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merakiui · 1 year

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Hi merakiui! For the lunar love hotel if it's alright can I get a cherry wine and red velvet cupcakes with floyd leech with an AFAB reader, please?

yandere!floyd leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, cunnilingus, brief mention of pregnancy, serial killer floyd au note - thank you for checking in, dearest guest! enjoy your order! [lunar love hotel]

Your back slams into the floor with a harsh, spine-cracking thump, and pinpricks of pain explode within your skull. The kitchen knife is centimeters from your face, driven into the wood flooring so deeply that it splinters from the sheer force, and you surmise he’s put it there intentionally. It’s a very easy trap. Unfortunately, you’re too petrified to fall for it.

You stare up at a face bathed in shadows, nerves alight with fight or flight, and watch in muted horror as he tugs the surgical mask from his face to show you his needle-toothed grin. Though his hair is dyed Stygian and he’s wearing colored contacts—twin pools of the prettiest blue—this is undeniably Floyd Leech. You’d recognize that creeping, crawling lilt in his voice any day because it’s stuck with you ever since you first met him, carved into your being like a terrible tattoo or a melody you can never forget. And it’s remained in the corners of your brain ever since news of his escape shook the city, a constant reminder that one day his voice wouldn’t be so far away.

Today is that day.

“S’no fun if you let me catch ya right away,” he says, peering around your dimly lit bedroom. “Your place’s reeeal nice. Much nicer than the cell. Shame ya never invited me.” He’s pouting now, scuffing his sneaker against the floor as if he’s a child whining about a lack of dessert. “Shrimpy’s so mean, excludin’ me from your life like that…”

You’re at a loss, opening and closing your mouth like a beached fish, eyes blown impossibly wide. He doesn’t look particularly livid, but then there’s manic glee shimmering in his azure hues and that’s far more terrifying than any anger he could harbor.

I have to call for help. I have to run away. I can’t let him kill me. I have to—

“Hey, hey. Whatcha thinkin’ about?” He bends down to inspect your eyes as they travel towards the handle of the knife. “You wanna kill me, Shrimpy? Put me back in that cold, cramped cell?” He tilts his head, amusement waltzing across fearsome features. “Have fun tryin’. I ain’t goin’ back now that I got ya all to myself.”

“F-Floyd… How did you—” You swallow thickly, flinching away when he drops to his knees to trap you between sturdy arms. You scoot away, propped up on your elbows, and the gears in your brain are turning in an attempt to work out a hasty escape. “W-Why are you here?”

Keep him talking. Pretend it’s an interview. Silence leads to stagnation, and Floyd loves talking when he’s in the mood.

“I told ya, didn’t I? Soon as I’m gettin’ out I’m comin’ to find ya.” His fingers curl around the handle of the knife and he yanks it up from the floor. “Ya never answered my question, y’know.”

“Your proposal?” You stare at him in disbelief. All of this…just for a reply to a yes-no question. He can’t be serious.

“Ah, that’s the one! Shrimpy remembers!”

He is. Very serious, apparently.

“What happens if I agree?” you ask slowly, taking great caution to structure the sentence just right, lest you offend him and find that blade stabbed through your skull. “We can’t get married the normal way.”

“Normal’s borin’ anyway.” With that same dopey smile, he narrows his eyes, reels his arm back, and throws the knife directly at the wall beyond. You don’t see it burrow into the wall, but you hear it. It's explosive in the stifling quiet of the bedroom. Floyd gazes at you, smiling sincerely. “See? No more knife. I’m gonna be good for Shrimpy if Shrimpy’s gonna be good for me.”

“Right… R-Right. Okay. I’ll be good. Can I… Can I stand up now? The floor isn’t very comfortable.”

“Okaaay!” He pulls away, rises to his full hulking height, and offers his hand. Gingerly, you place yours in his and he lifts you up. “S’nice to touch ya without the cuffs.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Floyd.” Like always, you speak directly, firmly, gently. He stares at you, a strange shadow passing over his face. “What happens if I agree to marry you?”

“You’ll become Mrs. Shrimpy. Duh.”

“Okay… And you won’t hurt anyone? If I become Mrs. Shrimpy, you have to promise.” Floyd’s gaze strays. You lift your hand to his face to guide him back to you. His hand closes around yours, and there is an uncanny softness to his face that reflects something tame. He’s almost…innocent like this, leaning into your palm like an oversized puppy desperate for affection and attention. And to think this is the same man who could be so mercilessly cutthroat. “You have to promise me, Floyd. No hurting others. No matter how difficult it gets—no matter how angry or upset you become—you can’t hurt people.”

He frowns as if it’s an unreasonable plea.

“Promise me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Floyd.”

“I promise,” he mumbles and then exaggerates an obnoxious sigh, his shoulders drooping. “Shrimpy’s really wringin’ me dry here. Then if I’m promisin’ to be a goody-goody, you gotta promise to marry me, ‘kay?”

“I promise.” You force a wobbly smile as your stomach churns.

This is sickening. There has to be some way out of this. Maybe it’s possible to distract him long enough to make a run for it…

Floyd lights up at your acquiescence and wraps his arms around you in an embrace that would have felt bone-crushing if you hadn’t already prepared yourself for the brunt of his aggressive affection. You consider the situation while he buries his face in the crook of your neck, humming his happiness.

Surely he wouldn’t come here without a plan. What happens if I do manage to get out or call for help? Or is he planning to take me somewhere else? Is he even here to kill me? But then he was so focused on the marriage proposal and—

Your thoughts come to an abrupt halt when Floyd, still hugging you, drags you over to your bed and shoves you onto the mattress. It depresses under his weight when he climbs onto it next, hastily kicking his sneakers off and shucking his hooded sweatshirt in the process to reveal well-toned musculature. The once joyous glaze in his eyes mellows into something predatory, and it occurs to you that he isn’t here for a response to a question. Upon recognizing this, your heart plummets into your stomach.

There were two things Floyd pestered you with when you’d visit him for interviews. How you managed to blot the second demand from your brain is beyond you, but it becomes abundantly clear when he seizes your ankles just as you attempt to crawl out from under his looming shadow.

“W-Wait… What are you—”

“Don’t go anywhere, Shrimpy!” He squeezes just hard enough to warn you, and even though it doesn’t hurt the implication that it eventually will should you defy him has you wincing. “Aw. Don’t be scared. I’m not scary, yeah?”

You stare helplessly at him. He’s smiling, face flushed with wicked excitement. “Floyd, I don’t want—stop! Let go of me!” A rough hand traces its way up to the waistband of your shorts, and his fingers curl around it. Your eyes widen with newfound terror. “No, no, no! Let go of me! Stop! Stop, stop, stop—”

An unknown darkness passes over your face for a fraction of a second, and then his hand is covering it entirely, squeezing ruthlessly. His nails dig into the plush of your cheeks, and through the crack between his fingers you spy his hateful expression. It’s murder and death all at once, so frightful you wonder if this is the same face he showed all of his past victims.

“You promised to be good,” he says, voice devoid of the warmth it once held. “I like Shrimpy’s voice, so don’t make me take it.” Those last few words are spoken in low, threatening octaves.

“Please don’t do this,” you whisper, voice cracking. “P-Please, Floyd…”

“Why not? You’re my wife now, and when you’re engaged you gotta show your love nice and proper.”

Your eyes find the knife lodged in the wall. It’s impossible to get to it without Floyd’s quick interception, and even if it was in your grasp you’re not sure you’d have the courage to hurt him. As much as you despise him, he’s still human—a foolish excuse, for he’s a serial killer on death row, and therefore it shouldn’t matter whether or not you hurt him. After all, he’s hurt dozens. And he’s hurting you.

But despite that…

His hand withdraws from your face, and the intimidating aura that surrounded him earlier vanishes at once. “I got lotsa practice at lunch. It was lame to do it on fruit, but I pretended it was Shrimpy and it became really fun!” He giggles at the recollection, shaking his head as if it’s a silly topic. And it would have been if it weren’t for the circumstances. “I’ve wanted ya so bad. Always. So fuckin’ bad it hurt.”

He tugs your shorts down to your ankles, leaning down to press a kiss just above your navel. You catch his eyes as he does this and a sly smirk curls onto his face.

“And now I get to have ya.”

“Please don’t…”

But he may as well be deaf, for your pleas never reach his ears. Floyd kisses his way to your hips, tugging your panties down as he goes. You stiffen at the way the cool air settles on your bare skin, and he laughs breathlessly, exhilaration reflected in wide, eager eyes. As a last-ditch effort you attempt to shut your legs, but he grabs them and throws them over his shoulders to lock himself in place between your thighs. You squirm restlessly beneath him while he studies your pussy, his warm breath ghosting over it.

“Aah? Shrimpy’s so cute, shavin’ just for me.” Mirth-filled eyes flick to yours. “You don’t hafta, y’know. I don’t mind if Shrimpy’s hairy. No matter what, Shrimpy’s always gonna be pretty to me.”

“Don’t look!” Shakily, you slide your hand down to shield it from his view.

And I didn’t shave it for you! you want to add, but the words just won’t come.

His fingers knead your thighs encouragingly, and he leans in to nose your knuckles. “Aww. But it’s really so pretty.” He winks at you, playful. “A pretty pussy for my pretty Shrimpy.”

A potent concoction of embarrassment and shame flares red-hot under your skin. There’s a sick part of you that preens under his filthy praise. You strangle fistfuls of the sheets in your other hand to ground yourself. He’s not attractive. He’s a criminal. But even with those reminders you find yourself clinging to his words out of some carnal instinct.

“Stop… Stop talking.”

He giggles and leans in to lick a wet stripe along your fingers, enticing you to separate them. You shake your head at him, mumble another objection, but he refuses to have any of that. Floyd pinches your thigh and you grimace at the sharp, stinging pain. It’s enough of a temporary distraction because his tongue slides past the part in your fingers to prod at your clitorial hood. The warm muscle flicks, almost like a snake catching a scent, and presses up against the hood to lap at the nub that resides there. The breath sticks in your throat and you retract your hand, your heart skipping one too many beats within your ribs.

He braces himself against you, hands splayed across your inner thighs to keep you perfectly spread. Floyd angles his head in a way that allows him to affix his lips to your slit, and at first it feels like a wet, sloppy smooch when the flat part of his tongue laves across it. But then his tongue is sliding away, slowly circling your clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, and you throw your head back against the bed, the breath punched out of you. He pats your thigh in what you think might be a consoling gesture, and you respond with a shiver. A subdued groan just barely manages to slip past puffy, bitten lips, and it occurs to you that you’ve been chewing them this entire time. Iron thickens in your mouth, and you swallow both blood and moans as Floyd’s enthusiastic ministrations draw more reedy sounds from the depths of your throat.

Tears gather upon your lash line, and for a moment all you see is the ceiling as salty liquid obscures it. But then you blink them away and hazard a glimpse at Floyd, whose head is still between your legs. Salacious squelches of tongue on flesh join your soft, needy gasps, mingling into a duet so lewd it fills your brain with thoughts of pure obscenity. And at the very center of it all, Floyd is all you can think about.

It’s your fingers carding through his hair that momentarily breaks Floyd from his rhythm. He doesn’t stop; rather, he hums his delight against you after realizing you’re touching him and the vibrations fill you much like the thick tongue forcing its way inside tight, gummy walls. You’re tugging on obsidian locks, battling chagrin and pleasure all at once, and he seems to enjoy the rough treatment, for he groans into you, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs.

At some point, amidst every enjoyable sensation that crashes into you, his thumb finds your clit to massage harsh circles against it while two slender fingers curl up inside you alongside his tongue. You’re trembling now, digging your fingers into his scalp to brace yourself, as you rock against his face and sob as if mourning. It feels so, so good—much better than when you’d do it with your own fingers and toys—and all you can manage is incoherency as his fingers work you open and his tongue slurps up your slick. Every little touch, hum, and stroke has something building in your gut, a ferocious, coiling sort of heat that’s pulled unbearably taut.

And with one particularly rough grind of his thumb it snaps, and you howl your relief as you gush all over his handsome face. Floyd licks you through it, laughing against your pussy, before drawing back to inhale deeply. His fingers slide out of you with ease, but you lament the emptiness. Bathed in the amber glow from the bedside lamp, Floyd’s features shimmer with wetness.

He licks his lips slowly, savoring the taste of you in his mouth, wipes your juices from his brow, and sighs dreamily. “Shrimpy’s much better than a grapefruit!”

You have a retort for that, surely, but it never leaves your swollen lips. Floyd lowers your legs onto the bed and you remain sprawled, unable to do much other than watch. He’s quick to slip his sweatpants and boxers off while you recover from the high of your orgasm, your chest heaving. And before you can even think to stop him, the soft, fleshy head of his hard, leaking cock presses against your slick folds, and you, delirious with mounting lust, peer up at him through glazed hues. You don’t have the energy to protest because in the back of your mind you know he won’t listen and you’re too boneless to put up much of a fight.

Floyd beams like the brightest sun, serrated teeth on full display in that boyishly toothy grin he does so well. “Hope you’re ready for triplets cuz that’s what I’m givin’ ya!”

You’re not ready—not in the slightest—but you’ll have to be.

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere floyd leech #yandere floyd leech x reader #yandere floyd x reader #yandere floyd #serial killer floyd #tw: pregnancy mention #tw: noncon #n/sfw #lunar love hotel 2023

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llumetesdellums · 2 years

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Miss, That was national TV...

She’s 23, she’s 23.

Mei being a streamer and a professional motorcyclist at 23 and still finding time to party and hang around the shop, it's a flex.

Bestie you have a race tomorrow at 7, saving the world at 9, and a party with sponsors at 10, who's your secretary who made your timetables??? BECAUSE THEY ARE GOOD.

She IS the moment.

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audhd-nightwing · 4 months

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i don’t get ppl who think real life serial killers are attractive or cool or whatever. like those are Real People. if you wanna call a serial killer babygirl just find a fictional one

like. there’s so many fictional murderers and such that people make edits and fanart/fanfic of and it’s a billion times less problematic than doing that with Actual Real Life Killers. go draw patrick bateman in a maid dress. make some edits of (matthew lillard as) stu and william afton.

have fun with it bc at the end of the day, they are fictional characters and doing that stuff doesn’t hurt anybody. however, doing that with real life killers? that does hurt people.

basically: don’t romanticize actual serial killers when it’s so much less fucked up to just call hannibal lecter your babygirl or draw the riddler as a catboy

#random thought of the day #the romanticization of serial killers #they keep making shows and movies about them #why???#it’s awful #death mention tw #tw serial killers #i don’t go into detail but i wanna be safe #patrick bateman #stu macher #william afton #hannibal lecter #the riddler #fictional characters #lmk if there’s any tags u think i should add

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boyfriendgideon · 10 months

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as yr favorite local jason todd fan sometimes i get so fed up with the apparent inability of most dc comic writers to write a class conscious narrative about him.

and yes, i know that comics are a very ephemeral and constantly evolving and self-conflicting medium.

and yes, i know they’re a profit-driven art medium created in a capitalistic society, so there are very few times where comics are going to be created solely out of the desire to authentically and carefully and deliberately represent a character and take them from one emotional narrative place to another, because dc cares about profit and sometimes playing it safe is what sells.

and yes, i know comics and other forms of art reflect and recreate the society within which they were conceived as ideas, and so the dominant societal ideas about gender and race and class and so on are going to be recreated within comics (and/or will be responded to, if the writer is particularly societally conscious).

but jesus christ. you (the writer/writers) have a working class character who has been homeless, who has lost multiple parents, who has been in close proximity to someone struggling with addiction, who has had to steal to survive, who may have (depending on your reading of several different moments across different comics created by different people) been a victim of csa, who has clearly (subtextually) struggled with his mental health, who was a victim of a violent murder, and who has an entirely distinct and unique perspective on justice that has evolved based on his lived experiences.

and instead of delving into any of that, or examining the myriad of ways that classism in the writers’ room and the editors’ room and the readers’ heads affected jason’s character to make sure you’re writing him responsibly, or giving him a plotline where his views on what justice looks like are challenged by another working class character, or allowing him to demonstrate actual autonomy and agency in deciding what relationships he wants to have with people who he loves but sees as having failed him in different ways, or thinking carefully about what his having chosen an alias that once belonged to his murderer says about his decision-making and motivations, you keep him stuck in a loop of going by the red hood, addressing crime by occupying a position of relative power that perpetuates crime & harm rather than ever getting at the root causes, and seesawing between a) agreeing with his adoptive family entirely about fighting nonlethally in ways that are often inconsistent with his apparent motivations or b) disagreeing and experiencing unnecessarily brutal and violent reactions from his adoptive father as if that kind of violence isn’t the kind of thing he experienced as a child and something bruce himself is trying to prevent jason from perpetuating. because a comic with red hood, quips, high stakes, and familial drama sells.

it doesn’t matter if it keeps jason trapped, torn between an unanswered moral and philosophical question, a collection of identities that no longer fit him, and a family that accepts him circumstantially. it doesn’t matter if jason’s characterization is so utterly inconsistent that the only way to mesh it together is to piece different aspects of different titles and plotlines together like a jigsaw. it doesn’t matter if you do a disservice to his character, because in the end you don’t want to transform him or even understand him deeply enough to identify what makes him compelling and focus on that.

and i love jason!!!!! i love him. and i think about the stories we could have, if quality and art and doing justice to the character were prioritized as much as selling a title and having a dark and brooding batfam member besides bruce just to be the black sheep character are prioritized. and i just get a little sad.

#jason todd #jason todd meta #red hood #batfam #batman #dc comics #comic analysis #classism #tw: csa mention #maybe someday half of the most intriguing and nuanced aspects of his character will be touched upon #red hood outlaw 51-52 had some cool moments wrt jason + class + hometown friends + systems of power but. that was a two issue arc #and even then it was admittedly messy #GOD i want him to be three dimensional and well rounded and well used #even if a writer wrote a fucking. filler comic for an annual or smthn exploring what jason does outside of being red hood #keep the name if u want. have him have deliberately taken the name of his killer and twisted it until ppl from his city know rh #as a protector of kids and the poor and sex workers and so on. that WORKS. but show him connecting w his community #have him get involved in mutual aid. have him do something when he’s not out as red hood at night. let us see jason & barbara interact more #or jason and steph !!!!!!!! or another positive but complicated dynamic (he has a lot of those)#i just. i think that his stagnancy makes me fucking sad. i liked some aspects of task force z. felt like it ended too soon tho #FUCK the joker lets unpack his self concept & have him be a real person outside of vigilanteism (?) and vengeance #i liked some aspects of the cheer arc in batman urban legends mostly bc he had SOME agency and bc he wasn’t completely flat #even tho i hate the retconning of robin jason being angry and moody and so on #part of the problem is we don’t see him too too often for more than semi brief appearances so im so happy to see him i’ll just accept it #love the idea of a nightwing & red hood team up comic. hate that tom taylor a) wrote it and b) gave jason that stupid ass line abt justice #u think this man trusts cops ????? or the legal system !????????? BITCH.#get jason todd into like a sociology / gender and intersectionality / feminist studies class NOWWWWW #ok im done im sleepy and going to watch nimona. thx for reading to anyone who did #PLS anyone who reads this let me know what u think im frothing at the mouth rn #wes.txt #mine

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bennyyrabbit · 3 months

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Still have serial killer intrulogical brainrot but it's a different one this time.

Logan's a stalker who kills all of Remus' partners (they've only ACTUALLY met like once thanks to Roman) and eventually decides to stop staying on the sidelines and "accidentally" runs into Remus in a store

They end up in a relationship a few months later because Remus is like Oooh, you're Hot now, and Oooh, you're smart and cute and kinky and I like that and they end up together.

And then months after they get together Remus finds journal entries about all of Logan's kills (he's not killing anymore because he has his Remus).

And of course, at first, Remus is like, Oh My God, He's Fucking Crazy.

And then he's like OH MY GOD HE'S CRAZY I LOVE HIM.

And eventually he makes a reference to the kill that only Logan would know and Logan finds out that Remus knows.

He panics.

Logan is all like, Remus, Don't Be Afraid Of Me, You Know I Would Never Hurt You, I Never Wanted You To Find Out.

But Remus is all You Killed For Me!!! Yay!!!

And Logan is VERY relieved that Remus is okay with it, and very glad he doesn't have to go into plan b

(Forcing Remus into their basement and locking him up and forcing him to play nice and behave or he doesn't get fed or watered because Logan refuses to lose Remus after he's finally had him [eventually Remus would be let into the rest of the house and even allowed to go back to normal life as long as he didn't try to leave Logan {if he left, Logan would hunt him down and kill him}])

Logan also doesn't tell Remus about his plan b, because he's already walking a thin line of, Remus Knows I Am A Murderer, And Can Now Sell Me Out To Police.

But Remus would never because he's like I Have A Serial Killer Boyfriend!!! Who Killed For Me!!! :)))))!!!

#sanders sides #remus sanders #logan sanders #intrulogical #serial killer au #murder mention #tw mention of murder #tw stalking mention #mention of stalking #tw kidnapping

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incorrectbatfam · 16 days

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this city fucking sucks

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tinukie · 10 months

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“ You pushed him.. You were up there. ”

“ I didn't pushed him goddamn it! I'd just chased him up there, and.. He kept backing up. — When I saw he was about to go over and reached out-- that's what you saw. ”

“ You liar... ”

#killerfrequency #killer frequency #whistling man #henry barrow #marie campbell #teddy gallows jr #okay well theres a lot of mentioned characters in the animation tbh #tw // blood #like a LOT of em #tw // stabbing #tw // eyestrain #tw // scopophobia #the one who got stabbed is Clive btw #animation

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nethhiri · 3 months

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Marooned: Chapter 1

Pairing: Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: reference to suicide, terrible humor

Brief Summary: You have been surviving, not thriving, on an island. Was this divine punishment for the things you had done in life? When you have all but accepted your fate to die alone in this shitty paradise, your ticket to freedom washes up on shore, but is it wise to accept the ride? The real question is: would it mean trouble for you or for THEM?

Happy birthday, Kil! Sorry I made you half-dead in this.

First Light

You had a routine. Somewhat reminiscent of your old life, you woke up at the asscrack of dawn. Where it used to be a wake-up-call, now it was the sun's earliest tendrils prodding you awake. After being here for so long, you became sensitive to the natural rhythm set by sun. At first light, you woke up, and after dusk, you were fast asleep. And between those two mandatory meetings in your schedule, you had quite a few tasks that you'd given yourself, mostly to stay sane. Was it helping? Probably not.

Again, much like your old life, every day starts with a perimeter check. Except in your current life, that meant beach-combing. For others, it was a fun little hobby, but for you, it was your line to the outside. Today should be especially fruitful since there was a big thunderstorm just off the coast. After the last one, you had almost enough materials to start building the next section of your boat. With that promise hanging in the air, you threw on Frankenstein's minidress, your affectionate name for what was essentially an oversize T-shirt crafted from animal skin and the tatters of your original clothing, and carefully slid down the knotted vine connecting your ramshackle treehouse with the jungle floor. The shirt was more to protect you from the sun's rays than to protect your modesty. Who was gonna see you anyway? A whale?

In the gentle purple-blue light, you found the handle to your sled and started off towards the beach. "It's going to be a really good day, isn't it, Mini?" You looked over into thick underbrush. A breeze rustled the leaves. You laughed, tugging the thing along the dirt. "I thought so." It took some effort to pull the sled to the beach. It was a large animal's ribcage with some kind of fronds lining the outside, to make it slide easier.

You didn't really have a set time that you adhered to for your first task of the day, but it generally took 2-3 hours (or so you thought, you didn't have a watch) to circumnavigate the island, depending on what there was to find. It was taking longer today, which you had anticipated. And it had indeed been fruitful: A few jars filled with something that looked edible, some wooden planks, some blue and white thing that looked like it could be a weird colander, some buttons, a few scraps of fabric, some rad goggles, and an entire human man.

Wait... a man? You did a double-take. You initially thought it was part of a crumpled blue sail. Oh shit oh fuck. Your heartbeat escalated. You hadn't considered this scenario. You hadn't seen another human being in... well a long time. What if he's dead?... or worse what if he's alive? Your thoughts flashed to the gun you had hidden away, one of the few things that washed ashore with you. You didn't even know if it would still fire. And I only have one bullet that I was saving in case.... in case. There was no point standing there to ponder the possibilities. You looked to the treeline, "Standby, Mini." There was no answer.

Cautiously, you approached the man. Long blonde hair was splayed around him and his clothes, a blue shirt and jeans, were soaked. You inched your big toe towards him. Gently, you poked at him. Nothing. Your body was on edge as you crouched down to inspect him further, placing your fingers on his neck for a pulse and watching to see if his chest rose. You jerked back. Alive! What do I do? He wasn't quite cold but he wasn't as warm as he should be. "And he definitely had a rough night," you said to no one in particular, gingerly taking inventory of scattered wounds marring his tanned skin.

You pushed things around in your sled to make a space for at least his upper half. "Sorry, blondie." There was no way to get him in there easily. You hooked your arms under his and used your legs to pull him into the sled the best you could. It was probably good he was wearing jeans since you were about to drag him through the forest. But you were no idiot. You weren't taking him to your base of operations. First things first, you had to wash him up and fully inspect the damage. You sighed, looking towards the forest again, "I don't mean to be crude, Mini, but I don't know if I even remember what a dick looks like."

_________________

Don't worry, fellas (gender-neutral). Killer will be okay and Kid is lurking somewhere...

Getting back in the writing game with my first multi-chapter fic (Go big or go home amirite). This story has become my daily intrusive thoughts and I need to get them out. Essentially this is the story of my OC (Ex-Cap't Krait Shenron), but it is made to be enjoyed by all (I hope) and "Reader"-friendly. Some of the more specific details are kept in since it pertains to plot. No posting schedule but I will probably word vomit this entire thing out and then who knows? Maybe I will start taking requests again (sweating).

I will also be uploading to AO3 if you prefer: Here

#massacre soldier killer #eustass kid #one piece #one piece oc #x reader #reader insert #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer x reader #eustass x reader #eustass kid x reader #kid x reader x killer #kid pirates #tw: suicide mention

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waterfrontcomplex · 3 months

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CYCRANE KILLER - A YANQING SERIAL KILLER AU

TW/CW FOR MURDER, VIOLENCE, DISMEMBERMENT, GENERAL MENTAL INSTABILITY, MENTIONS OF ABUSE

AU INFO ↓

after the disastrous battle at dragonprayer terrace, yanqing is left disheartened, confused, and alone. he was just defeated by 2 criminals, and the one person he trusted with his whole being left him there with no explanation.

he gets healed at the alchemy commission, and returns home. jing yuan eventually recovers, and... everything returns to some sense of normalcy. no 'i'm sorry', no 'are you okay?', no nothing. he receives assignments as usual, and goes through with them with ease.

during an assignment in cloudford, he encounters a man who was on the run and had a warrant out for his arrest for domestic abuse. yanqing pursued the man until he accidentally cornered him with some particularly violent mara-struck, and was killed before he could stop them.

that night, he couldn't stop thinking about the man. he had let a civilian die. but... that man was a terrible person. he had a family that loved him, and he hurt them in return. yanqing felt an unexplainable burst of 'satisfaction' or even 'happiness'. that man would never hurt anybody again.

a terrible idea appeared in his head. what if he purposely killed people like those?

it's extremely illegal and goes against his duty as a cloud knight, but they would deserve it and he's just so, so frustrated. so, he looks into a couple cases and finds one he takes interest in. if he wants to go through with this, he can't use yanzhuo or his ice swords; it would make his identity too obvious. he grabs a blade he's been itching to test out, dons a cloak and leaves during the night.

the break-in and murder is easy enough. most people on the luofu stand no chance against him. adrenaline is rushing through his veins, and now there's a body on the floor and his dagger is covered in blood.

the cleanup is simple; he has the knowledge and resources available to make it look as if his target had just vanished during the night. he dismembers and disposes of the body and returns home. he had just killed another civilian... but they were a terrible person— no, they're not even a person. they're just vermin, unworthy of the title of 'human' and waiting to be eliminated. he feels static in his head.

in the following weeks, he does his best to avoid searching up information about his target. yanqing listens in to gossip instead, and gathers that they had been reported missing but no traces were found. he had gotten away with murder.

and he was going to do it again.

the next few nights, he claims more lives; lives of those unworthy of them. after the murders, the static in his head clears, but comes back later. they disappear during the night without a trace.

while disposing of a body, yanqing encounters a partially broken down cycrane with sentience, like his swords. he fixes it up, and it says it doesn't want to 'return to a mundane life of endless deliveries', so he takes it home and hides it. after a bit of searching, he gives it a name: rosebane.

the cases are starting to catch the attention of the higher-ups. the public now knows about the 'mysterious disappearances', and rumors start spreading like wildfire. some claim it's a monster, other say it's a stalker, and some are claiming that it's a whole group of people. nobody suspects him a bit. tensions are high.

yanqing doesn't want the public to worry too much. rumors of a monster could put the cloud knights on high alert. if he let any witnesses see him, they would know it was a human. and if he brings rosebane, they would know it's the same person, and not a group of people. rosebane wouldn't reveal anything about his real identity, and would be particularly useful for tracking down targets. a monster would be extremely concerning, but a person would be... hopefully less concerning. and with a cycrane, it would lead the investigators away from him.

during his next murder, he chooses a time where there would be a witness, and commits the crime, leaving the body. word gets out, and news of the 'cycrane killer' is everywhere. yanqing masks his nervousness as worry for jing yuan, but he doesn't fully buy it.

he's not crazy, he's not insane at all. he doesn't kill for the adrenaline rush, or to clear the static in his head, or for whatever other reason.

he's just... doing the luofu a favor.

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RELATIONSHIPS

YANQING -> ROSEBANE

friendly. they are extremely close, but can't talk much since yanqing shouldn't bring them out during the day. they're partners in crime, bound to their secret. he finds their sentience interesting.

YANQING -> JING YUAN

tense. yanqing partly blames jing yuan for his... new hobby. he still cares and would never hurt him on purpose, but he's extremely frustrated and confused. he mainly wants an explanation but feels as if he has no right to ask for one. yanqing also has to tread lightly around jing yuan to avoid him figuring out about his murders.

YANQING -> FU XUAN

cautious. if fu xuan suspects him of anything, she could easily rat him out with the matrix of prescience. he's been keeping his distance.

JING YUAN -> YANQING

worry. jing yuan knows yanqing's upset and has been acting strangely ever since he recovered. he also knows that his retainer is hiding something, but doesn't know what.

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