#also pls

Slam him against a wall once you’re in a nice, secluded area, shake him down, hold your knife underneath his chin, press down juuuuust hard enough so that it bites, maybe cuts a little. Show him you’re serious and in-control. No funny business.

The man hasn’t even noticed you following him, which is good. But it also shows that he’s got too much confidence, feels protected by his money, never had to keep his head on a swivel, never had to watch out for any malicious individuals that might be roaming the streets.

He turns a corner, disappearing from view for a moment, and you quicken your steps. Rich boy’s heading into a generally deserted part of town, at least this time of night. You wonder for a second, just a second, what he’s doing out here. Looking for trouble? Meeting a friend?

It doesn’t really matter, not to you.

But as you peek around the corner, you expect to see the slim man, walking along without a care in the world, that pretty black hair swaying behind him, halfway down his back.

He’s nowhere in sight.

You step fully around the corner, look around, searching.

Where did the man go?

You walk quickly now, trying to keep your ears open for the sound of his near-silent footsteps ahead of you, eyes peeled for that shiny dark head of hair.  Maybe the man ducked down a side street?

You’re so focused on what you want to see, that you fail to see the danger until it has you pinned.

Literally.

Needles press against your shoulders, threatening - not yet breaking skin, but pressing close enough to keep you flush against the wall. If you tried to move, you’d be punctured.

The man had slipped into a dark alcove, one of those doorways that was shielded from view, meant to create safety from rain, or a romantic moment where one would steal a kiss after walking their lover home.

Eyes as black as night, large and round like an owl’s blinked at you, the man tilting his head. “Were you hoping to mug me?”

His voice is melodic, or well, it could be. The potential’s there, for it to be sweet, simpering, alluring. Right now it’s flat, bored, uninterested.

There’s a needle, long and thick, being held flat against your face, pointed upwards at your eye. You can’t breathe.

“If I were anyone else, you might’ve been successful. Interesting.”

Those owlish eyes slipped downwards, assessing your body and it’s dingy, worn clothing. You wished you could make yourself smaller, escape from that gaze. It felt so invasive, yet all he was doing was looking.

But you didn’t dare move a muscle.

“Should I kill you?” The needle on your face slid upwards, and your breathing quickened as it inched closer to your eye. Too close for comfort, too close, too close, too-

“You’re very quiet. I suppose you won’t be begging for your life then. That’s nice, usually there’s quite a bit of noise.” The man paused for a moment, thinking. “And tears too, I guess.”

A thumb brushed against your cheek as if he was checking for wetness, trying to discern whether you were crying. Finding none, there was a moment’s pause.

You still couldn’t breathe.

“Odd.”

Shutting your eyes, you awaited death. you had no doubt that this was going to hurt. The needles applying pressure to your shoulder would pin you in place, then the needle on your face would be driven through your eye.

Hopefully it’d be quick.

The man heaved a sigh, although it sounded as if he was merely acting put-upon, and not truly annoyed. “Fine then. Come with me, I’m in need of stimulation.”

Your jaw almost dropped, eyes snapping open and bulging in their sockets as the man tucked his needles away. His movements were efficient and effortless, and you finally register your mistake in targeting the man. He wasn’t some common pleb.

He was someone who killed.

Wait, what did he say about stimulation?

But now your wrist was held in a vice grip, the long-haired man easily dragging you out of the alcove and along behind him as he resumed walking. His hands were cold.

“It’s been a while, so the chances of me hurting you are... likely.” His legs were so long, you had to take three steps for his every one, trotting along behind him in order to avoid getting dragged.

“I could just ignore my body’s urges, but I’ve found that I’m more efficient when basic needs are met and adequately satisfied.”

“Basic needs-” You mumbled, eyes on the ground in front of you, the concrete sidewalk whirring by. Calling for help would be pointless - there was no one around.

The man stopped in his tracks, and you bumped into his back abruptly with a small “Ooph-” before you could stop yourself. He turned.

“Nutrition, hydration, shelter, and companionship. Basic needs.”

Your mind filtered through his words. Nutrition, hydration, shelter....

Sex.

The long haired man, clutched your wrist a bit tighter. It hurt. You had felt the solid muscle thrumming under his skin when you had bumped into his back. There would be no escaping from this man.

“My name’s Illumi. Yours isn’t necessary. You’ve been smart so far, I would suggest you keep that up. Let’s go now.”

There was no mincing of words. Illumi blinked once, as if affirming to himself that you weren’t going to be stupid by trying to run or scream, then turned and resumed walking.