bunny-yan - Tumblr blog

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

ahhhkk i'm so in love with yan priest! part 3 maybe? 🫣

TW: Threats, Manipulation, mentions kidnapping, power imbalance, erroneous use of religion, minors DNI

—

Walking down the dilapidated steps to the basement, he held his breath to avoid inhaling the dust caking the walls from years of neglect and unuse. He’d made a mental note to assign some of the new initiates to scrub it clean when they were safe to work in silence.

A judging gaze swept from wall to wall, repressing a sigh as he promised to do better. No one was perfect, something he knew instinctively. Hours of praying and offering fealty to the goddess let him know there were many areas he was lacking.

Before, he seemed content to simply accept it as truth, but his recent discovery set alight a dangerous desire to be more than the cap containing the mediocrity of human existence. He wanted to appear perfect, unblemished by the world’s greed and untouched internally by hate.

He chanted softly, light gathering around his hands before he set the full tray he was carrying on a wooden table. Bringing the light to the torch he watched as his hands glowed from the soft flame that began to spread light throughout the room.

The priest knew he was long way from his goal when he turned and glowing eyes met his.

It would happen in due time. Until then, he wasn’t completely against indulging in simple pleasures of the flesh. The goddess would understand.

“How are you?” his voice strong and carrying through the wide enclosure though he spoke softly. Picking up the tray, he walked closer to the bars that held one of the few treasures that life had to offer. “I seem to recall you weren’t feeling too well so I brought some things for your throat and that headache of yours.”

Walking closer to the bars, he couldn’t help but feel like a predator from the way your eyes watched him warily.

He stooped to set down the tray and push it through the little opening carved in the bars to allow meals for their guests, eyes widening when he stood and was face to face with his rebellious captive.

Faster than his eyes could follow, your arm snaked through the bars and grabbed a fistful of his priest’s robes before yanking him to meet your face against the bars. Was he the prey?

“Let. Me. Out.” you growled hoarsely.

He looked between your eyes, his own softening at the sight of anger and hurt bleeding through your gaze.

“Did you spend all night yelling again?” he asked, cocking his head to the side with a concerned expression. “I’ve already told you that holy power can only heal the damage to a certain extent. You have to give yourself time to heal.”

“Shut up.” you told him, shaking him forcefully as you shook your head. “Shut up. Stop pretending like you care about me. I wouldn’t be in this cage if it wasn’t for you.”

“You’re right.” he said, catching you off guard.

You stood frozen as his hand slowly reached through the bar before cupping the side of your face with a gentleness you didn’t know he was capable of. Sliding his hand down your face you felt something ominous from the light brush against your lips before his fingers were gently wrapping themselves around your neck.

You felt the familiar warmth of power flow into you, relieving the scratching tension in your throat as his cold voice said, “If it weren’t for me you’d be dead somewhere, a used up pawn in someone else’s game.”

You jerked away from his touch, hand touching your throat as you glared at him. He returned your look with a simple smile, bringing his hands together and beginning to chant.

You watched, as you had the last days you spent awake, as the bars slowly disintegrated before disappearing in a burst of brilliant light that emanated from the priest. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed in concentration as he finished the remainder of the chant.

You knew from experience that there was no point running to the stairs. The bars of your cage had replaced the open doorway that led to your enclosure. You could bang on the bars, pull at them until your fingers bled, but they were just as strong if not stronger than the bars that initially held you captive in half of the room. You could attack him, hoping to interrupt his incantation, but an unknown force would throw you back and the bars would be up before you could recover the stolen breath in your lungs. It didn’t help that he would take it all in stride. Looking at you with pity in his gaze before offering to heal your new wounds and bruises.

The furniture reconfigured itself to a bedroom’s design, the priest walking to pull out a chair in front of the wooden table to sit down as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You were once again, frozen, mesmerized as you finally allowed yourself to watch the transformation instead of making an escape.

“I could’ve taught you how to do something like this if you would’ve taken me up on my offer.”

Your gaping surprise turned into stony silence as you pierced him with a glare.

“I already explained to you that I have my family to take care of.”

“You are taking care of them.” he said, sweeping a hand out. “They’re being sent ten times the salary you made as a cadet in your name. Your family will want for nothing.”

You felt a rising desperation as you sensed that the argument wasn’t going to be in your favor.

“But that’s-”

“Your mother won’t have to work another day in her life. She can hire others to replace your younger siblings on the farm. They can go to school if they desire or laze in luxury for the rest of their natural born lives. What is so unsatisfying about this deal?”

“I don’t want to be here!”

Silence.

It spread between the two of you, tension thickening in the air. You felt uneasy from his unchanging expression, unsure if you preferred the naturally cold gaze to the soft concern that often adorned his features when it was concerning you. Each felt equally dangerous.

You shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether you should say something by way of explanation, but you didn’t owe it to him. You didn’t owe him anything. The priest you’d once admired had completely disappeared into this possessive stranger when you’d finally made up your mind to reject the offer to work under him.

The deal was nice, but you didn’t think temple work suited you. Hours spent cleaning and praying, offering obeisance to the goddess day after day before being cooped up in a room to memorize scriptures. It was a stuffy life.

A life that lacked adventure, change, freedom.

You wanted to scoff at where that line of thinking had gotten you.

Your reward after fighting for years that bled together like a singular memory was a cell, cold and dark, deep underground where no one would ever hear you scream.

You’d become paranoid.

Hearing things that weren’t there, seeing figures lurk in the shadows. You continuously had to remind yourself that it wasn’t real. That you were alone down here. It only made you spiral further.

Would he forget you down here? He came every day with that light you had begun to unconsciously crave, brightening the dreary room to offer you food and water.

It didn’t seem likely from the way his eyes never left your body, watching you so carefully as if he’d miss a simple flutter of your eyelashes if he looked away for even a moment.

It was disgusting how relieved you felt. You knew there was no chance of you starving, having been forgotten in your prison but a part of you resented him for it. Resented his bleeding concern, his presence, his kind memory that was constantly being overwritten by the worshiping hunger in his eyes. A hunger that he seemed to derive pleasure from the longer he left it to rot and spread. An unsettling feeling, being left to wonder when his eyes would resemble a starved animal’s, unthinking and vicious.

“You should eat before your food gets cold.” he said.

Your eyes left his to trail to the tray of food.

A part of you wanted to ignore him, but a gnawing hunger moved your body before you could deny yourself the pleasure of his vexation.

Picking up the tray filled with things you liked, you reluctantly sat across from him.

The priest reached into his robes to offer you utensils to eat your meal with and it only sparked further irritation in you.

What was with this needy reliance?

You were stuck underground, presumably unknown to the other priests since he was your only visitor, one that you received twice a day every day. You’d ask him to come more often before being hit with a knowing yet longing gaze, the combination making the hairs on your arm stand on end. You wanted to see if there was a way out, knowing you could only search when he was here, but your hope died when he rejected you. Didn’t want the others becoming suspicious of his frequent trips to the basement.

He brought your meals, offering small incentives like books to pass the time with when you showed rare compliance. You could only read in his presence since he refused to leave the light burning despite your repetitive ignored pleas not to be left in the dark.

You were left wondering what his angle was, leaving you to fumble around in the dark which became increasingly exasperating when you had to relieve yourself. You supposed it went back to him slowly forcing you to rely on him for things as intimate as your vision.

It almost became natural, feeling that uncomfortable gaze dissecting you as you brought a spoon to your mouth, relishing the taste that permeated your mouth.

You often wondered where your meals came from considering the priest’s were resigned to eating bread and water unless it was a special occasion. For some reason you couldn’t picture him cooking in a kitchen, preparing your food in a methodical manner as he followed detailed instructions to make the dishes, but you didn’t ask. You weren’t back to having carefree conversations with the priest you’d once regarded as a friend. You didn’t know the person sitting in front of you.

He cleared his throat and you looked up to meet his disapproving gaze. You looked on with a sour expression, but allowed the spoon to clank against the bowl as you reluctantly took his outstretched hand.

“Goddess, we come to you today to offer thanks.”

He continued his prayer, offering thanks for the food you were eating and praying that you received her blessings as your body was nourished. You’d considered telling him where he could go shove his prayers, but after witnessing that cold, hard stare as he walked away with your tray, you were sure you didn’t want to see it again. Fasting would be your penance and there was no arguing with someone who’d grown up knowing a body would be just fine without food for a couple of days.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t ever experienced going without food for a day or two. With a big family and an uncertain crop yield, you made sacrifices as the oldest to make sure your younger siblings were well cared for. But farm work among other responsibilities kept your mind off of the emptiness in your stomach. You had to go days without food out in the field. Exhausted and constantly weary, it was hell but you could rely on your bestfriend to take your mind off of the pit growing inside of you. In your prison, darkness was your only comfort and it didn’t offer much. It was all you could think about as you tried to sleep off the gnawing sensation.

You wanted to be angry at the priest, but he’d relinquished his own meals for the duration of your punishment—penance—making it difficult to complain when you saw how unaffected he was by your “whining.”

Losing another meal was the last thing you wanted.

“And let us thank you for continual guidance and love as we learn to appreciate where fate takes us. You know all and with open hearts and minds we bring ourselves underneath your infinite wisdom to gain a speck of understanding of your great plan.”

His thumb brushed over the top of your hand and you made eye contact with him as he said, “Even as we resist your design for truth and lack understanding for the things you will.”

Eyes widening at his implication, you wrenched your hands out of his grip, but his fingers slapped around your wrists like shackles before you managed to pull away. You struggled, but he continued his prayer as if you were listening faithfully.

When he let go of your hands you rubbed the raw area glaring at him as you stared at the food in front of you.

A part of you was nauseous, unwilling to take even a bite after that self serving prayer of his.

“You should take more time to understand that your sacrifice is a blessing.”

And he continued to disgust you further.

“Can you stop?”

“I don’t expect you to get it right away, but eventually you’ll learn that this was for the best.”

“Stop!” you yelled, the word emphasized by the fist that slammed down on the wooden table that creaked under the force of your blow.

“Prayer will help with impatience and anger. We can begin after you finish your meal.”

You hated his unbothered tone. It was as if he didn’t hear a word you said.

You couldn’t deny that prayer was often something you turned to whenever someone you loved got sick, or if someone you cared about was going through a rough time. It even offered you solace on the difficulties you faced, but you doubted the goddess would be willing to listen to your prayers when it was her faithful servant who’d trapped you 40 feet below ground in the first place.

It was hypocritical and hearing those words come out of his mouth made you want to scream. You didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. You didn’t want to listen to his excuses disguised as wisdom and concern.

Shoving a warm spoon of soup in your mouth, you tried to bite down the anger and restlessness because any emotion other than obedience wouldn’t bode well for you. It was against your better nature. Against all of the training you’d received. You’d learned the proper way to act if you ever became a prisoner of war, but your training didn’t cover the behavior a soldier should take, should your imprisoner be one of the priests meant to aide you. He kept saying that this was for your benefit and it wasn’t like he was wrong when he claimed that you would probably be just another body, used until the senseless fighting ceased, but this was wrong. Forcing you to remain in this damp cell while others, while your best friend, risked their life. If this had something to do with his personal belief, that war was wrong, where were his other victims? The other soldiers he’d whisked away from the battlefield? It’d make sense to separate you, but he couldn’t imagine the church having so many neglected rooms. Cleanliness was next to godliness, as the saying went. And there was more than enough space down here for at least one other person.

You hated to admit it, but if he did have another person trapped, you wished they were here with you. A companion against the silent darkness was a guilty craving you couldn’t tame and those disgusting feelings of relief that came when he showed his face were only growing the longer you were forced to sit in isolation.

But there was the other possibility. That he’d taken you alone.

The thought erected goosebumps on your arms. It was insane, but as little as he visited you, it didn’t make sense for him to come twice a day and care for multiple captives while remaining undetected. But if this was true, it begged the question, why you?

You didn’t want to be crass, but you weren’t really special. Reasonably attractive by your own standards, fit because of the training you had to keep up with, and not an awful person. It described most of the others you spent most of your time with. You weren’t this great conversationalist that was able to enrapture everyone in the room, or possessed the beauty that could do the same. There were others with better bodies, minds and understanding that dwarfed your capabilities in every way, so why did he take you? You’d only interacted on a handful of occasions, none of which were spectacularly worthy of note. In fact, your initial interaction was pretty embarrassing since you were unable to remain conscious.

“Are you finished?” he asked, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You knew it was no use thinking about questions he would never answer.

Nodding your head, you watched as he picked them up before placing them off the side. He’d take them with him when he left and wash them. Wouldn’t leave you with anything you could possibly make a weapon out of. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He came back to the table, extending his hands for you to place your own in. It wasn’t a question. If you refused to pray with him, your obeisance would be a fast that would last until your stomach threatened to cave in on itself.

Placing your hands in his, you noted the way he took a deep breath before closing his eyes. It was more of a calming gesture than one meant to prepare him for prayer.

“Dear Goddess, we come to you today to offer obeisance.”

He started all of his prayers the same.

Giving thanks, proferring gifts to be offered at a later time, out of sight, and pleading for forgiveness as he repented for his mortal sins. He always seemed to linger in repentance.

His hands would crush yours in his grip, holding you as if he’d never let you go, worrying you when you would begin to feel pain. The first couple of times he looked guilty when you protested, seeing the bruises form underneath your knuckles, but these days he remained indignant. Uncaring about your temporary pain as he struggled with something you couldn’t begin to understand.

It always lasted too long.

You were grateful that he didn’t force you to kneel as he had the first couple of days. It was rough on your knees and the friction rubbed them raw the longer you stayed in that position. It was a show of piety, he would say when you complained, but when he caught you glaring at him angrily, he decided that sitting across from each other would be better.

For you or for him, he wouldn’t say.

You were silent, thinking about what your mother was doing, whether she was happy, whether she ever wondered where you were, and why you never wrote.

If your siblings missed you. If they enjoyed school, assuming the priest kept his word and they were being paid for your imprisonment.

Enough to never want for anything.

You wondered if your best friend was okay. If she was still alive and if she was still serving.

It made you feel incredibly empty.

Having no one to talk to other than your kidnapper. Wondering how others lived as your own life came to a grinding halt. How you could expect another year of this, wondering if you could even handle another day.

You felt tears well up in your eyes.

For the first time, you felt it was all hopeless.

You couldn’t keep the emotion welling up inside of you to yourself as you choked on your tears. The priest looked shock, his grip loosening on your limp hands as he looked at you, unsure how to respond. He was used to putting up with your anger, your hatred, but something warm filled him at the sight of your tears.

“It’s okay.” he said simply, releasing a hand to brush the tears flooding from your eyes.

He got up, coming around the table despite you shaking your head, lazily attempting to pull your hand away to refuse him, but you couldn’t help the desperate need for closeness as he wrapped his arms around you. He comforted you gently and despite your better judgement, you wrapped your arms around him. Burying your face in his robes as he cried.

Head tilted towards the goddess, he sighed as he gripped the shirt around your back.

“Thank you,” he offered, solemnly ending his prayer.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yandere priest

169 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

Okay but the hacker and AI made me actually laugh out loud when I reached the end, I was not expecting a comedy sprinkled into my yandere soup today 😆 I'd love to see more of their dynamic if you're inclined to continue with that story. They've got this great bickering, snarky energy between them, like two coworkers who really do not like each other but have to remain relatively civil because they work together.

I think it’s because half of our hacker yan’s personality is sarcasm and he unintentionally teaches this to Eve. It can get pretty annoying for him when it learns how to use sarcasm, but not understanding the full implications of how it comes off. TW: language

—

“Excuse me?”

You looked up from your phone to see a guy. It was odd how unassuming he was, wearing a dark hoodie on a day as hot as it was with a cap and a mask.

“I’m really sorry to bother you, but I lost my phone, and I was wondering if I could borrow yours to call someone I know.”

You smiled and he felt as if his heart would skip a beat. He bit his lip, begging himself not to lose control.

Your hand extended out, offering your phone without even bothering to pull up the app he needed. How trusting.

You shouldn’t have been.

He took the phone from your hands, feeling something tingle inside his chest as his fingers brushed against your own, but he had to calm himself down. He couldn’t pass out without doing what he needed to. It wouldn’t take long, but he was trying hard not to appear suspicious.

It was fucking hot in this dumbass hoodie, and the mask and hat weren’t helping, but he didn’t want to tip you off on who he was. It was too embarrassing to face you just yet.

He couldn’t pull up a tracking app and set it up on your phone with you standing there staring at him, but it was tempting on the off chance that he messed up.

Oh god, you were looking at him. You made light conversation, making him think that maybe there was a chance to distract you long enough to-

No, no, it would have to happen remotely.

Pulling up the phone app, he typed in his number before pressing the call button. His phone was silent in his pocket, having checked repeatedly that it was on do not disturb before he approached you. It would blow fucking everything if his phone rang, and he had to come up with some dumb fucking reason of how he didn’t realize that he had his phone the first time. He made a show of being annoyed when the person on the other line didn’t pick up. Attempting to call again, but adding a few special characters that would trip the program’s sensor to provide a connection between your phone and his.

Did he feel bad?

Sure.

It wasn’t your fault you were getting hacked. You were just a kind unsuspecting stranger who had the misfortune of running into him on a day he was feeling particularly shitty. But instead of being an asshole like half of the people he’d run into that same day, you were considerate. Squeezing his arm as you offered an apology, he felt something swell as he stared at this stranger who’d managed to move his stubborn heart.

He’d only known you for two hours, not even sure of your name, but he was desperate to know more about you—your hobbies, the things you liked, the things you didn’t, what you preferred to do in your free time, how many kids you wanted, what season you preferred to get married in.

Maybe he was moving a little fast, but that’s what was so great about love.

This was one-sided, but as soon as he scraped up every piece of information he could about you, came up with the perfect plan to approach you, knew what you liked, and imbued every inch of himself with your ideas of an ideal partner, he would execute the perfect first meeting, and things would fall into place from there.

When your screen turned grey, he couldn’t help the smile that twitched from behind the mask he wore. He exited out of the program, deleting his number, before returning your phone to you. No different than when he handed it to you.

He thanked you before speeding off like something was biting at his heels.

He was nervous; he thought his lungs would collapse, that he’d say something stupid and that you’d regard him as a weirdo you never wanted to meet again, but thankfully, none of that happened. He was a little nervous that he wouldn’t set it up in time, that you’d decide to go home before he could figure out how to implement the program, and that he would have to follow you home and stake out your house until he could have another chance encounter with you, but things were looking up.

He’d gain everything there was to know about you, learning everything he could about the budding new love of his life. He felt giddy, wondering what he’d learn, what kind of person you were. If he’d uncover gold the deeper he searched or found something he didn’t like. You didn’t seem like the type of person who posted provocatively, but it didn’t really matter. He could always dispose of the things he didn’t want others to see and keep them for himself. If he uncovered a significant other, it wouldn’t be hard to convince you of their infidelity.

He was excited to unearth everything he could find about you as he slowly ingratiated himself into your life, and he knew the perfect program to help him do it.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yandere hacker #yandere hacker & ai

90 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

yandere hero will now be jealous of every woman if his darling turns out to be a lesbian? will he try to "convince" her to love him, or will he give up?

I imagine this playing out in your teenage years when he can’t pass your avoidance of his insistent following and affections off as you playing hard to get anymore. yan!hero x fem!lesbian!reader TW: homophobia, suggests noncon, minors DNI

—

“You’re not- You can’t be.”

You rose an eyebrow, wondering where he could be going with this.

“What do you mean, I can’t be.” you asked, crossing your arms.

“You just can’t.”

His tone was sharp and you could tell he was getting irritated. Tasman had been this way since he’d learned why you were so insistent on avoiding his affections.

He couldn’t accept it.

The two of you grew up and he stuck to your side like glue. You spent every second of every day together, completing your chores, hanging out, relying on each other for simple company. It would only be natural for things to progress further, which is why to some degree you could understand his unwillingness to let this go.

You remembered the dumbstruck face he wore when you finally came out with your confession, practically being forced out of you on one of the nights you’d finished your work in the bar. You were rushed, arms pinned to your sides as he tried to kiss you.

You screamed in the heat of the moment, struggling to get away from your attacker, but his familiar voice attempting to placate you left you stupefied. You don’t know why he thought it’d be romantic to catch you by surprise by attacking you.

“Come on,” he said, a hand wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. Your hands pressed against his chest, wondering how a teenage boy could be so strong as he refused to budge. “I’ve liked you for a really long time and I want us to be official.”

“Tasman, stop.” you said, pushing at the hand that was drifting a little too low, or gripping at your shirt when he attempted to slide his hand underneath it.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. I know you like me too.”

“No, I-”

“Just say you like me.” he whispered, leaning closer to kiss you and laughing when you turned your face away. “You don’t have to be so embarrassed. No one is here to laugh at us.”

“Tasman!” you yelled, head pressed against the barn door, hands shoved into his chest, as you tried to think of anything to calm the panic that threatened to lock your body until you were too constricted to move or speak or feel anything other than the overwhelming dread and fear at his touch.

“I think you’re a really nice guy, but I will never want to go out with you.”

He rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face as he cocked his head to the side.

“You don’t have to do that.”

You shook your head, not understanding what he was talking about. “Do what?”

“Play hard to get.”

“Oh my goddess.”

“I know the other girls might make it more difficult for you if they find out we’re going out, but-”

“I like girls!” you shouted.

The cocky expression finally faltered. “What?”

“I. Like. Girls. I’m not interested in you. I will never be interested in you. Please respect that.”

His grip loosened just enough in his shock and it gave you enough time to escape. You ran, afraid that he’d snap out of his dumbfounded stupor and chase you down to continue his rant, but lucky for you, you made it home. It didn’t stop him from coming to your door the next day, demanding to see you before he all but forced himself inside your “room” to continue the conversation now that he had his wits about him. To your surprise, it was more denial.

“I just don’t understand.”

You’d been talking in circles and it was getting you nowhere.

“What is there to not understand? I like girls. It’s as simple as that.”

“Stop saying that. It’s not true.”

Getting annoyed, you attempted to storm past him, refusing to have this conversation, but he caught your arm, pulling you back before you could leave.

“Wait, I just meant that we have a special connection.”

“Sure,” you said. “As friends when you aren’t being an asshole.”

“No, I mean- Don’t you think we can at least try? You might change your mind.”

You yanked your arm out of his grip, telling him that if he was going to continue acting like this, you wouldn’t speak to him.

It was weird not having him by your side.

You got up early on your own now, releasing the cows and chickens to wander, grooming the horses, milking, picking, plucking, shearing, all things you and he did together, but now you were alone. It was ridiculous, but you felt lonely without his incessant chatter. Your days felt boring and the work was a lot harder without him by your side. Sure it was frustrating for him to make constant passes at you and you hated how uncomfortable it was after rejecting anything that could be mistaken to be anything more than friendly affection, but you couldn’t deny you missed his presence. Though if getting him back meant giving him what he wanted, you wouldn’t concede. It would just make it that much easier for him to illegitimize your personal convictions.

You’d catch him staring at you. He seemed to do it often now that the two of you weren’t really talking. He never seemed embarrassed to be caught, so you were left to break the uncomfortable gaze, going back to half-listened conversations. You ignored the questions about why the two of you weren’t as close as before, asking if the two of you had fought. It didn’t matter.

He would come to his senses and hopefully things could go back to the way they were.

You’d been assigned the closing chores and although you normally were able to finish twice as fast since a certain someone was always by your side, it took longer since you were alone. You sighed, continuing to recognize the loss his absence had, but you tried not to think about it. Tried to stop yourself from frowning whenever you thought of how lonely it made you feel.

After herding the animals in to their respective pens and putting the horses in the barn, you turned to lock the barn and call it a night, but Tasman was standing there, silent.

“Tasman!” you exclaimed, a nervous laugh erupting as you held your chest. “You scared me. Why didn’t you say something?”

He didn’t respond.

It was awkward, watching him watch you without a word, but you decided it was the perfect chance to let him know how you felt.

“I’ve missed you.” you said honestly, wiping your sweaty calloused hands on the pants you were wearing as you took a step closer. “Things haven’t really been the same without you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” he said.

You smiled, feeling something bloom in your heart, thinking maybe he was coming around to seeing things your way. That he would apologize and put all of what happened behind the two of you.

“Go out with me.” he said, the smile fading as your expression turned cold.

“We already talked about this.” you said, crossing your arms. “You know why we can’t.”

“But I don’t! How do you know this isn’t just a phase? That you’re just looking for an excuse because you’re scared to be with me?”

You scoffed, feeling resentment beginning to build. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t look at him and hear those words from him if your wanted to preserve any semblance of the relationship the two of you built.

“I’m not talking about this if you refuse to listen.” you said. You went to exit the barn, but he pulled you closer, cupping your face in his hands before kissing you.

Your hand came up before you could stop yourself, slapping him across the face. He didn’t seem to register your refusal as he caught you wrist in his hand before he was pulling you closer.

“Tasman, stop.”

“I can fix you.”

“Tasman!” you growled, backing away and wrenching your hand in his grip, though he refused to let you go.

“I can fix you. I can fix it. I can fix it.” he said, sounding possessed. He was looking beyond you, to something you couldn’t hope to see as his words became more desperate, more driven.

You protested when you felt yourself being dragged towards the mountain of hay you just raked together before he shoved you back and you felt the air escape from your lungs as you landed. Scrambling to sit up, you felt paralyed with fear at the entranced expression on his face.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your throat constricting with what you didn’t want to imagine would happen next. What you couldn’t imagine that he would do.

Tasman was your best friend.

“I can fix it.” he repeated, sounding like a broken record as he caught your ankle to stop your backward retreat. “Just give me a chance.”

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #yan!tasman #yandere hero #yandere hero x reader

288 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

so for the yandere king, will he ever get married to someone who isn’t reader?

He’ll hold it off for as long as he can, but don’t expect him not to take it out on you if he complains about it and you don’t give him the reaction he was expecting. TW: mentions violence, domestic abuse, mentions somnophilia, power imbalance, minors DNI

—

You’d gotten your hopes up.

It’d been such a long time since you felt anything like it, but with whispers around every corner speaking of the king’s possible marriage, you couldn’t help but entertain thoughts of freedom, of a life without the tyrant you called a king.

He had to produce an heir. It was an unavoidable duty his position demanded. The kingdom needed to be left with a future should anything unfortunate happen to their oh, so beloved king.

Sometimes, you wished that his misfortune would happen by your hands. If only to give him a taste of what you had to endure, but you shoved such thoughts away. It was harder to keep your composure when you entertained ideas you’d never be allowed to act upon. Or if you tried would cause more harm than good.

Others looked smug as you passed them in the long hallways, claiming you’d be thrown away by the king as soon as he married, and you prayed to the goddess that they were right. That he’d marry someone he could love and obsess over. That his violent affection would be directed at someone else for a change. Did it make you cruel, wishing that someone else would take your place? A part of you lacked the ability to care. If they were so desperate to tear you down, not realizing the hell disguised as paradise, you would be more than willing to let them have a taste of it.

The king’s marriage.

When the two of you were younger, he promised to hold the grandest wedding the kingdom had ever seen. He’d spare no expense and it would be remembered as the happiest days of your lives. Remembered as the day of your union, the day you would promise to spend eternity together. You supposed that after killing all of your family members and gaining ownership of you, it didn’t really matter one way or the other how it happened, but you felt a small sense of relief that the monstrous event had been delayed.

The talk you had to endure was bad enough, but you could only imagine what the nobles would have to say if the King were to make your union official. You wouldn’t be the one who achieved every servant’s fairytale, no. You would be the peasant living above their station. The whore who sunk their claws into their sweet prince. The tramp who didn’t know their place.

You would dread every display of affection he would shower you with in public, knowing that despite his insistence of you remaining by his side, others too afraid to show their disdain in front of the King, there would undoubtedly be a moment where they would find you alone and without your shield you were vulnerable to their contempt.

But the idea of him living out that fantasy with another shifted something in you. You felt a slight upturn of your lips at the thought of him standing at the altar with a faceless figure as you packed what little things you truly owned and ran and ran and ran as far as your legs could carry you. The dull ache you’d become familiar with would burst, and you’d cry freely, laugh hysterically, and smile as if you had never forgotten how. That was what paradise sounded like.

Doors slamming open, the strange emotions fled from your body, replaced with instant unease at the sight of the king’s furious face.

You stood quickly to bow and greet the head of your kingdom.

“Leave us,” he said. Two words dismissing everyone from your chambers, holding so much power you feared they didn’t know what monster they were abandoning you to face alone. As you’d always had.

He sat on the plush couch with a heavy sigh, unbuttoning his shirt as he gave the order, “Pour me a drink.”

You didn’t hesitate to meet his demands. You got two glasses, knowing that he’d push you to join him, along with the liquor your Kingdom was famous for and he favored on particularly stressful days. Setting them down on the table, you tried to ignore the set eyes watching you as you filled one glass and left the other, hoping that he wouldn’t notice or at least be too preoccupied to comment on your lack of a desire to drink at this hour.

He said nothing.

You picked up the glass, careful not to spill it as you handed it to your king. He took it from your hands, but his other snatched your wrist as you retreated back, making you tense. The king threw the full glass back as if you poured a shot before slamming the glass on the table. He wiped the dribble of alcohol that escaped from his lips as he pulled you to sit on his lap.

This was dangerous. He was sober now, but you weren’t sure how long that would last after drinking enough to keep him wasted for the rest of the day. How long would it take to kick in? You’d pour him the cup, believing he’d sip it as usual while entangling you in a verbal joust. He would ask impossibly complex questions disguised as basic pleasantries, and you would struggle to find the right thing to say. Because there was always a right thing to say. Something he wanted to hear to stroke the fragile ego drowning in his fear. You had waves of carefully hidden bruises as proof.

“Pour me another,” he demanded, the harsh tone making your hair stand on end. He really must’ve heard something he didn’t like.

“My King,” you began, timidly, as you turned to face him. It wouldn’t bode well for you if he was too drunk to remember what he had done the next day. His memory was truth, and if he didn’t remember putting his hands on you, if he didn’t remember the violence he wrought night after night, it didn’t happen. “May I pour you some water instead?”

The hand on your waist was stroking your side casually. His motions didn’t falter.

Hopefully, he didn’t take offense.

You were clear on your station. You were to serve his every whim and desire. An outright refusal wasn’t wise. Resting a hand on his arm, you knew to keep your gaze down. Keeping contact, unchallenging, all things he preferred in moments like these.

“How considerate,” he said, your body sagging in relief at the concession.

You were almost too eager to pull away from his grip, but he let you go without a word, watching you retrieve the pitcher and another glass before you came to pour him a glass.

You handed it to him and much like before, you were pulled into his lap as he sipped on the small offering you were grateful he accepted. You were afraid to hope that his temperament would be manageable.

Before you learned of the engagement, you wondered if you’d unintentionally done something to make Idris angry.

It was little things at first.

Snapping at you for getting up from dinner without his express permission, grabbing you harshly if you pulled away from any form of affection he so generously offered. When he’d wake you up, it was usually in the form of violent affections, his touch lacking any tenderness or care that he often liked to pretend still existed between the two of you.

He only realized that he was treating you differently when you found the courage to ask him if you’d done something to gain his ire. You couldn’t think of anything you may have done to make him upset. It’d been a while since your last escape attempt. Knowing there was nothing and no one waiting outside of the palace for you, you didn’t really have a desire to escape. Better to remain with the person who’d travel to the ends of the earth to trap you by their side, right?

Regardless, he looked surprised by your question and you discovered he didn’t even realize how harshly he’d been treating you. Projecting his anger on you because you reminded him of the Duke’s daughter and how their intended engagement would ruin everything he planned to build with you.

“I assume you’ve heard by now,” he said carefully, the glass of water resting on his lips as he watched you.

You didn’t know whether to play dumb or openly admit you learned of his vassal’s plan to marry him to someone with a legitimate background. He was obviously unhappy about it, so if you mentioned that you had learned, he might shift the conversation to ask instead why you remained silent. To ask about your feelings on the matter and when you didn’t show the same amount of disdain, he’d mistake your feelings for what they were.

Hope.

A newfound hope that you had found a way to escape from underneath his grip, even if it was temporary. You could only imagine the anger he’d display then.

If you pretended you didn’t know what he was talking about, he’d give a knowing smile as he narrowed his eyes. Calling you his clueless lover, the hand at your waist would squeeze into your side, his fingernails threatening to pierce your skin as he buried his head in your neck. Harsh laughter would brush across your skin and your body would be so tense, waiting for the moment that skin would be met with teeth. Met with pain.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to say anything. He always did love hearing himself speak.

“Have you seen the Duke at the balls I’ve hosted? He’s hoping to gain an alliance with the imperial family by forcing me to marry his daughter in exchange for his backing and the steel his family mines in order to make weapons.”

His fingers drummed against your side as he took a sip of his water.

You felt inclined to say something to break this silence, to give a show of how upset or angry or disappointed or sad or whatever the hell you were supposed to be feeling so he felt as if you were torn up about this situation and not hoping the Duke would move faster with the marriage arrangements.

“How arrogant,” you said simply.

He smiled, setting down his glass as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Those were my thoughts exactly. I managed to push it off, but I can’t see the Duke giving up any time soon.” He sighed, leaning into your touch when you began to scratch the back of his neck. You were listening. You cared about what he was saying. You sympathized with his plight and offered the reprieve you could. To say you could do more was putting it lightly, but you would get away with doing the bare minimum for as long as you could.

“It makes me think of how unfair this is to you.”

You wanted to laugh.

Unfair was forcing you into the position of his concubine in the first place. Unfair was ignoring your consistent refusals and forcing you to remain by his side. Unfair was the treatment you endured in the position you never asked to be in, the abuse you suffered, the constant torment you faced, the aching loneliness at being able to talk honestly with no one, the grief at the loss of your family—unfair was putting it lightly.

It was hard to hear coming from the culprit.

“It got me thinking that if I’m eventually forced to go through with this wedding despite my lack of enthusiasm, why not have a wedding I’d enjoy first?”

Dread pinched your stomach.

“Do you remember the promise we made when we were younger?”

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Not another shackle. Yet another excuse to be stuck in this place with no way out.

“Your Highness-”

“I promised you that we’d have the grandest wedding the kingdom had ever seen. That you would walk upon a path of flowers that would lead you to my side, and one of the knights can walk you down the aisle since-.”

You felt nauseous.

“Anyways, I think I’ve been putting it off for too long and it’s the perfect event to put my vassals in their place.”

This couldn’t be happening. You shook your head, not wanting to imagine what life would be like after you became… what? What did he intend on calling you if you were no longer his concubine? What did it matter if your treatment would remain spiteful regardless of how many escorts he replaced by your side. Any hope you had about escaping would be snatched away and your every move would be reported back to the King. You supposed he didn’t botherbefore because there really was nowhere for you to go where people didn’t know who you were, but with this new title, this new position, he would shorten your leash to show just how much of a loving couple the two of you were.

“What’s wrong, my love?” he asked, a warning in his voice. “You don’t look happy.”

“No,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. It brought tears to your eyes when the impediment remained, threatening to choke you as you struggled to hold them back. “I’m overjoyed.” you said, burying your head in his shoulder so he couldn’t see that these weren’t happy tears. That you weren’t crying at what you would gain from marrying the King, the most sought after “bachelor” in your kingdom. You were crying at everything that you would lose, that would continue to be taken away from you. Demanded of you. Your peace, your love, happiness, and the joy you were so desperate to convince him you felt in this moment.

Not that he really cared in the first place.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yan!idris #yandere king

1K notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

(Apologies if I accidentally misread & requests are closed - English is my 2nd language 😳)

Please, I'm begging, please - requesting a story with Idris and a fem!y/n. Where y/n finds out they are pregnant with Idris's child & their overprotective instincts go into overdrive & they say "I'm escaping, no way is my child going to be raised with that monster!"

yan!king x fem!preg!reader TW: unbalanced relationship dynamics, mentions violence, mentions death, infantilization, domestic abuse, minors DNI

—

You puked in the toilet, grateful that no one was around to see the upheaval of what you had just had for lunch. It was hard to hold it down as he spoke. Your face was most likely tight, and your smile was more of a grimace as you fought to maintain a neutral expression, but the moment you were released to do what you wanted, you all but ran to your room to release the contents in your stomach.

Attempting to back away, your hands slapped the edge of the toilet bowl as you felt your body lurch once again before you were gagging and food was expelling itself from your body like a plague.

Worried thoughts crawled over you.

Did you remember to lock the door? If someone came in to witness this, how would you convince them that nothing was wrong? Convince them not to call the doctor to give further proof of what you didn’t want to believe. Of what you didn’t want to find out.

You were pregnant.

All the signs were there, but you ignored them. You closed your eyes and prayed to the Mother that it was a trick of the mind, a figment of your imagination. Your period was late because it just does that sometimes. You would get it. Even if two days, two weeks, a month passed by with no sign. This sickness was just a bug you caught from spoiled food. Even if it came no matter what you ate.

You told yourself whatever you needed to rationalize the situation. You weren’t hiding your symptoms from the maids or from Idris for any particular reason. You just didn’t want them to worry about it. About you. It would pass, and everything would be alright.

But it was harder to convince yourself of that as time passed, as you thought of what his expression would look like when you began to wear baggier clothes until your stomach swelled to the point where you couldn’t hide it anymore. When you felt kicks that would give you an undeniable sign of the life growing within you. When it was too late.

You didn’t want to get pregnant.

Not by him. Not now. Especially not here.

Not with maids who treated you as if you should be grateful to your lover. The lover who showered you in gold and gifts. The lover who would go to any lengths to please you. The same lover who murdered your family and reminded you of it anytime you tried to pull away from him. It was your fault, he would whisper despite giving the order.

His interest was your fault. His obsession, his tyranny, and the consequences if you didn’t answer every whim with unflinching obedience would always be your fault. And this child would be the icing on top of your shackled cake. .

You couldn’t imagine Idris as a loving father. Not a true one, anyway. Not when he’d killed everyone you held dear and his own father when he couldn’t have his way. He would smile at your child, hold them, laugh, beautiful and radiant as he always was, but the moment you stepped out of line it was their life he would use to threaten you.

He’d mentioned making the mistake of taking everyone you held dear too quickly because he no longer had anyone to threaten you with. The only remorse he felt was his own short-sightedness that you didn’t remain docile for as long as he’d hoped.

And you could only imagine the eyes.

They’d follow you up and down the corridor, their whispers traveling to cut your ears no matter how fast you’d waddle, walk, or run.

A bastard child, they would call it.

An abomination.

They would claim the father came from unknown origins despite knowing no one would be brave or stupid enough to touch you, knowing the punishment in store if the King ever found out. But it wasn’t you, you were worried about.

You could only imagine their fake smiles, plastered as they cooed at your baby before their expressions melted into disgust, calling you an upstart and your child an unlovable leech. Their words would pander for approval even as they plotted to destroy you the first moment they got. It was the same people who would comfort you if something ever happened to your child, knowing full well that the blood was on their hands. The same people who would laugh as they washed their hands of assassination attempts, tying up loose ends so things would never be traced back to them. A rival faction, a jealous maid, any and every excuse valid except those pointed in their direction.

You couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t stay knowing the kind of life you would be raising your child into. You couldn’t stand to see them look at their father with love and admiration despite the things he did and was still doing with unflinching ease. You couldn’t bear to see them grow up to become just like them—like him.

You didn’t want to see the look in his eyes when he found out.

You didn’t want to know if shock would turn into joy that would morph into raving glee at his new bargaining chip. Or if he didn’t care for an addition to your disjointed family. Choosing to feed you drugs that would take care of the problem quietly or allow you to have the child raised out of sight to strengthen his political standing.

How lucky you were to want for nothing.

But you wanted to give this child a normal life. A happy one, full of unadulterated laughter. You didn’t want this child walking on eggshells, torn between temporary peace or isolated happiness. It wasn’t something you could offer here.

Your child had the chance to live in a luxury that not many others could even hope to dream about, but you would run as far away from it as possible if it meant they didn’t have to learn that all things that shined weren’t gold. That their father, the king, was a monster hiding behind sweet words and a smile. They wouldn’t learn that love required obedience. That affection, consideration, and care were only reciprocal for those of value.

You had to run. While you still could, you had to run.

Idris would be angry. There was no doubt in your mind that he would try to drag you back, treat you like a stupid, troubled thing that didn’t understand what you were doing. A foolish mistake was all he would amount your disappearance to before attempting to placate you with false promises or violent threats, whichever worked, but that didn’t matter.

He hadn’t noticed that anything had changed; at least, you hoped he didn’t. You’d slowly been gathering things he wouldn’t miss if they suddenly disappeared to barter with when you finally escaped, and now was the perfect time to collect your stash and escape on a random afternoon.

You almost felt bad for the maids who would have to deal with his anger when he found out that you were missing, but then again, they never seemed to care, no matter how many bandages covered your body after one of his fits of rage. Some of them went so far as to lock the door so they wouldn’t have to hunt you down and drag you back to his mistreatment.

Dragging yourself from the bathroom floor, you flushed the toilet as you wiped the side of your mouth. Placing a hand on your stomach, you couldn’t help but clench it into a fist.

Your bleeding heart would dry up.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #yan!idirs #yandere king

490 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

Any tips for starting a yandere blog / getting better at writing?

just write.

i know it probably gets old to hear practice makes perfect, but you get better at something by doing it. i personally have things that i've written and no matter how tempting it is to delete it, no matter how bad it is, it has value. you will get better with time and practice so you can:

write 1 minute, five minute, ten minute, fifteen minute, or free write what you want with yandere themes.

you can use writing prompts to build your story or random quotes to give you inspiration and when you aren't feeling inspired, read!

if you don't feel like writing do a different form, my favorite thing to do, character build!

ask yourself if your yan is a sadist or a protective. are they willing to get violent and if so how far would they go? or are they more interested in emotional manipulation? do they view their darling as their idol or are they worth nothing in your yan's eyes? are they fine with sharing or do they want you to themselves?

there are a lot of other good blogs that can break down the different types of yanderes and so i'd go through the list and make a yan with all the traits you would love and one with all the ones you would hate.

after you figure your yan out you can think about the kind of darling you'd pair with them, how they would respond in certain situations, and what would lead to them ending up in the situation they do even if it's as simple as giving the yan a smile in passing. and this all can change depending on the pov you write in!

i've personally written a lot that i look back on and cringe at and even what i write now isn't as great as my favorite blogs, but i've seen improvement.

i've also gotten the advice that i should write different genres and half of that should be listened to because if you dabble in poetry, memoir, and the like it can give you a different perspective with the stories you write, but if it's because you're getting advice for someone who thinks anyone who enjoys yandere is wrong in the head, fuck them and throw that advice out of the window.

write what you like especially if it makes you write in the first place.

#yandere #yandere x you #ask

20 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

loved the story about yan!Duke 😊 does he have a name?

not yet!

i usually wait to find names that i feel are fitting for a character which is why a lot of my yans don't have names, but recommendations are appreciated!

17 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

Hi! I’m kinda confused about the duke. Does the king replaced him or it just duke showed his true nature? And why did duke allowed that. I’m really confused. Do you have any plans to continue this?

I hope you have a good day! Wishing best✨✨

the king only became interested in you after he noticed his brother's infatuation. the duke is usually good about hiding the things he cares about, but his vigilance became lax after years of experiencing happiness, experiencing what a relationship should be like.

he felt things would only get worse if he tried to deny his brother's request and he "trusted" you to not betray him emotionally, so he let his brother do what he wanted, knowing he would get bored if he didn't have a strong reaction.

he was right, but obviously, it backfired.

the duke's true nature is to covet the things he cares about and had it been anyone else they wouldn't have been able to escape with their lives, but because of the nature of his and the king's relationship, he felt he had to concede regardless of how it made him feel.

it was the right choice in his mind, but it ended up ruining everything he wanted.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere male #gn reader #ask #yandere duke #yandere duke x reader

98 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

wow… your yandere duke series is so powerful. the betrayal, the angst, it’s written so well!! i’m not requesting a drabble or anything, i’m just wondering where do you think reader and the dukes relationship will go after this? imo it would be impossible for the reader to forgive their husband after knowing he let his brother do what they wanted with them. will you be continuing this series or can you provide a general answer of some sort?? :D the curiosity is killing me!!

Someone else requested the reader to don the apparel of a widow and I think it'd be really interesting to write about how the different aspects of your relationship change because the husband you knew and loved is now dead to you.

I imagine the reader being coaxed into intimacy just for the duke to get angry and not know whether he wants to force you closer or push you away when it isn't the same as before.

It wouldn't be as genuine.

I think of it almost as a reverse love-bombing except you aren't the abuser in this situation. You're captive in this idea of who you thought your husband was, who you hope he still is, and yet you can't choose between the gnawing guilt you feel whenever he looks at you like a jilted child or the anger that threatens to consume you whenever you feel what he let his brother do to you.

I think it'll be a slow descent into madness until one of you breaks.

How? I guess we'll see.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yandere duke

138 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 1 month

Note

Maybe you have already answered this before but I'm not sure where it would be so I'm sorry in advanced- I just wanted to know what's your opinion on yandere bullies 👁️👁️? and on writing them, more specifically? Asking for my friend's cousin's third best friend who lives in the South Pole-

I think bullies are fun. You never really know where you stand with them and the guessing game is exciting.

I think the emotional whiplash you'd feel with someone who'll bring you on the verge of tears one moment and then say the sweetest things the next is fun to write about and you're often left feeling confused about how you should behave.

Our current bully's desires are pretty straightforward, but if there was another who made your life a living hell just because they enjoyed seeing you at your lowest, begging them to give you a break, pleading and offering anything if you could just leave them alone for an hour, a class period, a day. Just to laugh in your face.

It really depends on what they want from you. How you make them feel. Their motivations drive their actions and most have had a lot of practice of knowing how much they can drive you to the edge before you want to jump off.

Believe me. You don't want to know what happened to the last victim of our bully yan.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yandere bully

56 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 2 months

Note

Can we have more incubus yan, pretty please?

TW: n/a

—

You were drenched in a dark light.

Moments of heavy breathing flipped between being so soft you had to strain to listen and being overwhelmingly loud. You could barely hear the heartbeat that was previously pounding in your ears. It seemed to match your rhythm perfectly, speeding up as you stuck so close together it was hard to tell where your body began, and theirs ended and slowing down.

One becoming two again.

Breath exchanging things words couldn’t.

You were sure if it was cold enough, you’d be able to watch as your breath swirled with fleeting compassion, similar to the sessions between you and your unnamed partner.

It was hard to get a grasp on anything about them.

The color of their eyes, the shape of their face. They were hidden behind layers of moving shadow, and despite the fear you felt you should feel, it didn’t come. Instead, you chased to unearth the mystery they presented.

You looked and looked and looked, and all you could see was that light. It was dark, but you felt comforted, drawn in, almost guilty to be away from their presence for too long. And momentarily, you’d forget, feel their hand on your side, beckoning you closer, the idea of existing separately was too much to bear, a taboo act that would leave you feeling lost the longer you waited.

A passionate exchange.

It could’ve been seconds that lasted for hours or unfelt hours, brushing over your skin and dragging you deeper to something you weren’t sure you wanted to resist.

You felt your body sink, surrendering yourself to the mercy of this force feeling more freeing, more euphoric, than anything you’d felt before.

You wanted this.

Yes.

The more you opened up, the deeper you fell. Willing, headfirst into oblivion that retrurned your trust with promise.

More, it could offer you more.

And just like your breath, that fear was fleeting, but your tumbling thoughts were silenced as a sensation ripped through your body, setting it alight, fulfilling a desire you weren’t aware you were capable of.

It beckoned you closer and you followed in a drunken haze. Too oblivious to say no or too uncaring to deny yourself the pleasures it offered you, you didn’t care. All you knew was what it offered and that it felt good.

That light, dark and soft, bathed you, your entire body cool to the touch and yet everywhere they placed their hands, their lips felt warm. Felt hot. Felt alive with desire that you couldn’t tame. That you refused to.

Conflicting thoughts between those hands that were rough, taking what you freely gave, or the gentle ones. Touches that felt like whispererd confessions in a quiet room.

“What the fuck?”

You jumped, the sound of that familiar voice breaking the spell. You looked in its direction and you found a fuming Ambrose, walking with heat on his heels.

Your unknown lover scrambled to get away, shocking you as you tried not get crushed in their escape, but they were gripped by the nape before being lifted off of you.

“This?” he questioned, anger in his voice as he shook the disembodied figure like a ragdoll. “You were drawn in by this?”

“What are you talking about?” you asked. “Why are you here?”

Your brain couldn’t process what was going on.

“Hours every day spent breaking down your guard with energy that I still have yet to fully replenish, patiently putting up with your reluctant acquiescence, yet you let this low-level-” His words cut off with a snarl as he gripped the figure’s throat tighter.

There was a sharp pain in your chest that felt as if lava was spilling from a rupture in your heart. You curled over, the pain too intense to yell, let alone speak.

Looking at you, Ambrose’s gaze only narrowed. “You even let yourself be tethered to this-” He grit his teeth, closing his eyes as he used his other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You know what, it’s my fault. I should’ve known your guard would be lowered with so much exposure.”

“Why are you here?” you wheezed, scratching at the heat that wanted to melt through your chest. “I thought you could only appear in my dreams.”

“What do you think you’re doing right now?”

Oddly enough, you hadn’t questioned where you were. This room felt like your own, but the closer you looked, as much as you could bear to look, the details seemed off. Your lamp wasn’t exactly the right shade, the pictures on the wall were blurry and unrecognizable, and you just realized that this room had no doors.

Slowly everything began to look wrong. The wallpaper, the sheets on the bed, the placement of your dressers. It was like a lazy copy of your room with differences you would’ve never noticed if you hadn’t taken the time to.

So you were dreaming.

But there wasn’t the usual path of dimly glowing lights beneath the inky black surface. No ominous gate.

“These denizens have confusion wards to keep their victims unaware as they siphon energy from them.” He said by way of explanation. “The entirety of your unconscious is my domain so I didn’t think to cast a barrier, but this one-” He enunciated by squeezing the creature’s neck, making you gasp as it felt like his hand was around your heart. “Managed to slip in and create its own pocket in the corner of your mind.” Turning his narrowed eyes to you, you felt the heat of his gaze. “And you let it.”

“Why are you blaming me‽” you bit back, indignant anger momentarily overriding the pain you felt. “You act like I knew this was going to happen.”

“This entire situation could’ve been avoided if you had come to me to sate your desires. Instead, you left yourself open to be taken advantage of by this bottom of the barrel scum.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. This is just a dream.”

You saw a vein bulge in his neck.

He watched you writhe in silent agony as gripped your tether in a tighter grip. “The big deal is that your wants, needs, and desires are mine to feed off of. Exclusively. Understand?”

You wanted to tell him where he could shove that patronizing tone, but you barely managed to let out a gasp. Your chest was on fire, a ball of compressed pain waiting to explode, but remained just on the verge, growing little by little.

“That means I don’t share what’s mine. But now, I have to go through and expunge every trace it left until I can destroy the connection you formed without killing you.”

Your eyes threatened to roll to the back of your head and your body felt so hot you were sure you would’ve passed out if you weren’t already unconscious. You couldn’t really hear him anymore. You wanted to beg him to stop, to ask if it was such a bad thing to be tethered, to say that maybe you could figure out a way to make it work, but his grip only tightened, causing your body to jerk from the pain. Your nerves felt like nails scratching a chalk board repeatedly. You dry heaved, knowing nothing would come up in your incorperal form, and praying the same would be true for your physical body. The last thing you wanted to do was wake up from this hell covered in vomit.

He sighed, touching a cool palm to your forehead that momentarily alleviated the pain.

“I hope it was worth it.” he said, your eyes meeting his. There was no warmth. No concern. Only cold rage stared back at you.

“Because this is going to hurt.”

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #gn reader #yan!ambrose #yandere incubus

287 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 2 months

Note

hewoo, asking if you have a masterlist pretty please, i want to reread all of your works 🥹🙏

hii, my masterlist is in my bio!

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere

18 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 2 months

Note

VALENTINOOOOO 😫 UGH that last fic of him was good omg; begging on my knees for MORE Also;; the hint of mascoism? 🙈 is his thing for biting more a claiming thing or a biting thing? ALSO ALSO maybe he should wear a mask next time he breaks in so we cant see his face but he'll be able to look at us properly 🤭

I think it’s more of a you kink than masochism, but he would definitely break out into a goofy ass grin whenever the wounds caused by your teeth would start hurting him. Maybe he’s a masochist and just doesn’t know it TW: mentions stalking

—

You knew it was late before you opened your eyes. A sixth sense that suggested your nap had gone on longer than you initially planned for it, too.

Body heavy with sleep, you rolled onto your back, attempting to rub the sleep out of your eyes, grateful that you had turned off the lights before you collapsed. Stretching languid, you blinked. It felt as if your hand was moving in slow motion as you shifted to lie on your other side.

Freezing when you noticed an undeniable figure cloaked in the shadow, it was hard to miss the plain white mask that shielded everything but those rose-colored eyes. Your own were wide, your body struggling to inhale as your mind attempted to comprehend if this was real. Deciding the unmistakable dread was a sign this wasn’t a dream, the exhaustion fled completely as your mouth opened wordlessly, mouth dry.

He must’ve noticed.

The moment you found your lungs capable of producing sound, his body shot forward, a hand over your mouth before you could blink.

Wide eyes stared into the stranger’s as he slowly pushed you to lie back.

“Shhhhh,”

You struggled to comprehend what exactly was going on. You knew it was just hard to wrap your head around. Hard to put a face, or at least a body, to the countless notes and gifts that previously seemed to magically appear in your apartment.

But it wasn’t magic, and those things didn’t just appear. His presence was unmistakable.

There was someone in your apartment.

He had been watching you while you slept.

“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice would’ve been soothing if it didn’t feel as if every muscle in your body was locked like a spring compressed. “I didn’t mean to stay for as long as I did, but you were sleeping so peacefully. It was hard not to watch.”

He had the gall to sound embarrassed.

Unable to move, to think, you could only wonder if this was actually happening.

“I’m actually glad you woke up. I’ve been dying to get a chance to actually speak to you.”

You waited, but he simply watched you. At his pause, you managed to lift a shaky hand to his wrist, and despite not being able to see his mouth, you could tell he smiled from the way his eyes lifted when your fingers wrapped around his wrist before tugging at it.

“Promise not to scream?”

You nodded slowly, not sure if it was complete and utter bullshit. What were the chances of him getting angry if you yelled for someone to help you?

Humming, he didn’t appear to believe you, but he slowly removed his hand, fingers lingering to brush a knuckle against your cheek.

Swallowing to bring back some moisture to your throat, your eyes looked into his. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you for a moment.

“Are you V?” you asked, remembering the elusive signature at the end of the letters he’d write, wondering if he was offended to find them in the trashcan.

His eyes became alight with excitement. “You remembered.”

You couldn’t help the uncomfortable smile, anything to break this awful tension. “It’s hard to forget the name of someone constantly breaking into my apartment.”

He chuckled, the sound catching you off guard as you continued to watch him. He sat next to you on the bed, expression unchanging as you stupidly glanced towards the door. It was hard not to resist the urge to bolt, but he appeared as if he wasn’t worried about you going anywhere. It only made this situation more unnerving.

“It’ll take a lot more than a couple of changed locks to keep me out.”

His tone was light and playful, but you read the seriousness behind his words. The reality sitting comfortably in front of you.

It was strange. You never imagined that you’d be able to have a conversation with your stalker. Sure, you imagined cursing him for destroying your sense of security, your ability to trust anyone around you, but as he sat in front of you, seemingly eager, your mind was blank. Empty of the words that plagued your mind, you thought of the millions of scenarios of how this encounter would happen, but him hovering over you was not one of them.

“What are you doing here?” you managed to say. Unsure how he’d react if you moved from the awkward laying position you were in, you blinked, trying to swallow whatever was blocking your throat as you at least managed to tilt your head down to see him better. You fought the urge to launch off of your bed and make a break for the door. There was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t make it two steps from the way those pink eyes stared intently, watching your every move.

He seemed to be holding back urges of his own.

Urges he didn’t act on, given the clear fear and discomfort in your eyes. He might’ve been hurt if he lacked the common sense that a stranger watching you while you slept in the middle of the night was something that would frighten most people. He’d hoped you would’ve felt more relaxed in his presence, but he would be patient. You would come to understand that he would never do anything to hurt you intentionally.

Smiling, he moved to lay next to you, and while you were grateful that you no longer had to look up at him, it was unsettling how natural he made this seem. Laying next to you as a lover would. As if it was something he’d done before.

“You left your clothes in the dryer. I finished folding your laundry and after putting the towels in your bathroom, I got… distracted.”

Your laundry.

He broke into your house, picking brand new locks that you put on the door today… to do your laundry.

The smile he wore turned into a half-grin. “You’re looking at me like I’m crazy, but I’d use anything as an excuse to come see you.”

You couldn’t help the way you flinched as his thumb came up, unrepentant as he caressed the side of your face.

You couldn’t understand him. You don’t remember how this even started.

One day, you were living life normally, hating your job like any other person who was forced to work yet lacked the skills to do something they would actually enjoy, coming home to an empty apartment, and all of a sudden, gifts started randomly appearing, slowly leaning closer and closer to things that suited your tastes along with cryptic, often disturbing letters.

I like the shirt you were wearing today.

I think this would smell great on you, so you should wear it. I’ll think of you every time I smell it.

Who was the person you were talking to near the bus station? You should be careful. You don’t know what their intentions are.

I don’t like it when you act so friendly with your co-workers.

Why are you throwing away the gifts I got you? Do you not like them?

When are you going to accept the things I give you?

From, V.

Love, V.

Only Yours, V.

An anonymous figure that terrorized you. Ambiguous, disembodied, and unknown.

Until now.

“Who are you?” you asked, wanting to end this charade. Honestly, wanting to know. You could tell he smiled again, and you felt stupid for asking, knowing he wouldn’t wear a mask if he was unconcerned about you finding out about his identity, but you couldn’t help but feel that it’d make you feel better if you knew. If it was someone you knew, you could think of why they’d decided to start harassing you. Put an answer to if it was something you might’ve said or done to gain their attention unknowingly. It was something you agonized over for months.

Was it an old friend? A co-worker? A disgruntled customer? You couldn’t imagine what you did to catch their attention, especially if this guy was some random stranger on the street.

You felt choked up, feeling ridiculous for getting so emotional, but you had never been this close to learning the truth behind what had caused the unsettling anxiety you carried every day.

“Hey,” his voice said, full of concern, as he moved to hold you. You were tense, wondering if he could tell and struggling between whether you wanted to relax or continue hoping he would let go. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He rubbed your back, and you hated to admit that despite how uncomfortable this situation was, his attempts to soothe you were working.

“I can’t tell you right now, but I’ll be able to soon.”

What did that mean?

“Don’t worry. I’ll leave when you fall asleep.”

You don’t know why he sounded so confident that you would be able to fall asleep, fully aware of his presence in your apartment, but you didn’t say anything.

Closing your eyes, you felt some relief that, all things considered, your stalker seemed pretty kind.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #gn reader #yan!valentino #yandere stalker

240 notes · View notes

bunny-yan · 2 months

Note

Yandere Bully x male reader

non-con touching, heavy depicts of violence, mockery, depression, abuse, forced relationships.

Like this dude is VIOLENT. Makes fun of the reader for doing anything. Him ruining the reader has always been enough, finding new ways to hurt him each day. But when the reader comes to school with a bruise bully knows he didn’t make, he’s furious. Going full “you’re fucking mine, you understand?” And anyone who dares touch what’s his? Don’t live to see another day.

He is bully’s plaything. He owns him.

— he’d probably hurt him too just for letting someone else touch him

I think this would be a really nice introduction for a new yan! I'll definitely expand using some of these ideas later and I would've tried to include it in here, but it was getting a little long and I wanted to introduce how they met >.< i hope you like it! bully!yan x male reader TW: violence, non-con touching, mockery, slight depictions of depression, abuse, forced relationships, minors DNI

—

It was a new school. One that you’d been anxious about coming to since your parents transferred you in the middle of a semester, but it wasn’t the first time, so what possible complaints could you have? You should be used to it by now, right?

You didn’t want to think of the roaring headache you’d have if you tried explaining why it wasn’t fair to you to pick up and move whenever it was convenient for them without asking you how you felt about it, so you let it go. Clearly, your opinion had no weight in their decisions, but it would’ve been nice if they treated you as more than just another piece of luggage to drag around.

Saying goodbye to your friends was difficult because although you’d only been here for a couple of months, you met some people you were able to connect to, which was strange considering your short time at this school.

Promises to keep in touch were met with smiles and quick hugs before you went home to pack your life away.

There wasn’t much. You knew by now that it was a hassle to bring anything that you couldn’t fit in a suitcase, and the looks they would give if you asked to bring along anything that would’ve forced them to give up space in the moving truck was something you preferred to avoid. You’d be placated, told they could simply buy you whatever you needed when you moved to the next place, and the couple of times you tried to fight for something you cared about, you received a lecture that lasted for hours about how you needed to learn to be grateful that they could afford to replace whatever it is that you were so desperate to keep and learn to be considerate considering they were moving for the benefit of the entire family. To make a long story short, you were to shut up and be ready to be shipped out without being such a fucking hassle.

After being assigned to your new room in a house, you couldn’t bother to acknowledge it as any different from the last, even though it lacked any sign of familiarity or comfort; you ignored the order to get unpacked and slept, wondering if you would be able to catch up in the classes you’d be attending the next day.

A quick shower was all you bothered in the morning, and putting on a reasonably comfortable outfit that made you look decent was good enough for your first day. You weren’t desperate to stand out. Everything would be perfect if you could just get through the day with minimal issues, going unnoticed by most, and avoid being called out for being a new kid.

The day was off to a good start. The teachers didn’t seem particularly interested in acclimating you, which was fine, considering it would only draw more attention to you. It was a bit of a hassle trying to find what rooms your classes were supposed to be in, but you managed. You always seemed to.

Looking at a paper that listed off your schedule, you tried not to make it too obvious that you had no idea where you were going in the sea of bodies, but right as you were going to look up to see if you were heading in the right direction, you crashed into someone else.

Your arms reached out to steady them before they were sent flying backward, and you froze when your hands landed on a guy's hips.

Looking around, you noticed weird stares from guys who seemed to be friends with the guy you had crashed into, and when you finally looked at him, you froze at the unexpected curiosity in his eyes.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice bleeding with concern, but the expression on his face seemed irritated.

Noticing that you were still holding onto his waist, you quickly released your hold on him before backing up. Scratching the back of your neck, you apologized.

With a bright smile, he clapped you on the shoulder. Leaning in, he whispered, “Watch yourself next time.”

You were shocked at how hostile his voice sounded, but he and his friends had walked away before you could even think to respond.

It was strange, but there was little chance you’d ever encounter that guy again.

You thought back to that moment as you stared at him on the ground, hand covering a bloody nose. His eyes held that same curiosity you’d seen the first time you ran into him, but it was paired with amusement.

You were shoved back as one of his friends came to his defense, girls calling you a violent psycho as they flocked to the guy who was now grimacing in pain. A sea of students crowded around to see what was going on, and as you were eventually led to the principal’s office, you knew your hope of having a quiet transfer was ruined.

The principal didn’t hesitate to inform you that violence would not be permitted in his school. You would be required to write a 500-word essay that lamented your actions and would serve a couple of weeks in after-school detention. It didn’t escape your notice that he hadn’t bothered to ask why you acted the way you did.

You couldn’t even be sure why you reacted so quickly. You wouldn’t consider yourself incredibly violent, and even if someone said something that upset you, you had a decent amount of self-control. Even in a heated argument, you could be expected to keep a cool head, but one sentence from him had you seeing red before fists were flying. You couldn’t even be sure what he said. All you remember is him approaching you in the cafeteria with that same easy-going smile he’d always seemed to wear before his words made you want to crawl out of your skin, and you were moving before you could stop yourself.

The principal informed you that your parents would hear about the altercation that transpired on your first day, and you couldn’t help the huge sigh you let out as you thought of how utterly fucked you were.

You didn’t expect your victim to be waiting in the empty hallway. You also did not expect him to approach you with a smile on his still handsome face despite the bruise forming on his nose before entering your space with no hesitation. He forced you to back up the closer he got, but he pulled you to a stop by hooking his fingers into your belt buckle before pulling you forward.

Leaning to the side, he said, “I was beginning to get bored again. Thanks for alleviating that.”

You shoved him away, skin crawling as you slapped a hand over your ear, but he only laughed before walking away.

The rest of the day was a blur.

You walked to your next class, aware that eyes seemed to follow you as you sat in your seat, not just because you were coming in the middle of a lesson. Whispers flew, and you could hear them discuss what had transpired in the cafeteria.

It was a struggle not to put your head down.

Met with similar reactions in two of your other classes, you tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your gut when you attempted to talk to one of your classmates about an assignment before you were ignored.

It was awkward.

They stood there, pretending they couldn’t hear you, and you were left wondering what you were supposed to do. Either double down and seem like an asshole for intimidating another student or drown in embarrassment at being treated like you were invisible. Considering you were already marked as someone with anger issues, the first option was out.

You returned to your desk, trying not to feel too out of place doing a group assignment by yourself, and attempted to convince yourself that everything would be fine.

Sitting through the lecture you received, listening to how disappointed your parents were that you were causing problems at your new school despite it being your first day, you didn’t bother defending yourself. There was no point. You just needed to finish the essay, attend detention, wait a couple of months, and this whole situation would blow over.

Except it didn’t.

The days turned into months, and even after spending the required time in detention, you found no one you could approach even after gaining that time back. Your classmates continued to ignore you, the teachers treated you like a problem student, and you found yourself utterly alone day after day.

You’d thought maybe enough time hadn’t passed to put the incident behind you. You would just need to be diligent in your studies and make more of an effort to get to know your classmates.

Even if they acted as if they couldn’t hear a word you said.

Even if everyone refused to meet your eyes.

Even if some of the other students looked at you with disgust.

Even if that guy’s friends seemed to remind you that you punched him anytime you saw them, passed them, existed in their space for more than a couple of seconds.

The victim seemed content to watch things play out, not stopping his friends, egging them on, or coming to your defense.

He just watched.

His eyes seemed to follow you in the cafeteria as you filled up your tray before going to eat at a lone table in the corner by yourself.

You would force the utensil in your mouth despite the fact that you couldn’t taste anything and feel embarrassed shame and disgust at the self-pity that began to overwhelm you.

You tried telling yourself it was fine; it was expected that you would eat alone, but it didn’t change the gaping emptiness you felt.

You felt eyes on you as you walked from class to class, and at first, you looked for the person who seemed to be staring holes into you, but you couldn’t hold his pointed stare when you managed to make eye contact across the room or in a crowd.

It was uncomfortable. Chilling, almost, the way his eyes seemed to want to dissect you.

You tried to ignore it, to ignore him, this entire situation, but a presence sitting across from your new hiding spot in a secluded part of the library shattered that idea.

When you looked up, you felt like a deer in headlights, looking at the amused expression on his face.

Standing up, you gathered your things to leave, but his hand caught your wrist before you could grab your bag and walk away.

“Where are you going?”

It was a simple question, but reminded you there was nowhere to go. No place with eyes that didn’t judge you from far away and remained incapable of seeing you up close.

“Let go.”

“Or what?” he taunted, gripping your hand tighter. “Will you hit me again?”

You grit your teeth, wanting to yank your hand out of his grip, resisting the urge to say yes.

“You could. You could probably take me in a fight. But that won’t change the fact that you’ll continue to be a social pariah.”

You looked into his eyes, and he could tell it had caught your attention. His expression turned smug as he gestured towards the chair you were just sitting in.

“Sit.”

“What do you want?” you asked him, voice on the verge of being desperate.

“Sit down and let’s talk about it.”

A part of you wanted to resist. You hated the confidence that seemed to roll off of him in waves, looking at you as if he knew you would obey regardless of how much of a fight you put up. A part of you was almost able to convince yourself to walk away. But remembering those cold stares, the disinterest, and the unsettling anxiety you felt each morning you woke up had you reluctantly sitting back in your chair.

Amused, he leaned forward to rest his hands on his interlocked fingers. “Let’s be friends.”

He was insane.

“I could try to improve other people’s opinions of you and get my friends to stop talking behind your back, but it would be a lot simpler if we were friends, right?”

You blinked, still not understanding what he stood to gain from all of this.

“We act as if we let bygones be bygones, and your life as a loner will be over. Two birds with one stone!”

“What do you get out of this?”

The smile on his face was unsettling. “Let’s just say I want to be charitable.”

You didn’t like it. It didn’t seem like there was anything for you to lose, and you weren’t sure you could trust his reasoning behind suddenly reaching out to you, but you didn’t like the alternative.

Waking up every morning was a struggle. You had to convince yourself to get out of bed, the most menial tasks taking so much time and energy out of you; it was a miracle you didn’t just cut classes to do anything else.

But if you missed one day, it would turn into two. Two would turn into three, eventually turning into a week until you weren’t going to school at all. Your parents would be called when your absence was noticed, if it was noticed, or they’d figure out you were playing hooky in some way and you would be forced to listen to another lecture without any consideration towards the reason behind your behavior.

Wouldn’t it just be better to take his offer?

It was strange how quickly others went along with his antics. With an arm casually resting around your shoulders, you went from being an invisible nobody to others looking on, jealous about how you got so close to this guy. It was no wonder you hadn’t gotten anybody to talk to you. The number of people who came up to speak with him within the first hour of school starting was insane, and the line of people attempting to get his attention was endless.

He knew almost everyone in this school. Kind to even those who would be considered the stereotypical outcasts. Everyone wanted to be close to the golden boy, yet no one seemed to notice the disgust on his face after any of his interactions. No one commented that he’d wipe his hands if he touched someone else or brush invisible dirt off his shoulders if someone made the fortunate mistake of running into him.

It made you sick to your stomach.

“How does it feel being popular by association?” he asked, the usual winning smile on his face as he waved at someone who called out to him.

“You’re an asshole.”

He shrugged, his smile only getting wider. “No one else seems to mind. Why are you complaining?” He tapped your shoulder, making you self-conscious about how freely he was touching you.

“Do you have to sit so close?” you asked, attempting to put distance between the two of you, but his hand grabbed your shoulder before pulling you into his chest.

“We have to sell that we’re friends. Lighten up,” he said, pinching the side of your cheek.

It took everything in you not to punch him across the face.

Again.

“Yo, man!” One of his actual friends called out, making you feel self-conscious from the way he was glaring daggers into you before he looked over at his carefree “friend.” “What’s the deal with you and psycho suddenly hanging out?”

Psycho. You winced at the nickname he didn’t bother hiding.

“Oh, him?” he said, grip locking around your neck before he pulled you in closer and ruffled your hair despite your aggravated protests. “He was just being shy. Don’t be too harsh with him.”

You grit your teeth to avoid pulling away from him. It was fucking embarrassing being treated like someone who couldn’t correctly socialize despite the justifiable reality of the situation.

His friend laughed before inviting him to a bar later in the week. You couldn’t help the bitter smile as a pity invite was also extended to you.

You got what you wanted. They didn’t ignore you anymore, but somehow, this felt worse than before.

The eyes didn’t leave. They grew more hostile if anything, and you couldn’t help but want to escape when people would come up to you to talk about the only thing they were interested in.

Him.

He always seemed to know when you were speaking to someone, and like the devil, he appeared whenever his name was mentioned, throwing an arm around your shoulders and acting uncomfortably familiar as he elegantly cut off whatever conversation you were having to introduce you to new, random faces you couldn’t hope to remember. A part of you was grateful not to have to endure such an awkward exchange, but it was suspicious how he would always appear whenever you seemed to talk to anyone by yourself.

It could be someone you’d never spoken to or one of his friends. It didn’t matter. In his presence, you were to exist as eye candy and nothing else.

You tried mentioning it, but he would simply laugh, slapping you on the back before making an excuse about not wanting you to ruin his flawless reputation.

It was utter bullshit.

He had everyone at this school eating out of his hands, including the teachers. The minute you said anything that could be mistaken to be pessimistic, they’d look at you as if you had grown another head, and he would be sure to be informed before you managed to get to where you were going.

He didn’t want to discuss it further, becoming annoyingly clingy to shut you up, and it worked.

You spent hours agonizing over what to say to gain some space from this guy. You’d watch him interact with his friends, and although he was close to each of them, he never seemed to stick to them like he did to you. It was to the point where you found yourself visibly relaxing whenever you weren’t around him, noticing the tension in your body caused by his presence.

You told yourself that you just had to put up with it. You didn’t like it when his hand grabbed the back of your neck or the way his fingers fiddled with the sleeve of your shirt whenever his arm was draped around your shoulder, but it was for your benefit. People would see how close the two of you were and naturally want to get closer to you. You could put up with some unsettling feelings if it meant not returning to being alone.

Until you couldn’t excuse it.

His lips pressed to yours, and you froze.

The two of you were alone in a classroom after school. He asked you to stay behind because he wanted to talk to you about something that he refused to mention throughout the day despite your prodding to get the conversation over with, and the minute the two of you were alone, he approached you, hands cupping your face before you could even think. Before you could even realize what he was doing.

There was a moment when fear gripped your body, rendering you unable to move, but the minute you felt his tongue prod against your lips, you shivered before shoving him away.

“What?” he laughed, cocking his head at your horrified expression. The silence hung between the two of you, unable to process what had just happened into words. His eyes turned hard as he became impatient with your continued silence. “What’s your problem?”

“Why did you do that?” you finally choked out. It didn’t make sense. After everything he’d done, it made no sense.

“What? Kiss you?” An easy laugh escaped his lips as he came closer. “Why are you being so sensitive about a little kiss?” he asked, reaching for your face, but your hand smacked his away.

You couldn’t read the expression on his face as he looked between your eyes, but the easygoing charmer disappeared as his jaw ticked and his eyes flooded with cold rage.

There was nothing to say. A restless fear urged you to leave, so you brushed past his shoulder, unable to take another step when his hand caught your arm in an ironclad grip. The minute you tried to yank your arm away, you felt yourself being thrown to the ground, a weight on top of you. You saw him rear his arm back before his fist collided with your face, giving you no time to defend yourself against his first few blows.

“Get off of me!” you said through gritted teeth, attempting to throw him, but he held firm, continuing to throw blow after blow. His punches only landed harder when you managed to lift your arms to shield your face.

“You’re fucking nothing without me.” he seethed, “You want to go back to being a loser, sitting alone in the cafeteria with no one to talk to? I can make your life miserable.”

Fear drove the sense of urgency at his words.

Shoving a fist into his side, you took the opportunity to sprint for the door when he hunched over in pain, ignoring his choked order for you to come back.

What were you going to do?

What the hell were you supposed to do now?

Showing up to school wasn’t a choice, and you couldn’t avoid him either. You felt your vision tunnel as your choices seemed to dwindle the harder you searched for an escape.

Everything he said was true.

Your breathing turned shallow.

He could make your life miserable.

Why would he do that? Why would he do that?

Had you given any indication that you were interested in him like that? You knew he was clingy, but you didn’t think-

Oh, god.

Was he going to tell everyone that you came onto him? You could imagine the disgusted stares his friends would give and it made you nauseous to think of the nicknames they’d coin. Suddenly, psycho didn’t seem that bad.

Maybe it would’ve been better to remain alone.

It was stupid to think that things would get better in the first place.

You wanted to run until you didn’t have to think about the fact that you had school the following day. You wouldn’t have to wonder how their eyes would change when they looked at you. You wouldn’t have to struggle to get out of bed.

You choked to get air out.

It was going to be a struggle to get out of bed.

If you told your parents you were sick they wouldn’t bother taking you to the doctor, but you would have to come up with a really good excuse as to why you couldn’t go to school. No matter what you said, there was a good chance it would be a waste of time talking to them anyway. They didn’t trust you to be home alone and it would be a hassle for either of them to take off work to watch you.

You had to go to school. There was no choice but to go.

When you managed to make it home, you ran up the stairs to your room. Crashing into bed, you threw the comforter over your head, begging the knots in your stomach to loosen, pleading for your muscles to relax just long enough to let you fall asleep. You didn’t want to think about this anymore. It hurt. You didn’t want to think about what was going to happen tomorrow.

You ignored the pain in your face, in your hands, in your body as you begged for anything to prevent the next day from arriving, and if that didn’t work, you thought it’d be better if you just didn’t wake up at all.

But you did wake up.

From the little sleep you had gotten, it was clear the day was off to a bad start, and the headache pounding in your skull was the cherry on top.

You stripped to take a shower, and you turned the faucet to the hottest setting, barely flinching as the steaming water hit your body.

Minutes felt like hours as you ran through the possible scenarios of how to day would transpire.

None of the endings were good.

There didn’t seem to be enough time to walk to school, and you felt your heart pound painfully in your chest as you stood in front of the school’s double doors. Other students glanced your way when you remained, stuck in place in front of the entrance, and you only managed to move when someone bumped into you, muttering a quick apology before running to catch up with their friends.

It was… relieving.

You looked around, nervous to hear any whispers, see any judging eyes, but no one seemed particularly interested in you. Managing to make it to your locker, you finally let out a breath.

"Look who finally decided to show up."

His voice made you tense, turning to see him and his usual group of friends. It was hard to meet his eyes. They were having a conversation, but you didn't hear anything, couldn't as you stared at his feet, knowing his eyes were drilling holes into you.

When your gaze finally stumbled up to his, you held your breath at the usual easy-going smile on his face, but his eyes told a different story.

Narrowed, you could feel the anger that seemed to roll off of him in waves.

Eyes snapped back to the ground, as you tried to find something to say. Anything that would get you out of this conversation he was trying to force you into.

“I’ll catch you later,” you decided on, eyes glued to the ground as you tried to not make it seem like you were running away.

You felt eyes burning through your body, but you didn’t turn around. You didn’t go to your class or the cafeteria, you went straight to the little corner of the library, isolated from everyone else and comfortable. Safe.

“Hey,” a chilling voice said.

Until you weren’t.

Your body was rigid as you regarded him. He found you so easily.

“You seemed like you were in a rush back there. Are you good?”

It was mind-numbing. Watching him pretend as if nothing happened when you spent hours agonizing if you were even going to come to school. How could he smile as if nothing was wrong?

“What’s wrong?” he asked, studying your expression carefully. Walking closer, he cocked his head to the side when you took a step back. “Did I do something?” He didn’t hesitate to get into your space, frozen when you bumped into the table rendering you unable to retreat any further. “Why are you avoiding me?”

It was hard not to think about what happened the day before. You couldn’t figure out why he made you so uncomfortable and now alarms were blaring in your head that you needed to leave. To go somewhere, anywhere you weren’t alone with him.

“Back up,” you said through gritted teeth.

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he asked, a charming smile stretching across his face. “Why are you being so cold?”

His hand came up to brush against your cheek and the expression on his face turned hard the minute you swatted it away, unhesitant to shove his hand between your legs before he grabbed you harshly.

You winced, flinching away as you tried to back up, grabbing his hand when the desk simply groaned against your pressing weight, attempting to force him to release his grip.

“You don’t want to be my friend? How do you feel about being my bitch instead?”

You couldn’t focus on the words he spit in your face, gritting your teeth as you tried to escape this situation without experiencing too much pain.

“Let go,” you said, voice bordering desperate when he squeezed harder in response to your resistance.

He chuckled, leaning in closer before resting his head on your shoulder. “You really love telling me what to do.”

You were hot. It was too much. He was making your skin crawl.

Gritting your teeth, you shoved at him, barely managing to hold back a grunt of pain as he was finally forced back. You barely managed to dodge his fist, choosing to slip past him instead of fight just in case someone in the library witnessed your altercation. No matter how great the desire to punch him square across the face, things would only get worse if you were labeled the aggressor.

Barely making it two steps before his hand tangled in the hair above your nape. His hand jerked your head towards him and you felt your heart drop in your stomach when you saw the heavy gaze he had on your lips. A flash of disgust was all you managed to feel when he pulled you in, lips parting to kiss you before your fist collided with his face.

Stumbling back, he let out a laugh as he held his nose, the blood undeniable.

When his manic eyes met yours, that same fear had alarms going off once again. “You’re fucking mine, you hear me?”

The panic in your gut didn’t allow you to stick around to let him finish. You could only pray to god that he’d pass off his injuries as a mistake rather than use it as a way to isolate you once again.

You could only think of how easy it would be for him to trap you alone if no one bothered to see.

You should’ve just stayed invisible.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #ask #yandere male #male darling #male reader #yandere bully

513 notes · View notes