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yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Text

Title: Clingy.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Wanderer x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 5.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Modern AU, Non/Con, Blood, Intimidation/Threats of Violence, Toxic Relationships, Emotional Abuse, Slight Financial Abuse, and Codependent Behavior.

[Part Two]

On your third date, your boyfriend-at-the-time demanded that you give him a spare key to your ‘shitty shoebox of an apartment’, despite refusing to so much as let you into the penthouse Ei had leased for him while going to a university a hundred or so miles away from the multi-story, marble sculpted, beachside mansion he’d reluctantly flown you out to when he got sick of listening to you ask why he still hadn't introduced you to his moms eight months into your relationship. That probably should’ve been your first red flag, but somehow, you’d persisted. He brought out your competitive side, like that.

He made you want to dig your nails in, plant your teeth in your neck, and refuse to let go. It wasn’t good for you, but nothing he did was good for anyone. That never stopped him from doing it, though.

You could only assume that this – Kunikuzushi, your boyfriend of eighteen months and your ex-boyfriend of one, splayed across the couch in your living room, the keys he’d never given back dangling from his ring finger and the phone you’d forgotten when you left for work that morning in the other – wasn’t going to be good for you, either.

You didn’t say anything at first. It was all you could do to groan, to shake your head, to pretend you didn’t see him or didn’t care long enough to throw your messenger bag onto the nearest chair and tear off your jacket. He’d clearly made himself at home. A textbook was open on your coffee table, a drink from the cheap, trendy café he’d always whined about having to take you to sitting half-empty next to it. He wasn’t looking at either, though, his attention entirely centered on your phone. You didn’t have the energy to pretend to be surprised. He used to like to go through your conversations and delete the contacts he ‘didn’t trust’ when you were together, too, but you’d been more willing to write it off as the cute-but-concerning tick of a jealous boyfriend, back then. You must’ve fallen out of practice after your breakup.

You opened your mouth, but he was ultimately the one to break the silence. “You know Ajax?”

You crossed your arms. “Why are you here?”

“I mean, I know you’re in the same microbiology course, but c’mon, him? The fucker couldn’t tell a proton from a nucleolus. Honestly, I’m surprised he hadn’t flunked out yet. Give it another semester - he’ll be gone by spring, I promise.”

“I didn’t say you could come over.”

“I texted you last night. Did you try to block me again?” You’d blocked him, then reported his number, then changed yours when he’d started using burner phones to drunk dial you in the small hours of the morning and leave disjointed, rambling voice mails about how well he was doing without you, how much time he had now that you weren’t pestering him, how many people he’d slept with since the last time you'd seen each other. All of it was bullshit, obviously, but it was his bullshit. Somehow, he always knew just how to get under your skin. “Scratch that – I’ll take care of it. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to get through a month without my help.”

You grit your teeth. Swallowing as much of your anger as you could, you stepped in front of him, snatching your phone out of his hands and retreating before he had a chance to take it back. You were tempted to look at what he’d been scrolling through, see which conversation had gotten him so upset, but you forced yourself to turn off your phone completely, to set it down on the far side of your coffee table and think about something else. It’d take hours to fix the damage he’d done, to unblock all the acquaintances he didn’t approve of and the apologize to all the friends he'd insulted under your name. You’d rather get rid of him first, then try to fix everything he'd already started to tear apart. “Get out.”

He scanned over you, his eyes lingering on the wrinkles in your button-up shirt, the cheap material of your dress pants. “Y'know, if we were still together, you wouldn’t have to put up with that shitty job. You could just quit and finally move in with me.”

Once, you’d let him buy you a new laptop when yours gave out in the middle of the semester and you didn’t think you’d be able to scrape enough up for another before you next exam. It’d been a used model, already a few years out of date, and you swore up and down that you’d pay him back when you had the money, but he’d held it over your head for months, smirked and gloated and taken every opportunity to remind you how grateful you should be to have a boyfriend so willing to spoil his oh-so-unfortunate partner. He hadn’t let you pay him back. He hadn’t let you pay for anything until he’d gotten tired of playing savior and went back to acting like a brat, too desperate for your attention to care if he was in-charge. You doubt he’d be any more bearable if you actually moved in with him, if you lived in his house and relied on his good-will. If you actually depended on him.

But, rather trying to say any of that in a way he’d understand, you sighed, clenching your eyes shut. “It’s an internship and I need it for my major. Get out.”

His scowl wavered. “When did you get so bossy? This isn’t going to work if you think you can tell me what to do.”

“I’m not bossy, you’re just a prick. Get out.”

He sat up, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Cut it out. I’m not going to want to get back together if you keep acting so immature.

“I don’t want to get back together with you.” And then, gesturing towards your door. “Get. Out.”

If nothing else, that seemed to shut him up.

It took a few seconds, but eventually, he responded. There was an airy laugh, a thin smile, a certain air of hurt disbelief as he sat up. “You really aren't kidding, are you?”

You didn’t indulge him with a reaction. Rather, you watched with a pressed scowl as he pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward you. He was in his usually ‘too cool to try, but too bored not to’ get-up – ripped jeans and long sleeves striped in black and violet, half a dozen rings and bolts pierced into the curve of each ear and a belt from a brand you couldn’t name, but knew you were supposed to tacked on to further feed into his ego. He must’ve been here all day. His short hair was more disheveled than he usually liked it to be, and you could see more irritation in his dark eyes than you were used to, paired with a certain type of frustration that only ever slipped out when you managed to keep him waiting. You hadn’t, technically (you couldn’t be late to meet someone who you didn’t want to see), but you didn’t bother trying to point that out.

“I thought it’d be nice to see you after… How long? Five weeks?” He glanced down, starting to toy with something in his back pocket. “I thought we could order lunch, talk for a while, maybe watch a movie or something. Then, I don’t know…” His smile took on an apologetic lull, almost pleading. “Kiss and make up? It’s not like any of this is new for us.”

He wasn’t wrong. You’d been together for a year and a half, and most of that had been spent caught up in ear-splitting, tear-inducing, world-ending fights. He’d burn the notes you borrowed from your classmate, and you'd refuse to talk to him for a week. You’d decide you were over his constant mood swings and go on a date with the cute guy from your calculus class, and he’d mail a slab of raw meat to your best friend because, in his own words, ‘you couldn’t come up with such a stupid idea by yourself’. It wasn’t balanced, you would never be able to give as much as he took, but still. When he started yelling, you did too, and when he showed up at your door a few days later, his eyes still bloodshot from crying, you always took him back. Because he was Kunikuzushi. Because you loved him.

Because you knew he’d make your life hell, if you didn’t.

Which was exactly why you couldn’t just… kiss and make up, this time. Not if it’d mean swallowing your pride and letting him get everything he wanted.

You sighed, but kept your arms crossed, your expression stern. “I’m tired, Kuni. I don’t want to do this anymore.” You paused, bit down on the side of your tongue. “It’s not good for either of us. We’re not good together. I don’t want to pretend that we are.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t fall. “What do you mean, babe?”

“I mean,” You braced yourself, shut your eyes. “I think you should leave.”

At least he seemed to hear that. You watched with as little sympathy as you could manage as his grin cracked and fell away, as his shoulders slumped downward, as he let out an airy chuckle that cracked halfway through. “You’re breaking up with me?”

“We broke up a month ago.” And he’s been insufferable ever since. “And we’re not getting back together.”

Parted lips, glassy eyes. He raked a hand through his bangs, doing what he could to blink away the tears slowly forming in the corners of his eyes. This wasn’t new, and yet, you still found yourself struggling not to break, not to embrace him and mutter soothing nothings while he sobbed quietly into your shirt and wrapped his arms around your waist and, inevitably, ended up on his knees, his face buried between your legs as he made you cum until you forgot why you’d been mad at him in the first place. “Fine. That’s fine. Honestly, that’s great. I don’t know why I’d ever want to be with such a heartless bit—” His voice broke before he could finish. He made a half-hearted effort to wipe at his eyes, but that only drew more attention to the tears starting to roll down his flushed cheeks, only made you more tempted to pull him into a kiss and act like this had never happened. “Fine. If you’re really that sick of me, I’ll go.”

He pushed past you, starting towards your door. That was what you wanted. Kunikuzushi gone, your apartment empty, your life just a little less fucked than it always seemed to be when he was a part of it. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve stood there until he was gone. You should’ve let him leave.

But you heard another hitched sob, a string of muttered swearing, and something in your chest broke open. With a shallow sigh, you dropped your arms to your sides, forcing yourself to speak through clenched teeth. “…do you want a hug before you leave?”

Kunikuzushi glanced over his shoulder. “A hug? What do you think I am, a toddler?”

“It's the only thing I'm putting on the table. Do you want it or—”

You never got the chance to finish. His arms were already around you, pinning your arms to your torso as he buried his face in your shirt. You choked back your protests, forced yourself to fight the instinct to push him away, and in a few excoriating seconds, his hold on you loosened, his back straightening, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder and his lips pressing into your neck. There was a lingering8 kiss laid onto your jugular, then another to the corner of your jaw, but you didn’t bother to try and push him away. Instead, you only shifted in his arms, nudging at his chest. You’d gotten yourself into this, called him back when he was a few steps away from leaving. You only had yourself to blame. “I didn’t say you could—”

“I knew you’d change your mind.” A hand fell to the small of your back, the heel of his palm pressing into the base of your spine. “You always do. You always make the right choice, in the end.”

You opened your mouth, ready to remind him that you weren’t taking him back, but you hesitated. He was always weird, just a little too hostile, just a little too desperate to keep you close to him, but you didn’t trust the levity in his voice, the way his smile pressed into your skin despite how close he’d come to crying a few minutes ago. “I think…” You trailed off, bit down on the side of your tongue. “I haven't changed my mind. You have to—”

Something flat and stiff pressed into your back – the blunt edge of a switchblade. His switchblade, you realized, dredging up hazy memories of bandages wrapped around thighs and hollow promises that he’d be more careful, next time. You heard his nails drum against smooth metal, felt something cold and sharp cut into the skin above your shoulder blade, and you froze, your mind instantly going blank.

He laughed, the noise cracking and airy. Warm breath fanned over the crook of your neck, and he melted into you, nuzzling into the curve of your throat. “I love you.” And then, pressing the blade into your flesh. “Say you love me too.”

Automatic, robotic. The only thing you could spit out through grit teeth. “I love you.”

Another laugh – more giddy, this time, more eager. If he noticed your reluctance, it clearly didn’t bother him. The switchblade was pulled up to the nape of your neck, then drawn in a loose arch to your collarbone, the tip never leaving your skin. “I mean, yeah, obviously. That’s why we get to stay together, even when we’re at each other’s throats.”

He paused, burrowed into you. In turn, you were dragged further into his chest, but pushed away just as quickly, allowed to get just far enough to make it possible for Kunikuzushi to raise his free hand to the collar of your shirt and drag you into a clumsy, rushed kiss – too rough and too forceful for anyone but him to enjoy. His teeth scraped against your lips, his tongue dragging over yours, but he pulled away with a breathy groan, his pale cheeks flushed and his eyes still glossed over. “…you didn’t get with anyone while I was gone, right? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

How could you? He hadn’t given you room to breathe, let alone get past anything more than a first date with someone new. Even when you’d been together (actually together, not fighting or on a break), he’d been so suffocating, so possessive, you’d never been able to get any further than heavy petting, oral, his body on top of yours and your legs wrapped around his waist before he said something you couldn’t brush off and the night devolved into something... less romantic. It was hard to be with someone like Kunikuzushi, someone who acted like they’d rather give up the air in their lungs than a second of your time. Even after a year and a half, it was hard to let your guard down around him when he seemed so willing to give you every reason you ever could've needed to keep it up.

You guessed you should’ve expected this, looking back on it. He’d was bound to get tired of waiting for you to trust him eventually.

This was just his way of letting you know that he’d never really needed you to, in the first place.

Stiltedly, you shook your head, and he let out a relieved sigh. “Perfect. That’s why we’re supposed to be together.” He kissed the corner of your lips, then your forehead. “You’d never hurt me.”

He didn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he took you by the hand – his fingers intertwining with yours as he turned and tugged you forward, moving to lead you further into your apartment. The switchblade left your skin, falling momentarily to his side, and for a few brief seconds, you considered trying to get away, jerking yourself out of your hold and running as far away as you could get from him and his fucking issues. You made a passing effort, but Kunikuzushi’s grip turned crushing as soon as you began to shift, and you gave up before he could break something more vital than your heart. He was between you and the door, you and your phone. He had a knife, a weapon. He had you, and until he decided he was done, he wasn’t going to let you go without a fight.

With little ceremony, you were drawn out of your living room and into your cramped bedroom. Kunikuzushi let go of your hand, but you didn’t have time to run before you were being pushed onto your unmade bed, before he was straddling your waist and pinning you to the center of the mattress. The knife was brought back to your neck, but quickly plunged lower, slid beneath your uppermost button and used to separate thread from fabric. Somehow, annoyance managed to overshadow your panic, if only for as long as it took for one rational thought to be followed by another. This was your nicest shirt, one of a handful you’d splurged on for your internship, but it wasn’t like Kunikuzushi would ever understand anything like that. It wasn’t like he’d ever tried to, before.

The tip caught on the slight dip below your diaphragm and you winced, a few dots of red immediately seeping into white fabric. You winced, beginning to protest on reflex. “Kuni’, that—”

“I’ll take care of it.” Absentminded, only half conscious that he was speaking at all. He reached the hem, pulling his switchblade free and letting your dress shirt fall away from your chest and over your shoulders, as useless as it was embarrassing. “I’ll take care of everything when we’re done. Just sit pretty and keep your mouth shut for a while.”

Really, you could only wonder why you hadn’t dumped him sooner.

Your pants were next, slits carved into the material over your hips and ruined fabric torn away. He moved to cut off your boxers, too, but seemed to hesitate, to linger, to find the strength to pause just long enough to drag two fingers over your clothed slit and press the pad of his thumb into your clit. You hissed at the friction, but Kunikuzushi only smiled, dipping his head low enough for his lips to ghost over your collarbone, then the midline of your chest, then the tender spot just below your navel. The last was accompanied by a slight groan, throaty and deep. You did what you could to block it out. This would be better if you didn’t think about it, if you just imagined he was trying to win you back after a fight, that there was a wilting rose in his other hand and not a knife already stained with your blood.

It was almost a mercy when his hands finally slipped under the hem of your boxers, doing away with your last layer of protection with only a slight laugh and a lilting smile. You did what you could to relax, to lean back and close your eyes, but Kunikuzushi’s weight was an ever-present anchor to reality, only made worse as he shifted lower, as he pulled your legs apart and threw them over his shoulders. He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs, his teeth ghosting over tender flesh as he sucked harsh bruises into whatever he could reach. This was his favorite part, by far. He’d always been clingy – possessive to the point of total, nail-biting, jaw-locking paranoia. At first, you’d been able to write it off as a sort of overeager enthusiasm that came with a new relationship, but he’d never stopped. He was always ready, always desperate to dig his teeth into your skin and leave as many marks as you’d let him – or rather, as many as he possibly could before you were able to pry him away. Even then, you’d tried to think of it as cute, just one of the quirks of your immature-but-loving boyfriend. Now, all you could do was hope it’d be over soon.

It took him full minutes to actually reach your cunt, for his tongue to lave over your slit. Instantly, you stiffened, clenching your eyes shut and attempting to ignore the heady sounds of his whimpering moans, the feeling of his tongue tracing patterns in your entrance. It was sloppy, messy, all drool and teeth and clutching hands, but warmth flooded into your core as the bridge of his nose ground into your clit, as his hands wrapped around your hips and dragged you that much closer to his mouth. Everything he did was dirty, but he knew you, knew your body, knew that you’d have to spread your legs as soon as his tongue thrust into you.

You arched your back as two fingers slid into your entrance alongside his tongue, scissoring you open while his attention shifted to your clit – his lips sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves while he sucked gently. If he hadn’t been so vocal, it might’ve been more bearable, but no, he couldn’t seem to stop whining into your cunt, to stop sending waves of those awful reverberations from your clit to your core every time he whimpered or grunted or moaned. Before you could stop yourself, your hips were rolling weakly against his mouth as he nursed you through your sudden climax. When you fell limp, his mouth fell away, but his hand still cupped your pussy, his fingers still curling and thrusting inside of you.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t let up, not until you were crying out and clenching around him, not until you could feel the slick running down your thighs, soaking into your sheets. He didn’t stop until you were babbling – spitting out incoherent pleas for him to slow down before the overstimulation turned from overwhelming to agonizing. You were forced to endure another kiss to the inside of your thigh, the wet sound of his tongue running over his fingers, but he pulled away in a few seconds, finally letting you have just enough space to breathe. Even that was temporary, cut short by his lips crashing into yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, as little as you wanted to. You could feel him panting against your lips, and it was all you could do not to scream.

He pulled away abruptly, grinning. “You’re a virgin.”

It wasn’t a question, but you found yourself shaking your head, denying it on instinct. “I never—"

“You didn’t have to.” There was a peck to the corner of your lips, another to your cheek. “I know everything about you. Your parents were too strict to let you date in high school, and none one’s ever lasted more than a couple of weeks with you before me. Since you wouldn’t so much as take off your shirt around me before our three-month anniversary, I’m going to assume you weren’t a total slut before we met.”

You narrowed your eyes, shoving gently at his chest. You just needed space. You just needed him to get away from you. “So?”

“So,” he leaned in, his smiling growing that much wider. “I’m going to ruin you.”

It was something about his tone, the dark glint in his eyes as he leered over you. Your heart dropped in your chest, and very distinctly, something very large and very sharp began to crawl up your throat.

You started to shake your head, but he was already edging jeans downward, already freeing his cock – the flushed tip leaking precum in fat, white pearls. His weight was enough to keep you pinned down as he aligned himself with your entrance, as he traced the head over the length of your slit, and his eyes never left your face, your expression painted with heavy strokes of horror and disbelief. He never wavered, never blinked, even as he thrust inside of you, bottoming out in a single uninterrupted motion. Even as you cried out, the sound more pained than anything else. Even as you felt a single, warm teardrop fall off of his cheek and onto yours. You hadn’t realized you’d shut your eyes, not until you forced yourself to open them, not until you found him cloudy-eyed and grinning above you.

He was crying, again.

Huh.

You thought he would’ve given up on that, by now.

He wasn’t gentle. He’d never been delicate with you, but right now, it felt like he was trying to be rough, to pin your legs against your chest and split you open every time he moved his hips, every time he found a way to hit something deeper and more sensitive inside of you. You tried to scream, but your voice caught in your throat, strangling itself into something more akin to a cracked whine and a few broken whimpers. The stretch, the pressure was more than you could take. You couldn’t stop yourself – going rigid underneath him, your eyes rolling back as your mouth fell open in a silent, agonized cry. Your reactions, however involuntary, only seemed to spur Kunikuzushi on, his pace growing more erratic and his breath now coming in quick, shallow pants. No matter what you did, it just made him worse.

You could hear him talking, distantly – little mumbled tangents forming between thrusts. “You’re just so—” He cut himself off with a long, wordless moan. “We’ll do this every day, until— until you know you don’t need anyone but me. Then, you’ll love me, and you’ll never have to—” He thrust deeper into you, letting out a fracturing laugh. “And then, I’ll rip out your tongue and cut off your legs if you try to leave. We’ll always be together. No one will ever, ever take you away from me again.”

You weren’t with him. You didn’t want to be with him. If it wasn’t for his immaturity, his manipulativeness, his fucking knife, this wouldn’t be—

His knife.

Both of his hands were on your thighs, his nails digging into your flesh, keeping your knees pressed into your chest. He wasn’t holding it. He couldn’t be.

Without daring to look away from him, you groped around the mattress blindly, your fingertips eventually brushing against something cold and metallic – his switchblade lying abandoned on the edge of the bed. You took it up before you could hesitate, gripping the handle tightly enough for the sharp corners to bite into your palm, for your hand to cramp and go numb by the time you found the strength to actually lift it up. You didn’t aim. You didn’t have time to, not unless you wanted to think about what you were doing, not unless you wanted to let Kunikuzushi win. Not unless you could—

The curved tip just barely made contact with the skin above his collarbone before you faltered, before he had time to catch your wrist in an iron-clad hold. You tried to let go of the switchblade reflexively, but his hand shifted to wrap around yours, to keep the blade pressed into his chest – applying just enough pressure to break the skin. “Do it.” Soft, drawn out, too eager to mean anything good. “I’d let you carve your name into me, if you wanted to. All you'd have to do is ask.”

You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to. You didn't want any of this, but Kunikuzushi pressed the blade in his skin regardless, letting out muttered confessions of love and loyalty as a thin red line formed in his flesh, as blood dripped down his chest and disappeared behind the loose collar of his shirt, blotting against the dark fabric. He guided your blade to his lips, next, making a small nick in the corner of his mouth before taking the switchblade out of your hand and tossing it onto the floor, out of your reach. It would’ve hurt less if he’d tried to hurt you, too, taken the blade to your skin after his own. If would've hurt less if he’d acknowledged that you’d tried to do anything at all.

You didn’t have much time to linger on that thought, though. He was already moving again, already making up for time lost by fucking into you like a man crazed. With no preparation, no warning, he jerked forward, his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you, as he forced his tongue past your teeth and smeared his blood over your lips. It felt like you were drowning in nickel, being slowly suffocated by some nameless, slick, oppressive force. It felt like you were choking, despite being able to breathe, to think as clearly as you’d ever been able to around him. It felt like you were going to die.

But, you weren’t. He’d never be so kind, he’d never let you have that kind of comfort, not when he was still grinding into you, not when his cock was twitching against the walls of cunt and he was groaning into your mouth without reservation. You could feel your poor overstimulated pussy clenching around him, your vision burning white around the edges as, for lack of anything more stable to hold onto, you wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your nails over his back, clawing into whatever you could reach. If he noticed, if he cared, it only worked to drag him that much closer, to leave him as deep as he could possibly be when he finally finished, when you felt something warm and vile flood into you.

He stayed like that for a long moment, silent and unmoving, his chest pressed into yours and his lips trailing from your mouth to your throat, settling just above your jugular. It was a small mercy when he finally pulled away and straightened his back, easing himself out of you and wiping the blood off of his face, his neck. You watched from a distance as he fixed his clothes, before pushing himself to his feet, never sparing you so much as a second glance. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Pack your stuff, and make sure you’ve gotten your shit together by then. I’m not letting a mess like you into my apartment.” He paused, lingered long enough to smile. With no sense of visible urgency, he walked to the side of your bed, retrieving his switchblade and kissing your forehead softly, gingerly, with a kind of tenderness you could only wish he’d found a few hours earlier. “I love you, babe. Even when you act like a fucking idiot.”

His grin pressed into flesh, cutting and cruel.

“And I’m so, so glad you’ve realized that you love me too.”

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