The Monsters in us all ( Dark!/Yandere! Hetalia x Reader )

Dark America x Reader II /Veneer/

A/N: First off, I would like to thank you all for reading my work and supporting me through leaving feedback and suggestive comments. It has been over 3 years now and this work has over 1,2k subscribers and counting. I now it has been frustrating for many of you that I haven't updated regularly, with months being between updates. I would promise anything, I'll just do my best in the future to update more frequently.

This is one of the first sequel stories. I recommend you go ahead and check Masquerade, however that isn't absolutely necessary to understand the story here.

He loves to lay his hands on your hips. Sometimes it is gentle, the tender caresses of a lover, like if he acts the part you will one day forget that you are his captive and that he relishes in the power he has over you. There are days where you wish you could, and forever indulge in the illusion that he and you are meant to be.

It could certainly make life more bearable, as opposed to the awkwardness that you are now experiencing.

By all means, it is a gorgeous soiree, the summer evening filled with the laughter of the guests and the smell of freshly mowed grass. Alfred is in a good mood, a big smile on his handsome face. The large hands that hold you as you sway and twirl in time to the slow-paced jazz are considerate.

That isn't enough to make your tense muscles unwind, because he is an actor and the world is his stage. You are just unfortunate enough to be privileged to see his hidden sides and all their hellish glory.

The worst part of it is that his gregarious displays of kindness weren't all false. Alfred can genuinely be kind – he just shows that so seldom towards you. Mostly in public, in formal settings like this. It is unbelievable just how charming he can be to you, how he smiled kindly as he had helped you out of the car prior and how he dances with such boyish enthusiasm now.

Such moments of light joy are addictive, and it makes you desperate, it makes you yearn for more because you only really have him.

Blunt nails dig into the silk of your garment as the melody comes to a drawn-out conclusion and he expertly dips you, his lips upon yours as he engages in the most fleeting of kisses. Fleeting, and yet passionate – hungry, with an animalistic vigour that makes you pain as a sense of helplessness and alarm overcomes you.

It reminds you of the sharpness of his blue eyes as he had watched you dress yourself a few hours anterior, not the tiniest movements of your hands escaping his focus. His fingers had covered his mouth, as if it could hide the smirk that spread across his lips.

When you had finished, he had marched up behind you and had leaned down to whisper in your ear: "You look so hot. I almost want to eat you up because you look so delicious."

It is still fresh in your mind and sets you on edge. Nevertheless, you reciprocate his actions with a gentle kiss of your own, regardless of your stance towards him. Your feelings have no room in this matter, and they are completely insignificant – not that they were as present as they once had been. America has ingrained that in your mind – that you're only allowed to feel fear for the consequences of your misdeeds, and giddy joy else. He has mandated that the constant undertone of unconditional love must always be present.

When he pulls back, there is a dissatisfied down-turn of his lips and it makes your skin crawl with anxiety. The kiss on your part was probably too chaste and severely lacking in the affection that he demanded from you.

Yet the unhappy expression vanishes in an instant. It doesn't calm you down, because you know under all that obfuscating stupidity there is a sharp mind and it is poised against you.

The next song begins, a solo singer stepping forward to drown on about love into the microphone. At this point it sickens you to hear such sappy words. Alfred's brand of love is brutal as it is cruel. He sees himself as your hero that has to guide you back to the right path and mould you into something ideal and wholesome. And for that, the end justifies the means.