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running-with-kn1ves · 2 months

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Drunken Stupor

A/N: this is based off of that drunken yan gangster idea that I couldn't get out of my head. I might rewrite it or do it differently but this is 4 u my 1 gangster lovin' anon for now!

OG Yandere Gangster Drabble (nsft) w/ da Yan Gangster Ramble

TW: kidnapping, drunken yandere, noncon kissing (no nsft), threats, toxic behavior,

Puzzles, accompanied by whatever news channel you could get through. Paint-by-number pictures, and shitty DVD’s from another time. Horribly thin sheets and an aching back--- you were completely, utterly, and seemingly irrevocably, isolated. The tight handcuffs around your feet only allowed you to hop around the house, barely making it to the front door before you tripped over the rug and nosedived into the cold, black floor.

How long has it been? When was the last time you felt the spring wind on your face? You weren’t even allowed to open the windows, out of your captors fear of you screaming for help, even with him right next to you. He gave you countless things to keep yourself entertained, whether they be knitting grandma-like sweaters or taking up a different artistic hobby, anything that could keep you in one spot for long without the need to move or the option to hurt yourself.

You were tempted to scream, to throw your half-finished puzzle at the wall and destroy the nice room set up for you that once belonged to the lone bachelor-- who, was much later than usual tonight. Your throat was too sore to keep up with the screaming however, and you pushed it to the back of your mind to try again tomorrow. If he came home all of a sudden and found you screaming at the ripe hour of 11 PM, he might do more than just threaten with one of his switchblades.

You hated being around the bastard, feeling so terrified and weak like maybe today would finally be your last-- but at this point, you were going insane being by yourself for so long. Even a nice screaming match with him until your voice finally left you would more desirable than watching another 80s thriller that would haunt your dreams, alone. For someone who wasn’t home very often, he certainly had an extensive collection of old gangster movies, romcoms too even. But you couldn’t put Sixteen Candles on again without wanting to rip your eyes out-- not even one of his five million copies of The Godfather. Who needs that many copies of the same movie?

Your exhausted, beaten-down brain jolted at the sound of someone jerking at the door handle. The door practically thumped with the lock against the wall, dust raining as it was violently ripped back and forth. But then came the familiar jangle of an overloaded key ring, one you had heard most nights for what you can only assume has been the past month.

Finally, your spiked anxiety crashed when you saw those familiar, much-too-shiny-for-a-gangster-to-be-wearing black leather shoes thump inside. You peaked your head out from your sitting position near the opened bedroom door, trying to get a glimpse without getting up and alerting him of your presence. It was inevitable for him to come to you, his kidnapee, but you tried to postpone the smothering for as long as possible. Maybe now was the time to chuck that puzzle.

“You reallyyy gotta hold *hic* on mee…”

Mismatched footsteps trudged, stopping first to hit the corner of what you could only assume was the livingroom loveseat.

“Move outa ma way, couch! ..Even though you… treeat me *hic* badlyy..”

You heard the raking of fingernails on the couch cushions, the clink of a bottle rolling on the ground back and forth. You didn’t dare look back through the door crack. Maybe you should shut it? Lord knows what that would cause him to do, though.

“You still gotts’a hold on me…”

The sing-songy voice came closer, belonging to the madman you dreaded the return of. Within the crack of the door you saw a dark silhouette, the TV casting a face-shadowing glow that made you just an inch more terrified.

“Hey, baby…” He hiccuped.

“Well that’s new,” You started, looking away from him back to your puzzle. “When did I become your ‘baby’?”

He moaned thoughtfully, thinking about your rhetorical question. “After you kidnapped me, I suppose?”

Maybe it was wrong to poke the beast, especially because he smelled like dirty whiskey and had three buttons too loose on his dress shirt, showing a deep scar betwixt his faint chest hair. A vulnerable image he’d never let you witness soberly.

“Hrmmm….” He pushed his entire weight on the door, letting it creak open as he looked at you with a smile.

“I dunno…maybe.” He laughed a little, giving a small snort like a schoolboy hearing his first nasty joke.

You rolled your eyes. Damn, as if you weren’t on edge before, now you were going to have to deal with the equivalent of a murderous toddler who’s been threatening to hurt you ever since you were first brought here. Drunken fools were best left at the bar.

But your icy demeanor didn’t sway his unsettingly good mood, the gangster opening the door all the way to flop onto your (unwillingly) shared bed. He dug his face into the sheets that smelled like you, looking at the back of your head that was pressed against the edge of the mattress.

“Was thinkin’ bout’cha…” He murmurs, tugging at a strand of your hair from behind. “Couldn’t stop talkin’ to the boys, ‘bout how pretty you are..”

The short yanks at your hair to get your attention were becoming annoying, though you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of glaring face-to-face.

“Told em’ how nice you look when yer sleepin’, when ya brush ya teeth, sayin’ that they’re not allowed to have ya....”

You hummed in response, trying to bend away to get closer to your puzzle. But you could sense the bubbling in your stomach, could feel that something was coming. Whether it’d be a bunch of slobbered kisses or your early demise, you couldn’t tell.

“Oh really?” You asked, knowing he’d been adamant on not saying a word or letting make a peep about your existence in his gang-funded condo.

“Yah, I did. Don’t believe me? Said i’d cut their fingers off, like boss does when some’n fucks up. I’d slam into em, make em watch while I...”

He went quiet, and you thanked whatever made him. Whatever he said, you didn’t want to know; you’d already had enough of an unwilling look into his violent thoughts.

“Well, doesn’t matter now, right... ‘cause now I gots’ya here. Mmph,” You hear him kick his shoes off, his face coming up to bury in your hair. “Smellin’ so good, lookin’ so nice fr’ me… wanting you so bad.”

The sound of him inhaling you, his nose pressed to your neck as he shimmies his head deeper against you like a cat is uncomfortably warm. You feel two hands creep up, looking for your shoulders to push you back and make you more accessible.

The gangster wasn’t normally so affectionate, so quiet and simple when he spoke. You were waiting for it to be replaced by his normal, angrily resentful behavior, the type that’d pull you by the hair to kiss you, that’d rant about the idiots he’d had to deal with for the day at you. But maybe, just maybe, you were in the clear for now?

“You’re acting weird,” You try to jerk away. “I’m not in the mood to entertain you, okay? Just, let me do my puzzle in peace. Go take a shower or something.”

He’s quick to respond, wrapping veiny arms around your shoulders and dangerously close to your neck.

“Nuh huh, not unless yer comin’ with me, wanna show how much I loove you,” His head pops up closer to yours, the stressed crinkles under his eyes making him look older. “Cuz’ baby, you reallyy gotta hold on mee..”

“Stop stop stop.” You couldn’t take the second-hand embarassment of listening him to try to sing again, horribly off key and far too confident in each drawn out word. “What do I have to do to stop you from singing again?”

“I can’t hold it in though. Love’s too strong for you, love.” His disheveled hair, once slicked back in an oily black, now strewn about across his forehead as it nearly covers his eyebrows. He presses his forehead towards you. “Lemme kiss. Told the boys you give the best kisses, lemme prove it..”

“Prove what-- they’re not even here!” You try to go under his arm-barricade, only to be stopped as he practically puts his full weight forward, dragging him with you each time you move.

“Lovin’ you for so long, jusst a kiss, just one kith..” He reaches for your cheek with his lips, ignoring how you whip your head around in retaliation.

“No, no! You stink like a bar and ciggarettes, get off me.”

He grunts in frustration, biting down on his lower lip as his dark, full eyebrows furrow together.

“Let me kiss or i’ll.. I’ll gut you like a fish, my lovely..”

You stopped at that, looking out of the corner of your eye to his pink-tinted cheeks and strong neck that sweated at the sight of you.

He puts a ringed knuckle to your cheek, huffing as his eyes go half-lidded. His suit was all wrinkled from rolling around on the bed, dirty with the day’s work and bar-stench as he forced you back against the end of the mattress.

“C’mon, don’t make me say stuff like that just for a kiss…” He whined, scooting closer. “Maybe I’ll start singing again, y’knoww, if y’don’t come close.”

“Please just… don’t hurt me.” You mumbled, trying to avoid that blank, dark look he often held that came crawling back a moment ago. You didn’t want that sober side right now; this was somehow easier to handle, even if it meant losing your dignity.

“Don’t wanna, never will,” He hums, staring unbothered at your lips, as if he wasn’t holding you tight enough to suffocate. “S’just kiss me, need it bad..”

You looked around, as if there was anyone else looking, trying to avoid the task that made you shiver inside.

But you didn’t get a chance to reject the drunken gangster again, his wet lips coming against the side of your face. He poked the tip of his tongue out, flicking against your lip before going tongue-first into your surprised mouth.

Anytime he had tried to kiss you, to do anything overtly intimate, the most he released was the silent huffs of a man too wrapped up in himself to let you hear anything of pleasure. But now, you witnessed the lewd shlops of his lips against yours, the neediness of the back of his throat, groaning to be deeper inside of you.

One of his heavy hands cradled the back of your head, his stupor not caring (or rather, not noticing) how little you moved, how you seemed to be backing into his large palm that massaged your hair.

“Loved’ya forever, so happy you were so stupid…” He mumbles between licks to the corner of your lip, diving back into the sticky warmth of you. “What kinda… mph, idiot, doesn’t..hugh, report to the police..?”

With his arm once wrapped around you, the gangster takes your limp wrist to his collar, bringing it to hold his loose tie. He makes you drag him closer, guiding your slow and frowning lips in his one-sided makeout session.

“Not’ma fault, making your life so much better now.. N’now, you’re mine.” He grins, a stupid little grin from the alcohol and delusion swarming his head as he consumes you, fingers coming to fiddle with your cotton T-shirt as he draws lines down your chest. “My sweet sunshine, all mine, forever n’ ever.”

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running-with-kn1ves · 3 months

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Hii ! I wanted to ask if you could do more yandere gangster.

A/N: here's a ramble that is similar to so many other fics/imagines but its ALL I CAN THINK OF RN...

CW: kidnapping, yandere themes, murder, illicit substances mentioned, weaponry, some suggestive thots, general dark content shtuff.

Gangster! Yan who’s the right hand man to one of your city’s oldest gangs, the bosses family operating it since the prohibition era. Their main source of income back then was smuggling alcohol to different speakeasies and clubs, now mostly dabbling in the occasional shipment of opioids or small arms that they can get their hands on. Your gangster! Yan doesn’t handle that side of business, though. He’s been tasked to oversee deals, and the protection of the boss and whatever sweet treat he has on his arm for the evening.

When a ‘project’ goes haywire, he’s there to settle things. When someone needs to be taken care of, he oversees it while his boys do what they need to. And when there’s a witness to a particularly unsavory part of business, he personally sees to shutting them up.

That’s why he didn’t have a choice but to watch you, to learn your morning routine and stare intensely when you perused the grocery isles indecisively. The boss put him up to it, to dispose of every flaw in their seamless operations; countless times he entered your backdoor, breaking the lock you had just replaced due to his previous endeavor, watching you curl up in warm white sheets and smush your face against your pillow. Standing outside wasn’t an option anymore, his shadow from the window disturbed you, and it blocked the trickle of moonlight on your dewey skin.

Even with the small pistol in his hidden coat pocket, the crowbar he ued to pry the door open, the compulsion to rid you of what you had seen to appease his leader could not overtake the complete desire to rub his face into your chest, to have your thighs wrapped around his head like a sea of warmth, needing that earthy scent of your skin that somehow calmed his screaming heart to completely surround him.

What drew him to you was how alone you had been-- at home, at the scene of the crime, when you were out and about. Who would miss you? Who was there to take care of you? What would be the purpose to killing you? You hadn’t even gone to the police yet, despite the millions of questionable asks you submitted to reddit and looked up online for what to do after seeing a man’s murder.

The roughly edged gangster found it endearingly cute, so foreign to the life he had led. You had no way of stopping him if he completed what he was supposed to, no one to turn to if you suddenly found yourselves at the hands of a shady group of men who used you as a drug mule.

Gangster! Yan knew the kind of underlings his boss employed, easy men on probation or past druggies who wouldn’t think for a minute to stop from gobbling you up on the side of the street if you just so happened to walk down the wrong alley. Seeing as you had stupidly yet to make a distinct change your route after witnessing his gangs work, it could happen any day now.

He couldn’t let you fall prey to the men he didn’t have a leash on, nor let you continue to live in such suffocating solitude with that neutral look on your face forever. Even if it was only filled with fear from now on, from him-- he’d give you a better life than what you lived.

It was too easy to take you, too easy to drag you to his car, too easy to put you in the decent condo he had been paying for the past decade and barely came home to. Now, he had just realized, he’d have a real reason to come back home. He couldn’t just sleep the night away in shitty bars just to wake up to the next day of work. He had to take care of you, feed you, make sure you bathed.

Gangster! Yan was almost as surprised when he gave you the cold shoulder, heartlessly teasing you for your stupidity in walking down a known drug-trade neighborhood, for not having realized that he had stalked you every. single. Day. as you were blind to his heavy, broad shadow of scars and grimaces.

You were so quietly willing to appease him, to scoot to his lap when he demanded it with a threatening hand over his pocket, pretending as if the empty space was a weapon. “Please don’t kill me” you asked neverendingly, every meek breath expecting a slap or a shove off. But the criminal held onto you tighter, hating the reminder that you weren’t a willing pet.

Even when your eyes faded back with ecstasy, your arms thrown around his shoulders with a grip that only a lover could offer, he saw the flinch you gave when he bent down to kiss you.

Even with his harsh spats that he throws at you for your mistakes, his belittlement, you are his comfort doll when he’s deal with hardships for the day. When the horrible things he’s done starts to get to him and the alcohol doesn’t drown it out, or when one of his drop-offs go to shit, you’re the one he bee-lines for for to rant to, to make you stroke him and nod at how hard he’s worked. But his possessiveness is soul-crushing. His grip is painful when he holds you at night, his kisses rough against your mouth with his chain-smoker breath and chapped lips that haven’t been touched in ages.

But with you, he’s learned to take better care of himself. He already has you, wants you in every way, but he needs you to want him, to need him. So, coming home to shower, geling his hair back like he did as a young rookie, shaving his 5 o’clock shadow, he’s made himself into the perfect, respectable man-- or wannabe bad boy. But no amount of grooming could change your perception of the blood stained gangster that kept you in a cage before you were trustworthy enough to be chained to the bed.

“I’ve killed for you, who else could say that?”

“Been thinkin’ bout you all day, waiting here for me. Came home as fast as I could so you wouldn’t be lonely. A nobody like you can’t be left to your own devices for too long.”

“Won’t let no other fucker get a hold of you, you’re mine-- through and through. I’ll kill us both before something seperates us.

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running-with-kn1ves · 26 days

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cw: borderline nsfw, werewolf tings, tit sucking

Im thinking... sinfully perverted thoughts. Sucking on your werewolf boyfriend's big ol' tits. It started out simple-- he was just a moving pillow, chest so soft and pliable with a curved body that could practically envelop you with its warmth and softness.

When you laid on him at the end of each tough day, buried your face in between his pecks to avoid the sun's wrath in the morning, watching him stroll around with bedhead and no shirt as a tooth brush hangs from his mouth-- they all lead up to your depraved obsession. You joked with him at first, grabbing his chest from behind and using him as a stressball, saying you'd have to start buying bras for him to cover those D-cups. But a heavy makeout session can make you do things without a forethought.

Such as, leaving a trail of love bites below his collar bone, hickieing below his right nipple, latching on as if it was the most natural continuation. A slight "ah-" leaves his bitten lips. But you continue like nothing, letting him put a clawed hand against the back of your head, trying to pull you back to his lips. It was his fault for being fresh out the shower, shirtless and wet hair calling you to run your hands through. You had kissed your way up to his other peck before you were dragged into a mouth of sharp, throat-cutting teeth.

"Such a weirdo," he mumbled, massaging the hickie you left on his sensitive bud. But it wasn't long before you found you way back to the untouched left peck, straddling his waist after a dry hump session he initiated into you from below. It was only a few more weeks until rut season, you were treading dangerous waters getting him worked up like this with no release.

But like an addict you ran to his free nipple, ignoring the werewolf's desperate attempts to shimmy off his sweatpants. The once wet strands sticking to his forehead from the shower, now sheened with sweat. Tongue circling, small rubs just below his belly button, you were creating a mess of drool and embarrassment below you.

"Why you keep doin' that.. feels weird.." He gruffs, almost bucking into your palm when your hand reaches his upper thigh. "Can't you suck a little lower." He laughs with a short palming of his crotch, wishing the stiffness below his lazy cotton sweatpants was what you were obsessed with keeping your mouth on.

But your boyfriend realizes you won't let up, not when his tanned, enlargened chest muscle popped in your mouth like a sweet treat. Shiny eyes looking up at him with mischief, watching him pant with an open mouth and a wince everytime you pinched his free nipple. He might've not enjoyed it as much as you did, but the slowly inching fingers below grey fabric and his boxer-less hips was more than enough to make up for your teasing.

You relished in his groans, bulged biceps curling to grab a pillow to shove over his face. He practically bounced into your hand, squeaking when your teeth bit at his nipple, bite marks on the side of his breast. It was freeing, having the ability to pay him back for all the wolfy slobbering and harsh teeth sinking he did when the full moon rose. And you didn't feel bad one bit-- in fact, you should've taken up this tit obsession sooner.

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year

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Got me awe struck how you write so well kinda wish i had that skill too! Anyway, how about boyfriend praising reader(who felt insecure) starting from sweet then getting creepier. Like something in the lines of "praising their kindness, so lucky to have them" to "he knows , he will kill for them."

A/N: A/N: sacrificed my soul for this one and it didn't turn out as slayful as I wanted.. Anyway, I hope this is what you were thinking anon :D sorry for any mistakes and thank you!

Synopsis: Your boyfriend's compliment goes a little too far when he tries to cheer you up.

T/W: Mildly graphic threats of violence, forced kissing, manipulation, insecure reader, yandere themes/behaviors

WC:3000

You found yourself in a bathroom stall for the fifth time in one evening, sitting on the toilet with your head in your hands. You just wanted it all to go away: the people, the drinks, the music that boomed in your ears. You had already stained your sequined clothes with spilt champagne earlier that night, the stickiness of it on your chest beginning to mix with the thick sweat crawling down your neck. It was too damn hot in here, the buzz of the bathroom fan making you claw at your updone hair.

The mass amounts of club goers here were far more accustomed to this lifestyle than you. Which was intimidating, to say the least. They all looked so perfectly dolled up-- not a smudge of makeup out of place, delicious scents of colognes and perfumes mixing together. Not to mention, they could hold their alcohol far better than you could.

One bitter cocktail and you were already hazy-eyed, your face warm and balance a little loopy. You were by no means drunk, but the contents of your drink had certainly offered a level of instability to your emotions and movements.

The image of men in their chic dress shirts that showed hours of gym time and girls in their tight party dresses made you want to curl up in the corner and marinate in self-pity. It was hard not to compare yourself, not when you spent hours searching for the right clothes that would fit with your boyfriend’s stylish accents, constantly perfecting your concealer to hide the dark bags beneath your eyes.

And yet, even with your hard work, you still felt out of place, still felt the pinch of hundreds of passing stares and biting grins of condescension as you stood next to your overly charismatic significant other.

Through your pounding headache and shaky breaths, You could hear the winding creak of the bathroom door being pushed open.

Narrow-footed shoes echoed on the white tile floor, slowly passing each bathroom stall and sink basin.

“Sweetheart?” A voice questioned. “You in here?”

You stayed silent, covering your mouth and lifting your feet from the floor. You didn’t want him to know you had spent the past 20 minutes in here wiping away stinging tears from your eyes, shoving paper towels down the front of your dazzling shirt to soak up champagne. You smelled like alcohol and whatever cleaner they used to permeate the bathroom with, and it certainly wouldn’t be a sight that you wanted your boyfriend to see.

However, despite your attempts to make yourself disappear, you saw his clubbing shoes patiently make their way to the front of your stall. You looked within the separating crack of the door and the wall, seeing a blur of black clothes and sun-kissed skin. Your eyes focused and without warning you made eye contact with him, his face showing a worried, yet sly grin. He was waiting-- peering in on you sitting there in ruin.

You jolted in surprise, your foot slipping from the toilet seat as you looked away. You hoped if you moved fast enough, that maybe he would think you were someone else.

“C’mon, let me in.” He pressed against the door, trying to open it from the outside.

Well, seemed like tricking him didn’t work.

“Don’t come in here Ezra! I--” You weren’t sure how to convince him to go away. “I don’t want you to see me.”

He went quiet, keeping his hand atop the door handle and watching the door.

“Why not?”

Panic rose in your chest again, forcing you to try to come up with a way to get him to leave you alone, atleast long enough to make yourself look presentable.

“I-... I just--”

“C’mon, I promise I won’t make fun of you or anything, just open the door,” He raddled the handle, pressing his face against the crack of the door.

“Don’t!” You shout, trying to cover the crack with your hands.

Your boyfriend let out a low grunt, annoyed at your stubbornness.

He tried rattling the door once more, pulling hard enough to make the hinges creak. You feared that if he pulled any harder, he might rip the entire door off.

“You’ve been in there for almost a half hour,” Ezra impatiently replied, putting his hand on the top of the stall door. “If you don’t open up, I’m going to force my way in there.”

He began to pull, jerking the door hard enough that the other stalls began to clatter.

“No-- wait okay okay okay!” You panicked, trying to pry his hand away from the top of the door.

Instantaneously he grabbed your wrist, pulling it upward to get a good handle on you. His fingers were warm, as if he had his hands clenched for a long period of time.

“I’m not letting go until you do.” He said coldly, squeezing your hand. He was serious, holding your wrist securely enough to show he meant business: he’d stand there all night if that's what it took. Your several disappearances had worried him enough.

His thumb moved up to caress the dip in your palm, turning your hand to face outwards. Ezra’s face was still pressed up against the door crack, looking to provoke you further out.

Stomping your foot, you wracked your brain for something-- anything, to deter him away. But the lingering threat of his hand left your mind to draw a blank.

“....Fine.” You mutter, pulling the paper towels out of your chest. You try to wipe away any leftover tears, but you know it does little to lessen the redness of your eyes.

With a shaky breath, you ask him to stand back, and slowly unlock the door. Purposely taking as long as possible, you keep your feet moving at an inchworm's pace, hardly stepping away from the stall.

Your boyfriend tears open the stall door now that its unlocked, not yet releasing your arm.

You see his figure in front of you but refuse to look up, instead turning away and allowing him to drag you out of the small confines of the stall. He pulls you to the large sink basins, reaching for your chin. You flinch a little as he turns your head, looking at your tear stricken face. You felt like a mess, but he didn’t seem to change expression as you stared back.

“Now, what’s been the matter sweetheart?”

You feel the cold of his rings against your balmy cheeks, his thumb running over your wet eyelashes to brush away unfallen tears.

“I just don’t feel good…” You say, relishing in the affection, even though it makes your stomach churn.

“What doesn't feel good?” He asks, letting go to inspect the rest of you.

You relax against the low counter, feeling it hit your tailbone.

“Did someone hurt you?” He searches your body for marks. “Are you feeling sick? Had too much to drink, baby?”

You shake your head, suddenly feeling like a child answering to their mother.

“You’re going to have to tell me what it is, then. I can’t read your mind.” He lightly scolds.

There’s a gentleness in the deep vibrato of his voice as he bares the blunt words, looking at you with an expectant gaze.

You fidget a tad, beginning to pace in a small two-step dance.

“I just--” You turn away, fidgeting with your fingers. “I feel, ridiculous.”

You move to grasp your forehead, avoiding your boyfriends gaze.

“Dressed up in this stupid get up, surrounded by these people who-- who I don’t belong next to, who make me look like a fool for being here…!”

You fold your arms over your chest defensively, turning away from the man.

“Did you see the way everyone was looking at me? I looked so stupid, standing next to you! Or even next to them, as if I could convince them that I belong here, next to someone of their own.” You turned to stare at your reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the person who stared back. “I just.. I don’t belong here, with you… with these people… I feel absurd for even trying.”

You hear your voice shake at the last few words, not realizing you were getting worked up enough to cry. But then there it was, that burning in your nose and the blurriness of tears in your eyes. You felt your face scrunch and tense up, the ugliness of your cries breaking out to make you feel even smaller.

Putting a hand to your mouth and turning away from the mirror, you hoped your boyfriend hadn’t seen or heard the way you appeared ready to sob.

But a heavy, commanding hand pulled your shoulder back, turning you around with ease as you let your body fall to whatever whims he desired.

Your nose was shoved against Ezra’s chest as he pushed your head against him, wrapping his arms around you. He stroked your hair, pushing it off your sweaty skin. It was almost suffocating, the way he trapped you against him. But it made you feel secure, knowing that he couldn’t see your face full of tears and shame, that you didn’t have to continue to spill your heart out to him.

“Baby….” He said. It was in such a soft, understanding tone that you didn’t think it came from his lips at first. “How could you ever, ever, compare yourself to these… strangers?”

You sniffled against his dress shirt, hiding yourself in his chest and expensive cologne, a scent so familiar and potent that it put your body at ease.

“I mean, you? Versus them? These half drunken idiots who can barely hold themselves up?” Your boyfriend chuckled, shaking slightly against you. “Darling why would you ever want to be like them?”

You wiped your eyes, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

“I thought thats what… you wanted. How else am I supposed show up when I meet your friends.” You mumbled.

Your boyfriend pulls your chin, lifting you to face him.

“I brought you here to meet everyone because I wanted them to meet you, not whatever persona the rest of the assholes here portray.”

You looked away, letting his words sink in.

“Besides, they were only looking at you because you were the most captivating thing in that room,” He ran his pointer finger over your bottom lip, the cold of his rings hitting the bitten skin.

“The most,” He cut himself off with a kiss to your neck. “Stunning,” kiss, ” “kind,” another kiss, “and amazing thing in that room. They were just how awestruck I was when I first saw you.”

He softened as he saw you squeeze your lips shut, preventing a smile from escaping.

“Though I won’t let them make the same moves on you like I did.” He joked, laughing as he saw you roll your eyes.

Brushing his thumb on your cheek, Ezra took away the remnants of tears. A pit of shame grew in your stomach when you saw him frown at your saddened state.

“But listen,” He bent closer to your face, shifting his warm hands to cup your cheeks. “You’re the best thing to happen to me, hands down. And I wouldn’t trade any of the bastards in here for you, so enough self-loathing.”

Your cheeks squish as he pressed his palms against them, forcing your head to nod as you went limp.

“Good.” He smiled, grinning at how you seemed to wait for his next response.

You let him let go, even though you wanted to stay in that position of safety for longer.

He ruffled your hair back in place, fixing the few scraggled strands that he could. Ezra talked while fetching a paper towel to clean the goo beneath your eyes, originally from your tears.

“I mean, honestly, do you think I wouldn’t kill the bastards in here if they tried to look at you wrong? Come on, no way I would let that slide.”

You smiled at hearing that, thinking he was just being dramatic.

Paper towel in hand, Ezra lifted you up from the ground slightly. He put you down on the sink counter, keeping his hands planted to the sides of your abdomen.

Letting out a low laugh, he continues to wipe away at your eyes. His demeanor shifted to be quieter; something you aren't used to from your blab of a boyfriend.

Dark hair covers to his eyelids, sticking to his skin as the heat from the bathroom has begun to her to him.

The humming of the bathroom fan is all that fills the room for a few moments, Ezra’s concentration on your eyes leaving you both quiet. Though, you could tell he still had something he wanted to say.

"I mean, you don't understand how many times I've had the urge to mutilate the men in this club for staring at you, just from tonight alone" he licked his lips, curling his unmoving hand beside you. He seemed to be… nervous. "I'd pull their teeth out first, working my way down. Tearing each fingernail off one by one, pulling the veins from their wrists… I'd remove anything they have to witness you with."

He looked back up at you, staring within your eyes as if he was lost in them, as if he was looking inside of you. Despite his tender look that seemed to crave your cooperation, that should have made you blush– your smile fell. The warmth once spreading in your chest was now going cold, sinking to your stomach.

"You captivated the whole room, and I can't stand it…" he didn't seem to notice your fallen expression, or the shaking in your hands on the counter. "I hate the way they can hear your laugh, sit beside you and feel your warmth… how you can smile at them and let them make you feel as if you aren't the best thing to ever walk into this club. I hate it so fucking much."

Your boyfriend trailed his finger down the sequins on your clothes, trying to hold himself back from getting too close.

You shifted uncomfortably as your he leaned up close to your mouth, just far away enough to where he couldn't indulge in how badly he wanted to kiss you. There was this suffocating desire inside his chest to paint his claim violently upon your body in this bathroom right now, to let you walk put of this club with everyone staring at the little pieces of him only, forcing them all to know who you really belong to.

You didn't know what to say to his confession…. Should you thank him? Run away? Beg him to go to therapy?

Instead you stayed quiet, searching for the right words to not tick him off, now that you knew what he was potentially…. Capable of.

"They want to hurt you, to use you and then throw you away like some brainless sex doll. They only have bad intentions, baby."

Your boyfriend slid down to your knees, crouching down as you sat on the counter above him. He pulled your left leg toward him gently, kissing up from your ankle, to your shin, to your knee.

"But i'll take care of you, I won't let you be tricked.."He looks up at you with fluttering lashes, raising your leg ever so slightly to press his lips against your inner thigh.

"You know how much I adore you… right?"

Your skimpy clothes gave him even more access than you felt comfortable with, seeing the adoration pulsate within his eyes and the desperation in his hands.

"Of course," you reply, hesitantly bringing a hand up to his cheek, hoping he wasn't thinking of murdering you too in this bathroom.

His warm, damp hands molded the flesh of your bare thighs in his fingers, pushing in between the tight layer of where your tiny shorts and your skin meet, trying to dig beneath them. He wanted to hold all of you, to keep you in his arms so you couldn't even think of leaving, of running to someone else.

"You know that I'd never hurt you… that I only want what's best for you… that I'd kill for you--…" he mumbles the last bit, pressing your hand deeper against his cheek as he looks up from below at you, giving a cheeky grin.

You nod your head, hoping his homicidal thoughts were just that-- thoughts.

He was quick to fool you again with that sweet, lovely smile that seemed to bask in your presence, the smile that made you feel like the most desirable person in the world. No matter how many threats he gave out they never seemed to deter the fact that his soft, adoring expression made you feel like he'd choose you in a room full of thousands.

Your small assurance gave him the confidence to press his head further between your legs, running kisses back up from your knee to your thigh.

He trailed up your skin, kisses growing hungry. Pulling your sequined shorts, your boyfriend buried his head between your thighs– trying to get where he knows he'll have full control over you.

"Not here," you said breathlessly and bewildered, trying to push away his head. "We can't do that here–!"

His hair was soft, even with the thin spread of gel that kept it in place as you ran your hands down to his neck. Tugging at tufts of his hair and using your legs to push him away, you found little to nothing dispirited him.

"Just let me show how much I love you..."

Each time you tried to use your knee to push him, Ezra pushed it against the sink countertop with the heavy weight of his hand. He looked up at you with a sick grin that meant: “just try and beat me.” A part of you felt panicked, not just from the compromising position-- but from how insistent he was. Like he was trying to prove something to you.

It wasn't until the echo of the bathroom door swinging open and hitting the wall, did he lift his head. His eyes went wide, jaw clenching as he whipped around to look. The fearful expression would've been funny if you weren't just as scared.

You quickly jumped off the counter and pulled your shorts back into position, watching to see someone peak around from the corner. But the sounds of drunken laughter faded away, and no one made themselves apparent.

You and Ezra sighed simultaneously, the heat from the stuffy bathroom showing to have been too much for the both of you.

He reached for your hand, pulling you towards him. Ezra goes quiet, and you keep your gaze to the ground. He had shown sides of himself tonight that you weren’t exactly sure how to process.

“Lets just go home, okay?” Ezra says after a few moments, whispering with a grin.“I wanna finish what we started.”

What were you to say? You stuttered, thinking to protest, to run away or maybe even admit how afraid you were.

But with a kiss to your sweaty forehead, your boyfriend slung his arm over your shoulder and began leading you to the exit of the bathroom.

Your feet had moved on your own, your mouth still lingering to form words. As Ezra opened the door, the stench of alcohol and cheap perfume hit you once again.

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year

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Hi! What do you think would happen if there was a disease that turned people into yanderes and the reader is immune? So she’s the only sane one, which everyone around her falls in love (romantically and platonically) and turns obsessive?

Hrmm I'd like to take a different approach to this than the original *yandere apocolypse* of which I was thinking. Just wrote down some odd thoughts for this one!

Perhaps two thirds of the world has been inflicted with this specific disease-- making this new population become violent, deranged and utterly--obsessively, in love.

There's the beginning stages of violence and death of course, causing a great chunk of the world to go mad as some yanderes who must share a darling cannot do so. Celebrities, idols, and your local barista who's friends with everyone in town, are constantly in a tug of war battle between their yanderes.

But life seems to somewhat settle down. Everyone still functions as they would in society-- going to the bank and paying their taxes, remaining at their 9 to 5 jobs. But there are far more murders, laws are no longer followed; the daytime has become just as dangerous as the night.

Our dear reader, a cashier for a chain grocery store, has so blessedly not been affected by this newfound disease. They know their residence in a large city and with a social job would not leave them unharmed by this new change to the world. So, they begin to attend support groups for 'darlings,' the victims and (mostly) sane population that has been left. At first the other victims were people they had never seen before, seemingly innocent and normal people who just wanted to go on with their lives. They all seemed to lead a much harder living, with their unending stalkers and vicious pursuers that made them sob for hours as everyone else listened to their woes.

Reader had yet to be targeted, of which offers them a sliver of relief-- until they fear perhaps they have been affected by the disease. But their life continues, without any impulse or desire to snatch anyone up, and without any stalkers or murderers on their trail. Life is almost, weirdly, normal.

They don't watch the news anymore, they go home before it gets dark, and refuse to take any extra shifts with anyone who's been affected by the outbreak. They continue to go to the meetings, out of solidarity and precaution in case they begin to hear footsteps behind them when walking from home or find eyes peeping behind their curtains. However, the support group seemed to have slowly begun to change. Its regular members were beginning to dwindle, less and less showing up regularly. And, there seemed to be an addition of.... hostility, amongst the newer members.

The support group "leader", a man who has thrown reader off since day one, seemed to be far more invested in hearing their experiences with these "attackers" as he called them. As was everyone else, of which were slowly becoming vaguely familiar faces. Not familiar enough to mention it, but to the point where it was beginning to get eerie.

It wasn't until they went to their next shift for work, did they realize why everyone seemed so odd. Customer after customer came up, all purchasing odds and ends that could be suspicious if one paid close enough attention. But all that reader could focus on, was how the eyes of each person seemed to linger upon them, taking notice of their loose work shirt and unkempt hair. It was a common sound to hear heavy breathing from the other side of the counter, odd compliments on how beautiful their eyes were, or deafening silence from customers that didn't utter a word but stared in complete captivity. The next support group meeting, those nameless faces seemed to be far more recognizable. At this point, the original members of which reader had originally met, were nowehere to be found. All that remained, were the uncomfortably familiar customers, and the oddly charismatic leader.

Every eye seemed to be on them, each waiting for them to speak on their experience. But despite the creepy, lustful gazes and hateful glares at one another, there was some form of supportiveness that came from the group. They gave reassuring pats and squeezes, some getting a little handsier than others.

There were a few that reader recognized more than others: the silent, dark haired man that came to their register everyday, the businesswoman who always seemed to loosen her scowl once she saw them, and the couple who seemed a tad more than "friendly." Out of all of them though, reader felt the most reassurance from the group leader-- the man who seemed to dote on them like a parent would, though there was still fear over his constantly nagging questions and downward stare behind his glasses.

It was once reader decided to stop showing up to the increasingly more recent group sessions, did things start to turn sideways. There would constantly be a knock at the door, asking why they weren't there, if something was wrong, if a stalker had gotten to them. But it wasnt until recently did they feel they were being watched, followed, stalked.

Things started to go missing, from their favorite pair of underwear to little knickknacks kept on their desk. Reader had never felt the effects of the disease and its victims, but ever since the uncomfortable shift in the support group, life hadn't been the same.

One fateful afternoon, there came another series of knocks. Reader couldn't take it anymore, and had long given up on answering the door. The knocking continued, however. Thered be a pause, a moment of hesitation, before the pounding began again. Muffled voices could be heard outside readers front door, and suddenly there grew a great fear in their chest.

Not long after, the knocking seemed to occur in other areas around the house. The backdoor echoed as glass was banged on, the windows of their bedroom seemingly pressured by fists that begged to be let in. Their name was called from outside, small and booming voices all begging to be let in, promising that they were only there to help.

Reader covered their ears, crawling under the blankets and rocking themselves to the hope that the noise would go away. And eventually, It did-- only to be replaced with the sound of shattering glass and rushed footsteps.

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running-with-kn1ves · 8 months

Text

Late Mornings

A/N: Just a short little thang I felt like writing. The idea of writing a smut w/ these two is very tempting 🧐🧐

Incubus x Gender neutral reader x Succubus

Summary: Just a normal morning with your secret succubus/incubus roommates, nothing odd here at all

“Hey, have you been going into my room lately?”

You looked down into your cup of warm tea, sticking your thumb in to feel the temperature.

Your female roommate scoffed, cutting herself off with a laugh.

“What? No. What kind of question is that, why would I go into your room?”

“Well,” You chest squeezes, your heart feeling like it was about to squish and explode. “I-- Every morning, my door is open. I never leave my door open; not when I’m not home, anyway. I’ve been paying attention to it more, and it’s no coincidence--”

“What are we talkin’ about fellas?” A raspy voice says from behind, startling you.

Your hand shakes, mug slightly tipping to leave tea on the white tablecloth. Shit, this was your grandma’s.

Your female roommate, currently still cooking with her back turned to you, let out a groan of disgust.

“Didn’t know the beast woke up before noon.” She chides.

Warm hands fall onto your shoulders, holding them still as if to keep you from getting up.

“You’re up, Gabriel?” You try to turn around to face him, but find that the male is already next to you, his warmth radiating off of him, part of it likely still remaining in the sheets he just tangled himself out of.

“You too?” He frowns, unattractive lines forming on his pedicured face. “I don’t sleep that late most of the time, you know. I have to get up for work by 10-- usually.”

“Yeah, when you don’t have a ‘guest’.” Your female roommate counters.

“Ugh shuddup Liz, as if you’re not the same. Besides, you know I gave that up a while ago.”

For some reason, Gabriel looked toward you while saying this, you in return giving him a confused look.

He massaged your shoulders, leaning all of his weight onto you as he nearly fell asleep again, yawning and closing his eyes.

“You believe me right, sunshine? Haven’t heard anything in these thin walls lately huh?”

You cringe at how he shoves his nose against the crook of your neck, inhaling your smell so obviously it nearly makes you shudder from embarrassment. You would’ve shoved him off if Liz had turned around, witnessing it. But she still was turned cooking, making breakfast for you. She made enough for all three of you to eat, but you knew you’d be the only one with a plate when she was done.

“C’mon Gabe you’re suffocating me,” You pat his hand, hoping he’d stop himself from reaching over the chair to hold you. But he didn’t, instead giving you a awkward hug from behind as he rocked you back and forth.

“Blegh, don’t call me that; you know I hate it. Just gives me more of a reason to hang on…” He says, noting the way you shimmy in his grip, trying to make him let go.

Liz turns with a pan in her hand, dumping the eggs and bacon in it onto your plate, pulling Gabriels ear with her free hand.

“Let go.” She says, with a little more harshness than you would’ve expected.

“Mind your manners, you never learned how to share.” She glares daggers at him, flicking his nose as he backs off.

You’re too busy pulling at your neck, a wave of nausea and sleepiness coming over you, as if Gabriel’s exhaustion rubbed off.

“So mean, bitch..” He mumbles, stretching his arms as he goes to sit next to you. “Well, atleast I feel energized for the day.”

His face has a newfound freshness, dark circles less ingrained as he looks around the room.

Gabriel scooted his chair over noisily, sitting nearly beside you now despite your chair being at the short end of the table.

You let out a small sigh of exasperation, feeling what seemed like bruises on your shoulders and neck. Had he really pressed that hard?

“Stop messing with it, you’ll make it worse.” He said, bringing your hand down as you felt a strange indent in your skin.

“Make what worse?” You questioned. Could he see something on you that you couldn’t? Well, you hadn’t looked in a mirror since you woke up.

“What are your plans for the day?” Liz interrupted, holding a mug with one hand as she sat across from gabriel, moving her chair with her other hand. You always admired the grace she seemed to have when doing things, her balance and lack of clumsiness making her appear so capable. If it were you, you probably would’ve gotten the chair stuck on the rug, dropping the mug in the process.

Her chair was close, but not nearly as close as Gabriel’s. You watched her pour her coffee as you began to pick up your fork. Gabe held onto your other hand, petting it with his thumb as he grabbed a clean mug from across the table.

Trying to pull your hand away, you found that Gabriel’s came with it, holding on as if he was an extension of you.

“Gabe.” Liz barked, watching the scene unfold. Gabriel was mid-sip as he let go in an offended manner, throwing up his free hand and rolling his eyes from behind the mug.

She scoffed, muttering under her breath about his childness as she turned her attention to you.

“So, your plans for today, Bee?” Liz repeated.

You perked up at the nickname, having not heard it for quite a while. You much preferred it over Gabriel’s overly sweet ones-- It wasn’t even about him trying too hard, he was just naturally that sappy to a tasteless degree.

You looked up like a deer in headlights, not expecting the attention your roommates were giving now, since they were previously so occupied with one another. But they both awaited your answer, watching you shovel bits of cheesy eggs and overdone bacon into your mouth. You took a scalding sip of your tea, some of it dripping down to your chin as you tried to hurry to answer.

“You’re almost as bad as Gabriel,” Liz sneered, though with less conviction than she gave to the aforementioned male. “Take your time, don’t rush.”

She pulled a napkin from the holder, grabbing your chin like a mother would to her child. Though, you didn’t feel the napkin grace your face, instead her thumb was wiping away whatever remnants you left on your unwashed skin.

Satisfied, Liz licked her thumb clean, drying it on the napkin she pulled.

“So...?”

You cleared your throat, licking your lips under the hungry gazes of your roomates.

“Uh, I really hadn’t planned much, since its been my first day off since--”

“You should stay home with us; what do ya know, I have today off too.” Gabriel interrupts.

You look towards him, a cheeky grin covering his face as he pushes his socked foot against yours, hip nearly touching your own.

All of a sudden Gabriel yelped out, his knee hitting the table as Liz shot him a glare that you swore could paralyze. You hoped to never be on the receiving end of her wrath.

“While I don’t usually agree with the dimwit,” Liz commented, turning her attention back to you as her hard expression softened. “I think it could be nice to have a roomies day-- Just relaxing, watching movies, indulging in some needs… You know, just simple things.”

Gabriel nursed his foot, holding it as he nodded with a frown.

“I could do your hair.. Liz could take you shopping…” Gabe’s excitement had turned to slight pouting.

You thought about it for a moment. Why not? You had hardly spent much time with the two, even though they always seemed to be around, sucking up your energy and time like vampires. You swore it was a mistake to have two extroverts as your roommates.

There seemed to be something off about them too; something they wouldn’t say. But you didn’t mind-- especially since they had quit some of their more tedious habits like bringing nightly “friends” home, since you came along. You didn’t know how much longer you could handle the embarrassment of hearing their every move, every sound. Thankfully, you didn’t have to have much of a discussion about it, their one-night stands decreasing by the second week of your move-in.

“Awe please say yes,” Gabriel pouted, reaching for your hand as he bunched his own against the tablecloth, attention pulled back to you. “We hardly get your-- well, any time with you. C’mon, won’t you do it for us?”

Liz would’ve reprimanded him if it weren’t for the way your frown turned slightly upward. You took his hand, giving a dramatic sigh and roll of your eyes.

“Does that mean yes?” Liz questioned.

“I guess so. As long as we aren’t going extreme-- I don’t need a whole wardrobe change, OR a new hairstyle.”

You looked at Gabriel with your eyebrows raised.

“I’ll do the best I can to restrain myself.” He cackles, rubbing his hands mischeviously.

“Ah, I’m excited,” Liz says with a grin, pushing her foot towards yours. “I can’t remember the last time I got to go out with a… friend.” She gave you a smile that seemed out of place.

You smiled back, slightly forced as her cold foot ran up and down your leg, stroking above your pajama pants as she gleamed at you.

“Well we gotta get ready-- first, its my turn. I need to get you dressed and right for the day-- before missy here takes you for a shopping trip that counts more as an excursion.” Gabriel pushed out of his seat, leaving his full cup there as you took another bite of food.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” He pushed your head towards his face, giving a longing kiss to your cheek as you chewed. “I know where to find youuu.” He sing-songed, pressing a finger to your nose as he pecked the same area once more. He skipped back to his room, humming as he and Liz refused to break eye contact.

Was it normal for roommates to be so affectionate? You weren’t sure, but the rent was too cheap and they were too nice for you to say no to his advances.

“He’s right, its already eleven.” Liz commented, her busty body already dressed in normal day clothes that showed off the right parts; You had to admit, you were a little jealous of how well she knew how to dress for her body type.

Liz grabbed her mug with her fingertips, pushing your hair back and giving a gentle peck to your forehead.

“Don’t let him do too much, you’ll regret it.” Liz warned. She laughed a little as she walked away, your chewing stopping as you wondered what you had gotten yourself into.

You quickly finished your food, feeling another wave of sickly nausea pressing into your sinuses as your head went heavy. You were going to need much more than your normal amount of strength to survive those two today.

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running-with-kn1ves · 10 months

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What do you think about a yandere male that only turns yandere during the full moon?

Doesn't necessarily have to turn into a werewolf, but every full moon, it brings out the possesiveness and psychotic urges.

Like, I imagine that he's the sweetest and fluffiest and softest bf ever. A gentle giant. Couldn't harm a fly. Then as the full moon gets closer, they start to slowly change. Maybe, they start being more aggressive around others? Idk go crazy 🤣

(Maybe add some pervertedness/nsfw if ur up to it? no pressure ofc)

I really like the idea of yanderes being almost like a different breed of creature, gradually getting worse as each full moon draws near, going practically mental once it finally occurs and nearly mauling their darling.

It's worse if he's a so-called gentle giant-- that gentleness is ripped away, only to leave an empty husk of a man that has the power to crush you. He's normally the sweetest thing, kind to all those that you pass, and acts completely enamored with you-- he's so soft, you almost think that if he weren't his current intimidating size, he would be bullied for his passiveness.

He's not very verbal in expressing clinginess or needs during his stages of normal self, and may hesitate to bring up something he's upset with, whether it be seeing you with someone he finds threatening or if you reject his advances of physical comfort. He's able to tolerate such things in everyday life.

but once the moon's nearly at its routinely wholeness, there's a change in his behavior; he's become... temperamental, irked with every move you make that he doesn't like. Whether you forget to kiss him goodbye in the morning, or you tell him that you're going out for drinks after work with some overly friendly coworkers, he's become agitated and upset, getting jealous that you'd choose them over him.

Once the full moon finally reaches its completeness, getting out of the house will be a struggle within itself. He's not letting you go anywhere-- the emotional manipulation is drawn up to the max, and he can't help but use fake tears or past injustices to keep you with him. He can't help but ramble on how much he loves you-- how its because he loves you so much; he can't take it.

All he wants is for you to kiss him and make it better, to let him keep you suffocatingly close, to pay attention only to him. And if anyone dares get in his way, then he'll make them pay hell.

NSFW under the cut

For our yan boyf its not if, but when he pounces on you. He's so easily prone to getting too handsy with you in public, no matter the company kept near. You've made the mistake of bringing him to a party, and had to make some lame excuse to bring him home early, your boyfriend undoing your pants buttons moments in from the front door.

The deep bitemarks on your shoulders were painful, but there was a certain lull to the way he loved you when he was like this. He always gripped you so tightly, like he was afraid you'd slip away if he didn't keep you close enough. Whether it was an arm wrapped around your waist as he pounded inside you from behind, or two hands gripping your thighs as he kept you bouncing atop of him, he was always leaving bruises, most of which were unintentional.

You're truly lucky his sex drive isn't utterly relentless, though its definitely far higher than you ever expected. Usually, it was averagely persistent, never so much that you felt used. But during these episodes lately, he was consistent-- and insatiable, it seemed. You refused to go out on a date with him during these times, knowing he'd always need to find a place to fuck you midway, too entranced by your sex appeal, and too ticked off by those who decided to stare at you.

But the deeper he gets in taking a hold of you, the more regretful he becomes. He mutters "I'm sorry's" over and over, though keeping his relentless thrusts in play. He has little patience for foreplay, and understands how rough he can be when these episodes occur; he doesn't always remember how much strength he has, leaving him to mumble sorrowful apologies the rough morning after.

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running-with-kn1ves · 11 months

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Hi! Could you write something about a yan!best friend but this time he's the one who's the virgin instead of reader and reader is the one who is teasing him etc. Like your other yanbsf fic but the roles are flipped. Maybe he's flirty and teasing so reader assumed he got around but he's actually only that way around them and a huge dick to everyone else. And as they're having sex, he's rough because he hates that reader slept with other people before. Thinking of it now, this prompt also fits yan!bf because of the insecurity but I'll leave it to you. Thanks! Your writing always helps me get though a tough week :)

A/N: this prompt got me too interested for me to pass it up; I'm so glad my writing is helpful to you anon, and i hope this was what you were looking for:)

TW: Literally just smut, hardly proofread, possessive behavior, experienced! reader, virgin! Yandere, handjob,

“Don’t start.” Your best friend threatens, giving you a “i'm done with your shit” glare.

His seemingly upset gaze passed back and forth from your eyes, to your hand. But despite his disagreeable tone, his hands stay limp at his sides, and his legs are still open at a leisurely position.

“Why? I thought you were so confident in your… skills.” You scoff at the end of your sentence, watching your friend writhe uncomfortably as your hand caresses him. “Don’t tell me you’ve been lying this whole time….?”

You grin at seeing him frown, seeing his unhappy glare that really seems to hold a hidden bit of excitement, especially as you feel something begin to grow more shapely within your palm.

“I haven’t lied about anything!” He blurts out suddenly, “I just-- I didn’t, say that I’ve actually.. DONE anything…”

“Don’t tell me--” You begin to cackle, unable to hold back your laughter as you watch his face morph into an expression of sheer embarrassment.

“Don’t laugh at me!” He shouts, grabbing the hand that thats been touching him so intimately.

“Why not, you’re a virgin who’s lied about sleeping with more than half of everyone we know!” You snicker, laughing into your opposite palm while your other has ceased its sensual movements.

Forcing your hand back down, your best friend jerks you close.

“If I’m really just some loser, why don’t you see how well your so-called “experience” works on me, huh? Or are you too much of a wuss to try,” He watches you try to hold back another laugh, angrily frowning. “Maybe you’re not as good as you think; not as good compared to a virgin, anyway.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” You ask grinning, reading his nervousness as he licks his lips in anticipation.

“Its.. its whatever you want to take it as.” He says stubbornly, looking away. “And I haven’t lied about anything, I just… stretched the extent of things I may have done… with some people….”

You try to hold back another laugh, resuming your experimental touches on the front of his jeans. You’ve noticed how increasingly hard he’s gotten since you started, how tight his pants have gotten around his thickness; though its not like it took very much to get him excited, having only ever received the touch of his own hand.

Your best friend licked his lips again, letting out a huffed breath through his nostrils as you cupped his crotch.

“So a liar and a virgin… Turns out you’ve been hiding quite a few things from me.” You cut him off before he tries to refute you again. “But that doesn’t really matter now, does it? Because you won’t be either, once we’re finished.

“But I-I,” He stutters, watching you look him up and down, seeing how his hips have begun to lift forward in an attempt to meet your hand.

“You’ve bragged about so little… I’m sure we can manage to bring some truth to your fabrications.”

You get close, watching his desperate lips part in an attempt to call in yours. You lean in just close enough to keep him trying to close the gap, creating a bit of distance each time. You almost catch him in a kiss but lean upward, brushing your nose against his as he pants in frustration.

“Stop-- teasing me..” He grunts, trying to keep his mouth shut. You pull away from his grinding hips, tip-toeing your fingers up to his pants buttons. You try to open them slowly, unzipping his pants zipper as he watches you. But your best friend doesn’t have the patience that you hoped. He unbuttons himself before you can, the bulge in his boxers coming to rise and push against his pants.

“So needy for being an untouched virgin, are we? I thought you were more patient than that.”

He looks away in embarassment, hiding behind his forearm. Your hand slides from his soft, warm tummy to the thickness in his boxers. The moment you grab it, he lets out a guttural moan, pushing his lips in his arm to avoid from getting too loud.

You reach for his jaw with your free hand, pulling him away from his hiding spot. He looks at you with a parted, heaving mouth, watching as if you had the key to everything he could ever want. You give him a sweet kiss, one that he easily accepts, pressing up against your mouth with an insatiable fervor, gently bringing his hand down to push yours under his boxers.

You pull away his hand from yours,pushing it against the backside of the couch with your free hand.

“Rule one you have to learn, don’t touch the master while they’re working.” You grin, giving a slow pump to his delicate, untouched cock.

But instead of the submissive, lust-hazed look you were expecting, your bestfriend hardens his gaze. Pulling you by your hips, he forces you from your knees on the couch to his lap, letting them straddle him and keeping your hand down his pants.

“Its not fair,” He murmurs, gripping the fabric around your thighs. “T’s not fair someone else got you fuck you first…”

He ruts up against your clothed crotch, allowing your hand to slide against his member. His thrusts into your hand grow harder, rougher as he watches you through hazy eyes and fallen hair strands.

“You're as desperate as any virgin…” You smirk, watching him lean his head back after you brush your thumb against his tip. “But you’re as stubborn as a mule.”

That action and your confident words only seems to spur him on, his heavy thrusts growing violent as his hand moves to grip the back of your shirt, the other coming up to meet your crotch.

“I only learn from the best.” He says, gritting his teeth and trying his best to unbutton your shorts. “Now, I thought you said you’d teach me everything that I “fabricated”?”

You lift an eyebrow, hearing him let out another groaning huff, getting close to his release.

You lean in to satisfy his need to kiss you again, watching as bites his lip at a thought.

“Besides, I need to fuck you hard enough that you forget about those before me.”

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running-with-kn1ves · 2 months

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The Happy Bunny Tavern, a small joint nestled in the middle of nowhere, trees seemingly sprouting from its log walls and golden lanterns. Bunnies of all kinds are employed to carry drinks, take orders, and be anything short of a table to house a customers tankard of ale.

Even then, it was common for the weakest of bunny barmaids to be yanked by their ears and placed under a bounty hunter's boots as a footstool. The pub hosted mostly a series of regulars or dangerous drifters, patrons finding suspicion in any newcomers who were too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to fit in.

Whether they be half-human hybrids or full pure-bloods under a black hood to keep their disguise, creatures of all kinds came to relish in the bars established cinnamon whiskey and cute bar staff who weren’t unfamiliar to being used and abused. Even the tavern’s owner, a vicious grim burgundy stoat who was no stranger to a few scars, was quite verbally profound when it came to ordering around her staff. She had amped up their marketability over the years, changing regular tan uniforms to hiked up shorts that showed off the staffs bunny tails, and bows clipped to each pointy ear, often which the right of a bunny waiter’s is cut in order to show their domestication to the tavern.

You were new, looking for any job you’d be hired for, a poor preyed creature who was turned away for being too lithe,” not enough muscle on your bones”, as each potential employer put it. But maybe no job was better than this job, a slave to your boss and any lowlife who walked in the door wanting a bunny playtoy. Whether it was sitting on a silvertailed wolf’s lap to nurse their drunken kisses and laps at your cute neck, or strung up on the dart board for sly weasels to throw pins and needles at, you were the equivalent of a stressball for any assassin, bounty hunter, or prey seller looking for a harmless treat to sink their teeth and claws into.

And you, a new sight for sore eyes, easily became a house favorite amongst those most sadistic. You were lucky when they only wanted company, or perhaps to see your cheeks puff out from tugging at the base of your ears, but the worst of the worst came when your least favorite customer, a thinly sharp coyote entered the tavern to request your presence to drink with him. You’d be down a cup of ale, room spinning and hazy-eyed whilst forced to put on a shameful strip show for him, his claws raking at your apron and thumbing your hiccupping mouth. The laughs and warm hands that smelled of dirt and dried blood became familiar, thin eyes of every canine, feline and aviary creature that wanted you for themselves digging into you.

At least the pay was nice, even if you had to pick yourself up in pieces after every shift.

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running-with-kn1ves · 2 years

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Yandere Gangster

CW: NSFW, lap riding(GN reader), wounds/bruises, kidnapping, manipulation, gang activities

Yandere gangster who forces you to grind down on his lap as you're bandaging him up. What, you expect him to sit through all this pain without some form of relief? All he wants is his cute little victim spouse to make him feel good. It's the least you could do after all your hitting and screaming he's had to deal with since he "brought you home." You ask in disbelief how he could be worried about getting off after narrowly escaping being shot at. But he doesn't care for your protests.

Yandere gangster who threatens you without wavering, his beaten body only fueling his short temper. Maybe his buddies should get a round with you, as punishment for still having not learned your place. And that threat is more than enough to get you hesitantly inching towards his bloody pants. He already has them unbuttoned, black boxers hiding a bulge that pulses. But once you sit down, feeling him flex and poke from below, you're fully aware of how hot and bothered he's become. You try to focus on wrapping gauze around his bicep with his arm lowering to grip your waist.

Yandere gangster who whispers, "Move your hips" as he gently humps upward. You do as your told, whether more out of fear or out of the desire to get this over with, you aren't sure. But your kidnapper isnt bothered, too focused on the inpatient arousal inside of him. He sucks in through his teeth each time you pour antiseptic on an open cut, but he doesnt seem to mind the pain as long as you kept softly thrusting. He gets even more eager once his free hand pushes yours down towards his erection. You see the healed scars on his lower abdomen as his shirt pushes upward. They were sickingly familiar, as you had seen them everytime you were forced to "service" him like this.

Yandere gangster who you dont doubt would try to kiss you right now if it weren't for the bruises flourishing on his skin. You stare at his beaten face, a stream of dried blood down his nose as the cuts on his lips reopen when he bites them. Your hands become shakey the more he thrusts into your palm and against your groin, his bouncing legs making it harder to patch up his wounds. The sweat dripping down his chest, his slicked back hair now wild and free, it made him look more deranged than before. He was like a wild animal, starved and only interested in the meal in front of him. "Keep going." He huffs, and you aren't sure if hes talking about your work on his bruised knuckles or your hips that have been rocking back and forth.

Yandere gangster who uses you as the perfect stress toy, one that helps him get off with your soft body and oh so gentle fingers. His head leans back in the chair, lazily rocking upward as the friction becomes a desirable pressure. He cant help but feel he deserves this, after all his hard work and the time it took to get you here. Once you finish with the worst of his cuts and bruises, patching up everything to the best of your ability, you attempt to get off his lap. He's gotten what he wanted, right? A little pleasure to help keep off the pain. But you were sorely mistaken to think that would be the end of it.

Yandere gangster who lives up to his name, growling and cursing through his teeth, daring to pull out his switchblade the more you struggled to leave. He always had a short fuse, but today was no comparison. Waving the knife around he shot vulgar threat after threat, nearly nicking you. You didn't doubt hed cut you if push came to shove, having the scars to prove his past lack of patience. You still remembered how they burned, how he slid the blade painfully slow, refusing to clean you up until he got what he wanted. And so, what choice did you have? You only hoped that if you went faster, forcing him to come undone, he may end up too distracted. But you knew your captor, and wishful thinking never got you anywhere.

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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year

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Had this thought about yandere husband gardener where he buries the corpse of ppl on his very VERY large garden who tries to take his wife!reader away and reader always sees her husband he always do gardening weirdly at night when in reality he was burying a body. And if garden is already full of corpses why not bury it on the woods nearby.

I love this!!! I believe something similar happened in the movie Secret Obsession? It's such a perfect idea.

I imagine more of a househusband who loves gardening, cooking, etc. So his... skills arent all that questionable. Why does he have a bone saw and multiple different drills? Well to cut up meats and such for your dinners of course! The sudden growth of your garden and the mysterious 7 foot holes that seemed to pop up out of nowhere? Well its growing season honey it's time to plant!It's always a liiitttle bit of a stretch, but just believable enough for you not to question it. He may come back to bed with flecks of blood and dirt occasionally, but doesn't it give him the manly musk you admire so much?

I can definitely see him as the more homely, scruffy type with dad glasses and disheveled hair. He's got a cheesy 'kiss the cook' pink apron for when hes making you homemade meals, and a dark black one for when hes disposing of his victims.

He just loves you so much-- and cant help but say it at any moment of every day that he can. There isnt a lack of love in your relationship-- that's for sure. But you always feel like something is missing, like theres something wrong but you cant pinpoint it. Maybe it's because everyone in your life seems to be disappearing, or because your husband feels too perfect.

But even though things feel wrong, you can't bring yourself to say anything to your doting husband. You cant destroy things, not when he seems so happy. You always find him grinning, either when cleaning or coming back from the garden, covered in dirt and smelling like iron.

You worry when he speaks so possessively, promising nothing will ever come to harm you, that everyone who ever could is, "out of the way." You find that the days and nights where he spends longer in the garden, the dirtier he becomes, the louder the sounds in the basement are, he becomes more loving. More doting. Hes so affectionate with you, unable to stop himself from smothering you with kisses and handsy grabs. He seems exhausted, tired yet lovestruck.

You insist that he should let you do some of the work, that he should take a break. But he always seems to do his duties with a tired grin, claiming its 'his enjoyment as your husband.' And you wouldn't want to take away his responsibilities and hobbies, right? Even when you claim you can help in the garden and do the dishes, that you're not helpless. But all he wants is you to stay his sweet little spouse, working so hard to provide for your family, while he makes sure you have a nice warm meal and a nice warm husband to come back home to.

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running-with-kn1ves · 2 years

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Ugh I can't get this idea out of my head: a barbarian war leader fondling you on his lap as he discusses plans for the next rade. As his spouse, or maybe as a prize from pillaging a past village, you're forced to silently sit on his legs as he talks to the members of his tribe on where they plan to dominate next.

He touches your inner thighs with his calloused hands, squeezing the flesh as he does what he wants with you. You're sitting there, squirming as he teases you with each touch. He barely looks at you as you come undone onto his lap, keeping his attention on barking orders and figuring out future schemes of domination. Every time you squeak just a little too loudly or quietly ask him if you can leave, he touches you rougher, threatening you in a low voice to do as you're told.

#kn1ves rants #x reader #reader insert #writing #self insert #yandere #yandere x reader #knives rants #male yandere #fanfiction #yandere girl #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere boy #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #male yandere x reader

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running-with-kn1ves · 8 months

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Can we have more of Edira? I am completely in love with your writing!

A/N: This one is out to you Edira freaks and geeks 🎤! Apologies its not much proof read. Thank you to those always sending positive vibes <3 you don't go unnoticed 😽😽

TW: Suggestive content, implied past/future sexual relations, boobs+ butts, use of sugar mommy/daddy, borderline nsft

Summary: Just a night alone with your lovely (totally not gaslighting or manipulating) corporate fiancée.

“Sugar mommy?”

“Yeah its a… term of-- endearment. I guess?”

“People around the office don’t usually use terms of endearment for me.” Edira squinted her eyes, scrutinizing your explanation.

“Sugar mommy…” She contemplated again. “isn’t that usually what you call some old creep preying on young girls?”

You slightly cringed hearing the term come out of her mouth again.

“Well-- that’s usually sugar daddy; sugar mommy on the other hand.. Is usually looked at more positively. Like… a MILF.”

“A MILF?” Edira scoffs. “Is that what I am? I’m not even a mother.” She sighed, pushing her greying blonde hair back with her fingers, looking back down at the paperwork on her vanity. “Or am I just old…”

“Aw now don’t say that. You’re.. Like fine wine. Aging better with time.” Hearing the poorly constructed compliment leave your mouth nearly made you want to gag. Especially because you never thought twice about giving Edira such kind words; not when she still played you like her personal emotional dildo.

“Besides, what does it matter anyway? It’s not like you cared about what they thought about you beforehand. Why now?”

Edira massaged her temples, back turned to you as her head hung low. She had been getting increasingly more exhausted now that she had to focus on performance evaluations. You would’ve been worried for your job if it weren’t for the fact that you were sleeping with your boss, being strung along with her whims. You were safe for as long as Edira kept her interest in you.

“You’re right,” She suddenly started, getting up out of her chair. “Its too exhausting to worry about what those lowlives think; I don’t know when I started caring.”

Her crinkled white button up pulled upward slightly as she lifted her arms to tie back her hair. The last two undone buttons revealed the dark of her mesh, black thong as she stood in front of you. Her eyes closed as she wrapped a hairtie around the thick, straight tresses.

She took off her tight pencil skirt long ago, finding it far more comfortable to do paper work in the barest of minimums. She’d probably go fully nude if it weren’t for your scolding modesty, and the fact that the housekeeper had yet to go home.

You scurried farther back onto the bed, repositioning your book on your lap as you looked away. But even as your head was buried in your book, you couldn’t help but peak your eyes upward; Not even out of sheer lust, but curiousity. You could never look away when it came to her-- and she knew it. You hated how she knew what her every move did, how it effected her surroundings and most of all-- you. You pressed your legs together, holding the book on your thighs as you attempted to get back to reading.

It was like your subconscious willed you to look, to look at the way she dipped on each foot as she tried to position the tight black piece of elastic in a comfortable manner through her hair, how her swelled chest pushed against the white button up that you told her was too tight. But she liked it, liked how it made it easier for her to win over investors, how easily it won over you. Even through her padless bra and dress shirt, you could see the faint outlines of two round buds--

Nope, that was too much. You were getting ahead of yourself; how could you be so shameless? Especially with the woman who you cursed for all your problems and woes. However that was a double edged sword-- she was also to thank for your promotion, for the raise in your salary (as if that even mattered with her around), and your upgrade in housing. But what did that really matter, when your pride was missing?

The older woman sighed, breathily with a hint of a moan at the end.

“I’m too tired to work on the rest of this... Why don’t you join me in the shower? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten in yet…” Edira commented, sliding onto the bed with her knees to get closer to you.

“You wanted company, remember?” You rebuttled back, reminding her how you didn’t choose voluntarily to be by her side right now.

“Ah, right.”

She positioned her hands on your knees, leaning over to see the words on your book. She didn’t ask about it, instead reading upside down as she spoke. “So, all the more reason for you to join me. This looks boring anyway. Is this one of the books that I got you?” She asked, though you knew she wasn’t really looking for an answer.

You felt slightly offended, though not surprised that she was criticizing your enjoyment.

“It’s not. And.. I think I’ll just get in after you. Besides, Carla is still in the kitchen-- what happens if she comes looking for one of us?”

Edira didn’t respond, instead walking out of the bedroom to stand in the doorway.

“Carla,” She shouted, leaning on the side of the doorframe. “It’s already 10 hon, you can head home.”

“Edira!” You whisper-screamed, looking her up and down as you saw Carla come down the hall.

“Okay, Miss Edira.” The rounded woman put the broom back in the closet nearby yours and Edira’s bedroom, waving to you as Edira gave her a warm smile. The woman’s faint Bulgarian accent came out as she said her goodbye’s, the front door shutting behind her after she gathered her purse from the table.

“What’s the matter with you!” You scolded. “I can’t believe you’d show up like-- that-- in front of Carla; do you really want to scare her off, I thought you liked her.”

You grabbed your temples, shutting your book as the panic began to recede from your chest.

“Oh please, don’t be so dramatic,” Edira waved her hand frivolously at you, shutting the door behind her. “ Carla’s seen me in much worse states, as have you--- wearing only half of my office clothes hasn’t been the worst of it.”

“And I do like her,” Edira followed, pulling you up with one hand as you limply allowed her to tug. “She’s the only maid I can bare. Otherwise, I’d have you running up and around here cleaning up after me in a cute little maid outfit instead.”

“Housekeeper.” You corrected, giving her a frown as she lowered her hands down to your waist.

Edira rolled her eyes childishly, pushing her pelvis up against the front of your hips, her bareness pressing against the warmth of your comfy sweatpants. You still wore your baby blue office blouse, not having the commitment to change the rest of your clothes since coming home. But its not like that mattered now, since Edira was so insistent on dragging you closer to the shower.

She walked backwards, holding onto the drawstrings of your pants as she pulled you along. She held a gentle smirk, her undereyes slightly darkened from a lack of sleep.

“Are you sure about this..?” You slowly slid your feet against the carpet, hesitantly following. “We both need our rest for tomorrow, and the shower isn’t always the safest opt--”

“Shh,” She hushed, grabbing your hips with a firmness as her nails slid gently under your shirt, running shivers up your spine; she knew you loved it when her nails ticklishly played against your back. “Just follow me, sweet thing.”

She walked faster now, dragging you by the front of your pants into the master bathroom. Your socked feet nearly slid against the grouted tile floor, the rug cutting off abruptly. Edira shut the door behind you, her buttocks slightly sticking out in view as she turned away.

You spun around, rubbing your face up and down as you tried to steady the anxiety that was clawing out of your heart. You always got anxious when she wanted to get intimate; she could be so demanding, so degrading if you did one wrong move-- but the praise, oh the praise made it so worth it when she pushed back your hair and said how good you were for her.

Edira pulled you back around, watching you as she turned the lock, strands of hair falling out of her loose ponytail as they fell into her eyes.

“Well, going to reject me now?” She asked, leaning dangerously close to your face. You had hardly moved away from the door once she pushed you in.

“Well…”

“Well, what?” Edira mocked, running a finger down your jaw.

Her lips were so close to yours that you couldn’t pay attention to her eyes anymore, merely focusing on the breath that entered and left her mouth.

“Say no, hm? I dare you to.” You heard the faint sound of her buttons coming undone, hands changing to reaching the tops of her buttons as she leaned in close.

Her hand pushed to the back of your head, gently nursing you to kiss her as she pulled your sweatpants down just a tad. They fell with ease, her breasts softly squishing against your chest as you felt the heat of her body that was once kept warm by her clothes.

“I know you can’t.”

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