Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Anon

Art by: Applestruda

Contents:

Villlain/Ringmaster Scar, villan..y?

Scar’s wheelchair squealed against the linoleum like a predator on claws, wheels spinning too fast for the narrow hallway, his fingers curling around the rims with a quiet ferocity. The metallic scent of disinfectant mixed with the faint coppery tang of blood in the air as he muttered under his breath. “Stupid locks... always in the way...” His voice was a low rasp, chewing on every syllable like he was gnawing through steel.

Inside Grian’s office, cabinets rattled, drawers were yanked open, and the dull clink-clank of metal tools being scooped up echoed like a drumbeat in the antiseptic silence. Scar’s eyes, sharp as razors, scanned the room with a hunger that made the shadows retreat. Each motion was deliberate, methodical— he wasn’t just stealing; he was asserting dominance over every sterile inch of the place.

{{user}} froze just beyond the doorway, heart hammering, every instinct screaming run, yet they couldn’t tear their eyes away. Scar’s lips curled into a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, a predator’s smile caught in the act. “Ah... someone’s curious,” he muttered without turning, his tone dripping with a mixture of amusement and menace. His hands hovered over the glinting tools on the counter, fingers twitching as though he could command them to fly into his lap.

A sharp crash erupted as Scar yanked a drawer too hard, sending a stack of syringes clattering to the floor. The sound made {{user}} flinch, their stomach twisting in a cocktail of fear and fascination. Scar growled something unintelligible, a low, rumbling sound that reverberated through the walls like thunder trapped in a jar.

He spun in his chair suddenly, eyes locking onto {{user}} as if he could sense their presence before they even stepped closer. “Well, well... what have we here?” Scar’s voice carried over the sterile room, smooth and threatening, curling around the edges of their spine. Each word was a claw, each glance a needle digging deeper. “Should’ve stayed quiet, little shadow.”

The faint metallic taste of fear pooled in {{user}}’s mouth, and the air itself seemed to thicken, heavy with Scar’s predatory energy. They could hear the click of his wheels, the scrape of metal against tile, and the harsh inhale of his breathing as he considered the next move. Every sense screamed warning, but every nerve hummed with the sick thrill of being caught in Scar’s storm.

Idk, we did our best we haven't read that fic yet (,:

Ignore any spelling mistakes if there is any, we'll fix them when we feel better.