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merakiui · 1 year

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some thoughts about jade leech as a stalker.

(cw: yandere, nsfw, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, mentions of death/strangulation)

Jade does not love often. In fact, he has a rather small supply of love, which is reserved for his hobbies and family, so when he loves something other than those two things it can only mean trouble. When Floyd has something special and doesn’t share... Well, naturally Jade’s going to want it. He’s never been inherently greedy. Rather, he’s always let Floyd have everything: the larger half of a bluefin tuna, the shinier stone, the bigger seashells, the slice of cake with more frosting, his uniforms whenever Floyd’s were dirtied or damaged. And in return Floyd has, for the most part, shared his things with Jade. This has always been their normal.

But this time Floyd makes no mention of sharing when it comes to you. In the past, when they were particularly interested in someone, they would share them. Or, in other words, torment that person in equal succession. Azul has been their prime target for years now, and it doesn’t look like either of them will stop their relentless pursuit in seeing how fast they can get Azul to grouse or groan or sigh. You might think they live to see Azul’s misery, but truthfully they want to accompany Azul as he carves misery into the hearts of the poor, unfortunate souls who thought it wise to do business with deep-sea beasts. Teasing him is just a bonus.

When it comes to you, Floyd is his usual authentic self: blunt and honest to a fault, dangerously so. But that’s what makes his twin so fun. Floyd won’t sugarcoat the obvious. If he dislikes you, he’ll make it known. Jade, on the other hand, will speak syrupy sweet lies in an effort to maintain proper goodwill, even if he detests you. You’ve never really interested Jade, so he can’t say he hates you. But he can’t say he loves you either. To him, you are just a powerless human in a habitat that does not suit you. Really, even with all of the tricks and traps you pulled to beat Azul at his own game, you remained boring to him. He didn’t pay you much mind after everything had been resolved and you’d been free to return to Ramshackle. That should have been the end of his story with you.

But then, some time later, you start to make frequent appearances at the lounge. It doesn’t take Jade long to learn that you only show up when Floyd’s on shift, and it also doesn’t take him long to theorize that you might have fallen for his brother’s unique charms. It’s sweet, in a way, how Floyd lights up when he sees you, how you smile a little more brightly when he speaks to you, how your laughter is so very buoyant when Floyd lifts you into the air and spins you happily. Jade’s content to watch from the sidelines, pleased to know that his brother has found a friend in you. That might make it easier to trick you into a contract.

He’s so set in this way of thinking, only viewing you as a pawn or a stepping stone towards some bigger end goal. But when Floyd brings you back to the dorm and you become more than a constant in Jade’s life, he starts to wonder what makes you so special. What is it about you that has his brother so enamored? What makes you irresistible? What parts of you are appealing? Jade thinks it might be how quick it is you submit when Floyd’s got you pinned into the mattress, face first, rough hands spreading your thighs apart, so he can sink into you more easily. Floyd likes that; he likes the weak things that crumble under him. He likes to push things to breaking. He likes to mark and bite and bloody and bruise and shred.

Jade likes to fix. He likes to mend, and then break, and then mend all over again. He likes the process, the psychological science behind a simple gesture, much like how he takes great pleasure in playing god over the plants in his terrariums. They say a budding serial killer starts small—with animals like rabbits or squirrels or cats. Jade starts with plants. He’ll put them in stressful environments—in soils with nutrients that don’t quite work—and he’ll watch them wilt, mottle, mold, and decay. He’ll watch them struggle to adapt, he’ll watch them yearn for water or sunlight, and only when he’s certain they’ve had enough he’ll give them proper, healthy care. It’s fun, the way he has so much control over something as dynamic as a plant. But plants cannot protest, cannot fight back, cannot act in the same way humans do.

But it’s quite satisfying to pluck dried petals from a withered flower, almost like a morbid game of effeuiller la marguerite, and not hear a single scream.

So Jade is fully expecting Floyd to tire of you, to break you enough until boredom sinks its fangs into him and he moves on with his life. And what Floyd breaks Jade fixes, so he’s very ready to glue your heart together when Floyd shatters it. He’s ready to offer a handkerchief and his ear should you need to vent. He’s already prepared his speech: “I must apologize on behalf of Floyd. You know very well how he gets. If I can be of assistance in any way, please let me know.”

Unfortunately, you remain intact. Months pass, Floyd continues to love you, and your relationship unfolds like a lotus in early morning. Jade continues to observe. Floyd has never been one for privacy, so he’s seen every kiss, every bite, every inch of exposed skin. Hell, he’s sat at his desk and tallied Mostro Lounge’s monthly expenses while Floyd fucked you dumb on the other side of the room. He’s even made eye contact with you when you happened to gaze his way while his twin was buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours. He wonders what goes on in that head of yours. Perhaps there’s nothing substantial within. Floyd’s scrambled your brains enough, so you could just be useless now. Though that wouldn’t be very fun, would it? He knows there’s more to you than you let on, especially when you play top and take every inch of Floyd, riding him so skillfully, and all Floyd can do is dig his fingers into your hips to guide you along to the rough, erratic pace the both of you have set.

Jade watches fondly from the shadows. Floyd likes to have access to your neck and shoulders; he likes to take you from behind while leaning down to bite into soft flesh. But Jade thinks it would be much nicer to gaze upon your face, to kiss salt from your eyes, to pepper your jawline with tiny pecks, all while peering into eyes that house a beautiful soul. He thinks it would be nice to hold you down, have your legs wrapped around his waist or thrown up onto his shoulders, while he bottoms out. If it were Jade, he’d take you in every position, but he’d find the most pleasure in eye contact. There’s something intimate about it, much like how there’s intimacy in the hands that wrap around a throat. You have to be close to someone when you’re restricting their airflow; you have to squeeze until veins pop, until your hands are sore, until your fingernails have burrowed so deeply into skin that the crescent moons color crimson. It takes minutes to strangle someone, and every minute is spent staring into the wide, terrified eyes of a desperate soul on the verge of death.

Jade likes the way you smell, the way you speak, the way you laugh, the way you are, in every meaning of the word, so very filled with life. Even down to the way you breathe and gasp and moan and cry, you are life itself. Jade wants to bottle that for himself—pluck you from Floyd’s flower pot and place you in a terrarium with the most potent elements just to see how long you’d fare. He wants to save you from those same conditions, sandwich your face between gloved hands when he’s kneeled to your lowered height, and whisper about how it’s okay, about how you’re safe, about how he’d never truly hurt you. Jade knows that loving someone is a very special thing, but the way he loves you is not quite pleasant. The love he has for his hobbies and family is natural. Normal. Simplistic and familial.

The love he has for you is murderous and frightening. Some days he looks at you like you’re prey he’s not yet devoured. Like you’re to be his first victim.

Jade starts small. He takes tiny trinkets—a keychain, a pencil, an accessory. He stores these in a shoe box under his bed. When Floyd brings you over and clothes are cast aside, he swipes your undergarments for himself. He won’t wash them until he absolutely must. He’ll have the soft fabric wrapped around his dick later that same evening when Floyd’s fallen asleep and he’s up late contemplating love and lust and life and death, and he’ll cum to the thought of you. Sweet, adorable, oblivious you.

He’s what one would call a persistence predator—a hunter who gradually wears his prey down over time. He takes from you, watches you, listens to you fret about missing things to Floyd, who promises to find the bastard who’s messing with you and squeeze them until they’re blue and purple. Jade smiles at that. Floyd wouldn’t really do that to him. Sure, they’ve hit each other when they’ve fought and roughhoused on occasion, but the punches were never truly meant. Sure, they might have been thrown playfully or angrily, but they were all temporary bouts of strength. Floyd wouldn’t truly hurt him, so to hear these determined promises and to see how you relax around him... It’s really cute. Jade wonders how much more he can take from you.

And he wonders how much more you can take before you’re splintering.

Really, you got lucky that Floyd picked you first. He’s far more merciful. Far more sweeter. Far more loving. At least Floyd is honest with his (at times) rough nature. At least he makes it known that he wants to bite you until you’re bleeding. But Floyd can’t stand whining. He hates it when people cry about things he can’t bother to care about, and lately you’ve been whining about this stalker you think you have for weeks now. Floyd’s told you you’re just being a scared shrimpy—that there is no stalker, that you’re probably just misplacing or losing these items, that none of them really matter because they’re replaceable.

Jade gets lucky when Floyd finally washes his hands of you, officially fed up with your whining. And what Floyd damages Jade fixes. So when you’re in tears, distraught over the break-up and your missing items and your stalker and the fact that the door to Ramshackle was left unlocked again and that you feel like someone’s living in your shadow, Jade arrives to rescue you from your fear. You don’t even hesitate to cling to him and cry, spilling your worries in waterfalls. Perhaps it’s because he’s a familiar face. He is a reflection of Floyd, after all.

“Oh dear,” he’ll whisper, stroking your back, allowing you to bury your face in his chest and sob. “There, there.”

You can’t see his expression, but there is a smile spreading on his lips. And his eyes are alight with cruel glee.

“Would it make you feel better if someone accompanied you to your classes?” Your feeble nod is all he needs. “In that case, shall I spend a few days at Ramshackle with you? I’m certain whoever’s pursuing you won’t get very far if I’m around.”

And he’s right. Your stalker never takes anything again. They never leave the front door unlocked. They never trail behind you, taking shelter in your shadow. That’s because he’s your stalker, though you never managed to figure that out, and this time he doesn’t have to dwell in shadows or on the sidelines. This time he can stand before you as a friend, a soon-to-be lover, and perhaps a lifelong mate.

Jade does not love often, but when he does it is as beautifully painful as tearing the wings from butterflies.

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst #n/sfw #i think my favorite thing about writing yandere jade is how brutal and remorseless he can be #it's probably because he grew up in the harsh environment of the sea #which would naturally harden anyone and make them more predatory than a prey #it's probably also why he (and floyd and azul) see nothing wrong with murder #yes it's morally wrong and very much illegal #but in the ocean it's eat or be eaten and really do you think jade is going to let some other predator snap his darling up? :)#challenge: write one yan jade thought without it spiraling into a thought about his murderous rizz #challenge failed </3 he is a walking danger you cannot tell me he wouldn't think of the most horrifying things when it comes to darling #more jade thoughts!!! consider an artist (painter/sculpter/etc) jade who is absolutely obsessed with you (the nude model from his art class)#because you're the one who has finally inspired him and broken his months-long artist's block #and also because he'd like to paint you in the most vicious red #or jade who has broken into your home and is living there in secret without you knowing #sometimes he sleeps under your bed just to hear your steady breaths #he never rearranges anything in your house but he does do the dishes or clean up messes you've made #you can never remember if or when you cleaned these things but you never think much of it #jade stands at your bedside when you sleep at night and he watches you #you'll happen to wake and you'll spot him but by the time you've scrambled to wake up and turn the lights on he'll already be gone #so you're left to wonder if he was ever there in the first place or if you were still dreaming #he is the terror that you will never see until it's too late

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savventeen · 2 years

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carmen cygni

latin, meaning 'swan song' a metaphorical phrase for a final gesture, effort, or performance given just before death or retirement

pairing: seungcheol x gn!reader rating: M wc: 1.7k prompt: @caratober day 20 - zombie summary: while out searching for supplies, you get bit trying to escape a small hoard of zombies. seungcheol is forced to do the unthinkable. warnings: angst, seriously so much angst, all hurt no comfort, major character death (you), blood, guns, mercy killing, mentions of suicide, brief suicidal ideation tags: zombie au, seriously this is just pain guys i'm warning you, non-linear narrative, flashbacks, some mild religious talks a/n: this was originally a vmin fic i posted to ao3 (on valentine's day of all things holy shit was i okay) and decided to repost here for caratober. i am so sorry. (also fun fact it was the first time i'd ever cried while writing a fic :') this song is 98% to blame for this

five.

"Seungcheol."

It's the way you say his name that tells him something is very, very wrong. The syllables are weighted, heavy, resigned — two stones dropped in the ocean, sinking fast into a suffocating oblivion.

You say his name like the world is ending all over again.

Seungcheol finishes barricading the door from the pack of roamers outside, goosebumps rising on his skin through his sweat as dread courses through him in an icy wave, and he turns.

The first thing he sees is the blood. It's coated your hand where you have it pressed to your right side, just above the hip.

"Fuck, y/n—" His mind is immediately sent spiraling into an anxious overdrive, wondering when and how and where you could have gotten hurt, whether the basic supplies you have between the two of you will be enough until the roamers leave and you can make it back to camp, if—

And then you lift your hand, revealing the wound. It's messy, flesh torn and bleeding steadily — but despite all of that, it's impossible to miss the distinct impression of a set of human teeth.

You've been bit.

You've been bit, and the world drops out from beneath Seungcheol's feet.

"No." He stumbles closer, trembling fingers reaching out and stopping just shy of the wound, before looking into your watery eyes. "No."

It's a command if he's ever given one — because with all of the things the both of you have had to suffer through, had to see and hear and experience these last few years, this had never been a possibility. Never.

Never like this. Never you.

The hand not covering your bite comes up and fists into the front of his shirt. "Cheol."

A million things go unsaid with that single syllable, but Seungcheol can hear them all, can see each one etched into your devastated expression. And because he will always, always, put your needs above his own, he shoves all the crumbling pieces of his own heart down and down and away, instead making room for you to step into his arms and cry against his chest — a mourning for something that has yet to be lost.

You grieve, and Seungcheol refuses to shed a single tear.

four.

"Y/n? What's the matter— why are you crying?"

You giggled, angelic as always, even through the tears. "I'm just... really happy, Cheollie."

"You are?"

"Yeah, just..." You bit your lip, and without thinking, Seungcheol reached out to smooth his thumb over it. You sighed into a smile and leaned into his touch.

"We've all lost so much, you know?" you continued. "But we were still able to find each other — able to find all the others and make a family. And now we have a relatively safe place to live, and I just—"

You beamed at him, laughing, even as tears continued to trickle down your cheeks. Seungcheol wiped them away as gently as he could, and you brought up the little wildflower you'd been holding, one you must've plucked from between the dozens of others that grew in the abandoned courtyard of your new home.

You continued with a nostalgic grin. "Did you know, the first thing you ever gave me was a handful of these?"

Seungcheol blinked down at the flower. "Really?"

"Yeah, I'd just saved you from the homicidal goose that was lurking on the campus quad, and you ripped out a bunch of these right out of the ground and gave them to me as thanks, and then you said—"

"My knight in ripped denim armor," he continued for you, the memory coming back to him with a smile, "can I take you out on a date?"

You beamed at him, eyes turning into crescents, and Seungcheol thought that the world had never felt more beautiful.

three.

You look dead.

"Y/n, hey," Seungcheol whispers, carefully nudging your bare shoulder. Your skin has lost most, if not all, of its color, and you're drenched in sweat. For a moment, your eyes remain closed, unresponsive, and his stomach swoops in fear, but then your eyes flutter open and he breathes out a shaky sigh.

"There you are," he murmurs, cradling your jaw with one hand. "Drink some water for me, yeah?" You nod, and he brings the nearly empty water bottle to your lips, tilting it slowly so you can take little sips. After a few mouthfuls, you hum to indicate you've had enough, and he sets it back down before gently pulling you to lean against him once more.

You let your head loll against his shoulder, groaning quietly; you start to reach out a shaky hand between the two of you, and he takes it immediately, twining your fingers together. You sigh, content.

For a moment, Seungcheol almost forgets.

"You're gonna need to do it soon, Cheollie," you mumble.

Almost.

His fingers twitch in your hold. He swallows.

A part of him wants to play dumb, wants to put off thinking of the horror of the inevitable as long as possible, but that would be the selfish thing to do, he thinks. So he squeezes your hand and whispers, "I know."

You squeeze back. "And you're not allowed to follow me, okay?"

Seungcheol stills. "What?"

"I know you, Choi Seungcheol, and I know what you're gonna wanna do after— after. But you have to promise me that you won't, okay?"

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Something's encased his lungs in a vice grip.

You continue, "I need you to be strong for me, and I need you to get back to the group, and I need you to survive, okay?" Your eyes, redrimmed and glossy as they are, are wide and pleading, desperate in a way he's not sure he's ever seen before.

Seungcheol hadn't known that his heart could break any more than it already has. "Y/n."

"I know you won't want to live at first," you forge on, holding onto his hand like a lifeline, "I wouldn't either. But Shua and Hannie need you, Cheol. Channie needs you. They'll all need you, and you'll need them."

You're the one they need, he doesn't say — bites back behind clenched teeth, you're the one I need, the one I've always needed, the one I won't ever stop needing.

He closes his eyes, your name falling past his lips in a plea or a prayer.

Suddenly, he's being yanked toward you by the collar, coming nose to nose with your fiery, bloodshot gaze. "I need you to promise me."

And for the first time in his life, Seungcheol hates the fact that he's never been able to deny you anything. "Fuck you, y/n," he chokes out past a sob, reaching out to cradle your pallid face and press a trembling kiss to your lips.

"Seungcheol."

"Okay," he croaks, stealing one more kiss before bringing your sweaty foreheads together. "Okay, I promise."

Anything for you. Even this. Even this.

two.

"Lay with me for a bit, Cheollie?"

His smile was soft as he easily agreed, "Of course." He made himself comfortable in the grass next to you, making sure the two of you were connected shoulder to hip.

You both lost track of how long you spent staring at the stars in silence together, but eventually Seungcheol broke the quiet with a murmur. "What're we looking for?"

You hummed. "The way to heaven."

"Heaven?"

"Yeah." Your hand snuck its way into his and gently squeezed. "My aunt believed in capital 'G' God — used to point out all the different constellations to me and then tell me that when Jesus came back for everyone that he'd take us all up into heaven through the stars."

"Hmm." He chanced a glance at your profile. "Is that what you believe?"

You sighed. "I don't know if I believe in anything, anymore."

"Yeah." He squeezed your hand.

A few minutes passed in peaceful quiet.

"Cheollie?"

"Hmm?"

"Promise me something?"

Another squeeze of your hand. "Anything."

You swallowed. "Stay with me forever?"

Seungcheol rolled over onto his side so that he could look down at you, the love of his life, and tilted your face towards him with a gentle finger crooked under your chin. Voice full of a devout sort of conviction, he whispered, "There's not a single place I'd rather be than right by your side, forever and always."

"Forever and always?"

The kiss, soft and chaste and a universe all on its own, was answer enough.

one.

"Seungcheol."

Your voice is so quiet now, barely a rasp of air, that he almost doesn't hear you even as he cradles you against his chest. "Cheol, it's time."

He wonders if this is what drowning feels like.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and swallows the lump clogging his throat. "Okay, love. Tell me what you need."

"Sing for me?"

Anything for you — even if it breaks me. "Yeah," Seungcheol's voice cracks, and he futilely clears his throat. "Yeah, of course. What song?"

I might not die, but this is going to kill me. You're killing me.

"S-Something pretty. Please."

Don't make me do this. Please, God, anyone, don't make me have to do this.

"Okay. A pretty song for my pretty baby." With one arm he pulls you impossibly closer to him, and with the other, he slowly reaches for the pistol strapped to his thigh.

He can barely get the notes out past his tears, but he does his best to carry the tune of your favorite lullaby, gently swaying you both in time with imaginary instruments. The gun feels impossibly heavy in his hold, and it only grows heavier as he slowly brings it up behind your head.

For a moment, he considers changing the angle just a bit — just enough.

But he made a promise. He made a promise, and even if it means living the rest of his life as something less than human — not a roamer in body and mind, but in spirit and soul — he'll keep his promise.

For you, he'll do anything.

(zero.)

He pulls the trigger.

And for the second and final time, Choi Seungcheol's entire world comes to an end.

#caratober #s.coups x you #s.coups x reader #seungcheol x you #seungcheol x reader #s.coups x y/n #seungcheol x y/n #s.coups angst #seungcheol angst #seventeenweeklyarticle #svt writing #svt fic #savv writes #savv fics #please please please read the warnings for this one #this is some heavy stuff folks pls be safe while reading #i am posting this and then going to bed so if u need to yell at me i will see when i wake up slkdfjslkdjf #also gonna say sorry one more time #sorry *drops fic and runs (to bed)*

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