#scuffed yandere
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part-time psycho;
pairing: yandere!ghost x f!reader
wordcount: 1,921
warning: mentions of murder, implied cheating, jealousy, possessive behaviour
note: please understand this is fiction, i do not condone any of these behaviours irl (also on ao3)
summary:
He’d be out drinking with his work friends, he said. Won’t drink too much because he had to drive home after, he said. You don’t have to pick him up because he doesn’t know what time he’ll be back, he said. Some of his friends might get super drunk and he might have to drive them home, he said.
Those were the things you remember him saying before he kissed you goodbye.
You were roused from sleep by the sound of the front door slamming, and then people talking. There was an unfamiliar voice besides Simon’s, but you try not to listen too hard. But even your sleep-addled brain noted how odd that there were giggles and chuckles one moment and then… dead silence. Something felt wrong, the little voice in your head—the voice that kills people in horror movies, Simon would say—tells you to go check to see what it is. Groaning a little to shake the lethargy from your bones, you get out of bed and walk towards the stairs, but you only made it halfway down.
A woman was sitting on top of him, on the sofa. The woman Simon introduced you to months ago. His co-worker, his teammate, the person that has taken a bullet or two for him and vice versa. You can’t lie, she intimidated you from the very beginning. Their apparent closeness, their easy banter that you can never follow, the countless inside jokes, the way her hand always landed on him when she thought you weren’t looking, and her features. They were so similar to yours, and you don’t know which is worse, whether you came into his life first, or her.
Drowsiness left you as anxious dread seeps in. They spoke too quietly for you to hear, but you don’t care. Friends don’t sit on each other's laps like that, and certainly not facing one another. Feelings of inadequacy filled your mind as you walked briskly towards the front door and took off, grabbing whatever coat was on the hook. You just had to get out of there, far away from what you had just witnessed. Wiping the tears that blurred your vision, you notice your feet take you to the nearest pub, and you stand outside dumbly for a couple of seconds.
That night was bitterly cold, and you wished you had taken a thicker coat. Putting your hands in your pocket, you realise you have no money. You didn’t take anything but the spare house keys, your phone, and the coat on your way out. The slippers you're wearing are the fuzzy kind meant for indoors. Digging in your pockets, you hoped past you left a couple of quid in there. You found two tenners in the inner pocket, and you shuffled inside to get a drink or two.
The pretty bartender with the large earrings noticed you immediately and asked whether you need help and if she should call the police. Glancing at the mirror behind the bar, you saw you were a complete and utter wreck and she was right to be worried. You made sure to convince her that you were just sad and not some victim of domestic abuse before ordering some shots. She gave you a worried look before grabbing the drinks.
You downed both drinks in quick succession as soon as they arrived. The first burn hadn’t even registered fully before you chased it with another one. Today’s not the day for sane choices and comfort, you need to dull the pain as quickly as you can.
It’s funny, being tipsy. Your brain doesn’t even know when it started, you suddenly are. It doesn’t matter much anymore that Simon had brought a woman that looks much like you home, you can live just fine without him. It’s not like he’s the best boyfriend anyway, he left so often and so long sometimes you don’t feel like lovers. Maybe he had already demoted you from that position long ago and you were too stupid and blind to notice.
It took you a while to realise someone was sitting next to you. Letting out a deep sigh that definitely lasted longer than you thought you could, you didn’t even have to look to know it was him.
“Will you be coming home tonight?”
You’ve heard this tone before. It’s the careful one he uses when he knows you’re upset. The voice that is laced with sympathy and understanding. But this time you don’t know if that question was borne out of malice or legitimate concern, so you ignored him. The glass of water that the pretty barkeep gave to you looks very interesting right now.
The silence stretched for a painful amount of time before it was Simon’s turn to sigh. “Would you believe me if I told you I was drunk and rejected her advances?”
You were bitterly reminded of how she was sitting on his lap earlier. How close her face had been to his. How her hands had been curling on his neck, and his hands probably sitting on her waist. You didn’t see or didn’t remember, but that’s where your mind placed it, the only logical place it could be.
He slid his car keys your way. “Wherever you’re going, at least take the car. Don’t take cabs this late at night.” And when you didn’t react, he left.
You left the pub after your fifth glass of water and a repeated play of Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’—the staff were laughing while you heard one yell out profanities from the backroom—to check on the car. It suspiciously had your wallet, his hoodie, some cash haphazardly thrown on the front seat, and a large knife when you checked the glove box. You looked at your phone and mass texted your friends to see which one of them was awake and kind enough to let you crash at their place for the night.
One of your best friends replied, and you decided to go there immediately. They kindly offered their place for a week or two, but you ended up leaving on the second day. You had calmed down a little, and your friend suggested you talked this out instead of just making more and more assumptions in your head.
“The longer you’re not talking, the more your brain makes shit up.”
You joked that they just wanted you out asap and it ended up in a pillow fight that made you forget about your problems for a little while.
Driving home was the hardest. The scene keeps replaying in your head and your brain racks up the jealousy. How long have they been going behind your back? Is he just dating you because he can’t have her for some reason? Was whatever he was saying true, that he rejected her advances?
You found a parking spot not far from the house because for some reason you didn’t want him to see you coming.
As you opened the front door, you were met by two set of eyes looking bewildered at your direction. Simon’s arms were still on her waist while hers were draped over his shoulders.
Fuck these people.
Fuck him.
You threw Simon’s car keys on the floor and walked out, ignoring his pleas for you to wait and listen.
There was only one place to go now. Your parents. They welcomed you graciously, knowing you had a fight and wanting some space from your boyfriend even when you didn’t tell them at all about what happened. A week went by without any calls or texts from Simon, you decided it was time to go back and pack the fuck out of your stuff to live with your parents for a while. Why should you even think about being with him when he doesn’t even try to apologise. Living with your parents has reminded you what love could–should–be. Waking up next to each other every day, knowing they’re safe and within reach and not whatever it is you have with Simon where he goes missing for months at a time without contact. It was nice waking up to the sight of your parents chattering about, jokingly telling you to not burn the house down as they go to work, reminding you of your teenage years.
Thankfully Simon wasn’t home when you went to pack. It’s decided that you’ll only take your clothes for now and leave the paraphernalia for later. If you’re lucky, his job called while you were away and you can pack in peace.
But you weren’t so lucky.
“You’ve lost weight.” You jumped at the sound of his voice. Simon was a deathly quiet man when he needed to be. You didn’t hear the front door being open and shut or even his footsteps. He looked awful, his face unkempt with bloodshot eyes, his hair mussed, and his clothes dishevelled.
“I’m not wearing makeup so I look shit.” You retorted.
You had to look away as soon as you saw him bristle. He stayed silent for a while, his gaze focused on every facet of your face before going back to staring you down.
“Why are you lying?” His voice came as a quiet snarl, a low gruff that sounded like it hasn’t been used in days.
“Because that’s also what you’re doing.” You threw the meanest look you could towards him, and you’d like to think that’s why he broke eye contact with you. Unable to help yourself, you continued, “Rejecting her advances my ass, Riley.”
Hearing his last name, he proceeded to cut across the room and reached for you, strong arms instantly curling around your waist as he turned you around to face the open armoire. You felt the need to run, to fight back, but what else could you do but submit? The man is 193 centimetres of pure trained muscles that can hold you full nelson for however long it takes him to fuck you in front of the mirror until he feels satisfied, while you run out of breath carrying the neighbour’s fat tabby for two minutes. You are a little rabbit at the mercy of a wolf.
Weak.
Pathetic.
“I'm truly sorry you had to see me when I tried to lure her into a false sense of security.” He pulled you even closer, your back gently bumping against his chest. “If I drove you to where her head is buried will you finally believe me?”
Only half the words registered in your mind, “Simon this isn’t funny.”
Trying to wriggle away awarded you with a hiss and him nuzzling on the crook of your neck.
“Wasn’t joking, love.”
“Simon.” You pleaded desperately. You felt sick. You knew he was a dangerous man, but he had told you, convinced you, that he would never hurt y–
Realisation hits in a revolting wave of nausea. He had never said he wouldn’t hurt others. “Simon?”
“Yes, dear?” He muttered, lips pressing intently against the sensitive parts of your ears.
His hold no longer felt safe, there’s desperation and a dangerous kind of hunger lingering underneath his touch. “D-did you keep a trophy? Of her, I mean.”
You think if he could just show you some sort of proof, you could somehow take it and just start running.
“Why the fuck,” Simon’s voice was suddenly laced with seething fury that you flinched in his arms. “Would I keep trophies of people that caused you pain?” His statement chilled you to your core and you stopped trembling for a moment.
A choked, terrified whisper escaped you. “S-Simon?” Sickness curled your stomach, your knees buckled as you swayed. You don’t know when your Simon had left and replaced with this monster, or whether there was a Simon at all in the first place.
You felt his lips twitch and curl into a smile on the junction of your neck. "Yes, love?"
“Why was that plural?”
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#yandere simon ghost riley#yandere!ghost#yandere simon riley#yandere mw2#scuffed writing#scuffed yandere#call of duty#yandere call of duty
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Sagau brainrot
Ok,so it's based off of soldier poet king,and basically, the reader (aka the king) is the creator. BUT,they often play with 2 other people (the soilder and poet),and those people are regarded as smaller,but just as powerful gods.
So,isekai. The imposter situation Is basically due to a misunderstanding (the soilder and poet took care of readers genshin acc for a bit) so,when they both get transported in an attempt to "bring the creator back",they are imprisoned (maybe soilder manages to escape a couple times,so they're in a lot worse shape than poet). The creator notices genshin being weird,stops playing for a LONG while, (time dilation happens),and they get pulled back bc some one new is on the banner! Yay! Yeah they get sucked into tevyat.
Yadda yadda,cult stuff. After a couple weeks,they have to ACTUALLY do god stuff,and the first order of business is punishing some imposters who tried to claim the throne by "claiming kinship to the high god".
Reader asks to see them,and HOLY SHIT ITS SOILDER AND POET??
big reunion,ect;
Finally,cult au shenanigans ensue. But with 3 times the chaos.
#genshin cult au#genshin impact sagau#genshin sagau#sagau cult au#yandere genshin sagau#sagau brainrot#sagau genshin#genshin imagines#very scuffed#but i may make this a fic.#we shall see.#sagau
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The quickest and most scuffed drawings of Finn for his birthday since the date’s about to change. I might finish them digitally later.
Happy birthday to the soft yandere flower boy 🌻🎉🐰
#yuurivoice#fanart#birthday fanart#finnegan yuurivoice#finn yuurivoice#zodiac cancer#asmr rp#asmr#asmryoutuber#bunny boy#rabbit boy#drawing#traditional media#pencil drawing#scuffed art#yandere#glasses
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Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]
Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]
Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.
Word count: 7100ish
notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre
The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly.
In surprise.
In trepidation.
In realization.
The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance.
How lucky for him.
How unfortunate for you.
You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?
The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill?
And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear.
He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later.
His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise.
As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you.
The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches.
Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy.
What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate?
All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front.
As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way?
But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once
From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.
And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.
He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him.
Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis.
It’s you that he focuses on, now. And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted.
Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person.
You.
What to make of you?
You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find.
He remembers such a living.
You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats.
It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them.
With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you.
Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.
He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm.
“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you.
You stiffen.
“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”
You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.
“None of your business,” you say.
And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.
“That’s all right.” He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”
Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.
“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”
Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City.
“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.”
He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.
And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.
“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.
He nods his head.
“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach.
“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”
He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels.
You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that.
“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”
Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.
“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”
--
The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them.
Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it?
You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more.
Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear.
“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.”
“You want to buy me clothes?”
You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips.
He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.
You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant.
“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies.
For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised.
The elevator doors open.
Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter.
“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”
You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?
“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.
That might come in handy.
He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him.
“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.”
You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.
Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.
Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs.
5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets.
Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.
--
The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining.
He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement.
What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?
Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?
He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You.
What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume.
What would you be like, once you were fully his?
What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden?
The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it.
He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--
Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.
He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.
--
The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder.
But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits.
He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it.
This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate.
Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping.
Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two.
But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.
Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb.
And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least, you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit.
It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut.
Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer.
--
At least, not before today.
“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.
Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good. Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.
“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.
“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”
Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?”
You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.”
“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”
You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.
Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.
Only... none of that happens.
His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.
“I know a lot about that, actually.”
It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you.
It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside.
“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom.
He nods.
“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think.
He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.”
Dear.
The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.
Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself.
Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top.
The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest.
A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.
You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.
There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.
And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.
If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner?
He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears.
“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.
Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”
“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”
His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.
“You’re familiar with his work?”
You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling.
You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?
“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.
He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm.
His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why?
Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.
The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap.
And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.
Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.
The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you.
Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.
“So you were… homeless, before?”
You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.
His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?
“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”
Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.
If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.
“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”
“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin.
“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”
“Which was?”
There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.
“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.
“Aren’t you lonely?”
“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”
He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you.
Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.
Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.
“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.
He tilts his head a little. “What for?”
Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.
Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.
“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”
You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology.
He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.
It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.
Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.
A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.
You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do.
The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild.
Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap.
Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it.
Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two…
You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.
--
There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.
But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.
You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there.
You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras.
The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.
He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.
You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years?
How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.
He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be.
Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this.
There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever.
#yandere chrollo#yandere hunter x hunter#chrollo x reader#yandere#yandere chrollo lucilfer#afterwitch writes
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I read your yandere dilf post just before going to sleep and had a very interesting dream as a result: yandere Wild West Outlaw!
He takes you hostage to keep the rangers from going after him after a robbery. You’re tied up in front of him on his horse and after riding away from town for a long time he doesn’t set you down somewhere like you expected but takes you with him into his hideout.
Bonus: he‘s (basically) masked > bandana covering half his face and the rim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes
Yandere Wild West Outlaw! Headcanons
Warnings: Implications of Smut, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, Forced Proximity, Slow Burn, Stockholm Syndrome, Masked Outlaw ;), Petnames, Killing, Mentions of Robbery, Non-Consensual Voyeurism/Surveillance, Description of Injury & Blood, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, etc.
A/N: Anon, I am in love with this concept !
♡ Yandere Outlaw whose body encompasses yours, his chest to your back and his arms caging you as he grips the horse’s reigns, his breathing steady as if he hadn’t just committed a multitude of crimes. Then again, considering how proficient he was at wiping the inn clean of all its savings and tying you up on his horse before the rangers could even arrive, you suspected this was not the first time he’d done this. Nor would it be the last.
♡ Yandere Outlaw says very little after he abducted you, his last words being sharp commands, laden with a calmness you would never have expected from a man holding an entire building hostage.
♡ And, in your terror, you said nothing to him, your back to his front as he rode to nowhere discernible, the civilised, populated terrain of your home town having melted away hours ago.
♡ No, the Outlaw gave nothing away. Even after days of being forced to travel with him to what you could only pray would be a town – somewhere for him to dispose of you before taking to the canyons again – he said nothing.
♡ He’d offer you food, and, after the first 24 hours of starving yourself out of sheer distrust – or principle, as you wanted to see it – you succumbed to your famine.
♡ Yandere Outlaw would feed it to you before disappearing behind whatever cover lay nearby – oftentimes his horse – and eat.
♡ Whatever lay beneath his bandana was a mystery to you. And it only took you trying to see what he looked like once to see that your endeavour was a hopeless one.
♡ You’d strained and leaned past the point of no return, falling onto your side.
♡ And Outlaw came back into view, adjusting his bandana back over his nose, the shadow cast over his eyes by his hat much like that descending over the valley you now inhabited.
♡ Your heart stammered as he grew closer, the spurs of his boots the land equivalent to the fin of a shark as Outlaw came to a stop before you.
♡ He got to one knee, so quietly that you could see why nobody ever saw him coming, and, brushing a lock of hair from your face with a gloved hand, chuckled.
♡ Low and rumbling, like an earthquake. Or one of God’s many natural disasters. A gruff, brief thing as ephemeral as life itself.
♡ “Don’t get yourself all scuffed up now, Darlin’,” he says. His hand trails from just behind your ear, tracing your jaw, the tendons in your neck, stopping just short of where your shirt hangs above your collar bones.
♡ You think that you hear him hiss. So sibilant and soft you’re unsure whether you perhaps imagined it and rather heard the conversation of pit vipers laying just below the hard sand beneath your ear.
♡ Outlaw’s head tilts, his face no clearer to you now as it was days ago, especially now with the setting sun casting a misplaced halo about his hat-clad head, his front shadowed. Two sides, one a light facade, the other his true nature.
♡ “You’re no good to me broken.”
♡ Yandere Outlaw whose only elaboration of that cryptic sentiment comes in the form of another day’s travel, during which you remained firmly bound – and gagged at one juncture when you made the mistake of crying for help when you spotted a lone merchant out on the open road.
♡ Yandere Outlaw neutralised that channel of freedom for you very quickly with a crack of a bullet, leaving you glassy-eyed and breathless as he ransacked the merchant’s travel cabin, taking all manner of valuables.
♡ “Why, thank you, Darlin’,” he says, his gloved hand coming to rest on your knee, clapping down on you and making you jump – shriek. And he squeezes with all the familiarity of someone who’s done this before.
♡ “Wouldn’t’a found this here haul if you hadn’t tried to scream your pretty little head off.”
♡ Yandere outlaw knows that’s isn’t quite true; he’s an excellent tracker, and an even better marksman. He’d have found this travelling man on his own eventually; the outcome would have been identical. But you didn’t need to know that.
♡ The gag was practically useless after that, for your desire to keep others from the same fate as the travelling salesman had you quiet as a mouse.
♡ Yandere Outlaw can sense how rigid you are – less so than you were when he’d first taken you, but you still felt…different. You were loose in the way that submission often made people slaves to fatigue, to their fate. And he couldn’t help but wonder if you’d succumbed to yours so soon, especially when, as you finally drifted off to sleep after a day and a half without it, you leaned into his chest, head to his shoulder.
♡ Unwillingly, of course. Your exhaustion weighed you down, lead. You had no control over your unconscious body, regardless of how repulsive you found the pillow you were leaning on.
♡ Yandere Outlaw can’t help but let his gaze drift from the open canyon ahead, gradually giving way to caves and rocky rivers, to your face. You were tranquil in sleep, brew no longer knotted in worry, or fear. Just…sleep.
♡ Yandere Outlaw could feel his hands twitching, the urge to touch you creeping up behind him the longer he stared at your vulnerable form.
♡ Yandere outlaw who, for a second, and a second only, let his hand slip from the reigns and slither, slowly, to your knee, up the expanse of your clothed thigh.
♡ Yandere Outlaw’s heart who, for the first time in a long time, beats at a humming bird’s pace when you shift in your slumber, making him withdraw.
♡ Yandere Outlaw who, watching, waiting for you to settle back into sleep, kept his hands from you the rest of the night. Though temptation beckons him to do otherwise.
♡ Yandere Outlaw shifted behind you, waking you. Only when you were torn from a dream of being anywhere but here did you realise the horse had come to a stop, an unfamiliar breeze settling over you.
♡ Yandere Outlaw who, unsaddling you from the horse, carries you like a bride in his arms, kicking open the door to an abode you didn’t even know was there.
♡ Yandere Outlaw sets you down beside a pole, tying you to it. Tightly.
♡ “Welcome home, Dollface,” he says, hands settling on his belt as he watches your eyes jump from one corner to another, taking in these new surroundings, these new circumstances.
♡ Of course, you don’t accept the conditions Outlaw has roped you into. Not without a fight.
♡ Yandere Outlaw, as a result, had to keep his eye on you when you initially began your residence with him.
♡ For the first couple of weeks, he’d take you to the waterfall to bathe every other day; would watch you as you did so. At first, bashful and uncomfortable, you’d asked him to turn around as you stood exposed. To which the Outlaw just laughed. “Ain’t much worth lookin’ at,” he’d reassured you.
♡ Yandere outlaw who tells you exactly how the day’s going to go.
♡ “You’re gonna cook whatever I bring back. Y’understand ?”
♡ Yandere Outlaw who initially only lets you chop up vegetables and bread, withholding the excuse to use a sharp knife from you by intentionally not collecting any meat.
♡ Yandere Outlaw who, before taking even a bite of the meal you prepare, makes you taste it first. “I know you little crafty types; poison enough in your veins to kill a horse.”
♡ Translation: “You’re having this first to make sure it’s not going to kill me.”
♡ Yandere Outlaw who, after that initial hurdle, though he won’t admit it, feels his tongue practically bursting with flavour when he tastes your soup for the first time. Though, he keeps it under wraps, his form hidden behind a wall, his bandana pulled down.
♡ Yandere Outlaw who, with little alternative to offer you, makes you sleep in his bed.
♡ “Either that, or you’re sleepin’ outside.”
♡ He still wears the bandana btw, and wears a sleep mask over his eyes.
♡ He doesn’t touch you. Not in intentional ways, it would seem.
♡ Not at first.
♡ A light brush of the hand here and there.
♡ Sure, the urge to bask in the aura of the most beautiful person he’s ever seen is pretty overwhelming for the Outlaw. Especially since he doesn’t understand why he feels this way, never having felt it for anyone else before.
♡ Sure, he’s taken others, some much more enthusiastic than others (you don’t get to his level of notoriety without attracting a few hundred fans).
♡ So, when you’re asleep, an arm and a leg bound to the bedpost, he watches you.
♡ He tells himself it’s for his own safety, to make sure you’re not going to reach for a weapon and gut him like a pig.
♡ But when he sees your gentle face, he knows you’re incapable of that
♡ He likes to think that you’re incapable of anything without him around. Makes him feel bigger, stronger.
♡ So why exactly was he still looking upon you into the late hours of the night ?
♡ Over time, his resolve begins to crack.
♡ Especially with every aspect of your partnership accounted for.
♡ The baths, the bed sharing, the homemade cooking – it’s just all so…
♡ Domestic.
♡ But, that doesn’t make Outlaw trust you any more than the day he first took you. Not yet, at least.
♡ Despite his confidence in his own ability to keep you here, he knows the indomitable human spirit is strong enough to break through every precaution. And, just in case you do manage to escape, he’s making sure you can’t pick him out of a lineup if you make it to law enforcement – if the vultures don’t pick you off first.
♡ Yandere Outlaw makes you cook every night, under the guise of you “Needin’ your strength to straighten this place out.”
♡ Yandere Outlaw who appoints you as his head housekeeper, making it your sole responsibility to be the “homemaker” of the two of you.
♡ Yandere Outlaw who feels strange when he sees you with one of his shirts tied about your waist – a makeshift apron – who doesn’t even recognise this feeling as domesticity. Warmth. That feeling of security having been deprived of him all his life.
♡ Yandere Outlaw who wonders what you’d look like wearing one of his shirts.
♡ And something in his brain chemistry changes.
♡ Yandere Outlaw who, during your river baths, knocks your clothes into the stream when you’re not looking, offering you his shirt when you’re ready to come out.
♡ “Y’really should be careful,” he tells you, swallowing thickly as the neckline of his shirt dips below your collarbones, drowning you. He looks away, not trusting that the feeling coiling in his lower half won’t spring out at any moment. “Men might take advantage of a pretty lil’ thing like you. Especially when you’re so…” A shiver shoots up his spine. “Vulnerable.”
♡ Your clothes seem to disappear not long after that, leaving you only with whatever consisted of the Outlaw’s wardrobe.
♡ You notice that he seems to disappear at odd hours of the day, leaving you to your chores while he does something.
♡ Little do you know that the something he is doing is a secret he’ll take to his grave.
♡ The sight of you in his shirts, of you in the river, is too much for him.
♡ He takes to hiding out in a densely vegetated patch of land behind the cabin to…relieve himself of his thoughts of you. Thoughts he’s used to sustaining for perhaps a second or two when it came to his prior conquests. Thoughts that, now, a month into your capture, extend long into his nights and speckle his logic when he’s on a mission.
♡ It’s dangerous, he knows; to have his mind elsewhere while he risks his life for the loot he so desires. But he can’t deny that they make him feel human. Normal.
♡ Despite how un-normal this entire situation is.
♡ It takes every ounce of his restraint not to just tie you down and take you while you sleep beside him, make you scream and cry for him as he empties his frustration and, dare he say, lust, into you.
♡ But, he doesn’t want to scare you off.
♡ Doesn’t want to see your eyes light up in fear whenever he enters the room.
♡ He wants something else.
♡ Something that he doesn’t have a word for.
♡ It’s only when he happens across a conversation with you, asking you if you had “A lover boy back home,” that he found the word he was looking for.
♡ You wince at the question, the memory of your life away from this situation salt in an unhealed wound.
♡ “No,” you tell him, your honesty a virtue. “Haven’t been in a relationship yet.”
♡ Relationship.
♡ It felt right to the Outlaw when he heard it; especially coming from you.
♡ It sticks with him the rest of the day, and while you’re cooking dinner, washing the Outlaw’s clothes, dusting the sparse furniture, he’s got one thing on his mind.
♡ How to get you into a relationship with him.
♡ He’s completely unequipped to deal with someone on such an intimate level, so he uses all his knowledge he’s gathered while seducing and bedding others to piece together a game plan.
♡ First, he needs to know what you like. He remembers from that one time a woman hit him with her shoe when he forgot her name ten minutes after meeting her.
♡ So, he starts hanging around you (much) more often, making you sit down and tell him about yourself.
♡ As he makes you spend time in his company, he comes to learn of the fanciful little things you enjoy.
♡ At first, the details are dry and few and far between, with you giving very little about yourself away.
♡ But, as his persistence drags into days, you eventually just start telling him whatever he asks, so long as it’s not too personal.
♡ Or painful.
♡ Whenever the outlaw can see you're starting to become upset, being reminded of your circumstances, he eases up on the personal questions and just asks superficial ones.
♡ “How’re ya feeling today ?” “D’ya eat well this mornin’ ?” “D’ya need me to dust a shelf down or something’ ?”
♡ His miniscule acts of selflessness are extensions of his effort to make you at least not hate him. Though you didn’t know this. His thought process was still an enigma to you.
♡ He also stalks you in his own home.
♡ Listens to you sing while you complete your tasks, your voice the softest thing he’s heard since…well, ever.
♡ Yandere Outlaw who, when he embarks on a hunt, never tells you where or when, and never even the how.
♡ The only clue you’ll ever be given as to his nigh-weekly excursions are trinkets he brings with him. Ones which you thought he’d pawn elsewhere in the county at a later date, or bury in the canyon somewhere.
♡ Until he offers them to you.
♡ At first, you’re not sure what to make of these…gifts ?
The first time he gave you one, he said nothing, only watching you.
♡ You swore you could see his shoulders heaving beneath his jacket, something almost feral in his demeanour. Pressurising.
♡ And, with the possibility of what could happen to you should you decline these acts of…generosity…You just take them, uttering a quiet “Thank you,” before putting them in a kitchen cabinet, unsure of the intent behind them.
♡ The first few times this happened, you were befuddled.
♡ Yet, with how gently the Outlaw placed them in your hands, with how intense his gaze was, even though you couldn’t see it beneath the permanent shadow across his brow, you could feel it.
♡ It was only one evening when the Outlaw returned with yet more loot that the meaning behind the trinkets became apparent.
♡ His hand disappears into the inside pocket of his jacket, and he withdraws a small box; rounded and bejewelled like an idol. He comes to stand before you, and, shoulders pinned abc and rigid, you swallow. Thickly.
♡ He looks down at the box, and,his finger dragging along the edge, slowly, he relinquishes it to you.
♡ And, by pure force of habit, you accept.
♡ You turn the box gingerly between your fingers, the dim candlelight from within the cabin just barely warding off the black of the night, setting the precious stones welded within the metal alight.
♡ “Well,” the Outlaw says, making you jump. You look up at him, eyes wide.
♡ “Open it.”
♡ He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
♡ Swallowing again, your gaze skitters back to the box.
♡ And, with bated breath, you lift the lid.
♡ A delicate, silver melody slithers from the portal you’ve opened, a serpentine tune wrapping around your mind, vivid, beloved memories riding on its feathered wings.
♡ Your favourite song.
♡ For a moment, one sweet, fragile moment, you’re not here.
♡ You’re back at home, in a warm bed that is yours and yours alone, surrounded by the people who matter most to you, any celebration mankind can conjure not even a whisper of the joy you feel in this scene.
♡ And then, as the wind blows autumn leaves from the human mind, the memory is gone, taken away by reality realising it has neglected you.
♡ You’re looking into nothing now, the apparition of your past slipping from you, your eyes wavered and muffled with…
♡ Tears.
♡ In your periphery, just outside the realm of reality you’re returning to, the Outlaw’s drilling gaze drops from you to the floor ina rare show of anticipation. A hand comes to the back of his neck, where he squeezes the skin. A stress ball.
♡ “Do you…” he begins, “Do ya like it ?”
♡ Your stare inches from the void up to the outlaw’s hidden face.
♡ Perhaps if he had a discernible human feature, you could sense anticipation there. But as it stood, this was no man, but a phantom.
♡ One which must have heard and remembered that tune you often sang while completing chores.
♡ You couldn’t take it.
♡ To have him acknowledge the memory – to make it more real – nailed your coffin shut.
♡ And you broke down.
♡ When you crumpled into a pile, the Outlaw took a step back, one hand reaching for his holster; a knee-jerk reaction.
♡ And what little solace he could offer came in a most inconspicuous display.
♡ The Outlaw got to one knee, now at your level.
♡ And, with a careful hand, he placed a gloved finger upon your shoulder. Then another. Then another.
♡ Spidery and unfamiliar, foreign, the Outlaw’s actions were jerky, janky, an unoiled machine. But he was trying.
♡ When his hand lay against the curve of your shoulder, you did not move. Did not shunt him off or scream at him to let go.
♡ You remained where you were, weeping into your shirt apron.
♡ And the Outlaw, with a fiery grip encircling his heart, feeling brewing in his centre, stronger than all those implicatures and desires. This was solid, unlike the quicksand foundations upon which the Outlaw’s every emotion was built upon.
♡ Was this…
♡ Empathy ?
♡ His grip on your shoulder tightened, the revelation swarming through him like locusts.
♡ He swallowed. Tried thinking through the orchestra in his mind.
♡ “S’okay,” he said. To you, and to himself. His fingers moved gently, your skin and muscle warm through the leather of his gloves. “You’re okay.”
♡ Things changed after that.
♡ He no longer forced you to sleep in the same bed as him, instead bringing back with him a fine silk cover from one of his trips, gifting it to you.
♡ Yet, you still chose to sleep in the same bed as him.
♡ “It’ll be getting cold soon,” you said. “WIth winter coming, and all.”
♡ And, while this new feeling, raw and fresh, was…nice compared to the emptiness that often lingered in his chest, the Outlaw couldn’t help but feel weakened by this influx of emotion.
♡ When he tried to have his alone time with his thoughts of you, he felt…wrong.
♡ Ashamed.
–
♡ You were used to him disappearing for days at a time. Hell, you'd come to expect it at this point in your captivity.
♡ But something about tonight felt...off.
♡ Not that you'd ever admit it, even to yourself, but with the amount of time you'd spent together these last few months, you no longer hated being in his company.
♡ In fact, on the days he would be gone from the early hours of the morn to the late hours of the evening, you could even say you...missed it.
♡ And, unfortunately, despite your every instinct swaying you otherwise, you find that to be the case now.
♡ But, more than that, you're concerned. Something you'd never thought you'd feel for a murderer, a thief. Your kidnapper.
♡ And your pacing, your lip-chewing, your nail-biting are all proven justified when the Outlaw slams against the front door, stumbling through.
♡ At first, you just watch, ready to yell, to ask where he's been the last few days, until you see it.
♡ A bloodied handprint on the door.
♡ He staggers in, swaying on uneven footing, his breathing stifled,as if through a thin straw. He wheezes, collapsing into the doorframe beside him.
♡ And you rush to him. As if he wasn't the one who put you here to begin with. As if whatever's bringing him to his knees now wasn't justified, provoked.
♡ But you don't think of any of that, your mind filled only with the fact that nobody knows you're out here. Without guidance, you'd be dead before you reached the edge of the canyon encompassing your hiding place.
♡ You needed him alive.
♡ After wrestling him onto his bed, almost buckling beneath his weight, you found the source of his downfall.
♡ A wound; bullet-bitten and bleeding, a rouge flower burgeoning with the promise of extinction.
♡ You tried getting him to talk, to tell you what to do. But his voice was barely a whisper, instead using what little seeping strength that remained to point to a cabinet.
♡ Inside, you found what you knew would be needed to heal him. Whether it – you – could save him, though, was another story.
♡ You tried taking his bandana off to see if he was hurt elsewhere, but to no avail. Despite the life draining from his body, he somehow found it in himself to stop you, to place a gloved, trembling hand atop yours, an imploring aura to the gesture.
♡ Don't.
♡ And, for the first time, beneath the dim light of the cabin, you could see something human on him.
♡ It existed only in the form of a shimmer beneath the shadow of his hat, his face still very much obscured, yet the emotions on it were not.
♡ You recognised this emotion, for you'd worn it yourself, both inwardly and out, for the last three months.
♡ Fear.
♡ In its purest and most carnal form.
♡ And a voice, strained with either agony or disuse.
♡ “Help me.”
♡ Throughout the night, you tended to Outlaw's wound. A maw-like, gaping thing it was, spouting blood as one would bucket water out of a sinking boat.
♡ Luckily, you didn't have to worry about shrapnel; the bullet went clean through outlaw's side, leeaving only the aftermath and not the instigator. You managed to stop the bleeding, use the stitching on Outlaw's shirt (which was basically yours now) to sew the wound closed.
♡ For the first time, Outlaw was uncharacteristically human.
♡ Sure, you'd seen the scars on his back when he bathed, the many brushes with death he'd encountered, some advancing into a dance, much like this night's escapade had been.
♡ But you knew, somewhere, somehow, that without another pair of hands here, Outlaw likely wouldn't have pulled through.
♡ Not this time.
♡ And now, here you sat, at Outlaw's beck and call, his bedside your new home.
♡ You watched over him, the cabin silent, the night just as quiet. Even the crickets seemed to chirp quieter, either out of fear or respect for the almost dearly departed.
♡ And, looking up from the massacre on the bed, your gaze swept the room. And you realise something.
♡ The front door, which neither you, nor Outlaw locked, is unguarded.
♡ Yandere outlaw is riddled with sleep, his agony having stripped him of his energy and his strength.
♡ So...why hadn't you tried to escape yet ?
♡ Looking over at Outlaw, sound asleep, you realised just how easy it would be to walk out that door.
♡ Sure, you might get lost. Might die of hypothermia during the freezing hours of a dessert night, but with enough layers, food and water, you saw no reason as to why you couldn't just leave right now.
♡ After all, it wasn't like you'd be killing Outlaw if you left. Sure he might die of infection, or blood loss if his stitches come undone. But you'd at least tried to help him. So your conscience wasn't going to be the issue.
♡ So what was stopping you ?
♡ Looking back at the Outlaw, you felt strange.
♡ The urge to protect him, to care for him, outweighed even your greatest notion of escape, which explained why the thought to do so hadn't hit you until just now.
♡ You bit your lip, looking between Outlaw and the door.
♡ Both options were tantilisingly easy to pursue, and yet only one would be available to you, the other perishing if you ignored it.
♡ Maybe hours passed. Maybe it was mere minutes.
♡ But watching the Outlaw sleep, at his most vulnerable, with his pleading “Help me,” rattling around in your mind, the choice already seemed to be made for you. You just didn't want to tell yourself exactly why.
♡ So...you stayed.
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Pairing: Yandere Succubus! Soap x female reader
Warnings: yandere behavior, doggy style position, creampie (hinted at multiple), possessiveness, mentions of masturbation, inferred voyeurism, mention of blood, implied hypnotism, and that is all.
@ladyxtiger // IS NOT CHECKED FOR MISTAKES! SORRY :(!
It’s too much — his sharp hands with dagger claws, gripping at your waist and the ownership growls in your ear, how close your body is to his, it’s all too much.
You whimper out, feeling his hot yet long tongue, the thick muscle of his dragging against the of your bottom jaw from behind.
Crying out, you dug yourself further and bit into the pillow, hands scuffing the fabric between your sweaty hands; feeling his thick cock sliding through your cum-soaked folds, before nudging his hard tip back inside for the nth time.
“Don't hide yer moans, lemme’ hear ‘em” Johnny purred in your ear, licking the shell of it before pushing deeper into your soaked cunt.
To say you felt full was an understatement. Everything, including your pussy, was pulsing with heat and unfulfilled lust — the prior orgasms finally catching up with you, and your nerves becoming overstimulated.
You never meant to find Johnny, your hot and of a gentleman neighbor, to be a damn succubus. You would’ve never thought so, but you had suspicions. Whenever you were near him, his eyes always had a glow, a vicious pink, especially at night. And let’s not forget about how every other night, he brought new girls home, their moans, and his heavy balls slapping against their slippery pussy could be heard from the thinned walls beside your bed.
Of course, you couldn’t help yourself. Fingering yourself, moaning his name at your imaginative brain whilst palming your needy breasts. And yet, his eyes always seemed brighter the next day when you saw him.
But, when a few days, turned into a full week of not seeing your hot neighbor — you got worried. But soon found, when you unlocked his apartment door, rushing into his bedroom to find him fucking a pocket pussy; moaning your name as his devilish tail was swirling against his thick thigh.
His horns were long and curving, his fangs and long tongue were of a curse — the slitted eyes, once bright blue, now glowing a pink of hypnosis. Promises he’d treat you well, better than your damn fingers, and toys.
And that’s where it led you: stomach down, legs forced apart to show your puffy cunt, and the tightening tail of his that was wrapped around your lower thigh.
It burned. But the need for satisfaction was burning more.
“Such a good girl f’r me, so pretty,” he panted out, his thickening breath breathing on the side of your cheek. Oh, G-d, he was addictive.
You scream as he speeds his pace, balls slapping against your cunt as you let out a choked moan, jolting forward, face-first into the soft bed.
“Hnggg, no,” you whine, barely able to catch your breath.
The pressure is building up inside of you too quickly, making you squirm. But his claws help your hips in place, groaning whilst making his cock throb from your tightening cavern; warm walls trying to suck him deeper, to keep him seated inside your heat as he slid back out before going back in.
The pressure was too much, and you squeal as clear liquid gushes out, squirting all against Johnny, who releases a cocky chuckle; “Guess yer’ jus’ as obsessed, Bonnie, huh?”
The only sound that came out of you was a defeated whine as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge yet again. He could feel it, and he was relishing the feeling of your cramping walls.
You have no idea how long Soap has been pounding into your sopping pussy, and you’ve lost count of the number of orgasms he’s wrung out of your exhausted (and used) body. You’re tired, sweaty, and a complete mess with suffocating heat along your body.
But, he’s not done with you — not even close.
“Your coworker… fuck—!” he curses, putting his mouth on your neck before sucking in a few hickies, “Hated his smell on you, gghmg—” his words trail off into a moan. At last, your nth orgasm hit you like a train, and you scream in pure bliss; seeing white as your ears vibrated.
Johnny reached down to grind his thumb against your clit, lengthening your orgasm until tears are running down your face.
“Such a Bonnie, all f’r me. It's all fr’me, and I ain’t sharin’,”
You nod, not taking his words into consideration as you were whimpering out — his devil tail tightening around your aching muscle before speeding up. You feel Johnny begin to twitch inside of you, and his fangs deepen its affection into your already-bloody-stained neck.
“Jesus. Y’re gonna be the death o’ me!” and just as he said that, you felt hot ropes of cum coating your insides. It sends you into a drug induced frenzy, and you cum again — his love-filled pupils widening as you drench the bed below you.
You cum so much you think you lost consciousness for a few seconds, and when you finally open your eyes to look at the incubus, who is behind you, to find him smirking.
“I… tired,” you butchered out, brain short-circuiting.
He hummed, licking his lips as he heaved heavily, “Oh, M’ sorry baby. Guess I forgot to tell you about our promise, did I?”
You scrunched your eyebrows together at his statement, and his smirk only widened. He leaned in, his sweaty back resting against yours, and his tail tightening, and it sent shivers down your spine as his breath echoed against your ear.
“I ain’t stoppin’ till you drench of my scent, you little Minx.”
—
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Chapter 3
Yandere Psych Patient König x Nurse Reader
Warning: Possesive, Obsession, Death, Gore, Blood, Smut, Toxic behavior, age gap.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
(This might suck idk. I don't know German so it's all Google translate)
-------------------------------------------------------
He hasn't left his room for a month. They kept him in their with the straitjacket on. His meals are just vitamins that he has to swallow. You would go in to check up on him, but new orders from the administrator's to not go near at all, so you pass by his room. You would peak through the little window and see him laying on his back with little no to motion on his arms or body entirely. His psychiatrist, Dr. Smith is the only that goes in there. They have sessions in his room instead of the usual spot they have it in.
She was pissed at everyone, specifically you. You are her punching bag, even though it was Ben's fault. "Why hasn't he been given his meds!" She yelled at you.
"We are not allowed to go i-" you tried to explain your her, but she could care less.
"You are his nurse right! Your job is to give him his meds! How did you graduate when you can't even do that!" She yelled at you.
You plead for her to listen to you "I'm sorry, Dr. Smith. I can't it's Mr. Millers orders. No one can go in except you because you are his psychiatrist."
So she strolled her way to the administrator's office.
Ignoring his assistant from telling her that she can't go in. Slaming the door open to see him sitting on his chair, writing whatever cral he writes on paper.
"Sarah calm down!"
"Do you have any idea how dangerous he is, and you want me to deal with him alone! On top of that the lack of guards is making my job harder!" Dr. Smith argued with a hand on her hips and her finger pointing towards Ben.
"Do you remeber when you wanted a nurse to look after him." She rolled her eyes. Yes, you, the nurse. "Do you have any idea how much money is going towards her. Triple the pay for looking after him."
Her hands swing in motion, showing her frustration. "She can't even do her fucking job Ben!"
"If she's alive, then she's doing her job well. What's making this hard, is you barging into my office and telling me what to do when you are the one demanding this." He stood up from his chair, fixing his navy tie. "We're loosing staff. People don't want to go near him. Gabriel is threatening to sue the company. Gaurds are quiting left and right so sorry that there aren't enough staff attending your needs."
She crossed her arms with an annoying sigh leaving her lips tinted with red lipstick. "Then hire more people, I don't see the problem?"
"Did you not hear what I said" he walked towards her, standing toe to toe to her. "Majority of our budget is going towards (Y/n). She's been here for two months now, lasting longer than any other nurses. We can't afford another hire with the same pay to deal with König. Besides he hasn't actually killed anyone in those two months, I'll take that than dealing with someone who has a broken jaw from a simple punch."
"Then ask for more money." She scuffed like if it was a joke she said.
He laughed at her face, "Do you think the government cares to fund more for this place, I already have the staff on my ass for new medical supplies, do you think they are gonna hand me the budget to hire someone with triple pay just because you are scared."
"Then fire (y/n) and hire a new guard, maybe someone with military experience."
"Why would I do that. You came into my office, spreaded your legs cause you were so desperate for a nurse and now you want me to fire her. She hasn't done anything in particularly wrong."
"She doesn't follow orders!"
"She does, you just make it difficult." He came in defense.
"Wasn't she trying to stop you from putting him into a straitjacket?" She smirked while her arms crossed at her chest.
"Yes, and she was right. Putting him in a straitjacket does nothing. He was fine it's just that..." he closed his eyes taking deep breath.
"Just what?" She came closer to him, placing her hand on his shoulder, gently caressing it.
He turned his head to her, he used to lovy dovey with her seduction, but now it's more annoyance. "Eli, the other guard, came to my office the other day and told me that Gabriel was provoking König."
She rolled her eyes, looking around his office. Paying attention to the paintings hanged up on the wall and the light objects he has on his desk. "Like what? Making fun of him? We all make fun the people here what else is new?"
"I don't know the full details, but that's what he told me." He sat a bit on his desk.
"Why does that matter?" She shook her head without a single thought in her brain.
"Gabriel is threatening to sue us. If we fight the legal action, we'll have to defend König. König, just like any other patient represent us, our care. If they find out that Gabriel was the one that caused this, making König the victim it doesn't look good after we placed him in the straitjacket. Like we silencing him out. It will ruin our reputation, we'll all loose our jobs and you fucked your way up here for nothing."
"But he harmed a worker, beside murdered multiple people." She let out a little chuckle, placing her hand on his chest.
He didn't give in, instead, he gave her a stare. "He's ex- military and as for you being his psychiatrist, you'll have to speak on behalf of him. Meaning that people will find out about you, how you never studied to become a doctor you fucked every professor you had to get your degree."
"What are you saying, Ben." Her smile dropped.
"I won't fire (Y/n). She stood up for König, making us look like we care about our patients. As for Gabriel, all he's asking is for some 20,000 thousand dollars, which we can easily give him worth than standing infront of the judge. Which means that we can't afford new guards for you. Besides they're taking off his straitjacket today, so stop being so scared and do your dam job."
"I still think you should fire, (Y/n) atleast." She hummed, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"I'm not doing that. Beside she's the only staff that doesn't barge in here demanding stuff. She nice and sweet...." he looked down to the side, " and...young and beautiful. "
She let go of his waist, clenching her jaw. Yes, you being so beautiful. "So what? You want to fuck her? Is that it. Never head young pussy before?"
"You should leave, I have work to do and so do you. This discussion is over." He walked to his desk, sitting down on his chair, unbutton his last few buttons from his dark, navy, blazer.
She stormed off his office, angrly stomping on the white tile floors with her heels creating a louder noise.
You heard the word going around that their taking of his straitjacket, so you quickly gathered what you need to check him up. You saw as the guards took off. He let out a big stretched, flexing more of his muscles. It caused a scare to the guards like a lion letting out a roar.
You walked up to and saw more of his face. He stared at you.
He missed you. He never thought he would miss you. During that month of not seeing you was a time he contemplated about you. Are you made for him or not. He will shut his eyes and images of you will pop up. You smiling at him. Taking good care of him. Watching you squirm under him as you take his full length cock inside your pussy. He'll treat you with respect as long as you do what he says that's all. Seeing your belly swell up with his baby. Can't wait to fuck your tits filled with milk. Can't wait to impregnate you with multiple of his children, making one big happy family. How protective he'll be for his kids, for you. To stand up to the bullies, to show them not to be scared of anything. To hold them if they cry.
He should kill you for making him react this way. He should just kill you. You are just another nurse thinking they have control over him. He use to give orders to people, being the colonel and all, he got the respect he fought for, why does he feel weak around you. You are so sweet and joyful to him. If he was back in the field and saw you, would he kill you. Or maybe fuck you. Maybe that's it. He hasn't done it in so long, so long he hasn't touch a women. He should've just fucked one of the other nurses. Yes, maybe he should do that. Fuck a nurse, just to see. I mean what's the harm in that.
"Aah...yes. right there ngh.... yes...oh fuck that feels good."
The sound of König's footsteps were low that they couldn't hear over the sound of skin slapping against eachother. Watching a men fucking his girlfriend on his bed.
"Does your boyfriend fuck you like this?" Slaming her ass back and forth on his cock.
"Ah....a-aah....he-..he could barley...make me- fuck!..mmgh....wet." She grip the bedsheets hard while he kept pounding her.
No. No. He can't. Not you. He can't. He can't betray you like they did. He can't imagine the face you'll make if you know he fucked another girl. No he should be pure to you. You should be the only one he touches.
He needs you. Okay, it's done. He'll make you his and you'll love him. You'll love him and care for him. Rather you like him or not it's done.
You wrapped the cuff around his bicep and squeeze the bulb reading the numbers on the circle, writing it down. Doing the usual things you have studied for. As you were checking his heartbeat, he reached up which caused you to flinch a bit. His index finger, gently, caressing your cheek. Your back was turned to the guards, making it hard them to see what's going. You stared at him as he touched you with such charisma. His thumb reaching to your chin, hovering over your lips. He placed the tip of his thumb on your bottom lip, gently pulling it out a bit.
You shouldn't have this feeling at the pit of your stomach. You couldn't tell of you didn't smack his hand away because you are scared or because you enjoy it. You never had this much attention, not like this.
"I don't have time to argue with you (Y/n)! Go to your room!" The little girl tuged at her moms shirt.
"Where's daddy?" She felt tears running down her face as her mother poured more wine into her glass, already finishing up the fresh new bottle.
"(Y/n)! Seriously go to room! You are such a headache! Why couldn't your father take you with him! Nauseating!" She dranked the entire glass, slamming the cup on the table.
"Where's daddy?" She said one last time not letting go of her blanket. The same blanket her father got her when she told him she was cold.
"HE LEFT! HE LEFT US (Y/N)! LEFT US FOR THAT BITCH! AND NOW I'M STUCK HERE WITH YOU. HE RUINED MY LIFE. I COULD'VE DONE SOOOO MANY THINGS! But no! I'm stuck to take care of a brat!"
He palmed your cheek, feeling your warmth. He went in closer to you. You could feel his hot breath, quicken as he got closer to your lips.
You pulled back, "I shouldn't- we shouldn't. I mean." You whispered to him.
"Mein liebling (my darling)." He whispered to you. The first time he spoke to you. You couldn't understand him, but he spoke to you. "Du bist mein (you are mine)." He pulled you closer to him, he didn't care if the guards were staring, if anything, he enjoys it. To show everyone that he is yours to touch. "Mein schatz (my sweetheart)," his lips were hovering yours, you felt a little tingle at how close he was.
You know this shouldn't happen. You turned your away from his. You walked back, feeling his grasp letting go. He stared at you witch a smile on his face. You saw the smile he gave you.
When your shift ended and went back to your apartment, the thoughts of what happened lingered into your mind.
That night, you couldn't sleep. He was in your dreams. What if you never pulled way. Were you really going to kiss him. You glazed over the parts where he touched you.
You searched the words he said to you to translate it. Sweetheart, darling, mine.
You felt the butterflies in your stomach again. You never felt so complicated before.
Having a crush on a patient.
You have a crush on König.
#cod modern warfare#cod mw2#cod x reader#fanfic#konig x reader#yandere konig#yandere könig#konig#könig x y/n#könig x reader#könig cod#könig#könig mw2#könig call of duty
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ebb and flow.
yandere!floyd leech x (female) reader
cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, nsfw, stepcest, obsession, getting high/use of edibles, reader is implied to have small breasts, octavinelle trio is human in this story, au with no magic, brief mention of alcohol use, brief mention of implied somnophilia, reader and trio are 18 in the last scene of the story (in case it isn't clear)
note - like the tide, floyd's interests ebb and flow. you happen to be more than a passing fancy.
When he’s old enough to put his thoughts into words, Floyd declares, rather obnoxiously, that girls are gross and he wants nothing to do with them.
“All they ever wanna do is talk about dolls and dresses,” he laments, scuffing his shoe against the cobbles.
“You know I’m a girl, right?” You scoff and turn your nose up, mildly offended. “And not all girls are like that. I’m not like that.”
And it’s true. You give as good as you get. You lunge after Floyd when he yanks your favorite toys out of your hands or when he tugs on your hair, every infraction intentional. He knows just how to rile you up enough for you to give chase. You’re keen to wrestle him in the mud on rainy days in the same way he’s willing to race you up and down the streets to prove outlandish points.
Growing up with two brothers—though they aren’t your family by blood, referring to them as your step-brothers is a knotty mouthful you prefer to avoid—taught you things you never would have learned if you had a sister.
Perhaps their presence served to stoke the fires of playful violence—meaningless quarrels that were resolved in a matter of minutes, often punctuated with halfhearted apologies. Once, in the middle of a particularly nasty brawl, you kicked Floyd in the jaw and knocked his front tooth free. Morbidly amused, Jade applauded you for the show. Floyd held his bruised face in one hand, glaring viciously as blood dribbled from his lips. He reeled his arm back, but it never landed. Your father chewed the lot of you out before he could throw the punch.
“What are we going to do with you?” your mother would say while she patched the both of you up. “Always fighting like this… That’s not very nice now, is it?”
The twins’ mother died shortly after giving birth and so they never knew the concept of a mother until five years later when their father remarried. It was then when you joined their family of three, and the twins had taken to their new mother like fish in water. Adoringly, they would tug on her skirt and demand attention. She was all too happy to indulge them, lifting them into her arms one at a time.
“You know that means Mama and me, don’t you?” you add, skipping ahead of him.
“That’s different. Mama doesn’t count. She’s special.”
“What about me?”
Floyd takes one look at you and smiles that mean, mocking smile. “You’re even worse. You’ve got girl germs.”
You don’t bother granting him a head start. He’s already running.
On the cusp of a growth spurt, his face peppered in pimples, Floyd is only fifteen when you chase him out of your bedroom.
“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Your piercing shrieks and Floyd’s raucous laughter echo through the halls, drawing the perpetually curious Jade out of his room like a worm from an apple core.
He’s greeted with the sight of Floyd, who has clasped your bra around his head and is now parading about proudly. A plush octopus flies after him and smacks into the wall. Seconds later, you burst from your room with embarrassment painted on your face.
“Oh my.” Jade observes the scene unfold from behind his fist. His mismatched eyes glitter with mischief.
“You’re so tiny! Your boyfriend’s gonna fall in love with a shrimp!” Floyd sticks his tongue out at you. “Shrimpy (Name)! Shrimpy (Name)! I’ve got a shrimp for a sis!”
“That’s not funny, and Azul’s not my boyfriend!” You reach for him, but he avoids you with an agile sidestep. “Knock it off! Give it back!”
“But it fits me better.”
“It does not!” You turn to Jade and gesture wildly at Floyd, who is now batting his lashes like a princess. “Don’t just stand there! Help me out.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I’m much more suited to the sidelines. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your fun.”
You grit your teeth. “You ass—”
“So much noise! What in the world is going on here?”
Your mother makes her way up the stairs just as Floyd tugs the bra off his head. You round on her before the twins can.
“Mooom, Floyd’s being gross. He stole my bra and won’t give it back.”
“Huuuh. No way. She’s totally framin’ me. I don’t have her bra.” Floyd folds his arms over his chest, feigning innocence. “That’s just icky. Why would I have it anyway?”
“Indeed,” Jade agrees coyly, pretending to search for it. “No bra in sight.”
“You’re liars—you and Jade!” You sneer at them. They merely smile angelically. “I’ll kick both of you in your dicks if you don’t—”
“(Name), mind your language!” Sighing, your mother issues both boys a stern frown. “Floyd, sweetheart, it’s not nice to tease your sister. You as well, Jade. Return what you stole and apologize.” She bends down to retrieve the fallen plush and passes it to you. “You too, (Name). You’re family. Family shouldn’t fight.”
“I don’t owe him an apology.”
“And I don’t have her bra.”
“He’s lying! Floyd was in my room, digging through my clothes.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yeah-huh!”
Jade smiles wide enough to reveal the braces on his teeth. “Now that (Name) mentions it, I did see Floyd sneaking about. Oh, but maybe that’s not right. I only caught a glimpse, after all.”
Floyd has no reason to look so betrayed. Jade oscillates between sides whenever it sates his hunger for amusement. Today, as luck would have it, he’s on your side. For now.
“If you’re as innocent as you claim, surely there’s no reason to keep your arms clasped behind your back.”
“You really don’t have anyone’s back, do you?”
“Floyd…” Your mother looks at him expectantly, her eyes soft despite her tone.
He thrusts his arm out and drops your bra. “Fine. Take it back. Wasn’t havin’ any fun with it anyways.”
“Honestly, you’re such a pervert,” you snap, swiping it from the floor. “Next time you wanna come in my room, you’d better knock first. How would you like it if I went into your and Jade’s room and stole one of your shirts?”
He sticks his tongue out at you, defiant like the brat he is. If your mother wasn’t standing behind you, you’d have exacted your revenge right then.
“(Name), be nice to your brother. Floyd, apologize to your sister.”
Floyd doesn’t look you in the eyes when he spits a mean-sounding, “Sorry.”
Jade can only snicker, feasting on this live entertainment like it’s the richest meal.
“And I’m sooo sorry you’re annoying and everyone’s gotta put up with you.” With an exasperated huff, you strut back into your room and slam the door shut. It locks with a loud click.
“Give her some time. She just needs to cool down,” you hear your mother explain. “But, really, you should know better, Floyd. It’s not right to go into anyone’s room and take their things.”
“I would never do something so egregious, Mother,” Jade admits, which you find hard to believe because he’s just as sly, if not more so, than his twin.
“She’s just mad I’m funnier than her,” Floyd says. A blatant falsehood if you’ve ever heard one.
You could never understand Floyd’s obsession with your laundry. Maybe he was just your typical hormone-addled teenager with nothing better to do but fantasize about women and their undergarments, and seeing as you were the only girl he was close to—both in age and as siblings—who else could bear the brunt of his delinquency?
Or it had nothing to do with that at all, and he was just determined to be as much of a pest as possible.
Back then, that made sense.
Back then, you were foolish.
Back then, you didn’t know. No one did. Not really.
Lying between your brothers, lost in thought, you stare at the plastic stars and planets pasted to your ceiling. A dulcet adagio trickles out of the tiny speaker on your bedside table. The honeyed vocals soften the static in your brain, snuffing every burden with beautiful bossa nova. You soak in every lyric, imagining yourself in the singer’s position: falling for someone in midnight blue, blooming beneath their touch, your dress falling to your ankles, exploring each other’s shorelines…
The fantasy floats away as soon as Floyd opens his mouth, and you’re brought back to reality. No lover in your arms. No midnight blue. No flowering feelings. No dress.
“When’s this stuff supposed to kick in? I don’t feel a thing.”
“Patience,” Jade murmurs, practically melting into the mattress. “You’ll know once it happens.”
“Well, I don’t. Your shit sucks.”
“As does your attitude.”
“Whatever.” Floyd snuggles closer to you, pulling your arm into his chest. “What about you, Shrimpy? You feel it yet?”
“Mmh, sorta… I dunno. Don’t call me that.”
“Once a shrimp, always a shrimp.”
“I did offer the other half.”
“I’ll take it if I feel like it.” You shake Floyd off and pout at Jade. “Mom and Dad’ll lose it if they find out, you know.”
Jade flashes his teeth at you in a cheeky grin. “I’m counting on you to be a sweet, dependable sister and keep my little secret safe.”
“Lips are sealed.”
“What a good pet you are. So obedient.”
You exhale a soft, gasping laugh. “You’re so weird.”
“But you’re smiling.”
“Only because you’re weird!”
He giggles and leans in close, his nose brushing yours. When he speaks again, it’s in a softer tone, near-hypnotic. “So you do feel it.”
“Maybe.”
With a petulant whine, Floyd presses himself against you from behind. “No fair. I wanna be all silly like you and Jade. Gimme the other half. I’ll take it right now.”
“You can grab it.”
“You’re closer.”
“Alas… My limbs are lead.”
“Asshole,” Floyd gripes, leaning over you and Jade to swipe the box from the bedside table. He often keeps his stash there. Sometimes it’s stocked with gummy edibles or mushrooms, all wrapped in plastic. Jade’s resourceful like a squirrel, crafty in ways you can’t fathom.
Today, you’re holed up in your room because you have a bigger bed. There are fairy lights strung up on the walls, providing the space with just enough dimness for you to see your surroundings. It’s the perfect ambience for this slow, lazy Saturday in November. Your parents are out for the afternoon and won’t be back until later, and you couldn’t be any happier to have the house to yourself.
As soon as the door shut, you exchanged knowing looks with your brothers and hurried back to your room. Jade told you he’d take you and Floyd to his favorite spot in the forest after midterms and then the lot of you could truly kick back and relax with some pre-rolls. He’d invite Azul and make it a picnic in the woods. A whole day filled with fun. In your heart, it would be a date. Your brothers would just be the unwanted third and fourth wheels.
Really, you could care less about getting high. Azul is more than a drug—he’s oxygen—and you crave him like an addict feens for a fix. Floyd thinks your crush on him is stupid and misplaced. You beg to differ. You’ve admired him since childhood. How could you possibly fall out of love now?
Floyd flops back into the empty space beside you, chewing the rest of the gummy worm. His arm drapes across your waist. “What’re we doin’ tomorrow?”
“I’m going to the library to study with Azul.”
“Lame.”
“You’re not invited.” You roll over on your side to address him, speaking slowly. “Don’t show up.”
“Now I kinda want to. I wanna see what you and Azul get up to.”
“Studying.”
“Mmh, I doubt that.” Jade sticks to you like moss, his eyes fluttering shut. “Azul’s studying, at least. You’re daydreaming.”
“Not my fault he’s cute.”
“I’m cuter.” Floyd’s lips turn down in a disappointed moue. “Ain’t I cute?”
“No way. You’re ugly.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
“No one asked you, Jade. ‘Sides, ain’t that basically the same as sayin’ you’re ugly, too?”
“I dunno,” he mumbles dumbly, the words muffled in your shoulder. “What do you think, (Name)?”
“Get yourself a girlfriend and then you can ask her.”
“Won’t you be my stand-in girlfriend?”
“Yeah, that’s good.” Floyd curls his fingers around the strap of your tank top. He tugs it up and down your arm in a languid rhythm. You’re floating amongst the clouds, your mind filled with a pleasant fuzz, so scolding him isn’t a priority. “Forget about bein’ our sis for a sec.”
“Get lost.”
“How cold…” Jade sniffles.
“Shrimpy’s ruthless.”
“Stop calling me that.”
Floyd’s hand crawls across your chest to grope you through your shirt. “Mmh, nope. Still small.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“I think you’re sized just right.” Jade’s spidery digits creep along your hip and splay across your stomach. “Azul won’t even notice. He doesn’t pay attention to your assets like we do.”
“I wish he would.” You meet Jade’s half-lidded stare. “Does he talk about me?”
“In what context? You’ll need to be specific,” he purrs, and if you weren’t swimming in bliss you’d elbow him in the mouth.
It’s like pulling teeth with Jade. He makes things so irritatingly difficult for no reason.
“You know the context.”
“Sometimes he says stuff,” Floyd replies instead. He rests his head in the crook of your neck and inhales the sugary notes of your perfume.
“Good stuff?”
Vibrating with a woozy warmth, you squirm between your brothers. It’s stifling being in the middle of their sandwich, but the proximity is pleasing. Comfortable. Reassuring. You feel like an anchored ship between the both of them, safely pinned down amidst the tumultuous waves of your bedsheets. You sigh dreamily when Floyd’s legs twine around yours.
“He thought your sweater was real cute.”
“Which one?”
“All of ’em.”
“Hmm. Okay.” But that doesn’t satisfy you. “What type of girl is he into?”
“Why don’t you make him your boyfriend? Then you can find out,” Jade says.
He aims for a sharp smile and falls short. It mellows out into something stupid and lopsided. He thinks he’s the funniest creature on the planet, and in this moment he is because the retort has you snowballing into a fit of giggles.
“Maybe I will.”
Floyd tracks your throat as it bobs with every swallow. He glances at your jaw next, at the glitters speckled on your cheeks. They sparkle like miniature stars, an entire galaxy imprinted on your skin. “You’re wearin’ makeup.”
“Hm?”
“Perfume, too. Smells good.”
“I bought some when I went to the mall.”
“When?”
“Last week? Two weeks ago? I can’t remember.”
“You doin’ it for Azul?”
“Who else? Certainly not you.”
Floyd scowls at Jade. “Don’t answer for her. I wanna hear it from her.”
“You’re my brother. Why would it be for you?” you mumble, more confused than unsettled.
Obviously it’s for Azul.
“Why not? It’s not fair other guys get to see ya lookin’ this good. Why should I be excluded just cuz I’m your brother?”
His lips drag against your neck. There’s nothing special about his affection. It’s dubiously platonic, but you’re used to it. He’s always been prone to expressing himself through physical means. Too-tight hugs, pecks on the cheek, a gentle squeeze in clasped hands. It was cute when you were children, but now you’re seventeen and it’s getting harder to explain his clingy nature.
“I don’t care what other guys think.”
“Just Azul?” Jade prompts, toying with the hem of your top. His fingers slide beneath it to prod at your navel, and suddenly Azul is no longer the most important part of this conversation. “Have you ever considered piercing it?”
“What? My belly button?”
“Ooh, good idea. You could match jewelry with us. How about it? I’ll getcha some sturgeon scales.”
“Mom’ll kill me.”
“In that case, we’re both dead.”
You blink at Jade, searching for the meaning in his mismatched hues. He opens his mouth, unfurling his tongue to reveal the venom piercing. The shock washes over you like a wave, and just as it’s receding it hits you—what you’re looking at.
“Your tongue! You actually—since when?”
“Two weeks.”
“What the hell! Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come with. Moral support and stuff.”
He laughs when you nudge him. “It wasn’t so bad. I’d like to get more.”
“Does Dad know?”
“Not at all.”
“Dangerous.”
“Thrilling,” he corrects, a minacious glint in his gaze.
“Jade’s changin’ up his whole look. Super cool, ain’t it?”
“And what about you?” You turn over towards Floyd. His hands settle on your lower back. He all but tugs you away from Jade, who frowns and shuffles closer until his hips press against your ass. You feel his mouth at your bare shoulder, lavishing it with little pecks. “Do you want more piercings?”
“You into guys with piercings?”
“I don’t really care. Piercings are great. Tattoos, too.”
“Then I’ll get a tattoo.”
“So it’s settled. (Name) will pierce her navel, and Floyd will get a tattoo.”
“Sure,” you agree, but you don’t expect anything to come out of it. Just a random idea thrown around in the haze of your high.
You’re closer than family should be, but that’s the last thing on your mind when you’re twisted between them. This is normal. At least, it’s the normal you’ve grown up with.
What isn’t normal, though, is Floyd’s insistence that he ought to shape himself into the man of your dreams when, clearly, the man of your dreams goes by the name of Azul Ashengrotto. But you’re not worried. It’s always said in jest, or you assume it’s in jest.
In the back of your mind, you wonder if Azul would like you more if you had a pretty piercing to show off.
You’re weeks away from prom when Azul says yes.
“Wait… Really? Seriously?”
“I was under the impression we were all going,” he says with that charismatic chuckle you love dearly. “As a group, yes?”
Your hopes plummet alongside pieces of your heart. “Oh. Y-Yeah, right. A group. Of course.”
“I do appreciate the poster, though.” He holds it up as if it’ll reveal a secret message when caught in the sun. The cartoon octopus you spent hours sketching, lining, and coloring smiles back at him. “‘It would be so tenta-cool if you could be the sea to my shore at prom.’ How ingeniously cheesy.”
Your laughter is hollow. That’s the last time I’m asking Jade for advice on ocean puns.
“I’m glad you think so… Hey, you’re coming over before the dance, right? We’re thinking of doing something.”
“A party before the party?” Azul rolls the poster up and carefully fits it into his messenger bag. It sticks out from under the flap. “I’m not opposed. What did you have in mind?”
“We could get dinner.” Just the two of us. “Whatever you want, really. My dad’s planning to send us there in a limo. Real classy, y’know.”
Azul falls into step with you. “If that’s the case, we might as well go all out.”
Sensing an in, you stare at him. “The girls in my class are going on and on about how prom’s gotta be this magical thing. It can’t get more magical than a fancy car.”
“Goodness. It’s really not that special. You can’t exactly put ‘Prom Queen’ on your resume now, can you?”
“No, but you can make lots of memories. So I was thinking—hypothetically, of course—if you’d wanna go as, like, my fake date. Like, we’re going as a group and everything, but if you want we could get flowers for each other and match outfits and… B-Basically, I’m just trying to see if there’s any merit to what they’re saying about prom. About it being magical with a date.”
“Hm… That’s true. It will be our final social event before we graduate and go out into the world. Our last chance to say and do whatever we’ve neglected in previous years.”
“Right.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” His stare is fixed firmly on the path ahead. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
“So…” You swallow your anxieties; your heart is in your throat. “So you’ll be my hypothetical date?”
“I would be honored.”
“Okay. A-All right… Yeah! Great!”
Azul’s pretty blues briefly flick over to you. His cheeks are tinged pink. “Wonderful. I… I’m pleased we’ve worked this out. All hypotheticals, naturally.”
“Yeah, definitely. Just hypothetical.”
“Did…you have a color in mind? Have you picked a dress yet?”
“Something pink or purple. Maybe red. I’m not really sure.”
“Blue would be very flattering on you.” As an afterthought, he scrambles to add, “But that’s just another hypothetical.”
You watch the way he wrings the strap of his bag. “I agree. Blue’s a good color.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I could wear you.” You regret it the moment it leaves your mouth, even more so when Azul raises a bewildered brow. “B-Because your name—no, sorry. That’s dumb. I don’t mean it in the crazy-murderer-who-skins-you-alive way. I meant in the way that’s like—”
“Cheek to cheek?”
“Yeah. No, yeah, that’s right.”
What am I saying? None of this makes any sense.
Azul laughs and nudges you playfully. “You can wear me. Hypothetically, I’m your date to the dance. It’s only right that I act as your accessory for the evening.”
“Then… T-Then let’s be each other’s garments!”
He hums his approval and the conversation dies there.
You make the rest of the walk out of school in awkward silence. At the gates, Azul turns to you.
“None of this is hypothetical, is it?”
You heave a relieved breath. “Not at all.”
“Then allow me to do away with pretending. I’ll be your prom date. Factually.”
“My factual prom date…”
“It…doesn’t sound as smooth as a hypothetical.”
“But it’s real.”
He smiles shyly. “That it is.”
On the night of prom, alone in an empty corridor, Floyd yanks you into a rough kiss. The music from the ballroom is so loud you can faintly hear it from down the hall. It pulses through you with energetic vibrations, joining your panic in an unsteady duet. You push at Floyd’s chest, struggling against the wall he has you pinned to. He breaks off halfway just to savor your gasp before moving in to reclaim your mouth. It’s a ravenous action. He kisses you like he intends to devour you, licking and nipping at every possible crevice. His teeth click against yours as he endeavors to taste the wine at the back of your throat—courtesy of sneaky, rebellious Jade and his discreet water bottle.
Finally, after gathering enough strength, you shove him off of you. He stumbles, hurt flashing across his face. Ferociously hot up to your ears, your heart stumbling in your rib cage, you can’t believe it. You don’t want to believe it.
That wasn’t real… No way…
Still processing it, you smudge your lipstick when you wipe the drool from your mouth.
You and Floyd watch each other in silence. You’re waiting for him to break it. He’s waiting for you to run away.
“What…was that?”
“You were cozyin’ up to Azul—”
“Because he’s my date!”
“Yeah, but you—Shrimpy, c’mon, you know we agreed to go as a group…”
“And so what? That doesn’t give you the right to kiss me. I was going to—I had an entire plan for this. Azul was gonna be my first kiss!”
“Well, now he’s gonna hafta be second.”
You sputter in shock. “You—you’re so… I just… Wow.”
Floyd’s face hardens and softens and then hardens again. He looked like a kicked puppy a few minutes ago, cowardly and small, but now there’s determination smoldering in his stare.
“I like ya. I like ya a whole lot.” You open your mouth to protest, but he beats you to it. “More than a sister.”
And there it is—the truth you couldn’t confront.
Your frustration withers and blooms anew in a complicated tangle of weeds. “You…like me. Like… Like me, like me?”
Floyd cards a hand through his slicked hair and exhales a heavy breath. “I mean… It’s obvious, ain’t it?”
“Floyd, I… I’m sorry, but I like Azul. You know this.” Now it’s your turn to cut him off before he can speak. “You’re family, Floyd. My brother.”
“So what?”
“It’s wrong, that’s what! We’re family. That’s all we’ve ever been… Look—I don’t have time for this. Azul and Jade are gonna wonder where we went. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
You brush past him, hoping to leave this conversation here and pick it up after the dance. But Floyd won’t have that. He seizes your wrist and tugs you around.
“Just…” He avoids your stare. “Just hear me out, okay? I just wanna love ya.”
“So love me like a normal brother.” You try to pull yourself free, but he holds firm. “I really don’t have time to argue. Actually, this isn’t something I should have to argue in the first place.”
“We’re not related in that way. It’s fine, isn’t it?” He grabs your waist and drags you close.
“Mom and Dad won’t think so. Azul won’t. Honestly, Floyd, let it go. We’ll talk later. Please just—”
“You really don’t get it, do you?”
You inhale slowly, forcing yourself to remain calm. “No, I don’t. I really don’t.”
“I’ve wanted ya longer than Azul—than Jade. Longer than anyone. And I never got to have ya.” Floyd plasters you to the wall again, but this time he slots a knee between your thighs. “Drove me crazy every time I saw ya walkin’ around the house in those stupid shorts or when you’d bring your friends over and you’d wear that stupid nightgown. The soft one with the lace and bows. The one that’s so thin it shows your shrimpy tits.”
Your glower is so blistering it could melt him down to his bones. “You’re disgusting.”
“Maybe.” He laughs, but it isn’t funny. “Didja know? I wanted to kiss you in your sleep. Touch you all over. Stick my fingers in you and watch you squirm… Feel how tight you are when you cling to my cock. You’re still a virgin, ain’tcha? Azul hasn’t done it with you yet, right?”
You yelp when his hand slips under the ruffles of your dress and climbs up your thigh. “W-Wait—stop! Don’t—”
“Gonna take that as a no.”
“Floyd—”
“See? Can’t you say my name instead of his? You don’t gotta daydream with me around. I’ll make you feel good. You don’t need that stupid dildo when you’ve got me.”
His fingers press against the outline of your pussy, teasing you through the fabric. Your body goes rigid. “Y-You can’t… Not here. Someone might see.”
“Let ’em. Then they’ll know you’re all mine.” Floyd noses your throat and deflates against you, hedonistic and selfish. “You always smell so fuckin’ good. Like candy. Sweet and yummy. Makes me wanna bite you and never let go. Taste your shrimpy heartbeat in my mouth…”
“S-Seriously…” You squeeze your eyes shut and bite back a whimper when he squeezes your clit. “Get off of me. You can’t—you’re my brother.”
“Nah. Brothers don’t go around stealin’ their sister’s stuff and usin’ it to get off, do they?”
It occurs to you that you should be furious with him. He deserves more than just your ire. Instead, you can only feel intoxicated as you listen to him ramble filth.
“Remember that pair of panties you thought was clean? The ones with the stain.”
“Yeah, the ones I use when I’m on my period—”
“Not those. The other one.”
“W-What—” You slap your hand over your mouth to muffle your gasp. He rubs you in slow, deliberate circles. With dimming focus, you try to think of anything else—of boring, bland things—to fight off mounting arousal. “What about it?”
“I had that pair wrapped around my dick before you put ’em on.”
“So that was—the stain was—”
“Mhm.”
“Ew! You’re the worst! That was my favorite pair, Floyd!”
He snickers. “At least it wasn’t you. My old man’ll beat my ass if I knock ya up. Had to use the next best thing.”
“Use your hand, dumbass! Don’t use my stuff!”
“Then stop fuckin’ yourself on your dildo. I hear you through the bathroom door, y’know. Moanin’ like you’re in heat. All of it for Azul. I wanted to come in and help ya out every time, but I couldn’t. And that really ate at me.”
“I don’t want your help,” you spit, glaring.
“No? But you’re so wet. I think my fingers will slip riiight in.” He pulls your panties to the side and prods at your folds. “You wanna test it?”
You shake your head a second too late. Floyd’s already pushing two fingers inside. The breath sticks in your throat. He’s actually doing this, right here in the open. Someone could turn down the hall and spot you. That someone could be—
“A-Azul might catch us. Stop. You really can’t…”
“Aww. What? Don’t want Azul seein’ you like this? Don’t want him to see the mess you’re making? Don’t want him knowing you like being wrapped around your brother’s fingers?”
He’s mean when he curls them suddenly, a brute and a bully all at once. They press against wet, velvety walls, and the noisy squelch leaves you shuddering. You breathe heavily, little huffs that tremble sweetly as he stretches you out.
“S-Shut up. You’re a pervert.”
“That makes two of us.”
You yank him closer by his tie, intending to be threatening and failing. “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Sure you are.”
Without warning, he reaches for your chest and yanks your strapless dress down to reveal your breasts. Your perky nipples poke out against the lingerie tape. He whistles lowly while he marvels at them.
“Still the same pair of shrimpy tits.”
“Nuh-uh. I went up a size.”
“Yeah-huh. I would know. I steal your bras all the time. Same cup size, Shrimpy.”
“So you’re depraved and shameless.”
“No reason to hide it anymore.”
He drags his fingers out and thrusts them back in. You choke on a stifled moan. Deep down in a logical corner of your brain, you know you shouldn’t submit so easily. It’s wrong, but you can’t stop the pleasure that washes over you with every stroke of his fingers. It sends pleasant bolts of bliss up your spine. Your knees wobble, and your thighs are sticky with your slick. When he grinds his thumb against your clit, forcefully insistent, something in your stomach snaps. You come undone in an instant, crashing against a sinful shore. Orgasm wracks through you in a powerful tremor, shaking the thoughts in your skull like a disturbed ecosystem in a terrarium.
Unrelenting, he fucks you through it. You’re boneless in the aftermath, chest heaving and mind reeling.
Floyd’s fingers glide out with ease, shimmering with your juices. He puts them in his mouth to savor the taste of you, his tongue slithering between the space of both digits. Horrifyingly, you admire him as he licks himself clean. Even though you shouldn’t, you wish desperately to feel that muscle inside you, working you towards another grand peak.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
You’re still in a daze when Floyd fixes your panties and dress. You look presentable, if not slightly debauched. Your makeup is a mess, and Floyd’s all too eager to fix it for you. You stand still when he wipes at the corner of your mouth with his thumb and then carefully applies lipstick. Within no time, you’re back to how you were.
“Lookin’ good,” he praises, stuffing the tube in his pocket. “The prettiest Shrimpy at the party. They should make you Prom Queen.”
You swat at him. “Don’t…” And then you sigh. What does it matter? He’s going to call you that regardless of what you think.
Thankfully, the slow dance is only just beginning when you return. You find Azul lingering near the wall, tapping anxiously at his phone. Jade’s also there. Physically. You can’t say the same for his head. He’s taking a trip in his own mental paradise. Floyd stalks after you, his hands stuffed in his pockets. If you didn’t just squirt around his fingers minutes ago, you would’ve assumed the atmosphere of the party was to blame for his euphoria. But you know the real reason.
Azul doesn’t, though.
So it’s with a guilty heart when you lead him onto the dance floor for a waltz.
Your childhood crush—the guy you’ve loved more than life itself—is right in front of you, looking at you like you’ve hung the stars, but the only one you can think of is your step-brother.
That can’t be a good sign.
Floyd joins Jade in his corner. He gazes through him and offers his water bottle. It’s nerdy enough for its contents to be unassuming, what with its mushroom print, but Floyd knows better than to take it at face value. Even so, he grabs hold of it and downs what’s left of the wine. It’s so sweet it sticks to the roof of his mouth.
“Azul’s not staying the night, is he?”
“I’m not sure.” Jade finds you and Azul in the crowd of dancers and hums. “How cruel of you to want to separate them.”
“He’s not gettin’ laid tonight if that’s what he thinks. Not if I can help it.”
“I don’t think he even knows how.”
Floyd laughs. “Nah. He knows.”
“Does he now?”
“C’mon, Jade. He undresses her every time he looks at her.”
“I suppose so.” He smiles moonily, distracted. “She’ll never let you.”
“She won’t let you either.”
“I don’t mind a little pain. To be bloodied and bruised by her gentle hands… I know of no greater exhilaration.”
Floyd rolls his eyes. “Azul’s got it lucky. He gets to hug and kiss her whenever he wants. Meanwhile, I’ve gotta pretend like I don’t wanna fuck her shrimpy brains out every time I get a whiff of her perfume.”
“The odds aren’t very favorable, but I suspect you’ve already had your fun.”
Floyd grins wickedly. “She’s cute. I couldn’t help it.”
“I must agree. She sounds sweetest when she’s caught in the throes of pleasure.”
Floyd starts to nod and then pauses. “How do you know—”
“Oh my. It appears I’ve said too much.”
“No, no. Keep talkin’. You haven’t said nearly enough.”
“You’re not her only brother, you know.”
Floyd thinks there’s more to that sentence, but Jade isn’t willing to get into the details. Not here, at least. He doesn’t have to pry too deeply to understand the hidden implications.
“Asshole. You went and did it before I could.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jade giggles. “A little midnight snacking never hurts. She’s soft and snug inside. Very warm.”
Floyd shoves him away. “Fuck off.”
As long as it’s not Azul, he thinks, watching him as he spins you like a gentleman. Anyone but him.
#yandere twst#yandere twst x reader#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere floyd leech#yandere floyd x reader#yandere floyd leech x reader#yandere floyd#n/sfw#tw: stepcest#tw: dubcon
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Omg are you a SAINT??? I’m the one who requested the Theo x ftm Parkinson Reader and it was incredible!!! I love Yanderes ngl because I have….issues…..anyways please bring me a part 2 （╹◡╹）
uh. super dark themes in here? i’m really sorry?
requests open
CLAIRVOYANCE AND TASSEOGRAPHY (Chapter Two of Pansy’s Brother) — yandere! psycho! theodore nott x ftm! sweetheart! parkinson! reader
WARNINGS: abduction/kidnapping, stalking, possessive/obsessive behavior, intense unwarranted jealousy
hey! if you like someone, please don’t stalk and kidnap them! that’s decidedly uncool!
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“You going back to your dorm?”
“Nah,” you shake your head. “I need to finish my homework for Trelawney. Going to the library.”
Enzo snickers. “Good luck. ~Clear your mind~,” his voice took on a sing-song quality as he imitated your professor, laughing when you smacked his arm and told him to be nice.
“I like Divination,” you whine. “Trelawney’s nice!”
“Yeah, sure…” he teases, knocking his shoulder against yours. You roll your eyes and wave goodbye to him, heading to the library while he turns to go back down to the dungeons.
The hallways are mostly empty, although a few straggling kids make their way through the castle, but a multitude of others must’ve had the same idea as you, because the library is completely full.
You weave your way between a pack of first year Hufflepuffs and a group of zonked-out Gryffindors, dropping your bag down onto the only free table to claim your spot.
Madam Pince, always one beat ahead of everyone else, emerges from the maze of bookshelves, holding a simple wood box out for you.
“Y/N, dear. I believe you’re in need of this?” She said wisely with a small smile on her otherwise stern face.
Madam Pince had always quite liked you. You were quiet (unlike your sister and her friends), you always thanked her whenever she helped you (even if it was just bringing you another cup of tea and an interesting book on the Muggle constitutional monarchy), and you once marched down to the library just to give her an entire plate of cookies because I made too many, really Madam, and besides, you deserve a bit of thanks for all the hard work you do.
(She’d later asked the house elves. They informed her that you’d only baked one batch of cookies. She’s had a soft spot for you ever since.)
You thanked her gratefully, taking the wood box and opening it. Inside was one of the library’s loaner crystal balls. A bit scuffed up, but it did the job.
Sitting down at your table, you got to work writing your Divination essay. You weren’t particularly adept at clairvoyance, but as long as you tried (or at least pretended to), Trelawney would leave you alone.
The library grew quiet as groups began intermittently leaving, rubbing tired eyes and yawning as they stumbled their way down the hall. Madam Pince came by with two mugs of tea and and an order to take a break, dear, have a cuppa with me.
You laid down your quill, taking your offered mug with grateful thanks and a tired smile. She pulled a chair up next to you, sipping her own mug.
“I’ve closed the library up for tonight, but you’re welcome to stay for as long as you need. I know, I know. As an educator, I’m not supposed to have favorites but…” she gave you a conspiratorial wink. “Anyway, the only people left in here are Miss Granger, you, and I. Lovely girl, that Granger. But remember, you need to sleep at some point, dear.”
You laughed and nodded, draining the rest of your tea and swirling the leaves around. “I know. I just need to finish this essay.”
Madam Pince gave you a pointed look, glancing down at the three sentences you had written on your otherwise blank twelve inches of parchment and then back up at you.
“Divination is a difficult subject,” she advised. “Take notes, and write your essay later. Although you seem to be doing quite well with tasseography.” She nodded towards your empty mug which you were still swirling around, just as something to do with your hands.
You laugh, finally stopping the cup and peering in. “Oh no, I’m terrible at reading tea leaves. This looks like a… an axe, I think? And… ooh, this looks like a shark. Or maybe a goldfish.”
She snickered, patting your shoulder and standing up, smiling at you before returning to her seemingly endless task of reshelving books.
You spun the cup around once more, finding only a wonky heart and a vaguely knife-shaped bit. The rim of your tea mug held only a weird looking dog.
You brushed off the silly reading and resumed your homework, tapping the crystal ball with your fingernail in frustration.
There wasn’t anything in there.
You sighed in annoyance, setting down your quill with a clack and rubbing the heel of your hands over your eyes. It was starting to get late, and you weren’t getting anywhere. Might as well call it a bust and go back to your dorm.
You huffed out a short breath as you screwed on the lid of your inkwell, stuffing your quill and parchment in your bag with little care.
Turning back to put the crystal ball back in its box, you froze when you saw something.
You narrowed your eyes, leaning closer to get a better look.
Nope.
Nothing.
You sighed again, shaking your head. You could’ve sworn you’d seen something move. But alas, it was still just the same stupid upside-down reflection of the bookshelves in front of you.
You picked up the ball, nestling the stand back inside the satin interior of the box. As you moved the set the sphere down as well, you saw it again.
Movement.
Now you knew you weren’t crazy.
It was a little hard to tell, as whatever was on the other side of the ball would reflect back inverted, but you swore it looked like a person.
You squinted, shifting a bit. The indistinct figure vanished.
You looked up from the ball tentatively, a bit afraid of what might be ahead of you.
Nothing.
“Hermione?” You called softly. Your voice carried in the empty library.
“Upstairs!” Hermione’s distinct voice called back. You glanced up at the small second floor loft, catching a glimpse of bushy hair.
A hand suddenly came down on your shoulder with a vice-like grip.
You startled, a yelp halfway on your lips when another hand covered your mouth. The mystery person leaned down behind you to whisper in your ear.
“Easy. You’re okay.”
You were frozen with fear, the ball slipping out of your hands and falling onto the (thankfully) carpeted floor, where it rolled to a stop some feet away.
“Not a word.” The stranger’s voice hissed, their grip tightening over your mouth, their short nails digging into your skin.
They yanked you out of your chair from behind, leaving all of your things scattered across your desk. The stranger moved their hand from your shoulder to your opposite elbow, their arm across your torso and keeping you from moving as they dragged you down the row. They made a beeline for the library doors, your weak attempts to fight them off not hindering them in the slightest.
As the stranger fumbled to open the door with both of their hands occupied, a familiar voice called out.
“Are you finally leaving, Y/N, dear?” Madam Pince’s called from just around the corner, half-hidden behind a bookshelf.
The stranger’s grip on you tightened even further, to an almost painful degree.
“Answer her.” They hissed again, digging their nails into your cheeks again before slowly moving their hand down to uncover your mouth.
You trembled with fear. “U-uh, yeah. Got some wonderfully mediocre notes down, and I’m exhausted.”
Her laugh drifted through the library. “Alright then, Y/N. Oh! And if Professor Trelawney actually does assign any tasseography homework, you know where to find me.”
“Yeah, of course. We can share a cuppa chamomile together.”
“Sounds lovely, dear. Sleep well.”
The rather sweet moment was ruined as the stranger’s hand returned over your mouth and you were bodily dragged out of the library.
~~~
Irma Pince was many things, but she was not stupid.
Once hated by the students of Hogwarts, now one of the most beloved staff members, she was an integral part of the school. Since allowing for more freedom in the library—which now drew more regulars and first years who were no longer afraid of her—plus with the addition of befriending some of the more polite students, she no longer was the sour, unpleasant woman she’d once been.
She was knowledgeable in virtually every subject—she knew who needed to return what books by when, who the Muggle prime minister in 1857 was, what dittany is, and how fireworks worked, they’re really quite simple, Mr. and Mr. Weasley. Point being, she knew just about everything about anything.
She also knew for a fact that Y/N Parkinson hated chamomile tea.
#harry potter#fuck jkr#hp#hp x male reader#x male reader#x reader#theodore nott#theodore nott x reader#theo nott x reader#yandere theodore nott#theo nott#trans reader
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✦ : ❝ 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 !
꒰synopsis—wc꒱ in which you attempt to run away. 1101 words.
꒰warnings꒱ yandere character, minor character death, violence, reader is a fatuus, not fully edited.
꒰adi moment꒱ not the happiest with how this turned out, but i really wanted to have something posted on friday the 13th, and i didn't have anything else and this just kept getting worse the more i tried to make it work ໒꒰ྀིっ- ‸ - ς꒱ྀི১ still, i hope you enjoy! it's been a while since i've written anything for yan scara, so..! ♡
“Humans.” There’s a melodic sigh built into the word, condescending, and unnaturally calm for the violence he's threatening you with. “I suppose that it’s just a part of your nature, acting out like this—but are you really deprived to the point where it’s impossible to resist the temptation?”
“I’m sorry.” You repeat, for seemingly the hundredth time already, voice strained and struggling to breathe—suffocated by the weight of his body atop your chest and the feeling of fingers digging into the soft skin of your neck. “Scaramouche, please. I’m sorry, I’m really–I’m really sorry.”
Tears flow freely down your cheeks, the skin scuffed and scraped up during your attempt to get away from him, voice failing as you desperately repeat this new mantra of yours. His fingers readjust, and you’re painfully hyper aware of the movement, shutting you up as his face contorts into something more akin to a wild animal than the collected Harbinger you’d once worked for.
Electricity sparks at his fingertips, tickling your chin as his gaze shifts to your eyes, giving you a front-row view to the blatant rage swimming within them. You were drowning within them, or at least that’s what it felt like—depth within them that threatened to swallow you whole, destroying any signifier of your presence. If you didn’t manage to calm him down, he would, the pounding of your heart only becoming louder at the realization.
“You shouldn’t have betrayed me.” He says, simply, matter-of-factly, although there’s still a quiver within his tone—as if he, himself if attempting to justify his actions—as if he, himself is still attempting to steel his resolve, to gather the strength necessary to kill you in cold blood, to walk away from your lifeless body and pretend that he had never truly cared for you, after all. “I’m the one for you. Or, at least, I was supposed to be. Me. Me. I’ve given you everything—and you still… You still associated with such filth—still attempted to throw it all away. Ungrateful wretch.”
“I—”
“What does he have that I don’t? Huh?”
Even without a name, you already know who he’s referring to. And he knows that you know, too, because he remains unnaturally quiet, forcing himself to wait for an answer before continuing with his rampage, watching as you stare into his eyes like a deer in headlights.
‘A lot of things.’ Those words bubble within your head almost immediately, sick and twisted and taunting you with the fact that they’re painfully true—taunting you with the fact that you'd dare not admit this truth if you have any sort of value for your life, grip beginning to tighten around your throat. ꒰Almost robotic, you note, as if the motion had been programmed into him.꒱ ‘For one, he wouldn’t be threatening to kill me.’
But you bite your lip as the words surface to your tongue, attempting to battle their way through gritted teeth, to surely condemn you if the sentiment were allowed to reach Scaramouche’s ears. “I don’t know,” is the answer you settle on, desperation seeping into the cracks of your tone, grating on your ears as his fingers twitch. “I don’t know what got into me! I was acting irrationally—stupidly!”
And those words, falsified as they are, at least sound more agreeable—and if there’s anything you’ve learned during your imprisonment under the Balladeer, was that agreeable got your punishments lightened, was that agreeable was the only viable method of dealing with his volatility.
Much to your distress, however, he does not release you, electricity permeating your skin as the adrenaline running through your veins begins to fail you. Sucking in air feels impossible, and your eyes have blown wide, struggling to watch his expression as he hangs his head. The dotted, green canopy of leaves above does nothing to ease your terror.
… You’d anticipated death before, imagined it a hundred different ways, known that you’d fall into its cold clutches one day—but the thought of finally embracing it causes your blood to curdle.
There’s silence, for a few seconds, only the sound of your labored breaths filling your ears, until a weight is abruptly lifted off of your chest. Your lungs fill with air, sending your coughing and sputtering as you roll to the side, saliva dripping down your face in what you’re sure is a shameful display—though you’re hardly in a state of mind to care. Scaramouche does not wait for you to collect yourself before he speaks.
“Look at yourself. And to think you even had the gall to act out. Perhaps I’d spoiled you too much.” You wipe the sides of your mouth in a desperate attempt to save face, glancing back at your tormenter as you clutch at the ground. “Pathetic.”
Without any sort of warning, you’re pulled up to your feet by two soldiers, arms folded behind your back as you’re dragged back the way you came, his estate standing out against the backdrop of trees. A small voice apologizes to you among shouts of commands, a fellow Fatuus, back when you were still recognized as something other than the plaything of the Sixth. They must pity you, you’re certain, but the very notion has you near seething—because what use is there to apologizing when they’re still helping your captor?
He has them bring you to his chambers once you return, humiliated in front of all the servants as the door slams shut in your face. You don’t see him for the rest of that night, though the screaming of the cook you'd gotten close to—who actually assisted you, who actually cared about you—leaves nothing for the imagination.
An example, not just for you, but for anybody who might’ve considered helping you in the future. Despite the grandeur of the room, you find yourself defensively curled up on a corner of the bed, staining the white sheets with a mixture of dirt and blood.
When a maid timidly enters in the morning, she doesn’t utter a single word—doesn’t even look you in the eyes as she helps you clean yourself. Nobody does.
… Except, of course, for your ‘beloved’, who seems more than content enough to revel within your misery, wiping the tears off your cheeks when you begin to cry—sadistically cooing when you beg him for mercy, reminding you that he’s already done so by simply sparing your life. Your schedule is filled with all sorts of menial chores in what you assume is an attempt to keep you from running off again—though it’s hard to even fathom the possibility when pools of indigo watch over your every move.
You’ve never felt so alone.
i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!
#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆#gn reader#genshin impact#genshin impact scaramouche#genshin scaramouche#genshin scara#scaramouche#the balladeer#scaramouche x reader#scara x reader#yandere scaramouche#yandere scaramouche x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#yandere genshin#yandere genshin x reader#genshin impact oneshots#yandere genshin oneshots
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Hello! May I request yandere Adeuce duo who knows reader trust them the most among the other students and will believe everything they say.
Because why would they lie to you? They’ve been through life and death together with all of this overblot. So of course you trust them!
Adeuce manipulating reader into rejecting all of the dorm leaders after finding out their romantic feelings for the prefect.
They don’t want to lose their best friend. But hey! If you want to date so badly, you have two candidate right in front of you!
Thank you and have a great day!<3
I have a soft spot for Adeuce haha. Sticking to only Malleus instead of all the dorm leaders ♡
✧ CW: yandere characters, manipulation, jealousy
An awkward silence has been hanging over your head since bumping into Malleus earlier, with Ace and Deuce being uncharacteristically pensive. The two of them have been sharing unreadable looks, but haven't said a single word to you. You want to break the growing tension with a clumsy joke to snap them out of their thoughts or change the subject into something lighthearted, but deep down you really don't want to face their line of questions about Malleus.
But when the three of you finally find some space to yourself, the dam breaks and the questions come gushing out.
"You're seriously friends with that guy? Malleus Draconia, of all people?!"
You stare at the scuffed tip of your shoe, pretending like Ace's intense reaction hardly bothered you.
"Yes?" You lift your head, eyes flitting between Ace's prominent scowl and Deuce's startled gaze, "Why's that so surprising?"
"He's known for being pretty unapproachable, right?" Deuce awkwardly chimes in, "It's just strange that you managed to get close to him."
"I didn't really know who he was when we first met," you admit, and you have to force yourself not to shrink away under Ace's sharp glare, "and it doesn't change anything for me, anyway. He's a really nice person to be around, even if he does take some getting used to."
"How'd you even meet him? I don't think I've ever caught a glimpse of him around all this time," Ace asks, his voice a little calmer now, "do you see him often?"
"He was walking around Ramshackle one night, and we just started talking about magic and some other things. He didn't even tell me his name," you explain, "I really had no clue that it was him. Besides, he doesn't come by very regularly, maybe about once a month...? I'm not sure."
"So he loiters around Ramshackle at night, and didn't tell you his name at all, right? That just sounds really creepy," Ace says, suspicion clear in his tone, "And, I mean, if you two are friends, or close enough for him to be using all sorts of weird names for you, why didn't he ever try to help you out with the overblots anyway? He knew it was all happening, and he obviously heard you were involved, and it's clearly in his ability to help you, so..."
"Ace," Deuce hisses, nudging him harshly, "we can't expect the upperclassmen to meddle in things that aren’t their responsibilities."
Ace rolls his eyes, "I'm just saying," he mutters, "it's not like it was any of our issues to deal with either. We did everything we could, right? It wouldn't be so difficult for him to make sure we didn't go through hell and back tryin' to defeat all those crazy guys. Honestly, with how things are going, I won't be surprised if the guy's next to overblot."
Deuce opens his mouth to protest, but your sigh stops him, "I don't think he cares all that much.”
Ace freezes for a moment, the frown slipping off his face as his eyes dart towards Deuce. But just as quickly as he's caught off guard, he quickly regains his composure, looking at you with just a hint of sympathy, "well, that figures. You can't expect all those arrogant—" Deuce's protests go unheard "—seniors to actually want to be around us. They all probably think they're too good for us, 'cause we aren't as powerful."
You like Malleus, but you know better than to expect his help in any of the troubles you face in NRC. Maybe he would help, if you pleaded with him, but the likeliness of that is so close to non-existent that you’d rather not ask at all. You would rather keep your friendship how it’s always been, pretending to be unaware of the other’s troubles outside of the current conversation, never delving too deep with the questions. You’ve always known that it's a possibility Malleus was only coming to see you out of boredom, and not because of genuine interest, but hearing your innermost doubts be declared so boldly as an obvious fact makes your heart shatter. Deuce catches onto your crestfallen expression first, always far too observant, and places a tentative hand on your arm.
"It's alright," you've always liked the way Deuce says your name, in a low, soft voice. It sounds like he's gentle with the letters, stringing them together in a deliberate manner that fits you. You've also noticed, internally filled with pride, that it's only your name he says with such care, "I'm sure he cares about you too..."
He meets Ace's sharp glare and stumbles over his next words, sounding more and more unsure by the end of it, "...even if his...way of showing it is a little…unusual. He’s probably just got a strange idea of how friends are."
"Friends?" Ace scoffs, "he's treating them like a pet. Did you even see how he looked at them? All amused like he didn't expect to see them still doing alright. He probably thought it was funny that they hadn't figured out who he was!"
A pet. What a miserable label, but how fitting. Suddenly the insightful discussions and meaningful moments feel painfully one-sided. He must have thought your wonder and awe to be cute, in an awfully condescending way. And perhaps the thing that hurts the most is knowing that despite how much you look forward to seeing him and how much you think of him, soon, you would only be a small moment from his past, likely forgotten.
“I can’t believe I fell for him, too,” you groan, unaware of how Ace and Deuce immediately go still, “I feel so stupid.”
“You like him?!” Ace’s head whips back to stare at your crouched figure with wide eyes, “like…that?”
A hesitant nod is the only answer you can spare.
“But you barely knew anything about him! How—”
“Are you sure?” At your bewildered look, Deuce scrambles to elaborate, “I thought I—we—would be able to tell when you liked someone, since we’ve been around you for so long. But there was nothing to give it away.”
“I’m sure,” you sigh, but when you think of telling them how Malleus makes you forget all the things you wanted to say or how you find yourself thinking of him all the time, you decide it’s too embarrassing to say out loud, “listen, it’s not something I can explain. But I really do like him—or did, I guess.”
“Huh,” Ace slumps down beside you, “never would’a thought you’d have such terrible taste. I mean, seriously? He’s boring and a total creep.” He manages to dodge your incoming elbow jab just in time, “What? It’s the truth!”
“It’s not your fault that he turned out to be a jerk,” Deuce consoles you, “don’t worry about it. You can’t help how you feel.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” you grumble, “I’ll get over it, eventually.”
“You will,” You can’t help the smile that appears on your face after seeing Deuce’s reassuring one, “we’ll make sure of it.”
all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)
#yandere twst x reader#yandere twisted wonderland x reader#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere twst#yandere x reader drabble#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere twisted wonderland x you#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#yandere ace x reader#yandere ace trappola#ace trapolla x reader#yandere deuce spade#yandere deuce x reader#deuce spade x reader#mail. 🌀#anon mail. 🌀#cw yandere#asa.writes 🌀#drabble. 🌀#twst. 🌀#drabble request v01. 🌀#requested work. 🌀#cw manipulation#cw jealousy
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𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝘂𝘁 !
Yandere sunshine prince x emotionles/stoic General Knight reader ?
☕🌿 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻
"Hehehe, you found me, Y/n!"
The young prince dangles from the arm of a tree, having pop out from within its leaves as you called his name. He smiles down at you, before swinging his upper body into an upright position. Instead of climbing back down, he jumps out of the tree, stumbling for balance. It's obvious that he hurt himself on the landing, leaning onto the tree with his right foot propped against it.
"Shall we play another round somewhere else?"
This man, the crown prince of your kingdom was also it's pride and joy. A kindhearted, bubbly individual who brightened the day of anyone he met; earning him the nickname of Sunny. To you, however, he was nothing more than another of many tasks your king had piled on you.
A general, taught to use a blade shortly after you learned how to walk. Through your years as a solider, you lead your comrades into victory when the true leader had fallen. A true warrior, made second head of the kingdom's guard despite your young age. With your undying loyalty, the king gave you his most important role - being a babysitter for his child.
"No. We need to head back to the castle. Your father is looking for you."
The prince pouts. "Ah, you're always so dull, Y/n. We can see papa later, just hang out with me for a bit."
You remain stoic, refusing to let your guard down in the loom of danger. "We're leaving now. You can't be outside when there's trouble."
You grip his arm, a flush breaking over his face that you fail to notice. He leans into your grasp, wincing as he stands on his bad foot.
"Alright, fine... Can you hold me though?"
You grunt in response, pulling his arm over your shoulder and your hand around his waist. He hooks his other arm around your neck, his hair tickling your cheek as he nuzzles your skin - taking in your scent. How he longed to kiss the scars that littered your body. Without acknowledge any part of the scenario, you begin to walk.
Heading back to the castle, the prince sneaks glances at you as you stare straight ahead; practically steaming from how close he was to you. You always had his fancy. From when he watched you train when you were both young, to whenever you returned from another battle. He had made his feelings known in the past, but you hardly gave him any response. He was so glad he managed to convince his father to put you in charge of him.
Upon your arrival, you hand him off to the nearest guard - must to his disappointment.
"Take him to a medic. He hurt himself getting out of a tree. I still need to meet with the king to discuss the disappearances."
Suddenly, as if his mind had been turned on for the first time today, the prince remembers something, or rather-something he forgot.
"Oh no, I left my crown in the tree."
You blink, annoyance an emotion you rarely felt, despite the looks on your fellow soldiers faces. "I'll get it."
The prince tries to wiggle from their grasp. "I'll go with you.
"You're injured and I have other things to take care of. We'll talk later."
You leave, paying no mind the prince's protest. It was risky to go outside alone at the time, but business had to be taken care of. Recently, there had been a string of disappearances in the kingdom, most if not all having something to do with the castle. A kitchen hand, fellow solider, and now even your captain.
He was a pain on the field, likely due to your age, but fine anywhere else. He managed to pull you out on trips to the bar, trying to bring out the spirit in you. Unfortunately for him and your peers, you were as reserved in your personal life as you were at work. But that didn't stop him from trying.
"You need to live a little, Y/n. No point in fighting, if you have nothing to come home to."
You look inside the tree's trunk, finding the prince's crown like he had claimed. A little scuffed from his carelessness, but nothing a polish couldn’t fix. As you wipe it with your sleeve, you notice something as your feet shift in the ground. A patch of freshly dug up dirt, replanted in a small mound.
Curious, you kick at the dirt with your foot. It knocks some of it away, but not enough for you to see. Kneeling, you dig with your hands to unearth whatever lie beneath. Soil clogged in your nails, you find an item wrapped in an old sack and rope. You unwrap it, face paling at your discovery.
It was a dagger. Handle dipped in gold and engraved with your kingdom's symbol. Most of it had been wiped away, but specks of blood tainted the blade, splattered onto every inch likely from the force of each stab.
You quickly recover and plant the knife where you found it, unsure as on what to do. It couldn't belong to your prince. It was a solider issued weapon, and the fool was far too gentle to cause anyone harm. Was it an assassin from another kingdom? A solider who had gone rouge?
You hurry back to the castle to insure everyone's safety.
Little did you remember, you had given the prince your first weapon as a gift for his tenth birthday.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere scenarios#yandere oc#yandere imagines#male yandere#yandere insert#yandere x you#yandere prince#yandere story#☕🌿 anon
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Horrorfest: This Confession Has Meant Nothing (Yandere Derek Goffard x Reader)
Title: This Confession Has Meant Nothing [Yandere Derek Goffard x Reader]
For Horrorfest request:
I don't have much of an idea beyond Derek as Patrick Bateman style serial killer. You're his final girl/boy. Surviving his spree. he hates how fascinated he is with you.
Word Count: 748
notes: yandere, mentions of killing, derek wants to (maybe) kill you; reader is a sex worker
You are one, stupid ugly piece of shit. You’re worthless. Gutter trash. So far beneath him that you’re almost not worthy of killing; not worthy of him scuffing his shoes, handcrafted genuine leather that costs more than rent at your shitty apartment for a year. More, maybe.
You are nothing. Just some bones and a meat suit, just something to bide his time with, something for him to (maybe) fuck and film and when he’s bored enough, dissect. He even tells you his real name (Derek Goffard, and you looked impressed, and you SHOULD BE) because he’s going to kill you so why not?
You’re just something to discard with the morning trash, the morning paper, maybe his nice shoes too because he can buy a new pair whenever he fucking wants. An inconsequential speck.
And yet.
He can’t stop thinking about you.
About the way your lip curled up at him when you realized what he’d done to Susie or Cheryl or whatever her name was. Doesn’t matter. A woman he bought for the night after he bought you, and you were pretending to get along so well that for a moment he assumed your first reaction to seeing her bleeding out from the knife sounds in her torso would be to reach out. Grief. Horror. Shock.
But no. Instead, you’d looked at him… straight at him… like you had the fucking right And you sneered. Actually sneered! With this look of hatred in your eyes that told him you thought you were better than him, that he was shit and you were gold.
You really were fucking stupid, weren’t you?
But then how--and the thought creeps into his brain and he smacks it out viscerally with his hand--did you get away from him? How did you make it out of the condo, into the hallway, down the stairs (ALL those stairs) and out the front door into the night? How hasn’t he found you yet?
Maybe you didn’t have to be smart to survive. Yeah. That made sense. Animals survive in the wild all the time, don’t they? Not all rabbits are eaten by wolves. Some are just fast enough to scurry off into some hole to hide out in, to live another day, to fuck and breed and repeat the cycle until they are either roadkill or fall prey to an eagle or some shit like that.
You were his rabbit.
But he wasn’t going to let you get away. He couldn’t imagine you getting away, cleaning yourself up, getting out of the city. You’d get some job that pays the rent and meet someone; maybe you two would have kids, and you’d be a grandparent or something ridiculous like that, decades down the line.
No.
That wasn’t what he wanted for you. Not when he’d killed so many others in the past few weeks. Not when he recognized you for what you were: his, in some way. His to kill. His to finish with.
Yeah, that would be nice. After he killed you, he’d take a break from it for a while. Maybe see if he could get a promotion at his dad’s business. Find someone to get engaged with--appearances, and all that--and pop out a kid. He could always go back to killing if he felt like it.
That’s the way the world works. He was allowed to kill because he was richer and smarter and better looking. You were going to die because you were nothing beneath his (expensive) shoes.
He just has to find you first. Oh, and when he does… he presses his face against the car window, breath fogging it up. He can just imagine what he’ll do to you. Hurt you. Kill you. Keep you? All three sounded enticing.
His fingers itch, his cock goes hard, just thinking about it.
The street lights are dim in this part of the city, but bright enough for people to make out the faces on the corners, the curve of bodies standing close to the curb.
If you ran, you might have run right back here; where you ply your trade and get your drugs and maybe have a few people you call friends. It’s where he picked you up the first time, after all.
And he’s got all the time and money in the world to track you down again.
#derek goffard#derek goffard x reader#the price of flesh#tpof fanfic#afterwitch writes#aw horrorfest
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Hii I think I've read all your hxh stuff but the Tumblr blog search is kinda scuffed so if you've already answered something like this just ignore me
Anyway I was curious to know how/if you think the phantom troupe members would share a partner. Like maybe not all of them sharing one partner (that's the dream fr tho lol) but maybe 2 or 3 members sharing one if any of them are into that
Then that leads me to my next two questions, Kurapika and Leorio, would they share a partner or are they just not into that
Then lastly (and if you don't write for them or have any ideas that's fine ignore this) do you think Silva and Kikyo would keep a little "pet" around?
Anyway sorry for the long ask, I guess I could have split this up but I didn't want to spam your box 😅 have a lovely day! ❤️
Please ignore how late this answer is... Also the answer to the Silva/Kikyo question will be posted separately!
Tw: kidnapping, mentions of physical violence, manipulation, mentioned non-con
I was wondering how long it would take before poly yanderes would be discussed on this blog!!
My personal philosophy on poly yandere relationships is that they only work in very, very specific circumstances. The whole concept of a yandere is someone who feels such blinding and overwhelming love and desire for another person that they literally throw their morals out the window just for the chance to bask in a bit of affection or love from their special someone, and adding another person into the equation doesn't exactly fit this vision.
Most yanderes don't want to share you - you're theirs, simple and plain, and often only a very specific person could be the one exception to this rule. Even then, the relationship is often still strained, because unless feelings develop between the two yanderes themselves, jealousy will always be an issue and you as the darling will have to be very careful about making sure you give equal amounts of love and time to each yandere.
But instead of focusing on the logistics of it, let's discuss the actual pairs/their dynamics!!
Machi and Pakunoda are the least resistant to sharing. They respect each other, and while it may be a stretch to call them friends, this respect and trust has led to a solid foundation for them to build off of. Neither are especially forceful with their darlings, instead preferring to hover and take care of them with minimal physical force, and this helps keep both of them placated. Machi is sort of the bad cop while Pakunoda is the good cop, but the reason this pairing works so well is that they help bring out qualities in each other that would normally be their weak points. Pakunoda helps Machi relax and warm up to physical affection with her, because her own natural touchiness is easier to convince Machi that touching you won't be the disaster she's so sure of. And Machi helps Pakunoda attend to every facet of your wellbeing - Machi properly feeds you, tends to any wounds of yours, makes sure that you're getting enough sunlight, that you're still moving and not becoming lethargic, all things that Pakunoda knows she should do but sometimes skips in favor of kissing you or spoiling you. These two are definitely the best pair to get stuck with - still overbearing about your safety and hard to handle always watching you, but certainly better than others.
Shalnark and Chrollo are, admittedly, not equal players in this partnership. Most likely, Shalnark initially became interested in you, and upon Chrollo's eventually learning of your existance, he found himself charmed as well. Shalnark wasn't the happiest at the notion of sharing, but he sees the partnership as an opportunity to help keep you in line and make himself look good. He and Chrollo are both very, very talented manipulators, and by playing off of each other, they're able to present themselves as simply loving partners, managing to gaslight you into thinking that you're overreacting about them being 'horrible' and 'evil' for kidnapping you and forcing you to be their partner. And frankly, it works - they're convincing, and because you get no reprieve or time away from them both at once, eventually you will begin seeing things their way. This isn't a particularly desirable relationship, if only because while you'll eventually be happy (your mind too mixed up to even realize you're unhappy, that is), you'll lose a piece of yourself in a way that you wouldn't with other pairings. You'll be somewhat of a shell of your former self - still you, but with the parts that they like emphasized, and the more problematic parts of your personality (like your desire to leave them) being repressed.
Uvogin and Nobunaga is possible, but it's unlikely that things would last long. This is because Nobunaga is particularly delusional, and Uvogin is particularly lucid. And this combo - Nobuanga's infantilization of you and Uvogin's leniency in your independence - spells out disaster. Things would be tense; arguments would sprout often, with you left to awkwardly stand in the middle, desperately hoping that Uvogin will win the argument. (You don't like him either, but at least his ideas are less dehumanizing than Nobunaga's.) I think it could work, if they worked hard enough to establish how to treat you, but you'd be constantly walking on eggshells around them. (Plus, if you think your poor pussy is getting a little too much action with just one of them as your yandere, then get ready - they fuck you every night, nearly, one taking your cunt while the other shoves himself down your throat. Occasionally they'll even try for your ass, though Uvogin has the sense to force Nobunaga to get you properly prepped before he fucks what he thinks is 'her best hole - it's so tight'. They're just gross, and you'll very obviously favor Uvogin - which once again sparks problems of jealousy. So it's possible, but unlikely to work out.
Phinks and Feitan is another unlikely combo - their types are very different, firstly, but if they did manage to develop feelings for you, things will become very violent very fast. Neither wants to hurt you (at least, not deep down), but they don't exactly agree on how to punish you or respond to your misbehaviors. Feitan is more strict, deciding that you must be punished when you act out because it's the only way to get you to behave how they want. Phinks doesn't share this mindset - he's more of a sucker than Feitan, more inclined to just make you promise not to do it again and then naively believe that you meant it. And this leads to problems - their treatment of you is so radically different, both in the way that they speak to you and how they touch you, that they'll be fighting over nearly everything. And while you won't ever be physically harmed, you'll be subject to watch them physically fight when they're arguing, swinging fists and lightning fast moves making you curl up into a ball because god, they're monsters. Again, it's possible if they can figure out a system that's a compromise for both of them, but it's unlikely.
This probably isn't the answer you're looking for, but it's my opinion! There are probably some more pairings that could potentially work, but these are the ones I see being most likely.
Unrelated to the Phantom Troupe, some other pairs I could see being potentially successful are: Leorio and Kurapika (they're into that!! more protection, as far as Kurapika is concerned, and Leorio is more clingy than possessive, so he wouldn't mind sharing with his best friend whom he is already displaying borderline homoerotic tendencies towards), Knuckle and Morel, Misturi and Obanai, Uzui + wives, Douma and Akaza though it would be very, very rocky and is significantly more unstable than these other matchups, Aizawa and Hizashi, Overhaul and Chrono, Tendou and Ushijima, Bokuto and Akaashi, Hinata and Kenma, don't ask me why but Goshiki and Kindaichi, Kita and Aran, Suna and Osamu
#_lee discusses#yandere hxh#_hxh#yandere kny#yandere bnha#yandere haikyuu#_bnha#_haikyuu#_kny#_all fandoms
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Yandere V + H: Kyoya Ootori
He’s used to playing second fiddle
Letting his smarts be used to satisfy the dreams of ‘a larger than life villain’
"Watch them run! They don't even know about the side-effect that comes with it!"
"Well dear they do now. I suggest we begin our escape."
"Right...how are we exiting today...again?"
"By boat, dear."
But that’s what makes you special
You’re well aware that the true villain is he
You’re nothing more than the presenter to his genius
And he couldn’t be happier
Granted you can’t exactly disconnect from him
But tomahto, tohmato you get to to be a villain don’t you
Than there’s no reason for you to try and separate:
“W-wait is this the rumored invention that’ll give those big wigs even more money?!”
Kyoya looked up from his workstation, stopping his holographic modeling. He spotted the scuffed up nature of your costume, focusing back on his invention when he saw no injuries.
“Apparently so.”
Your fists clenched at your side as you fought the building frustration. But you stood your ground stomping up the hovering steps to his glowing work space. Hands on your hips you tried to garner his attention from behind his spread of monitors.
“You know that’s completely off brand, right!? Equilizor has always been about helping the little guy!”
He didn’t look at you, continuing to press at the screen.
“And?”
“And? And what? They’re the enemies here, why should we help them? Unless this is a ploy to wipe them all out I say we terminate the project!”
He smiled to himself still keeping his gaze glued to the bright blue screens running a tentative tongue over his lip.
“Right…and how would you go about doing that?”
“Who knows, i might just stop being the Equilizor.”
His hands stopped at that. Letting the hum of the monitors fill the silence of the room. He was looking at you, the reflections of his spectacles showing a protesting you. He let the hologram fizzle out, putting his hands on the steel surface of his desk.
“Oh, will you?”
“Yeah.”
He tapped his fingers against the table returning your stare with one of his own. Before leaning back in his chair, carding his hands together barely hiding his irritated smirk.
“Than try it. Go ahead.”
His tone was mocking as he shrugged at you. You pouted at the lack of response, staring into his eyes to test his resolve. Seeing that he wasn’t showing any reaction at all you would do just that. You immediately began flinging off your gloves, your utility belt, and you would have done the same with your mask only stopping when you looked at Kyoya again. Menacing and maniacal the smile wasn’t one of happiness.
“Sure sure go ahead (Y/n). Quit being the equilizor because then you’ll be an average citizen.”
You went to pull off your mask.
“An average. Worthless citizen that has nothing on the Equilizor’s henchman now villain doing whatever he pleases.”
“A-are you threatening me!?”
You stepped forward barely backing up in time to avoid Kyoya snapping up to stand over you. Smiling with closed eyes, using the leverage of the steps to force you to stumble downwards.
“I’m not threatening you (Y/n). I’m informing you of what may happen if my favorite partner decides to skip out on me, things will get really confusing.”
#yandere v + h dynamic#yandere kyoya ootori#yandere kyoya#yandere ouran highschool host club#yandere x reader#yandere x you#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yanderexrea#yandere#yanderes#yandere ohsch#yandere kyoya x reader#yandere V + H#Yandere henchman x reader#yandere villain x henchman dynamic#yandere villain
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@rowavolo ! @lychniis ! @faesther ! @xianyoon ! @vennnnn-diagram ! @abyssmal-skies ! @baizhusangel ! @silentmoths ! @cerberuscaeli ! @dustofthedailylife ! @silkjade ! @soleillunne ! @average-yandere-enjoyer ! @navxry ! @the-travelling-witch ! @2broschlininahotub ! @mochinon-yah ! @queen-belial
🎤 someone has something to say about you... »»
― 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜ˎˊ˗
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‧₊˚❀༉ ー coded by yours truly ᡣ𐭩. resources (c) hoyoverse and downloaded from honeyhunterworld. dividers by @cafekitsune ー ‧₊˚.
#rin uses her programming skill to have fun#rin selfships#i apologize in advance if the extra voiceline i wrote didn't align with your lore or relationship dynamic hsldkjfklsdf#i had minimal exposure to some of these selfships so i might have interpreted things wrongly ;w;#anyway thank you for enabling my silly ᰔᩚ#i hope this made you smile or something shdklfjskldjf#ok i go to bed now i'm embarrassed somehow hsdlkjfksld bye 🙈#ps. super secret you didn't hear it from me but apparently if you type in 'zhongrin' as a username you get zhongrin lore. i know... crazy..#/silly#rin's treasure box#(note to self: check rb comments ueueue)
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