you gently into him.
🐍 Yidhra might be the hunter most detached from the nightmares of the manor games. They provide nothing but leisure for her, and she’s never felt particularly passionate about them, win or lose. Her followers are the ones who give her the most trouble. When they resist her will, her consciousness splinters apart, some days leaving her too weak to herd them back again. These are typically the days she comes for you. You aren’t sure when she enters your room, but sometimes you catch glimpses of her tail in your peripheral, never to be seen when you’re looking on purpose. Her voice floats in the back of your mind: Mine, mine, mine, mine… There is nothing that binds you to her, yet you’re the only one who never resists her.
🪞 Mary barges into the room clumsily for someone of her poise. She struggles to prop herself against the door, muddy skirt stiff in awkward folds. “My mind is a mess,” she exclaims, voice clear but breathless at the same time. “Where are you? Come settle me.” The second she spots you, she sulks over to toss her arms around your neck, finding a seat in your lap. Clearly she isn’t concerned about observing her usual decorum today. Her dress is heavy and splotched with muck you don’t care to identify, but you don’t mind holding her as the burdens of the day ease off her shoulders.
🎻 Antonio’s fingers instinctively travel to the liquor cart by the window. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but feeling around to find nothing but an empty platter gives him pause. One resigned cluck of his tongue later, you feel tendrils of hair coil around your waist and wrists. They pluck you up from your side of the bed and present you in front of him as if you’re nothing more than a doll. “Not a drop to console me?” he complains, knowing you’ve hidden his bottles again. Then his head tilts slightly, taking in your scent. You can practically see detention’s fiery glow return to his eyes. “No, perhaps you are right—there is something more intoxicating for me here.”
🔩 Percy - “Hm...” He’s scrutinizing you with such intensity that you wonder if something’s on your face. He leans over to take an exaggerated whiff of you, and your heart sinks in offense. You have half a mind to tell him you showered just that morning, so it’s probably not you — besides, he’s the one who’s been tangoing with carcasses all day — but Percy keeps a thoughtful look about him. “You smell full of life,” he muses. “That fragrance you wear, it was popular back in the day. Transports me to the city again.” He would know better than you; you just found this perfume in the trunk of a dusty old room. When he comes closer, clasping either hand around your face, you let him lose himself in the nostalgia. Moments like these are all you have to keep yourselves sane in the manor.
🐟 Grace’s mouth is pulled into a taut frown when she flings open the door. You can see a slight quiver in her lip if you squint. Her harpoon clatters on the ground and she drops onto your bed, braid falling out, face buried in a pillow. There’s little you can do except rub a soothing hand in circles on her back. When she peeks over her arm with a gentle plea in her eyes, you wonder if she’s asking for a deeper massage—but you don’t get the chance to ask before her hand latches onto your forearm, tugging you down to lie with her.
🕯️ Philippe settles for a glass of brandy and his bundle of sketches. He’s resting on the chaise by the foot of the bed, not his work desk where he’d usually be. Rather than drafting new ideas he’s simply thumbing through the old ones, mechanically, breaking from his cycle only for a sip of his glass. It’s like your lover’s been replaced by a puppet. You feel unnerved enough to intervene: stripping him first of his glass, his sketches, then his monocle, you tip him back onto the cushion. You expect him to complain about having to get back to work, but he doesn’t protest. Tonight is for him, you decide. As his dark hair sprawls out beneath him, you straddle his thighs, and his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. “I’m terribly jealous of this magic of yours,” he murmurs, faint lilt in his voice. “It’s always you who brings me back from the stars.”
To people who don’t know idv this is not the murder guy I promise 💀 I think? Idk what Netease was thinking.
☆○o。He’s a gentleman first and foremost, So he’s the type to pamper his S/O as much as he can. Be it via little gifts, or quality time, whatever. (Personally, I see him as the gift giving type)
☆○o。Even though he’s a gentleman, he’s also kind of crazy, and that may show in the way he thinks about you. Would he act on these thoughts? No! But it may be like some sort of fucked up thought he has once in a while.
☆○o。He has big hands, good for playing with your hair, along with various other benefits.
☆○o。I feel like he’d be a decent cook, so he’d make dinner for you as long as he gets to spend more time with you in general.
☆○o。Likes to give hand kisses like a true “gentleman” or whatever he calls it, he’ll take your hand gently and just leave kisses.
☆○o。Pet names!!! Things like darling, dear, gorgeous, pretty boy/girl, ect. He will use whatever gets you the most flustered and use that specific word the most.
☆○o。In public he’d be quite over protective, especially since he knows what types of terrible people are out there (such as himself..)
☆○o。In matches, if you’re a survivor he’d still down you, but instead of chairing you he’d probably carry you around the map like a prince/princess.
☆○o。If you’re a hunter and you are in duos with him, he’d spend the whole match flirting with you instead of bothering survivors. Even if you aren’t friendly, he wouldn’t really make an effort to attack the survivors.
☆○o。Regardless of what faction you are, if you come back from a match beaten up he will go nurse mode on you in a second, bandaging everything and asking who did it, ect.
☆○o。You could probably convince him to not hurt them, but that wouldn’t stop him from having a harsh tongue or giving nasty glares. Or the way he’s exceptionally less polite in matches.
☆○o。Gifts you clothing items frequently, and they’re likely all pretty expensive.
Can we please get a fic about possessive/yandere Jack tunneling/tormenting his darling during a match? Something akin to the snippet of him we saw in the Emil and badly injured s/o headcanons. That bit had me barking, I need more of y'alls Jack 🙏🥴
thank you for enjoying that tidbit, detective! i am a very firm believer of slandering jack as much as possible but immediately making him attractive in the worse ways i could <3 he's a horrible man and i love that in him! please enjoy this food, and do bark more. if you do so, he might buy you a collar and leash. - mod orpheus
request: yandere!ripper tunneling/tormenting his darling headcanons
pairing: [the ripper] yandere!jack x gn!reader
warnings: general yandere behaviour, descriptions of blood & injury, near death experience
jack the ripper
to be the apple, or may i say rose, of his eye is a death sentence in of itself.
the ripper does not do “obsession”, or so he thought. it was a useless endeavour, to be so taken in by something or someone temporary, especially with what he does for a living. he assumed, be it person or item, it will leave and perish over time in his presence. more than anything, the only thing he ever thought he’d be obsessed over was his work. something he was very much okay with.
that all changed when he met you
everything about you captivated him; from your appearance, your movements, down to the way you speak. he was drawn to you, like a moth to flame, desperate to have you at any cost. he spent days, absent from matches, in his room. the curtains drawn, the lights dimmed, paint splattered across floors and canvases. art pieces, abstract, stylised, realistic, all pieces with you as its muse. with each brush stroke, his obsession grew, and grew, and grew. neither survivors nor hunters knew this was what he was doing in his absence. the survivors, more than anything, were relieved about him being gone for the time.
you were warned about him by both factions. you were warned greatly. jack, but we mostly call him the ripper, says the perfumer, was a ruthless hunter. his very presence struck fear in those who opposed him. he hunted with skill and precision, but at the same time was sickeningly nonchalant about it. he plays with his food, that disgusting man, whispered emma to you. a monster through and through, he even has the gall to flirt with some of us in the middle of hunts. every warning sickened you and made you fear the day you’ll have to match against him. that was why his absence was a cherished moment by both survivors and hunters. however, such a thing cannot always stay permanent.
eventually, the ripper returned, and everyone saw it was with a renewed gusto. a bad thing, stated the seer. he had his mind set on something, or shall i say, someone. you.
your first encounter with him was outside a match. the way he peered at you, eyeing you like you were a slab of meat for him to slice and cut open than a human being; it made you understand why even some hunters were uneasy [a great understatement] about him. though some hunters weren’t human, either changed or lived that way their whole lives, the ripper was a different level. he was... human, but he didn’t feel human. not even someone like the hell ember made you feel like that. something about him was uncanny, even if all he did was brush past you with a wicked promise of meeting once more. preferably in the near future, little rose, he chuckled out.
for a while, you thought that was an empty promise. wicked and terrifying, sure, but empty. the matches you joined within those days were with other hunters. you haven’t seen jack in a match with you for a few days at least. you thought he was just scaring you with that talk about ‘near future’- he’s had to be scaring you, no? that’s what a hunter like him would do.
you grew familiar with what arms factory looked like in the time you spent here. it was a ‘starter map’, as other survivors said. good kiting spots, fairly spread out rocket chairs, strong pallets. it’s the perfect place for newcomers, though you have long since shed that little nickname from the others. you, alongside the gardener, doctor, and perfumer, all sat at the table together, excitedly talking about what plans you may have for the upcoming off days. “i think i’ll spend time with coordinator,” vera tapped her chin in thought, “she mentioned wanting some tips for makeup. i’ll help her out then.” “sounds fun!” emma nodded her head and giggled, “i’ll just tend to the gardens again, as i always do. emily should join me!” the doctor laughed politely, a hand over her mouth as she did, eyes crinkled with content, “yes, i think that sounds fun. what about you?”
you paused in thought and shrugged, “didn’t really think about it that much, but i’ll probably find something to do sooner or later.” “you can help with the gardens too!” the gardener suggested, “the manor could always use more green thumbs.” “oh, yes, you could come with,” emily nodded in agreement along with the perfumer. the conversation was stopped by a smooth, honeyed voice humming from behind the curtains. all four heads turned to face it. silver blades pushed the cloth aside as the towering figure of the ripper spun through, bowing down in front of the table. attached to his back was an evil looking scythe, black and sharpened with flicks of smoke curling off of it.
your heart lodged itself in your throat in a bad way when the ripper lifted his head to look at you.
the game began.
right off the bat, he was ruthless. the ripper roamed the map like a wretched, evil, fog. he was playing with the doctor, it was clear to the three of you. he chased, he hit, and then he simply just waited nearby emily. you knew he’d be able to catch her easily if he just tried, but he was waiting. waiting for something, even if it costed him a cipher or two. the moment the second bell rang throughout the match, it was like the realisation struck all four of you. he was farming for presence. he wanted full presence.
it was like the mist through the factory thickened significantly as that happened. the ripper turned his back on the doctor and stormed through. even if he passed any of the other two women there, they were unbothered. perhaps shaken, a little scream from his chilling fog that brushed past them, but nothing more than that. after all, he wasn’t there for them. he was there for you. and you were made violently aware of it when you saw a sudden bend on the pole of your cipher. slowly, you lifted your head, fingers trembling over the keys, sweat sticking to the back of your neck. the fog shifted, unwrapping itself around its commander.
there, standing so casually over your cipher, and you by extension, was the ripper. he tilted his head, eyes squinted in delight. “hello, little rose,” he crooned. you slammed your hands firmly onto the cipher and lunged away, nearly missing the button to ping the girls. the hunter is near me!
the cipher in factory was finished, but the basement was there. however, nowhere else was safe for you to kite, as nearby would be one of your three teammates decoding a cipher. you had to take the risk. you had no other choice. you felt your heartbeat thrum loudly in your ears as you ran across the map, the ripper right on your tail. your legs screamed at you; a split of stop running, it hurts too much and keep running, he’s going to kill you. you had to dodge a foggy blade, seeing the black mist hit the wall and disperse right beside you. you stumbled in your steps, nearly tripping over your feet and falling. but you managed to catch the metal railing in the factory, using it to boost yourself some more distance away. not like it did much, as the ripper stepped through the fog and slipped past the door with an increased speed. he never downed you, no matter how close he was to you as you vaulted the window or a pallet for a terror shock. it was like he enjoyed seeing your discomfort, as you vault, as you run, his hand or claw ghosting against you lightly.
two ciphers later, the last one was on standby with the perfumer. both doctor and gardener waited at the gate close to the factory. but he still hasn’t downed you, let alone hit you once. it wasn’t like he wasn’t trying too much; he aimed his blades carefully in a way that would hit you if he was just a bit more accurate or if you were just a bit more sloppy. however, with the blood rushing through you and adrenaline pumping through your veins, you couldn’t afford nor even try to be sloppy. especially not against the ripper of all hunters.
seeing as he was doing nothing more but stalling at this point, you had to do it. focus on decoding! if only you did it a bit later, perhaps when you were in a more safer position...
the cipher popped, and it was like a switch was flipped in the ripper. with a manic exhale of his breath, you knew you made your first, and final mistake. you gripped the windowsill as you lifted your body over, a vault in progress. but as you did so, his claws raised, the blade wrapped in black fog before he swung harder than he would have usually. the black smoke that wrapped around you momentarily made the sting worse. through your clothes, your fabric ripped, and you felt a searing pain across your back. from the corner of your eye, you saw splatters of blood, but you knew there was more gushing out. your back was wet. warm, cold, wet. you crashed into the ground, a nasty, filthy scrape digging and ripping up your skin and irritating it. a scream ripped throughout your throat; one so loud and pained that you thought your chords were about to burst and split. it was a scream louder tha emily’s. it was a scream of true pain.
blood was rushing everywhere as you gripped your leg, yet that strained the deep gashes across your back. you knew he hit deep. it was painful. it was hell. tears streamed down your face as you sobbed and cried, choking up on tears as you looked at the ripper. he stuck his legs on the windowsill, vaulting over casually as if he didn’t just damn near break your back in half with one hit alone. he peered down at you with a cruel smile, head cocked to the side as he crouched down beside you. the lack of glowing red eyes didn’t excite you as much as it would have any other time. you only had enough strength to ping that he had no detention before you had to go back to crying out in pain, head turning away from him.
you couldn’t even bring yourself to a crouching position to crawl away, you could only drag yourself on your stomach bit by bit to try and gain even the most insignificant amount of distance to the ripper as you could. he let you do so for a while, but eventually gripped your leg with his unclawed hand. you were relieved at that. he was going to chair you, and your teammates were going to escape.
but he instead yanked your leg and twisted you, forcing you to slam against your back. the earth dug into the open wounds and you threw your head back with a pained scream. there was so much blood. on the ground, on you, on everything you feel. the ripper’s hold on you loosened, and you were subjected to his ghosting touch as he caged you in beneath him. “my, my, look at you,” he whispered breathlessly, very obviously happy with his work. he tilted his head aside, fingers brushing from your scraped leg to the inside of your thigh, reveling in how you turned your head away with a pained sound.
“now now, little rose,” he chastised lightly, but gripped your hair with a strength so tight it nearly ripped off your scalp, “look at me.” a breathless gasp left your lips as you looked at him, one eye barely able to open from the pain and stinging tears. “s.. stop... l.. let me go...” you sobbed. he haphazardly let go of your head, making you lightly slam it against the ground by the sudden loss of support. the ripper bent his back down, claws tapping against his face, chuckling as he gazed at you with a crooked grin, “just listen to that. what a precious, beautiful sound.”
he twirled your hair in his unclawed fingers, tugging your head up before abruptly slamming it back down again. “just like those fucking whores,” he snarled, “you cute, pretty, little thing... those breathless cries, those ragged shrieks, the last time i heard those were in the alleyways of london, my hands wrapped around some broad’s fucking neck as i break it backwards. my darling, what i wouldn’t do to gut you right fucking now. your insides, organs, everything, spread open on the ground for me, and only me to see.”
you could barely thrash away, sobbing and crying as you see the blurry figures of your teammates running to try and help you, only to stop abruptly at the bloody sight. “r.. run..” you force out through gritted teath, “get.. get out of here..!” “n.. no- no, emma has to help!” the gardener tried to run forward, but she was pulled back by the perfumer and doctor. “stop- stop it, what are you doing?!” emma cried, “we can help them! we- we can help- he has no detention!” “we have to go, emma,” emily urged as they began pulling her away. you saw the ripper start to grin at the desperate sight of the gardener thrashing and kicking, trying to run towards you. emma reached her hand out, screaming your name, sobbing just as, if not even harder than you have been as you see her figure get smaller, smaller, and finally, gone.
“now, do scream out as loud as you can. if you satisfy me, i might let you crawl your way out of here, whore,” he whispered the filthy nickname for you in such a sickeningly excited way, “let’s have some fun, shall we?”
IF YOU FOLLOWED THE IDENTITY V WRITING BLOG @the-manors-writer
THAT WAS ME I AM SO FUCKING SORRY ALL OF YOU I LOST ALL OF YOUR ANON MESSAGES ANE EVRYTHING ILL BE REMAKING IT SO FAST SOON PLEASE REFOLLOW IT IM SO SORRY YOU GUYS
I DELETED LITERALLY ALL MY TUMBLRS BY ACCIDENT BUT IM RAPIDLY REMAKING ALL OF IT I’M SO SORRY
IM TAGGING EVERY X READER OF IDV I CAN THINK OF IN HOPES YOU GUSY CAN SEE THIS :(
IF YOU FOLLOWED MY ACCOUNT PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST SO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED
Coulfd i get more of that shy surv s/o with Jack? Maybe s/o trying their best to confess to Jack or maybe trying to flirt back/reciprocate affection but gets nervous and awkward lol any is good for me i want jack content
pov; you're me with insane writers block and then immediately write this because??? i loved that prompt bro 😭😭
anyway hope you enjoy (✯ᴗ✯)
the ripper with a shy significant other
✿✿
it starts when he spares you. the first time.
then he casually flirts with you during matches. bringing the rose cane accessory when he knew he was going to go against you. letting you get away purposefully once or twice.
it was small, at first. offering to walk you to your room after a particularly painful match, or bringing food to your door when you weren't feeling the best. offering to do customs with you when you were getting sloppy with kiting. and then he asked you to a date.
"ah, we've known one another for long enough? say, won't you come have dinner with me?"
"uh," you can feel the heat rising. did he really have to be so grandiose? "I- uh- I suppose..."
he flashes you a smile, one thats often hidden by the mask he constantly wears. "great! it's a date."
he's gone before you can say anything else. a date? with the ripper? any sane person would have immediately turned away. but he was kinda cute.
when you show up to the garden, you've already prepared. you know him, and how flirty he is. so you've decided to turn the tables. to start the conversation before he even gets to decide!
"well my, my, don't you look beautiful?" he pressed a kiss to your hand.
"you look rather dashing yourself, jack." it must've surprised him, when he pulled away you could see him look a little dishevelled. a slight chuckle escaping before the two of you sat down.
now the real game begun.
as the two of you ate, constant compliments were thrown around. you desperately tried to not stutter or show any signs of being embarrassed or flustered.
but.. his words still burned in your mind, every casual compliment staying within. you wouldn't forget it anytime soon, hopefully he wouldn't either.
as your little "date" came to an end, jack kissed your hands once more.
"you know, I was hoping you'd show your cute side more," he gave you a charismatic smile. "but I suppose I'll have to wait for our next date."
he laughed when your face turned, and when you buried your face within your hands. your hiding spot doesn't last, however, as he pulls them away and leaves you with a parting message.
"Dancing With The Devil" (Abel Plenkov/The Ripper x You OS)
This one goes out to @prurientpuddlejumper for the idea. I think I'll make these like a series of OS, maybe like-- strung together? Or just taking place in the same universe? I really just don't want have to keep explaining the deal between Abel and Ripp.
Does that make sense?
Still gonna keep tagging you, let me know if I need to stop.
Tag List
@madamsnape921
@lolliepopsicle
@chasingeverybreakingwave
@milkshqke
@wanniiieeee
@word-scribbless
@gibbs274
@sassyada
@aprildecker-blog
@bookishfanfic
@stars-in-the-skies-world
@stars-trash-18
@omgsuperstarg
@objection-argumentative
@thatesqcrush
@shittanyy
@mrsrafaelbarba
-------
You were getting ready for a date with your boyfriend Abel Plenkov, he promised he was surprising you with a new place he was sure you'd love. You were excited because as much as you loved Abel, he tended to be a bit mundane, predictable. It was safe and comforting of course, but routines got old after a while. You were ready for a wild night out. Although with Abel, you didn't know how wild that could be.
However when there was a knock at your door, you swung it open to a pair of devilish emerald green eyes. Abel's body was dressed in a leather jacket and muscle shirt with tight jeans, showing off his perfect apple bottom ass. But this definitely was NOT Abel.
"Hey there sexy," a low, guttural voice greeted you.
"....Ripp?" You blinked a few times in disbelief, trying to hide your excitement. You hated that you had started to be attracted to Abel's demonic side, but he was so….enticing.
"I promised you a surprise, didn't I?" He pulled a single black rose from behind his back and handed it to you.
"....T-That was you?" Your heart was pounding as you took the rose from him.
"Well of course it was baby, you think Honest Abe would know how to be spontaneous even if his pathetic life depended on it?" Ripp raised an eyebrow.
"Don't say that!" You hit him softly. "Abel's a dear sweet man"
"....You know he's asleep right now, right baby?" He smirked. "No need to lie,"
"...He is?" You gasped slightly.
"Yes, it's just me and you tonight," He grinned evilly, pushing himself inside your apartment and grabbing you into a hungry, aggressive kiss.
Usually you'd slap him away or yell obscenities at him, but for some reason knowing you were hidden away from Abel's doe eyes awakened something in you that you kept locked away, sealed up tight.
A need for Ripper.
You kissed him back even more aggressively, ripping off his leather jacket from his body and tossed it across your living room as he picked you up and you wrapped your arms around his body. It was Abel's body, but with Ripper in the driver's seat, it felt entirely different. Dare you think...better?
His long digits caressed your body, exploring your skin in ways Abel never did. It was like being with a whole new man. His mouth moved from your lips and trailed down your neck, sucking hard as he went. He pulled your shirt off and continued his trail of hickeys down your side, massaging your breasts at the same time.
"I knew it," you heard him chuckle darkly while making his way down your ribcage.
"...Excuse me?" Suddenly your head snapped up, your pleasure paused.
"I knew if you thought your little choir boy wasn't looking you'd dance with the devil,"
"... W-What do you mean, 'thought'?" You whispered in horror.
Your blood ran cold now as he raised his head to meet yours with an evil triumphant smile.
"Aw come on now baby, you think I wouldn't let Abe have a front row seat to me seducing his lady love so god damn easily?"
"No…." You pushed him off of you, horrified tears welling up inside of you.
You didn't want to be here when Abel came back out, but you knew you had to explain.
"Don't be so upset sexy," he made a fake sad face as he placed a thumb under your chin. You jerked your face away, spitting at him.
"I can't believe I thought--"
"Thought what?" He challenged you. "Go on, say it so Honest Abe can hear it. You thought you could fuck me and enjoy it with a free pass, admit it,"
"Never" You growled.
"Fine, have it your way. We'll see what your boy scout boyfriend has to say about all of this," he cackled, as his face morphed.
"No no no…" you begged, but it was too late. You saw the heartbroken look on Abel's face.
"Abel…" You tried to hold his hand but he snapped it away.
"I...I can't even look at you," He got up and went to get "his" leather jacket off the floor.
"Abel please," You jumped up and ran over to him while tears streamed down your face. You picked him up off the floor and forced his face to look at you. His green eyes were red with his own tears.
"Are you trying to make up with me or just trying to get Ripper to stay?" He sniffled angrily.
"If I just wanted Ripper do you think I'd shove him off and get angry at him for hurting you?" You tried wiping the tears from your face, but he shoved you away.
"He didn't hurt me, you did!" He started
"Abel, please…." You grabbed him again, forcing him to look at you.
“I...I need some time,” He looked at you sadly, sadder than you’d ever seen him before.
Tears were dripping down his face, his lip quivered. You didn’t care what he said, you threw your arms around him and pulled him as tightly as you could against your body, sobbing into his chest.
“Baby I’m so, so sorry…” Your muffled apologies came out into his chest.
His left hand lifted away from you and ran slowly, gently down your back, while he sniffed your hair.
“Oh it’s alright baby, he’ll understand. In time,” The familiar eerily dark voice whispered in your ear. You pulled back and were looking into the devil’s green eyes once again.
“W-What…?” You muttered, not sure if you should be scared or relieved.
“Abel’s gonna take a little...well needed rest,” Ripp’s deep voice rumbled with evil giddiness.
“I…” You fought within yourself to be more upset about this, but at least you didn’t have to choose between the two of them right this second.
“Well...alright,” You finally let go and gave him a mischievous smile.
“That’s my girl,” He threw the jacket across the room once again as he carried you to the bedroom.
the ripper (knight in the forest) x you
you get rocket chaired (thats it)
⚠️ graphic violence
I wrote this a loooong time ago but refrained from posting because it's so different from my usual genre. it was fun practice, though.
For Jack, the thrill of the chase is best savored slowly.
He keeps a level pace through each of his hunts, never straying from his step-turn-step that he accompanies with a sweet whistle. Tangled patches of moss and fronds cling to his rusted armor, while the vines sprouting out from inside wind around his limbs and sway above the dirt behind him. Despite the overgrowth that binds him, his strides remain fluid; he doesn’t compromise grace on his favorite dance.
Do not rush. Do not get ahead of yourself. Let the sound of your steady footwork sink into your prey, let your hums rattle through their skulls, let your presence whittle away their spirits, step by step. These are the rules that dictate his routine and only he knows how to execute them. His partner is unaware of this dance they share until they are lost in the rhythm, too caught up in the night to break away. Every move is deliberate and unhurried. Yet he always catches up.
“Ah…!”
Too easy.
Predictably, his little runaways will soon collapse in his path. You skid to your knees hard enough for the skin to rub away, but can’t find the courage to glance at the figure behind you. An instinctive fingertip brushes over your skinned knee before you prop yourself up, ready to force your legs into carrying you just a little further. But you don’t get the chance. The footsteps come to a still behind you, and your captor’s lips purse with a triumphant tut.
“Aw,” Jack coos. “It’s hardly a hunt when you don’t put up a fight.”
You flinch when he tugs you by the scalp, stretching you up to eye level. Brown eyes peer at you through the slits in his helm, clearly gloating over this turn of events.
“That agility you’re so proud of failed you when you needed it most, hm? Petty alliances never were your forte. You and I are similar in that regard.”
His words bite, churning your stomach in coils. There were eight of you at the beginning—and one by one they were plucked away by the vines and willows until you were among the last few left. Now you’ve been caught too, and all because you tripped over your own two feet. Maybe you deserve it. You never went back for the others.
“Fuck off,” you spit, each word swallowed under your heavy gasps. Your head is swimming. Dark spots gather in your peripheral like a march of mad ants, dutifully closing in from the edges. You aren’t sure how much longer you can keep your eyes open. Your nails claw into Jack’s arm, desperate to struggle free, but with the wind knocked from your lungs and each of your senses flickering out, you hardly leave a scratch.
“You are a plucky little thing,” he continues, unconcerned about the thrashing lump of limbs in his arms. He tosses you into a nearby chair. “Were you not direly unaccompanied by a single rational thought, I might even call it admirable.”
“I’ll kill you,” is your immediate response. Flinging out juvenile threats like that is so predictable of you that Jack can’t suppress the chuckle under his breath. You can’t stand him. Your temper was already sour before running into him, but he seems to get a kick out of stoking the fire.
“I’ll kill you,” you hiss again, as if a second time might cement your resolve. He doesn’t give you the usual taunt that time. The silence irks you more. You can imagine how he must be amusing himself with the thought: I’d like to see you try.
Those familiar leather straps bind your forearms and a rush of nausea courses through you. Jack, as usual, is thoughtful enough to cinch around the most tender parts of your wrists. It shocks a shrill yelp out of you. By tonight, you’ll have a new pair of red rings to join the mottled spread up your arm. All marks leftover from yesterday’s encounters with him.
Some final threats fall from your lips—or try to, at least. Whatever comes out doesn’t seem to be anything comprehensible.
“Babbling like a madman already?” you hear Jack jeer. “That won’t save you, you know.” His voice is distant, as if muffled underwater. The only tangible proof you have of his presence is the gentle fingertip that’s tracing up your neck. But that brief tenderness collapses when he grabs your jaw to wrench you forward. “Wouldn’t you prefer to wear some dignity as you go down?”
Something poisonous bubbles up inside you then. You respond by spitting a mouthful of blood in his face, missing his eye by an inch. Forcing him to grimace in offense is all you really can do now. But he won’t even give you that. Instead his lips curl up, tongue sliding over his cheek, tasting the mess you made, tasting you.
Stubborn to the end, is what that musing look on his face tells you. You can’t touch him. Any struggle made against him now will only spark a new pleasure for him to lap up. It’s not in your character to back down without a fight; you would try to wrestle out of those shackles until your nerves were severed and stiff. Jack knows that about you. He’s waiting for the show he’s certain you’ll give him.
Maybe you are too stubborn. You’re playing into his hand anyway. You thrust the sole of your boot square against his core, which he evades by gracefully stepping back.
“I wouldn’t try to anger the one holding your leash,” he reminds you. “Not that you’ve ever listened to me. Remember that? You really ought to have run before the others realized what a snake you are.” Jack’s brows crease, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “No one left is willing to rescue you now.”
“I don’t care,” you bark. “They’ve always been a bunch of deadweights.”
“You’re so cruel. I would have applauded them for their efforts. They all fought to the end,” he says. Then, as if lost in his own musings, “I’m terribly curious. Does it torment you now, knowing you let that small mercy I offered you slip?”
“I don’t care,” you say again. He has given you “chances” to flee ever since you set foot in the forest, but that has been a habit of his for as long as you’ve been stuck in this game. You never had any chance of escaping—he is just fond of saving your hunt for last.
You wish you could swallow down any kind of reaction. But there’s little you can do to stifle the tremors seething through you now. Jack stands from a distance, taking his time to observe the spectacle in front of him: from the creak and grind of the chair as you fight its bindings, to the frenzied glint in your eye, spearing through him with the rage of a scissor blade buried in a throat.
This is perfect. Better than perfect, even. The final step is the most gratifying part of every dance and Jack will always ensure that it’s duly savored.
