Not sure if you've done him before. But can we get some headcannons for Oni and a small s/o can be nsfw if you want
Kazan my beloved <3 NSFW under da cut hehe
Kazan “ The Oni” Yamaoka w/ a Small! S/O
To be fair, almost anyone (and everyone) is quite small compared to this giant of a man. He towers over most, his shoulders broad and chest puffed out, a distinguished presence bleeding into any environment he is. His size demands others to respect him, and if not that, then to fear him.
As such, when you come along and you’re even smaller than the average person, the height difference between the two of you is downright ridiculous. On a good day, you come up to his waist, and that’s when he’s leaning forward slightly, possibly in an attempt to hear you better. The two of you make for an odd sight, not that anyone would ever say that aloud (not if they valued their tongue).
To piggyback off this, any area you enter with him in tow immediately feels different. Had it been just you, most others would treat you normally, and perhaps a few unpleasant ones would treat you not so well, given your height in relation to theirs. Yet, once Kazan begins to trail behind you wherever, this behavior ceases immediately. It’s almost equivalent to having a large, scary guard dog with you, and you sometimes wonder why no one seems to draw closer to you anymore, oblivious to the brooding, imposing man just over your shoulder.
BONUS - (NSFW Drabble)
Kazan presses harder into you, your legs practically pressing against the side of your head, a high-pitched whine escaping through your teeth. In this position, the size difference is impossible to ignore, as the hand wrapped around your calf practically engulfs all of the flesh there, nails digging slightly into the skin.
Outside of this, Kazan doesn’t think too deeply on your smallness; if anything, it’s a annoyance, as things are harder to reach, and most of the time, he’s kneeling next to you just to understand you, hands pressing into his shoulder as you step on your tippy toes to whisper into his ear.
Yet now, as his cock slides in and out of you, the outline of it pressing against your tummy to create a visible (and impossible to ignore) bulge, Kazan revels in the difference, your cries only spurring him on.
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Hello! Firstly I love your writing! I’m not too sure how you feel about angst but I wanted to at least throw it out there. Deathslinger, Oni, David king and the nurse being spat back out to where the entity took originally took them, with their S/O nowhere to be seen.
(Squidward Voice) We love angst here, sir.
Escaping the Realms…Without You.
Caleb “The Deathslinger” Quinn
The darkness fades and Caleb’s in his cell, the bars now rusted over, the reddish color coating along what once was silver. He jolts upwards, pain shooting up his leg as he stumbles to his feet, turning around wildly as he takes in his surroundings. It couldn’t have been anywhere else, as the dust below the man is kicked upwards, and he sneezes, bewildered. He strains his ears, eyes, all of his senses, yet the stillness of the prison persists, the building quieter than ever.
Caleb doesn’t know how, doesn’t know why, but the Entity isn’t here, the telltale humming of its enormity long gone from the surrounding area, and it is with this that he realizes he’s back at Hellshire, back where he had been taken. He turns to his side, starts to say something when he stops, his gaze locked onto the air at his shoulder.
Your ever-constant presence isn’t there, isn’t with him, and Caleb panics. He tears through the Penitentiary, tears through each and every cell, each and every room, calling out your name desperately, pleadingly. With each passing moment of silence, he grows more restless, more frantic, and he has turned every room, every nook and cranny upside down when he falls against a bench, his harpoon gun clattering against the floor as he holds his head in his hands, strands of platinum blonde brushing past his shoulders, framing his face like a dimming halo.
You’re not here. Caleb digs his nails into his eyes, into his skin. You’re still there, still stuck.
He’s lost you, and there was no getting back. A lonesome crow caws from above as the man wails, his cries echoing throughout the abandoned halls of Hellshire.
Kazan “The Oni” Yamaoka
It only takes a moment for Kazan to realize he’s somewhere else, somewhere familiar. He rises from his knees, snow crunching beneath him as he surveys the surrounding area. A stone mill looms behind him, forgotten, and he remembers, remembers the farmers. Remembers the pain, the wounds upon wounds they inflicted upon him. How he died on the stone floor, and how he awoke in the Realms.
Kazan spares the mill a passing glance before he turns his attention towards the sleeping town ahead, its streets long abandoned. Had you been at the mill, he would have known, and as such, he surmises that you must be in the town (because, where else could you have been?).
As the demon nears the street, something foreign settles into his stomach and he pauses, the feeling creeping upwards. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to, and he moves forward again, watching the buildings with practiced eyes. You’re going to jump out at him, going to leap upon his back to frighten him. It’s not going to work (it never does), and he continues to brace himself as he continues.
Yet, as he nears the end of the street, Kazan’s strange feeling crawls into his throat, his eyes glazing over behind the mask. He stops at the end, his silhouette alone against the snowfall, and it is then that Kazan realizes he is afraid. You’re not here, you’re not going to jump out at him and into his arms, not going to cling to him as you both make your way home.
Kazan stands still, stands rigid, and the snow continues to fall.
David King
Something hard presses into David’s back and with a groan he opens his eyes, raising a hand to block the incoming light from completely blinding him. Once his eyes have fully adjusted, he looks upwards, the beam from the street lamp a stark contrast against the black night sky. It takes a few seconds, and David’s eyes are closing again, his mind already planning for the next trial ahead–
The street lamp wobbles slightly as David lunges upwards, his fists wrapped tight around the pole as he looks at the object in awe, in disbelief. Surely this is a trick; surely, this is a new realm the Entity has created.
And yet, nothing happens; no killer stalks around the corner, no generators in sight, and no hooks. A strangled sob chokes itself out as David grins, wild and unashamed, as the familiar setting finally clicks, finally settles in. He relishes the moment before dread settles in, before fear crawls upwards.
Something is horribly wrong, and a deep set ache spreads, seeping into the very tips of his fingers.
Where are you? David turns to and fro, analyzing the surrounding area. You’re nowhere to be seen. Bile rises, a wild, primal emotion kicking in as he grows desperate, tearing apart bushes as he searches.
Where are you? Someone rests a hand, someone familiar, yet David can’t see, can’t hear, and the hand grips him tightly, faint cries of his name reaching his ears as he thrashes, animalistic.
The dread finally sinks its claws in, and David’s question is answered. You’re still there, without him. And he’s here, without you.
Something in him snaps and a gross, awful sound tears from his throat as he falls downwards, onto his knees. The hand reaches again and alarmed, David bites hard, spit and blood mixing as screams split the air, both his and someone familiar.
He has to get back. He has to go get you. He can’t do this without you.
Sally “The Nurse” Smithson
Sally blinks her eyes open, a strange, alien floor beneath her as she stirs, rising onto her side. The cold floor of an ambulance greets her finger tips, the steel hard and unforgiving, and she wonders how she fell asleep here, so far from her own realm. Yet, the trees from outside tell a different story, as these are tall and imposing, much like the ones close to her old work.
The realization comes slowly, dream-like, and a sadness washes over the nurse, her form small in the long-abandoned vehicle. She remains there a moment before crawling out, her feet pressing onto the forest floor as she stands. She startles, sinking herself further into the ground as she realizes she is standing, not floating. Elation runs its course and she hops around, digging the soles of her feet into the earth below. Yet, once her joy has sobered, something rises in her, something wrong.
Sally turns around, facing the overturned ambulance. She treads slowly, cautiously, and she presses the palms of her hands against the metal, peeking her head into the vehicle. There is no life, not a sound, and fear leaps up her throat as she rips herself away, her movement erratic and distraught as she howls, your name tearing from her as she begs, cries.
You don’t respond. How could you? You can’t even hear her, Sally realizes. Shivering, the nurse collapses to her knees, her arms wrapped around herself as she weeps.
First, Andrew. And now you. She can almost hear the Entity laughing, a deep, faint chortle far away as she wails, alone again.
Henlo it is I, the bitch who requested the killer s/o with a tragic past a while ago- if requests are still open(I think they are), I was hoping to request a third one with Pyramid Head, Eddie(I know he's not from dbd but shhh), Huntress, and David?
everyone salute them right this instant, we've got a legend here fellas 🫡
Killer! S/O with a Tragic Past III
Pyramid Head | The Executioner
Pyramid Head is strange, off putting; something more akin to that of an animal than of a man. As such, many expect him to be almost dumb, blind to the wide spectrum of human emotion. How could he, one who carries out pain, carries out torture ever understand that another may ache?
And yet, who here would understand suffering more than him? This pain is familiar to Pyramid Head; one could say that he is intimate with it both in theory, and in practice. It’s a feeling he has come to know the entirety of his existence, both back at Silent Hill, and here in the Realms; and here, with you, this suffering encapsulating your very being.
A long, pitiful groan reverberates from the inside of his helmet, a high pitch cascading upwards as you lean against him, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. The skin is rough, torn, but it doesn’t matter - the warmth of it seeps into you. Silence surrounds the two of you, the hallways of Midwich Elementary School long empty, devoid of any real, authentic life.
Eddie Gluskin | The Groom
Eddie is extravagant, flamboyant; whatever is inherently, deeply wrong with him, he covers up through presentation, through love. If he were to dwell on what actually happened, on what they did to him, why, he wouldn’t have any time to dote upon you!
Eddie doesn’t cope, doesn’t think about this pain; to him, it simply was a bad dream, a nightmare from some horrible, alternate reality. He dwells in fantasy, in that of a perfect home life, with the perfect ‘Leave it to Beaver’ family. The truth is far, far too ugly, too tragic to come to terms with. As such, upon learning of your upbringing, your suffering is hard for him to swallow; hard for him to understand.
“Darling,” Eddie’s words are sugar, honeyed, his hands splayed across your back. “I can’t stand to see you in such agony. Tell me who I must deal with.” An involuntary shiver crawls up the length of your spine; it’s impossible for him to make, to fulfill this promise. And yet, a little fantasy never hurt anyone, right? You relay the names dutifully, a wide, cruel smile splitting the Groom’s lips.
Anna | The Huntress
Anna, at her very core, is a protector, a trait she had inherited from her own mother, who, in turn, inherited from her mother, and so on. An animalistic, primal instinct to care for her own runs deep within the Huntress; if you were to suffer, surely so would she.
This almost telepathic empathy extends to both physical as well as mental pain; broken bones, nightmares, cracked skulls, memories - Anna knows and feels it all. No matter how small, no matter how unimportant, she will know it, and will always, always leap to protect you, come what may.
A deep set shudder courses along your body, your eyes fluttering shut as you fold into yourself, the painful pop! and flashes of a memory exploding behind your eyelids, the scene unavoidable, and all too familiar. And yet, something warm, something strong surrounds you, a solid surface curling over you, pressing against your back. The memory continues, but Anna shields you from the outside world, and should you will it, from the Entity itself.
David King
Pain is something David is more than familiar with; whether it be the sting of a cut lip, the ugly swelling of a broken nose, or even the fractured shards of memories within his mind, David goes to bed with suffering, with ache more often than not.
Although, despite this intimacy, David is detached, unavailable in terms of emotions, of feelings. He doesn’t like to deal with it, doesn’t like to dwell upon it; would rather shove it down, down so deep that such weakness could never hope to show its face ‘round him ever again. But that’s for him; as for you, it’s still rough, awkward almost, but he tries.
David clenches his jaw as he sways above you, your head hung and fingers gripping tight against your scalp. Nothing is said; the silence is stubbornness on everyone’s part - you, not wanting to show weakness, and him, not knowing what to do. It persists a few moments longer before David slides down next to you, his hand hesitating above your shoulder before it finally falls, a tight squeeze to the skin there. Despite the lack of words, despite the awkwardness, it’s enough that he’s there.
this is a request from a03 so might as well post it here too ig 🥱
request: Can I request killer!reader x leon? Cute fluff, smut, anything? I love the dynamic sm. Maybe even a male reader :(
The fire crackles in the near distance, the orange casting a soft glow to the surrounding campground as you watch, your form pressed against a tree, the bark scraping against your fingertips. This setting is uncomfortable, different; the silence is almost too much, your ears already well adjusted to the screams and cries of your prey. But now, with the never ending night surrounding your immediate area, you’re uncertain what to do with yourself, where to go from here.
And so, you watch, your eyes tracing the sparks that dance upwards, a slight impatience twitching underneath your skin. Where is he?
Your patience is rewarded, as your favorite emerges from the fog, his bangs hanging in his eyes as he drags himself over to one of the logs, kneeling behind before pressing a hand against the stump. His form is slumped, tired, and yet, he remains upright, one knee to the ground and the other bent as to be ready, as to be vigilant.
It’s a trait that caught your eye, that piqued your interest. Most survivors are merely shells, merely bodies that have no other choice but to stay alive. Not your favorite though. No, this man is strong, protective – he keeps himself awake, keeps himself alive for others.
He’s alone this time, and as such, you peek out from the tree a ways, your gaze heavy upon his frame. You’re accustomed to this practice, accustomed to observing. It’s something you’re familiar with, something you almost find comfort in.
And even so, you’ve never known what to do upon being discovered.
“Hello? Is someone there?” Your boy calls out, his posture straightened and turned towards your direction, his jaw set. You freeze, your fingers clawing into the bark, as to ground you. Your mind races to think of an escape, to think of a way to to get away from here, back to the safety of a fellow killer’s realm.
Your silence answers for you, as the man rises to his feet, fully facing towards your general area. “Are you new here?”
Immediately, the lie comes to your lips. “...yes.”
Your voice comes out slow, harsh; you can’t remember the last time you’ve talked since coming here.
The man smiles, his features softening ever so slightly. “I know you must be confused, but it’s going to be alright.” He takes a step towards you, and in a panic, you backtrack, a loud crunch of leaves resonating from beneath your heel. He stops immediately, an understanding look present on his face.
“That’s ok, I won’t come closer. You can stay where you are. You must be scared to death right now.”
A lump forms in your throat, but you don’t know why. “...yeah.”
“My name is Leon.” He places his hand to his chest, the palm flat against his vest. “Can you tell me your name?”
Your heartbeat quickens. Leon. Your favorite’s name is Leon. Despite the giddiness of learning his name, you manage to relay your own, your true name. It feels foreign, wrong on your tongue; this name is a memory, a ghost of who you had been before.
Leon repeats it, your ears heightening in on the pronunciation. A strange feeling bubbles within your chest.
“It’s nice to meet you, and I’m sorry you’re here.”
Everything comes to a halt, comes to a full stop at Leon’s apology. You can’t remember the last time anyone has ever apologized to you; none of the other killers certainly haven’t. It’s strange, discomforting; why is he sorry? He is not at fault, not to blame for your being here. And yet, the sincerity in which he says it is too much, too much for you to deal with.
You can’t say anything, can’t even choke out a response as tears flood your vision, a hiccup breaking through as you begin to cry, your hands wiping furiously at your face. You hear Leon take a few steps closer when a fog begins to form, rising upwards towards you.
“I’m scared.” You sob, your shoulders heaving as the fog draws in closer, “I don’t want to go.”
“I know.” Leon’s voice is strained, edged with pain, “You’re going to be alright. I’ll be there with you.”
His words are earnest and so, so genuine it makes you cry harder, ,makes the fog sting against your bloodshot eyes. You know he’ll be there but not as a team mate, nor a savior. Leon will be there as a victim, as prey, and there’s nothing you can do to change that.
The fog swallows you and you’re plunged into darkness.
How would Trapper and susie ( separate ) react to a reader who takes care of and nurses them back to health after the entity severely punishes them for displeased it one too many times .
Cute! Drabble time babeyyyy
Evan Macmillan | The Trapper
It’s dark when Evan’s vision returns, and for the briefest of moments, he’s convinced he’s still unconscious. Yet, when he feels something cool press against his forehead, Evan is upright, his hand enclosing immediately around the thing against him. What he expects to be the cold, hard tendril of the Entity proves to be softer, fleshier and he finally opens his eyes.
Your wide eyes meet his own, the faintest trace of fear present as you watch him, your other hand gripping a rag tightly as the one within his grip flexes.
Immediately, Evan releases you, a confused expression present as he takes in his surroundings. The two of you are back at the Estate, back home. He tries to remember how he got back here, how he got away from the Entity but it’s foggy, chaotic; the pain returns full force, his body punctured time and time again, his flesh squelching, tearing, ripping –
Your hand wraps tightly against his fingers, your gaze cast downward as Evan emerges, his attention turned to you. He watches you carefully, his eyes searching your face as you keep yours to the ground, refusing to look up.
The silence lingers a moment longer before the rag is raised to his forehead once more, a dull sting against the damp cloth. Evan sits still now, his gaze cast downward, yet his hand drifts to your free one, hesitantly wrapping his fingers around your palm.
You say nothing, your focus on the task at hand, but Evan doesn’t miss the meaningful look you send his way.
Susie | The Legion
Susie wakes slowly, her eyes peeking open as the ceiling of the Lodge comes into view. Her blinks are sluggish, heavy, and she’s uncertain if this is real, if this is truly home.
Susie flexes her hand, a slight startle at the softness underneath. She digs her fingers into the mattress, the bed frame groaning as she leans all of her weight into the action.
It feels real enough, and the door opens upon this revelation. The girl turns his head towards the sound, her eyes lighting up as you peek your head through the entryway. Upon meeting her gaze, a wide smile splits across your face, and it takes you two strides to reach her.
“Hey sleepyhead,” You coo, pressing a hand to her cheek, “How’re you feeling?”
Susie preens at the attention, pressing her cheek further against your palm. “Mhm, a bit foggy. What even happened?”
She’s playing dumb; she knows exactly what happened. The Entity closing in, its tendrils skewering her as punishment, as a lesson. She’s been slacking, been disappointing, and as such, needed to be reminded of what happens to those who can’t. keep. up.
Your expression darkens. “You were…punished.” You don’t finish the sentence, the tone clear in its finality; you’re not going to elaborate, and this is dangerous territory for her to cross.
Susie sighs, a slight shudder to the motion, “...Yeah.” Her hand reaches for your own, fingers pressing against the skin. “Thanks for getting me.”
There’s more to be said but you smile anyway, your eyes soft as you bump your forehead against hers.
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Can we pretty please get David king, Dwight, Bill and and with their s/o both escaping the entities relam and what life is like after for them??
Sure! I love concepts like this! Slapped a read more on, bc i can't keep headcanons for each of the guys under 300 words apparently 🤦🏻
Life Post-Entity
David King
Life following such a traumatic experience is most definitely…hard, for the both of you. There’s times where it almost seems like a trick, like a cruel prank where you’re waiting for the inevitable gotcha! moment to occur. This applies to David as well; you can’t count how many times you’ve woken up to find him at the door, his back pushed against the wood with a baseball bat across his lap as he sleeps, his head hung low. It’s almost laughable, the idea of stopping the Entity with something so mundane as a bat. Regardless, you curl up next to him, snuggling into his side as dragging him back to bed would be too much of a hassle.
The first few months following your escape are the worst, nightmares plaguing both you and David night after night after night. Exhaustion seeps through you both, and there are many times where one’ll find the other collapsed against the floor, the need to sleep trumping all else. The worst times are when you wake in a rush, your mind playing tricks as you see a hook above you, the ground below you sticky with blood. Your breath catches, eyes wide as David scoops you up in his arms, pulling you flush against his chest as he comforts you, soft whispers pressing into the top of your head as you weakly return his (albeit crushing) hug. Neither of you comment on the incident.
Yet, life goes on unfortunately, and you wouldn’t have expected how something so normal as going grocery shopping can turn into a nightmare. A too harsh of a scrape against metal, or the sound of a knife against a chopping board has you and David both tense, your body taut and ready should you need to escape. Yet, when you feel David hand in your own, his arm pulling you towards him, your heart beat slows, and the shivering subsides, if only a little. You don’t want to imagine what this would have been like if he wasn’t here with you.
Dwight Fairfield
Unlike David, Dwight cowers, his paranoia heightened tenfold the moment he returns back to the normal world. Loud sounds frighten him, his knuckles white against the black of his hair as he folds himself into the corner. He doesn't cry, doesn’t wail; he makes choking, gasping sounds, much like a fish out of water. He feels your hand against his forearm and he shakes, his eyes shut tightly as you duck under his arms, your hands rising to his cheeks. The two of you remain there for some time.
An experience as harrowing as the Realms reaps its own consequences when one returns to their regular life. It’s a miracle you and Dwight are both still (fairly speaking) functioning; neither one of you has once ventured back out of the apartment since your return. Everything is delivered, despite there being a store only a five minute walk away. Even interactions with others are non-existent, every transaction happening through the phone or mail. Too much can happen in such little time, especially in such a world where anyone is vulnerable at any given time. Yes, staying here is the safest and being together is survival.
You feel broken and scarred; everything scares you both. The ever looming threat of being sent back to that hell is always present, a prospect you and Dwight are more than well aware of. Life is no longer living; it’s a means of survival, as paranoia plagues your every thought, your every movement. You can’t remember how it was before, how it was to get up and just go in the morning. That person from before is no longer, a fact you mourn with each passing day. Yet, you’re relieved to not have to face these revelations alone. Dwight looks over, a small smile present despite his worried gaze. It could have been a lot worse.
Bill Overbeck
Bill was strong, is strong; life before the Realms had been incredibly hard as well, and as such, Bill is no stranger to trauma and the like. And yet, something about his experience in the Realms has him hesitating, has him changing. Quiet moments stress him out, his hands curled into fists as he struggles to shut out the smell of campfire, the couch beneath him beginning to feel akin to that of a tree log. He clenches the cigarette between his teeth, and his jaw tightens as he tries to focus on the tv, focus on anything but that awful place. Your hands drift to his shoulders, the touch seeping into his skin as he un-clenches his teeth, his eyes heavy as he turns towards you, raising a palm to caress your cheek.
You force yourselves to take daily walks around the neighborhood; rotting in the house all day would only make it worse, only heighten the memories. Even so, certain things that once had its charm before now only remind you of the Realms. A tree branch that looks too much like a clawed hand, a hooded person walking past a little too close for your liking, a mother humming a lullaby to her baby; the list is endless. Yet, with a clenched jaw and Bill’s hand in your own, you push through, forcing your mind to focus on the present, focus on here. You will get past this; you are stronger than you were before, and you must be ready, should this all disappear, should you be back in that hell.
Day by day it gets a little easier, and before you know it, the tree branch is a tree branch once more, the hooded teenager another passerby in the night, and the mother simply soothing her own with a comforting melody. Neither you nor Bill ever bring up the Realms, nor the people there. You hope against hope that your friends had made it out as well; that they too were able to return to some sense of normalcy, whatever that may look like for each of them. You refuse to dwell on the ones who plagued you, the ones who slaughtered you day in, day out, and you most certainly do not linger on the Entity, its tendrils creeping from the ground as it skewers you in your abdomen, the pain hot and immediate, a scream rising in your throat as you thrash and–
Bill’s in front of you, both of his hands pressed against the side of your face as he watches you, saying nothing as you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, your eyes shut close as a lump forms in your throat. Day by day, it gets a little easier, and one day, it’ll all be a distant memory.
You accept request Yandere! Brahms Heelshire (if not yandere it could be the original), if so you could do where the boy falls in love with the reader when she and her friend invade the mansion because they think it is haunted after the events of the first film.
Yandere content is my fucking jam and I definitely think Brahms already exhibits a lot of yandere traits. This sounded like a cute idea for a lil drabble, so hope that’s alright <3
“Ugh, do we really have to do this?” You can’t help but curl your lips back in disgust as you step into the old Heelshire Mansion, ducking to avoid the spiderweb that hangs in the doorway. Sarah rolls her eyes, breezing past you into the front room, tilting her head back to fully look up at the ceiling.
“Why not? You scared of the Boy?” Sarah cackles, waggling her fingers at you, laughing harder when you smack her arm, a deep seated scowl set on your face. If you were being honest though, this place does scare you a little. Anyone would be insane to come here, with all the stories of a solitary man crawling in the inner workings of the mansion, unforgiving to those who dare step inside his home.
“No! I just have better things I could be doing instead of slumming it in some goddamn murder mansion.” You grumble, glancing around. Your eyes meet a taxidermied mountain goat’s, its glassy eyes unblinking and staring into nothing. Your scowl deepens.
“Mmh,suuure. Now, come on.” Sarah quips, strolling into the kitchen, fully knowing that despite your complaints, you’ll follow her. You curse her internally, your feet already jogging to catch up with her.
---
Brahms peers through the split wall, his chest pressed tightly against the aged wood as he watches as something prys its way into his mansion, the large door creaking open. He crouches lower, shoulders flexing against the cloth of his cardigan, his eyes glued to the doorway. The fire poker weighs heavy in his hand, the metal digging into his flesh from how hard he grips it. A foot steps through and Brahms watches.
Someone hesitates a moment, as if torn about entering after all, yet after a brief moment, they have crossed the threshold. Brahms watches them as they look around the mansion a moment, a strong look of repulsion present on their face as they take in their surroundings. Yet, despite this, something pulls Brahms to them, his hand slack against the iron of the poker. His posture straightens and his chest is now flush against the wood as he observes them closely, a deep-rooted feeling arising after laying dormant for years.
This is someone new, someone pretty, and Brahms is taken with them. He hears your name and whispers it, testing out the sound of it in his throat. A small, quiet smile curls behind the porcelain mask.
The feeling passes quickly, as he realizes it was not you who said your name.
A girl enters his field of vision, and a ugly, red-hot jealousy rears its head, the emotion spreading throughout like wildfire. Metal breaks the skin of his palm, his knuckles white as he claws against the wood, his eyes focused on this woman, this invader.
She will die; there is no other fate fit for this meddler, and you are to be his; only his.
Brams slinks back from the walls, back towards the pathway, and he traverses his tunnels, the chase already set in motion.
Dude I really liked yandere Brahms, there will be part 2... Where Brahms and the reader meet, and how will the reader's life be after being kidnapped by Brahms... I imagine he learned to survive after the departure of Greta
Thanks! I’m so glad you requested a part 2. I've definitely been looking forward to writing this. Part 1 can be found here!
Warning(s): lots of mentions of blood, nothing too gross though. Also a fairly detailed panic attack towards the end, so tread carefully please.
“You’re joking right?”
Sarah looks up at you, raising an eyebrow as she pats down the comforter. “What do you mean? You won’t catch me dead just sleeping on the floor–”
“You know what I mean,” you snap, glancing around the room nervously, “Are we really staying the night? Why can’t we just go home now?”
A grin makes its way to Sarah’s face. “Oooh, sounds like someone’s a chicken! You’re terrified, aren’t you? Scared the Boy is gonna come get ya?”
You glare at her. “I never said I wasn’t. Besides, I can just leave, did you think of that, asshole?”
“You won’t.”
You scoff, “What makes you so sure?”
Sarah smirks, tapping your chin affectionately, “You care about me too much. Can’t let anything happen to little ol’ me.”
You stiffen, your scowl deepening as you refuse to meet her eyes. Sarah smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Of course she’d nail your bluff; you would never let anything happen to her, not if you could help it.
With a sigh of resignation, you peel back the comforter, trying hard not to think about how dusty this bed must be. Once underneath the covers, you turn away from Sarah, pointedly forcing your back to face her. She shuffles in after you, snickering as she shuts off the light.
She whispers your name in a sing-song voice, ending it with a “Goodnight!”
“Go fuck yourself.”
—
The door peeks open, and Brahms makes his way across the room silently, taking a moment to ensure that the two of you were asleep. A inhale, then an exhale, and once there’s a inhale once more, Brahms moves again, creeping up to Sarah’s side of the bed. He rises above the girl, the knife from the kitchen within his hand as he presses it against the girl’s throat. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing as he slices it across the skin, watching the blood spurt outward. He doesn’t even outwardly react to the crimson splattering against the porcelain; he watches the girl bleed as if he were watching a cartoon.
She awakes in a jolt, her hands flying up to her neck as she gurgles and flails, her eyes wide and terrified. She looks over to where Brahms stands and panicked whines tear out from her. She tries to reach over to you, her hand outstretched as Brahms descends upon her, wrapping his hands around her throat as he squeezes. Her hand is ripped back and on top of his, digging her nails into the skin as she blubbers.
“Sarah, would you knock it off I’m trying to–” the words immediately fall as you shift over to see Sarah bloody, her eyes large and horrified as a creature, no, a man, looms over her, his hands crushing against her throat. With a yell, you throw yourself at him, and the momentum is enough to knock him over, the two of you tumbling over as Sarah cries out, her voice clipped and wheezing. You try to rise, try to reach Sarah when stars flood your vision, and the next thing you know is pitch black.
The last thing you hear is Sarah crying and a disgusting squelching noise before you slip into unconsciousness.
—
You wake up warm, too warm. Lifting your head, a quilt shifts against you as you look around in a daze, your vision swimming in and out as you try to make sense of where you are. You can make out a bed shoved into a corner, with a small desk to the side with dozens of trinkets or something of the like scattered across the surface. When you turn your head, what appears to be a stove and a small fridge greets you as your head lolls forward slightly. When you look up once more, you notice a figure hunched over the counter, their back to you as they fuss over something. A small noise leaves you, and immediately, the stranger turns to look at you. Upon seeing you awake, they straighten up, grabbing something from the counter before walking over to you. They crouch carefully in front of you, and something is pressed to your lips, something soft. You blink, trying to gain some of your vision back, yet the stranger remains a blob of colors. They say something, something you can’t understand. You frown.
“...what?”
Something presses against your lips again, more urgent this time.
“Eat. Please.”
Your eyes flutter close, yet you open your mouth, closing it around the softness, chewing for a moment. Upon the taste, your eyes open again, trying to focus on the stranger. It becomes clearer slightly, yet you still can’t make out the face.
“..’s PB & J,” you whisper, a few crumbs falling from your lips as you continue to chew.
“Do you like it?” The stranger asks, their voice small and hopeful. Your head dips forward in a slight nodding motion, and you can practically hear the smile in their whisper as they press the plate into your lap.
You raise your hands, clutching the sandwich within your grip when something cold rubs against your wrist. Alarmed, you tug again, metal scraping along your skin. You shove the quilt off of you, the sandwich and plate falling to the ground as you grab onto the metal. Linked chains graze the tips of your fingertips as you follow the trail to a shackle against the opposite wall. You try to rise, stumbling to your feet and pulling when metal pulls back against your ankle, and before you know it, your face collides with the floor, a pained scream tearing from your throat as your nose cracks, blood pouring from your nostrils. You lift your head, and despite the immediate pain in the lower half of your face, you focus in on the stranger, your vision finally clear.
The Boy peers back at you, an awkward air surrounding him as if he is uncertain as to what to do now. Upon seeing your bloodied (and now very much broken) nose, he shucks off his cardigan, leaning forward to press one of the sleeves against the injury. Before he can get too close, you rear your head back, forcing yourself backwards against the wall. You’re hyperventilating, short, panicked breaths leaving you quickly as the events of the previous night flood you all at once. Oh god, where’s Sarah? Is she alright? There was so much blood, so much struggling.. And where exactly are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU????
The world is shut off from you as you tremble, your mind retreating into itself as you cry, your hands gripping hard into your hair. Brahms shuffles closer, and upon realizing that you don’t outwardly react to him, he pulls you flush against him, resting his chin atop of your head as he purrs in the way you lean into him, regardless of the fact that it was pure instinct, pure need to be comforted. As he smooths out your hair with a hand, he smiles to himself, giddy at the prospect of you being around forever, unlike the others before.
He’s failed once before; he won’t be letting that happen this time.
