Saccharin『 yandere o.shots』(Requests: OPEN)

Pyramid Head | The Executioner ☣️🔞

⚠️TW: dub-con? readers not exactly into it but they kinda recipricate(???) when nearing the end. this is kinda weird, but it's silent hill so...

this' technically a 2 in 1 situation for obvious reasons. silent hills' appearance is different 'cause this isn't from james POV, and MC can have their own personal hell, as a treat. 

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you wander the empty halls of a hospital you barely know of, but you've been recently transfered into.

something about it needing talented... or was it skillful?.. hands... the contents of the message you received slipped from your mind, the meaning of those words melting into a simple 'come to silent hill or you're fired'

so you did, you came in with your scrubs and added in a jacket that held all the necessary stuff needed to make it official.

it was severely foggy when you arrived, your vision limited to no more than a few feet in front of you, it was bizzare considering the place had a lot of wide roads, how could anyone drive?

though, the one thing that the fog couldn't hide from you is that this was a ghost town all along.

everything was dilapidated, rotted, probably condemned. you wondered if it was some sort of prank, but the message you received was from the head of the hospital. but maybe they were hacked?

you continue your trek through the halls, anxiety rotting your gut and thinking about the worst outcome, do they know they were intercepted? will this affect your record? are you getting fired? is this a set-up to get you killed?

but the way the hospital itself seemed to lead you, certain hinges too rusted to open, literally leading you a path you know all too well--- it just screamed that it had a fate worse than death awaiting you.

but what place reeked death more than anything? it was a morgue. though it didn't seem like one aside from the obvious drawers filled with tagged bodies, reaching your ankles, clothes seemed to pad the floor. blue scrubs and heels.

in the darkness, you heard a loud sound, both of shrieking metal and of vocal chords. the weak lantern doing nothing to keep your imagination from thinking about the worst case scenario.

then, you see a helmet, that looks like it doesnt function any different than an iron maiden, heavy, with sharp geometry that'd dig into the wearer's skull.

this is worse than your worst case scenario.

then, your medically inclined brain interrupted, 'with it's weight and pressure, there's chance that there might not even be any funtional skull, unless it grew up with it, like those square watermelons---' shut up.

you take a step back, it wears a butcher apron and has the body of an emaciated muscle builder. vigorexia, you think.

the muscles are visible, but so are the ribs, it's as if it was suddenly ridden of all the fat that padded it's body into an actual healthy shape.

you tried to take another step back, but you accidentally tripped on one of the many clothes that littered the floor, making you fall on what felt like a very thin mattress littered with hard plastic.

the limbs that you tried to move seemed to sink and slip inbetween clothes, no matter what you did you couldn't move an inch. you were stuck like a fly on a web and your spider stood right in front of you watching you struggle.

it moved, slow and heavy, dragging through the mess like it was light snow until it forced itself to sink on top of your body, crooking itself in half like animal about to feast on it's prey.

you flinched, rubbery skin touching you, grabbing your clothes and it tugged weakly, untucking your shirt from your pants in the process. metal creaked, it's neck bending, the front tip of it's helmet pointing to the exposed skin like a knife to a heart.

it curled the fabric around it's fist, the other hand touching you, a layer of skin and fat preventing it from reaching your guts under it's caress. rough rusty metal scratch your collarbone, the color of your blood becoming apparent under your raw skin, like a forming welt.

but it didn't try for that, it was just... cupping the plush in your abdomen, petting the skin with circling motions while you felt something wet and heavy drip onto your shirt from under it's helmet.

then you felt it, it sank its hips against you, heavy and squeezing in brief intervals, a metallic groan soon following after, deep but high pitched at the same time.

it's so much bigger than you but it acted meek, as if it's  every shaking push forward of his hips didn't push you along with it, like something sickly with some form of parasitic heat that destroys it's brain from the inside out, pathetically trying to end it's torture by pressing it's hips against anything.

you expected something straight out of a nature documentary, a scene where a beast renders it's victim defenseless until it gives in, a merging of silhouettes usually blocking the image.

but not for it to grab your shirt like it's worn-out fibers were a life-line, to desperately dig it's fingers until holes formed into the fabric, ribbed chest heaving with metallic breaths with the speed of hyperventilation

maybe when it's... done... it'll leave you alone?

it was quick, but clumsy in rhythm, easily slipping to the side before pausing and repositioning again. you breathe in, arms dripping with layers of discarded clothes and hands grapping loosely around it's waist, holding it steady.

it doesn't seem like it actively wants to harm you, instead, it just seemed to knead at you... so maybe if you...

it made another noise, the grinding metal sounding faintly like your name, it pressed itself closer to you, the head under the metal pyramid turning sharply to 'look' at you, just barely avoiding your jugular during the movement.

you tried rubbing your thumb on the leathery skin under the apron, it twitched closer to your hands, going so far to bend it's spine when you raked your nails down it's sides, making them dig deeper.

it's... cute in a weird, disturbing way...

it's touches were becoming more desperate, hand rubbing up and down from your sternum to the bump of your hip like it was trying to mimic it's frenzied pace on you, trying to have the same effect you had on it.

then, a sound that made your head hurt, like a rusty screech, it curled into itself like a wounded patient, your entire collar is damp and clinging to your body as you felt an unnatural warmt near your thigh, sticking to your pores like oil.

then, you saw dark blonde hair and a military jacket, your widower acquaintance.

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yeah, i have no excuse, y'all probably saw that coming miles away (i literally said i would write this in james' chapter). anyway, when in a writing slump: porn, specially weird porn.