Please don't read it if you're someone who doesn't like strong language, gore, sexual themes, and graphic depictions of murder.

It was midnight and you were running, chest heaving and lungs threatening to burst. You were running away from someone, and that someone was hot on your heels. From the look of the corridors you could tell that you were in a mansion – his home. Why you were at his home you did not know. How to get out of it was more important for you to understand.

He was calling out for you, trying to get you to stop and take a bite of one of his cupcakes. Whether this one was poisoned or made from someone else, you didn't want to stick around to find out. You took a sharp turn around the corner and saw quite a lot of doors. For a moment or two you tried to open the doors, but unfortunately almost all of them were locked. Yes, they were locked. "Why the fuck does Ollie even lock these doors?" You swore loudly.

"Tsk-tsk." You heard Oliver's voice tut of disapproval. "Now, you know how I feel about swearing – don't you, poppet?" After you tried to push against the door you scrambled to reach the other door. Again, it was locked. "After all, we wouldn't want you to add another dollar in the swear jar, hmm? You wouldn't want to waste all that hard work, after all."

You sighed as you ran to another door. "If this one's locked, I swear to God –" The knob turned and you open the door, going inside quickly as you locked it. You could hear the door's lock click and you surveyed the room as you took a few steps away from the door.

"Oh dear, where are you?" Oliver called out. "Come now, love. The cupcakes are all ready for you! They're wonderful, I promise, and they're all for you! Come out?"

You decided against throwing a retort at him as you searched for a weapon. You left your knife back in the kitchen, when you sliced open his cheek. The room you were in was a guest room, one out of several in Oliver's home, and frankly, you couldn't find anything useful. All you could see was the bed, the nightstand, and a closet. There was also the dresser, but you knew Oliver kept those – as well as the closets – empty in case the guests had their own things and wouldn't want them to mix up.

On the nightstand was an old alarm clock, not the digital kind, and a candleholder with unlit candles. For some reason you didn't quite understand, Oliver had a strong aversion to lamps. He was alright with chandeliers and light bulbs, but lamps? Oh, he hated those with a burning passion.

"These would have to do." You decided as you rushed to the nightstand, grabbing the candleholder and removing the candle none too kindly, throwing it to the side. It made a loud thud as it hit the wall. "Maybe I could jump out of the window?" You scrambled to the window, opening it and looking down. No, it wasn't safe because you were on the third floor. You just might end up with broken bones, and being found unmoving by Oliver was horrifying. Who knows what he could do?

The closet, you thought desperately. I could hide there until he opens it, and then I could attack him and beat him senseless … unless he has that knife of his, oh god I hope it isn't the huge one. And as you heard his pounding on the door you sprinted to the closet, closing the doors lightly and gently as you pressed into its corner, hoping the shadows would consume you.

"Won't you open the door for me, love?" He asked as he pushed against the door. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you choked back a sob. You didn't answer and you swear you could hear his sigh, all full of bitter disappointment. "Shame, I was hoping I could get you to eat one without me having to force you to." And his pounding on the door stopped for a moment before the sound of something metal hit the wooden door again and again. You could hear the wood crack and break apart, piece by piece, before you were struck with horror.

Oh god, oh god, you thought in your mind. He's hacking it, he's hacking it! Couldn't he have just cut the door knob out?! Oh god, oh god, oh god! You scrambled to all fours and prayed to whichever deity was up there that this room was just like any other room of Oliver's home.

He had this little maze within the whole of the mansion to slip into rooms that were locked and some of those rooms that weren't a part of his little maze was connected to the next room by a small door. Those small doors were usually hidden in the closets.

Oliver hacked into the door again and you knew that in a few moments he could break a hole in big enough to slip his hand in and unlock the door. Your hands groped the walls of the closet, hoping to feel that lining that meant there was a small door. You felt some sort of edge underneath your hands and you nearly burst into more tears in joy. Your hands felt its way to an edge before it slipped down until you could feel a small hole from where you could open it.

You slipped a finger in and pulled, the light from the other room streaming in as you opened it big enough for you to slip in. Something burst open and you knew that he had finally hacked a hole in. The door knob twisted with a click as you scrambled to get into the hole. "Poppet?" Oliver called out. You didn't have to turn your head back to know that he had that twisted grin of his plastered on his face. "Oh dear, you must've jumped out of the window."

Once you've slipped into the other room you closed the little door, that way he wouldn't expect you to have hidden in the closet. You turned and ran, opening the door quietly before you took off, your bare feet barely making any sound on the marble floor. Times like this were you glad you were light on your feet; it made escape easier.

"Oh, but you didn't jump out of the window, did you, love?" You heard him from the room. "You aren't as daft as Allen, that much I can tell. You could break your bones down there; and you aren't like us – you wouldn't heal quickly. Oh no; you might die. Death is what you fear, you used to say. You've hidden, haven't you? Clever child. Keeping me guessing. It wouldn't be for long, poppet, before I'd find you. I always do."

You turned around the corner and skipped down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Yes, it was dangerous; but being found by Oliver was far more dangerous than missing a step and falling down. Dying quicker was better than dying slowly as you watched your friend ground your organs into something for his cupcakes. Seriously.

You hit the second floor with a rather loud thud, the sound echoing off the marble floor. "I found you." Oliver's whisper-like voice said. You pushed the horrible thoughts away and scrambled to go down the stairs, this time to the first floor. You could make it, you told yourself. You went down the stairs hurriedly as you heard his shoes on the floor, small taps on the floor that seemed as though there was no second in-between taking his steps.

The last step of the stair you didn't mind, instead jumping and dashing towards the kitchen. You dropped the candleholder and the sound as it hit the floor was loud, all brass ringing through your ears. You saw your knife on the kitchen counter, all covered in his reddish-brown blood and surrounded by neon-pink frosted cupcakes.

You grabbed it and wiped off his blood with the hem of your shirt. It smeared all over your top like brushstrokes. If you weren't being chased down by your psychopathic friend you'd have more time to appreciate its beauty. But the world seemed to enjoy fucking you over. Fuck them.

You go over to the back door and open it, running out into his backyard. Fortunately no one else was awake otherwise they'd force you to stop and tell them what the fuck was going on. You really didn't have time for that kind of thing anyways. You were kind of busy.

"Poppet? Poppet, where are you? Don't tell me you've left without taking a bite of my cupcakes! That isn't very nice of you, love. I worked hard on those!"

Once you've reached the fence that separated Oliver's house from his obsessive and murderous neighbour you climbed over it just as he had grabbed you by the collar of your shirt. You twisted and slashed your knife blindly. He howled and let go, stumbling back and away from the fence, clutching at his other cheek. It looked like you had sliced both his cheeks open in one night. Lucky you; old Italy could only do that every other year if his luck played out.

You landed roughly and you stood up, not bothering with the fact that you had just squashed his neighbour's petunias. The neighbour was obsessed with growing out his lovely garden as well as the parrots he kept in cages in the backyard. He'd probably try to pin this on Oliver's cat and try to get the poor thing killed. Oh well, you guess you just have to get rid of the neighbour after you get Oliver to calm the fuck down.

Seriously, of all times to get into one of his moods, why would it have to be in the dead of night and with you there? Why couldn't he have had one in the afternoon and with Allen? He was an ass, anyway – a really hot ass, you think – and he'd probably regenerate. Unlike you. You'd be fucking dead.

You dash past the neighbour's house, his parrots sounding off an alarm. God, they're loud, you thought as you felt the grass tickle the soles of your feet. You hit the pavement and you run off onto the streets, the knife in your hand as you fight back the urge to stop and tend to your bruising feet. The asphalt was rough and it hurt, you thought. But it was worth it – the shoes you wore on your way to Oliver's house were heavy, and it would only slow you down.

Looking up, you saw that the moon was nowhere in sight, but the stars gave off the light the lamp posts did not offer. To the sides all the lights of every house were turned off, with dogs or cats by their porch. Your home was a town away, but lucky for you there was a friend of yours who lived a few streets from Oliver's.

She didn't know Oliver personally, or any of the nations for that matter, but she had a lot of weapons in her basement and a fuck ton of traps that even Allen couldn't disarm in time all over her front lawn. You knew where each one was placed of course, so you could dance and evade them whilst all it took for Oliver was to take the wrong step and bam he wouldn't be conscious for a few days at least. That much you were counting on. She didn't mind if one of them were set off; she loved seeing people dead just by stepping on one of her very small short-ranged landmines.

You ran through an intersection, nearly getting run over by someone. "Asshole!" The man behind the wheel cursed at you as he swerved to the side. "Look before you run, for God's sake! What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?!"

That's what I'm actually trying not to do, you thought bitterly as you tried your best to ignore him. Jerk.

Wherever Oliver was now you weren't sure, but he was probably really close.

"Oh dear, you nearly got yourself killed! It would've been a shame if you were, who else would taste my cupcakes for me? Come now, love, and stop before you get hit!" You heard something whiz past you and you ducked; his own knife missing your head by a few inches. Inches.

Fucktard was close to killing her. Didn't he usually keep his victims alive when he made the cupcakes? "He's not trying to bake me alive!" You whisper to yourself as you took off once more, barely missing the corner you had to take a turn. "He's going to fucking kill me as soon as he could!"

Oh no, oh no, oh no. This was bad. This was really, really bad. You sped up your pace, your friend's house was just a few feet away. Could you make it? Could you?

Well no. You fucking didn't.

You had run into another intersection and another asshole was on the road. This one was probably stoned out of his mind. He swerved and lost control, the car hitting you. You were thrown back and your back had hit the asphalt road, your head probably cracking but you didn't know because you were passing out.

The last thing you saw was a teenaged girl and her (boy) friend panicking and calling for an ambulance probably as well as Oliver. "Tsk-tsk, I told you, dear."

You woke with a start. Your head was throbbing and every part of you ached like hell. The room was dark, just like the night outside, but you could tell it wasn't your bedroom. I knew I shouldn't have watched that movie before I fell asleep, you thought. Fucking nightmares. Where am I? Don't tell me I got so scared I had to go and sleep in a friend's home.

You tried to sit up, to see where you were, but you failed when you felt something wrap around your waist. "Love, the doctors said you shouldn't move," Someone beside you scolded. "Wouldn't want your health to worsen, of course."

Panicking was an understatement, in your opinion. You tried to scream and you thrashed out, but Oliver only straddled your hips and covered your mouth with his hand as he pinned your arms above your head with the other. Despite being a small one he was strong. He shushed you, his eyes trailing its way to the heart monitor by your bedside.

Your heart raced against your chest as the heart monitor also sped up. He frowned. "It looks like I have only a few minutes before they come barging in." He said as if it were bad news. "Shame, now my work would feel rushed. Don't you think, love? Oh well, I guess it would have to do."

You tried to scream and even licked his hand. He only smiled and made a tut-tut-tut sound at you. Quickly he let go of your arms and you tried your best to claw at his face, but he had only pinned it underneath his knees. His free hand then pulled out a knife from his waistcoat and he lined it up by your jaw. Its smooth blade was cold against your skin when he pressed it close to you.

"Oh was I fortunate they let me bring you back into my home, love. They did hook you up to this machine, unfortunately, and some of the nurses assigned to you would come here the moment things increase or … decrease."

His smile broadened and your eyes , no, no. You squirmed and tried to get him off of you, but he only found your efforts amusing. The cuts you made on his face were gone now, you see, as moonlight danced into the room. "Now, now, dear, you needn't push me away. You'll only hurt yourself!" He exclaimed as he pushed the blade deeper, finally cutting your skin.

You screamed into his hand as the blade pierced your flesh, blood oozing down its smooth surface like a small river. It stung, and your pain only seemed to heighten Oliver's frenzy. He giggled and pulled his knife back, his finger swiping at your blood before he sucked on it. He pulled it away with a loud pop, a thin strand of saliva connecting his lips to his finger.

"My dear, you taste rather wonderful!" He complimented as he brought the knife back to you, only this time he pushed it close to your neck. "I can't wait to bake you!" And he drew his arm back before he slit your neck; not too deep but not too shallow either and you screamed again.

His eyes watched your blood pour out of the wound gleefully. "I have a few minutes left, dear." He informed you. "But that's enough to turn you into art, don't you think?" And as he brought that knife down to your torso and cut it open he leaned into you and whispered into your ear.

"You'd make a wonderful cupcake, poppet. And I can't wait to get a taste of you with frosting." He pulled out your small intestine and leaned back, raising it high above like some trophy for you to see.

Sick. All of this was sick.

"Oh how I'd love to get a taste of this!" He said as he took a bite. His tongue swiped at the blood on his lips and he smiled. "You taste wonderful, love! Far more wonderful than my old neighbour~!" He laid your small intestine down, letting it hang loosely from your body and from the bed as he grabbed your liver. "He didn't appreciate you squashing his petunias, poor dear, and tried to get you for himself! Couldn't have that, of course. I needed you!"

You felt nauseous, your eyesight blurring from all the blood loss. God your head felt light. He saw your eyes glaze over and he frowned, dropping the liver back into your opened abdomen and slapped you rather hard. "Now, now, I need you awake for this!" He scolded as he wiped the blood off your face. "Looks like it would take me a rather long time to clean you up later."

And he took your liver back out and examined it. "Oh this would be wonderful for the cake, don't you think? Oh how I'd love to see Allen's face this Fourth when I give him the cake as a gift!" He purred and set it aside. "He always did have an eye on you, sweetheart. I'd have to admit I was rather jealous how kind you were to him. Tell me, did you like him?" He pulled his hand back, expecting an answer.

You didn't answer, though, and instead choked back a sob. He frowned. "Sweetheart you know I'm not the patient type." He knit his eyebrows and he held your chin and turned your head up. He growled. "Now I'd ask you again. Did you like him?"

You frowned. "So what?" You snapped. "You'd kill me either way, won't you? It's pretty fucking clear those nurses wouldn't come here any sooner, so why don't you just get on with it?" His eyes burned with anger, but he smiled nonetheless and let your chin go.

"Oh but you do." He mused. "No wonder. He's the normal one, isn't he? He doesn't like the things I like – oh he's simple. He'd go with anything." And his hand trailed it way up to your chest, pulling your skin aside as you screamed. He tut-tut-tutted at you. "Everyone always finds dear Allen wonderful. Even you. Shame, I was hoping you could be my sweetheart. Or at least be mine until you withered and died like any other mortal."

Once he's ripped your chest apart he broke your ribs, pulling at them piece by piece. "People always say these things are quite difficult to remove. Liars, the lot of them." He sneered as his hands circled your heart. You could feel his fingertips close around the muscle and you squirmed.

Tears streamed down your face. "Please," You begged. "Stop. Stop. Anything. I-I'd do anything just please, stop."

His hand closed around it and he smiled once more, all twisted and fucked up on so many levels. "Oh? But where's the fun in that?" He shook his head and let his free hand hold your chin and tilted your head up for him to gaze into your eyes.

"I thought my bad luck would end with you. It looks as though it hadn't." He said. Then he let go of your chin and he leaned into you again, his eyes boring into you.

His face was just a few centimetres away and his breath ghosted over your lips. He tore out your heart quickly as he said in a rather rushed tone:

"But I still had fun, and I'd still have more. Good-bye love, it was nice knowing you. But it would be better baking you, don't you think? Yes, yes it would be better."

Note : Does it sound familiar to you? If it does, please hear me out before you panic and call this plagiarism. Yes, this is on Wattpad, but I posted it there first. Actually, I wrote this back in May. Then, on September 2014, I posted it on Wattpad. I decided to put it on here, too, so that there's a back-up. Please don't get mad, okay? This isn't plagiarism. Anyways, I hope you review this!

Link to the Wattpad version : story/23932973-chasing-after-you-2p-hetalia