❛𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛❜ [LMK Oneshots] (Platonic & Romantic Yandere)

Masochism (Tang x Macaque)

A/N: I'm, unsure what I was trying to accomplish with this one.
I, just made the title, somewhat misleading, and the dialogue vague.

TW: Toxic Mindset, Force, Angst and Dark Themes, such as messed up interpretation of what love is.

Word Count: 666

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"All those who love are masochist at heart...."

The end of his pure white feathered quil was dabbed into the dark inky substance, two hues that clearly contrasted each other in terms, of colour spectrum and in definitions, but at the same time, blended well together that it was pleasing to the eye.

As if, the two we're meant to be together.

The written work, he'd pour all his sanity out was a 'masterpiece' in his melancholy eyes, but the perspective of an outsider would disagree.

Flicking his wrist, The man was careful not to let any splatters escape the circular containment that would make a small mess on the mahagony furniture, nor stain his circular glasses.

Ink trickled down the paper, slowly forming into coherent sentences that soon constructed into long paragraphs, each word inked with disdain, not a single turbulence, just a smooth surface, with unwrinkled paper,.

".....For subjecting themselves to such excruciating pain"

Jotting down more paragraphs that suited the grimy theme of the plot, with the intention of leaving a mark, to those unfortunate enough to lay there eyes on this godforsaken work to express such distasteful emotions and make them feel revolted.

Quite an odd mindset for an author, as why would someone want the reader to feel great revoltion?

"The pain is worth it, right?"

A single phrase which was repeated over and over, in books or rather spitted out by a deranged creature's mouth, that it was simply nothing more to him, than a mere hindrance.

A phrase repeated over and over that it's nothing more then a mere hindrance, yet was the figure correct? He wasn't sure anymore.

Despite the different wording, It was the same meaning

Yet why the sudden hesitancy?

Was it ever correct? Doubt and uncertainty plagued the scholar's mind

Maybe because those words didn't come from his mouth, rather another figure that stood wearily at the door way, a strong gaze penetrated his very soul.

"Pain is pleasure"

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Writing again, this late at night?" The figures voice was laced with scorn, as it's body shifted through the dampened areas, of the walls, cast by the oil lamp, their voice, was more of a whisper, as if taunting the writer.

"The pain is worth it, right?"

It felt as if that phrase was directed towards the scholar rather the book itself. The paper, now with dried up ink, was stapled all over the wall, as if someone was trying to write love letters but all the poems, ended up being a failure, which resulted in a tanturm.

It, was all a blur now, everything felt more of a concept created by his mind, just waiting to be shaped, and formed by him.

"Think what you want" Tang snarled, dabbed the end of his feathered quil onto the dark substance, yet a few splatters escaped the containment and landed on the wooden table.

The black ink, dripping down the table, landing on the shadows.

The middle aged man with raven locks, wrote and scribbled away, conveying such distasteful emotions for those unfortunate enough to read, maybe due to how his only audience, was Macaque.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Gaslamp dimly lit the room, only showing the crucial facial features and that cocky grin, with their yellow-ish fangs, with dark ink, dripping down their glossy grey eyes.

The gasoline was running low yet the sound of footsteps quickened,
Before, the lamp died, It's fire almost withering away into nothing, like the concept of time.

Being forced to write 'Love Tang' in eligible cursive, before being engulfed by darkness, with this intruder as his only company, feeling all his limbs being held tightly by the dark apparitions.

He, felt a rough hand shift from his arm, and slowly creeped, to his ebony locks of hair, stroking his head in such a sickening manner, keeping a strand of hair away from his view.

All those times, of, jotting revisions for their paragraphs to suit, the certain grimy theme of the plot, not wanting those unfortunate people to lay there eyes on this godforsaken work to express such distasteful emotions that would leave them revolted, absolutely revolted.

Such as, falling in love. (?)