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princessanonymous · 10 months

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Ah, Look Up At All The Puppeteers

"Do you truly wish to see him, Harry ?" Asked professor Dumbledore grimly.

Harry smiled tightly. "He's the only one that's able to answer our questions, professor," he reminded the old man with a sigh. "I'm the only one he deigns to answer. I don't wish to, but I must."

The headmaster sighed but nodded and looked at Snape who held a cold and uncaring gaze. The three of them walked through the halls of Hogwarts, passing different secret passageways. They arrived at the door. It was hidden from the public in a remote area. Adding to that the Fidelius charm and the Notice-me-not charm placed on it, the chances that a random student could stumble upon this room were practically nonexistent.

Still, Harry would have preferred for this place to not be in a school full of children. Sadly, professor Dumbledore held great confidence in the wards and barriers around and in the school, no matter all incidents in the previous four years that proved him wrong time and time again. This was one of the esteemed wizard's greatest flaws.

The sound of incantations being uttered by the men brought him out of his thoughts. The two adults were carefully opening the door. He was glad, he realized absentmindedly, that the spells around the door could only be removed in the presence of two wizards. It was a smart protective measure.

The door opened and Harry stepped into a candlelit room. The headmaster and the teacher stood back. They didn't step in, but their eyes remained focused on the figure in the room.

Harry followed their gaze. There, in front of him, sat a man. His black long hair flowed around him elegantly. He had sharp features and a long slender body covered by a simple forest green smoking jacket and black pants. He was peacefully sitting crossed legged on the floor. His eyes remained closed, but Harry knew he was aware of his surroundings.

Harry waited for the man to acknowledge him. He didn't, even after a long minute. He sighed audibly and narrowed his eyes, realizing the other wouldn't talk in the presence of the two others. The teen sighed and turned around resolutely.

"You two can leave, professor Dumbledore," Harry assured with a bit of reluctance, "I will be fine."

The old man looked hesitant at the idea while Snape looked too eager to leave him behind with the prisoner. Harry nodded at the headmaster, gesturing for the door.

When the door finally closed, the man— no, the deity opened his eyes. They were green, a green so similar to his and Harry despised it. Despised how the god did it on purpose, how he took this form just to mess with Harry.

The being smiled. "Darling," he greeted, "you came to visit."

Harry narrowed his eyes and leaned against a wall. While the gestured appeared casual, Harry wanted to distance himself from the god as much as possible. He looked at the floor beneath the deity. The engravings of the Hallows were still there. Wasn't it ironic that the same Deathly Hallows the god created had been the key to his imprisonment ?

"I'm not here to chat," Harry snapped abrasively.

Death tilted his head to the side curiously. "Oh, well that is quite unfortunate. Still, any time spent with my child is positive, I suppose."

Harry gritted his teeth as his temper flared. "Stop calling me that."

"It is merely a fact," the being reminded lightly, ignoring Harry's anger. "Your parents had trouble having a child so I graciously—"

"I know," he cut him off. He didn't want to hear about it again. He didn't want to think about it. "And then you killed them."

Death kept a calm face. "It had to be done."

He clenched his fist as anger thrummed through his veins. "It didn't! You know it as well as I do !"

"Hmm..." The deity lightly tapped a finger on his chin before smiling viciously. "I must admit they were in my way. They would have held you back. You will understand eventually."

"How could I possibly understand my parents' death ?" He demanded angrily as he took a step forward. Death's smile widened.

"I am still here, child," he reminded with a warm smile.

Fury roared through his mind as he took several other steps forward. "You aren't—"

The teen stopped and looked down. Harry stepped away when he realized he had almost stepped into the triangle. Had he done that, the deity could have taken this opportunity to use the breach in the barrier as a way to escape.

"Well, I at least tried," said the god lightheartedly as Harry glared at him. He had set him up.

But that made him remember to keep his temper in check. He shouldn't get so riled up. Resentment grew inside him like a tumor. He had to get back on track.

"I came here to ask you something," Harry announced as he crossed his arms.

The deity smiled maliciously and stood up abruptly. Harry tensed, realizing the god had been waiting for it. He didn't know if this was a good sign.

"Reports from hospitals informed us that people aren't dying. A woman has been found in severe pain, but still alive despite her head being severed. The situation seems to be worse in the muggle world."

Harry stared at the god of death who simply mirrored his actions.

"What have you done ?" The teen demanded.

Death smiled, then grinned, quickly the grin became a chuckle and eventually ended into full on laughing. Harry stared at him, dumbfounded.

Harry clenched his fists. "You have something to do with this." That wasn't a question. The teen just knew it.

"I do." Hr had stopped laughing abruptly.

The wizard blinked, surprised by the admission. His eyes narrowed as he tried to regain his composure. "How ? How can we fix this ?"

"Why do you care so much ?"

People were suffering from incurable, painful illnesses, but death never came. Harry didn't know what the god was doing, but this was simply cruel.

"You can't just leave people writhing in pain because you feel like it," Harry argued with annoyance.

"I can." The god of death whispered slowly. His eyes glowed in the dimly lit room and his face darkened as he smirked viciously. "You see, I am above these people. Their livelihoods remain in my hands and I could extinguish each and everyone of them at any moment. This is my play and I can do as I wish with any of these pathetic mortals."

The god stepped forward slowly, but remained confined in the pattern engraved on the floor.

"This place may confine me physically and reduce my powers, but it cannot fully contain me. I will raise chaos upon this world, starting with each of your little friends. Tell me, how long will it take before your little bushy haired friend loses her mind under my torture. And what about that redhead ? How do you think I should break him ?"

"You can't !" Harry gasped as he took a step back. Images of his friends dying came in mind. He couldn't— he wouldn't let that happen.

"You could stop me," suggested the god lightly. "Take this world as yours, child. You have the power to do so."

Harry's heart was beating quickly and his eyes eyes were focused on the man's identical ones.

"Deep down, you are aware they are below you. You are my child, my essence flows in your body. I want what is best for you. This place — this world — is not even an ounce of the amount you deserve, but it shall do for now.”

Once again their conversation reverted to this. Harry sneered at the mere idea of becoming like Voldemort. Because that was what he associated with the god's suggestion. He didn't want to be a ruler. He just wanted to be Harry.

"I could teach you so much, child," the deity now crooned happily at the idea.

Harry refused : "I don't want any part in your sick fantasy."

"Then you will lose everything you hold dear." He spoke with a careless tone, showing how the thought didn't bother him at all.

He gritted his teeth. "How can you even profess to care about me when you threaten me in such a way ?"

"I am not the villain of this story," the deity said smoothly. "But if you want to play victim now, I'll be just the monster you need. Until you understand. Until you realize I am doing this for you. It might take time, millennia even, but I am willing to wait. Millennia are nothing but a blink of an eye for beings such as ourselves."

Harry trembled. Tremors wracked his body. Death's eyes, the ones that so resembled his with their Avada Kedavra green color, gazed into Harry's. They both observed each other intently.

"What do you choose, child ?"

#master of death #yandere god #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #immortal harry potter #harry potter #manipulation #yandere death #yandere #yandere deity #tw threats

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mcmuerteflurry · 1 year

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Yandere Murete/Lobo/Death x GN reader

Snippets

Shameless

“My kisses are history they go back a long time”

Cry for me

“In this life time you can’t ever get over me, are you over me?”

My oh my my

“He comes alive at midnight” “Every night”

Liar

“But what if you kiss me I want it, I like it?”

You should’ve said it

“I was crazy for you all caught up and confused”

#muerte yandere #death x reader #puss in boots wolf #lobo puss in boots #death puss in boots #muerte x reader #loboxreader #puss boots the last wish #yandere #yandere death #My father inspired this

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cutoffed · 1 year

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Yandere Death/Muerte x Immortal!Cat!reader

I got this idea from the song that goes "for the rest of your life i'll be there. I will be stuck in your head like the roots of your hair."

GN reader

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

A soft cold wind hit your back, making you shiver. The sound of people negotiating the price, horses galloping and chattering filled the town. It was loud, some deeming it almost over-stimulating. For you though, it wasn't. Infact, everything seemed to be muffled despite the fact that you were in the middle of all these noises. You seemed to be in thought, not in this world yet still dodging anything that you might bump in to.

"You good?" Asked your friend, Kai. Your head shot up at him. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm good." You responded. He nodded even though he wasn't at all convinced. You stayed silent after that, letting the loud racket take its role to fill that silence. Now that you mentioned it, the loud voices and footsteps finally started to hurt your ears. You are lucky that you even heard Kai. You yelped as Kai dragged you away somewhere. You ran past many people, running under horses. You both finally stopped and Kai started talking to the vendor. You didn’t pay attention to it, you instead watched the clocked man, far away in the crowd. Your stare lingered on them. You couldn’t make him out, but those eyes reminded you of something... someone..

“Here!” Kai exclaimed. You finally turned to him as he handed you a sweet. “I used to eat these all the time as a kid! They are amazing, and cheap too!” He shouted over the loud clatter of the town. As he bit down on the candy, you turned to look at the clocked stranger once more to be met with one empty spot. You walked with Kai as he continued shouting for you to hear, but you once more became unaware of your surroundings. Your ears ringged and you stared at the stone ground. You nodded your head and hummed to seem like you were listening.

“Why do you want to leave?” Kai asked. You almost flinched, finally having your ears rested from the loud clatter of the crowd every noise stuck out. “Um...” You hummed, wondering if you should actually tell him. You drew an invisible circle on the wooden table with one of your claws. “I uh.. I need to get away from someone..” Yeah, lets put it that way. You furrowed your eyebrows and shut your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t ask more questions. “Why?” He asked. You groaned quietly, your tail and ears falling limp. “I uh.. bounty hunter. Yeah, they keep coming after me.” You said, crossing your arms and placing them on the table. You rested your head on them, taking a deep breath in. “Oh, sorry to hear that.” He said. “Ey, don’t worry about it. Why don’t you go get some rest. We have a long day a head of us.” You said. “Alright. Good night.” He said, walking in to his room. You heard the door getting shut. Silence fell, something you long missed since this morning. Kai is sure a talkitive one, but that is the reason you haven’t died of boredom. Not that you can die in general.

You found yourself in a pitch black room, lying on the floor. You stood up, looking around. The weird thing is that even if the room didn’t have any lights, your whole body was the only thing visible. You walked around, your guard up for anything that could get or help you out of this. Your footsteps seem to echo with every step, but you haven’t found the walls they have been bouncing off.

“Do you ever get tired?”

You gasped as you spun around for the source of that voice. You felt your fur stick up and all of the sudden breathing became a difficulty.

“Running and running, knowing that I will always catch up?”

You felt a presence behind you. You turned around to find a white wolf in black clothing. He had a bored expression on his face. He held one scythe in his hands and the other he rested on his shoulder. You stumbled back and started slowly retreating. You all of a sudden felt heavy. Moving your body required all your strength to lift and push. You remained faced with the wolf as he slowly approached you.

“But I can’t blame you,”

You finally found one of the walls that seemed so impossible to find before, yet this time you hoped to not find them. You pressed your back against it as a try to get even futher away from the predator. He used the scythe on his shoulder to lift your head up, placing it under your chin.

"I enjoy a good chase."

You pushed yourself from the wooden table, almost falling of your seat. You breathed in and out quickly, as you were just under water. You placed both of your hands to stabalize you. You lifted one up, looking as it shook. You shut your eyes and rested your elbows on the table. You brushed your hair with both you hands, going over your ears and resting them on the back of your neck. You needed to get out. It’s now or never. He will find you.

You are tired. You want to just rest. Just stop for once. But fear has kept your adrenaline pumping, and the hope enjoy immortality was quickly fading away. Immortality was a curse, and you were forced to live through it. Even if you tried, you would always think of immortality as a curse.

You rested your head once more on your arms, closing your eyes and trying to think of something else.

“But with a good chase, always comes and end.”

You yelp as you turn around. There stands the wolf once more, securingly holding his scythes. He chuckles darkly as you hop from your chair and hold the sword. You were trying to point it at him but it was hard with your hands still shaking. His eyes glow in the dark, menacingly staring at you like a predator watches its prey. He circled around you, laughing to himself.

”Nobody is forcing you to run, to hide.”

You don’t listen to him. You stood straight, waiting for any attack that could come. He lifted both scythes in the air and struck them down at you. You blocked them both. Your shoes skitted at the wooden floor as he pushed down at you. You grunted and pushed back, earning a small chuckle from him.

“You fight so hard for something you know you won’t lose.”

“And you seem to really like trying to kill me for someone who knows I won’t die.”

You managed to respond. You used whatever energy and adrenaline you got to push him away. He looked down at you, spinning his scythes. This time, you charged at him. You swung your sword at him, your ears twitching at the sound of metal clanking together. You both fought like a dance, even if the enjoyement was one sided.

As he pushed you away, making you stumble, you heard a door open. You watched as Kai came in, yawning. This would have been a perfect time for Death to do more damage, but when you looked at him he was gone. Gone like he wasn’t even there.

“Is everything alright? I heard some noise..”

You looked out the hotel window, watching as Muerte looked up. As a carriage passed him, he dissapeared once more.

“Yeah. Everything is just fine.”

#puss in boots x reader #puss in boots last wish #puss in boots #death #yandere #yanderedeath #yandere death #silly wolf

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anxiousnerdwritings · 2 years

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Okay but imagine yan!family!The Endless from Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman???? 👀 👀 Just a thought…maybe even a soon to be reality…..

#yanfamily the endless #yandere the sandman #yandere death #yandere dream #yandere desire #yandere destruction #yandere despair #yandere destiny #yandere delirium #yandere the sandman concept #yandere concept #yandere dc comics concept

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 8 months

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How to train your pet Human pt.2 (Yandere!Alien X GN!Reader)

part 1, part 3

CW: Abduction, imprisonment, yandere themes, death, pet/owner relationship, tickle torture, humiliation, sexual themes, angst

"There they are~" Kirtch bent to pick (Reader) up, lifting them easily like a child and carrying them with one hand under their butt. (Reader's) face scrunched up in embarrassment. They were wearing an ugly shirt, both baggy and synched tightly, flowy around the body but locked in place like a neck corset at the top and wrists. When Kirtch first presented the tacky gift, (Reader) had ran to hide, forcing Kirtch to wrestle the outfit onto them.

With all of the unnecessary buttons and ties, (Reader) was incapable of taking it off themselves, and was now sulking.

"I have a lot of duties today that cannot be completed in my office, so I thought you might enjoy coming with me so you don't have to be couped up alone." Kirtch gently knocked his forehead into (Reader's).

'Escape chance, escape chance, escape chance-' "Yeah, that sounds nice." (Reader) tried to contain their excitement, consciously aware of their heart beating loudly in their chest.

"Wonderful! I've packed a couple of toys to keep you occupied if you get bored, as well as snacks." He replied happily, seeming so pleased with himself as he briskly walked down the hall from his bedroom towards the main hall. The two passed by many other aliens walking up and down the corridors, none of whom seemed to be the same species as Kirtch. Everyone wore the same cloak, standing them out from the creatures in the shopping district, a uniform slightly lighter in color than Kirtch's. Most would pause while walking to rub a hand over where their noses should have been, and Kirtch would raise a hand in response.

"What are they doing?" (Reader) whispered.

"It is a sign of respect. I am their superior, so if they are not in a rush to get somewhere they are greeting me."

Fear tickled (Reader's) spine. "Are you guys in the military?"

Kirtch laughed, a high pitch clicking sound that almost sounded like a broken music box. "No. I'm just an upper level leader in our trading company."

They arrived in front of a decorated wall, and Kirtch squeezed (Reader) a little while smiling. "Now this is a very important meeting, I need you to be as quiet as possible, okay?"

(Reader) huffed. "I'm not a child."

"I know you aren't. You're a very sweet pet, who is most definitely a grown adult human."

They felt humiliated. It had been almost a month since they were bought by Kirtch, and they did everything in their power to not anger him or appear as though they needed "release". (Reader) constantly watched and waited for the perfect escape attempt, while fighting off Kirtch's affections in as non threatening a way as possible. Like they were emulating a cat. (Reader's) skin burned, but they held back their tongue.

The wall opened, revealing a board room (at least that's what (Reader) assumed it was), a bare room only decorated with a long table surrounded by stools. Kirtch sat (Reader) on the floor and pulled out a sack from the inside of his cloak. While they didn't want to immediately act the part of a good pet, (Reader) was curious as to what was in the bag. The first thing they pulled out, however, was a taxidermied cat. (Reader's) eyes widened, and they couldn't contain their anxiety, shaking as they stared into the cat's glass eyes. Was this some kind of threat?

"Do you like it? I've been meaning to buy you more human toys, so I thought you would appreciate a stuffed animal." Realizing that the 'gift' was not malicious, the nervousness immediately dissolved into mental fatigue.

"Oh. I get it. Stuffed animal. Yeah." They put the animal back in the bag, hoping Kirtch didn't think their exhausted smile was permission to buy more dead bodies.

More aliens entered the room, greeting Kirtch before taking their seats. (Reader) couldn't understand what the meeting was about, since they were all speaking in Kirtch's native tongue, but their voices and faces were tense. The meeting went on for well over an hour, but (Reader) found it surprisingly entertaining, dubbing over their conversation inside their mind like Mystery Science Theater, chuckling with how wild their hand movements were. It was very human of them.

(Reader) fucked up, accidently snorting at one of the angrier aliens. Although they didn't understand the language, one of his sentences sounded awfully like "Pineapple farts", and with how intense his face was, it made it seem like he was describing how his ass felt. Their sound was so quiet it was almost inaudible, but the alien still noticed and spun his head in (Reader's) direction so quickly his exoskeleton creaked. (Reader) bit their lip to hide a smile, turning away from the conference to pretend to munch on their fruit (?) slices.

The irate alien began ranting louder, and (Reader) caught a word they had heard from a few of the underlings they had been introduced to. Bah-blk. Human.

Shit.

They snuck a glance towards the group very slowly to view Kirtch's expression, worried they may have angered him by interrupting the meeting. And indeed, his almost perfectly flat face was pulled into a scowl, but it wasn't aimed at (Reader).

"(Reader), pet, could you come here for a moment?"

His voice was light and smooth, as it always was when speaking to (Reader), but Kirtch's face was grave as he refused to break eye contact with the alien in front of him; said alien's shell glistened like he was sweating under Kirtch's glare. (Reader), not wanting to be punished later, left their spot on the floor and shuffled over to their owner. Kirtch pulled (Reader) into his lap the second they were within his reach, still staring daggers at the poor alien across the table.

He spoke to the offender, holding (Reader) lovingly with one arm as if to make a point. The man was panicked, waving his arms and sweating profusely, sounding apologetic. It wasn't enough, whatever it was he was saying. He referenced (Reader) as Bah-blk again, and then he was dead.

Before (Reader) could understand what it was that Kirtch had pulled out of his robe, a soundless shot was fired across the table, green blood splattering across the wall as the alien's head was pierced by some kind of projectile.

Everyone turned away, unsurprised by the killing. It was a lukewarm reaction, as though this wasn't the first time they witnessed someone die at Kirtch's hand. The body fell, head slamming into the table with a wet thud.

(Reader) didn't know what he had said, but to kill him... It was jarring. The young adult hadn't payed any attention to the tears dripping down their chin until Kirtch wiped them off. The roughness of his hand startled (Reader), making them flinch away from his touch.

For the rest of the meeting (Reader) couldn't pry their eyes away from the dead body lying across from them. It was a nightmare seemingly without an end, staring at a corpse while his murderer held (Reader) tenderly, rubbing his thumb on their side absentmindedly while discussing business with colleagues like it was a regular Tuesday.

If (Reader) was more aware, they would be disgusted with themselves for not fighting Kirtch as he picked them up to go back to their room, but they just wanted to go back to the safety of their *bed*, and couldn't force their brain to focus on anything else.

The bed was more like a twin sized pillow nestled in a metal cage, but it was soft and felt secure, like when (Reader) was young and thought that hiding under their blanket would protect them from the shadow people in their closet.

"Are you alright, (Reader)?" Kirtch asked, his voice full of concern.

(Reader) curled up, pulling the blanket tight over their face.

Kirtch sighed, and crouched down by (Reader's) bed. "(Reader), please don't be upset with me. If this is about my colleague, please know that what I did was necessary."

"Murder is never necessary."

"He tried to accuse me of not being.. as invested in the job as I should be. And that the reason for my lack of dedication was you. He used very strong language." Kirtch placed a hand on (Reader's) back. "I told him not to disrespect you. Yet he continued."

(Reader) began crying, shaking under Kirtch's touch. "Are you saying that I'm the reason he's dead?"

"Oh, pet.." Kirtch sighed again, pulling (Reader) out of the fetal position and into his arms. "I've always been incredibly interested in humanity. When I was a young child, there was a 'book' in my father's study about primitive species, and that's how I learned about humans. Did you know that you and I experience life differently from one another? Our brains function differently. We have different pain receptors; our brains' physiology are almost nothing alike; the diseases humans are capable of developing simply for existing are concepts we've never had to worry about. Even how we perceive the color spectrum, humans are so unlike any other sentient species I have met."

"I was so fascinated by Earth, especially by humans. We are not allowed to visit Earth as it is a restricted area, so much of what we know is recorded knowledge from captured defectors. My chances of meeting a human were next to none. Then, we had to dock in Dol-Hu, a shady planet only inhabited by criminals and those in hiding. And wandering through the market, I saw you."

"The one thing I've always wanted, for the past seventy years, I recognized you as a human immediately, even though you were so much cuter than I could have expected. You're so soft, and fragile, in comparison to my armoured flesh. You were bent over, but I knew from descriptions I had memorized what you were. As one who has always loved Earth, I am fluent in every Earth language we know of, so I was excited to communicate with you. I was so eager to have a piece of humanity. And now here you are."

(Reader) rolled over, their heart clenching painfully as they looked up into Kirtch's sadly smiling face. "I wonder what I look like through your eyes."

Their heart began doing somersaults in their throat as the tears continued flowing.

"You may have been the only human I've ever known, but I can say with confidence that you must have been the best humanity had to offer. I only want to give you the best life possible."

(Reader) wrapped their arms around Kirtch's midsection, sobbing loudly. His body didn't bend or squish under the full strength of (Reader's) embrace. And that was how (Reader) fell asleep, crying themselves into a nap.

When they awoke, they were alone, lying in the bed with the cat tucked into their arms. (Reader) left the room to find Kirtch at his desk, working on paperwork. The giant heard (Reader) behind him, and turned his attention on them, smiling as he held out his arms in an offer to pick them up. And much to his surprise, (Reader) willingly entered into his embrace, and allowed him to set them on his lap without pouting or making a fuss.

"I have a few more documents to look over, then I can play with you, okay?"

"Okay." Their voice was quiet and monotone, (Reader's) mind still fuzzy from crying so much before falling asleep.

"Are you still upset? Is there anything I can do to make you happy?"Kirtch laid down his work, trapping (Reader) in his arms.

"No.. you can continue working."

"You're more important than my work. I consider your unhappiness to be a crises."

Worry began to prick at (Reader's) skin. "I'm really fine, we don't need to play!"

"Need?"

Memories of the day (Reader) was bought flashed through their mind, causing them to go red and hot as they started to squirm in Kirtch's embrace. "I-I- didn't mean it like that!"

One hand left (Reader's) body to grab something from Kirtch's desk. "Don't fret, I recently purchased a new toy I thought would bring you joy."

(Reader's) eyes bulged out as they froze in anticipation, their heart hammering in their chest. But what Kirtch retrieved did not appear safe to go near any genitalia, a strange contraption formed of multiple thin prongs on a handle. Embarrassed that they had assumed something sexual was about to happen, (Reader) bit the inside of their cheek, puzzling over the strange discomfort they were feeling. "What's that?"

Kirtch raised (Reader's) shirt, and dragged the device across their skin, causing an involuntary shudder. It tickled.

"Ah! No!" (Reader) accidentally laughed, trying to push Kirtch away. He trailed the toy from their pelvic area visible above their pants to their left armpit. The light tingling sensation forcibly clenched their stomach muscles as they let loose a howl of laughter.

They couldn't breathe correctly, laughing so hard that their spasming abdominals made it feel like they were choking. But they couldn't stop, begging Kirtch to "knock it off" while their cheeks hurt from the smile they had. That damn toy tickled every inch of their body, not even noticing when Kirtch removed their pants. They kicked futilely, unable to break free from the assault. Their sensitive skin was almost becoming painful to the touch, but the laughter only got louder.

"pleASE! KIRTCH, stop!!" (Reader) heaved. Their whole body felt tender, highly reactive to each touch. Which made them aware of the fact that the only thing separating them from Kirtch's lap was a thin pair of underpants. With how they had been writhing on his lap, they were relieved that Kirtch didn't seem to have a dick that could become aroused from such movements.

(Reader's) smile fell. I have no idea how Kirtch's species reproduces. Maybe he can get erections, but he won't get one for me because he sees me as a pet. An animal. Their heart turned to concrete as it dropped out of its cage.

Kirtch halted his attack when he saw (Reader) go limp. "Are you tuckered out, pet?"

(Reader) tried to slide off his lap like jelly. "I'm done playing. I want to go back to bed."

"Alright, my stubborn little grump, what is it now? You were all smiles but a second ago, so what is it plaguing your mind?"

They tried to scrunch up their nose to prevent more tears from sheepishly forming. "I'm not a pet. I'm a human. I want to be treated like an equal!"

Kirtch's smile was replaced by a hurt scowl. "Is it so unpleasant being my pet?"

"No!" (Reader) interjected, not understanding why it pained them so much to see Kirtch upset, "I just want to, I just.. I don't know. This is confusing, and it feels.. weird. You're really nice to me, and sometimes it feels like... but then other times you treat me like I'm a cat. This isn't what I want. Either be a bastard and treat me like an animal or treat me like-" Their words caught in their throat. Treat me like what?!

A fearful kiss was placed on their forehead, ghostly with hardly any pressure. Kirtch's hands trembled on (Reader's) sides. "All I wish is to adore you for the rest of your life."

He pulled (Reader) into his chest, petting their back in a comforting manner. "I'll give you anything you ask for, I'll do anything you ask of me. Just to keep you happy, with me. You are all that I've ever wanted. All I wish is to care for you, and spend all my attention on you. If there is anything you want, please ask me. I need you to love me."

(Reader) felt so confused. Like a squid was destroying their gut, everything was uncomfortable and scary. They knew that Kirtch viewed them as a pet, he loved them how (Reader) loved their family dog as a child. But when they heard him begging for their love, it made them wish for an odd moment that he wasn't an alien. That (Reader) was sitting on their boyfriend's lap right now, a strange human man who sometimes infantalized them but only out of affection. Why couldn't this be simple? Why did (Reader) want him to kiss them right at that moment?

"I want to go home. I want to meet someone kind and fall in love." (Reader's) words stabbed Kirtch in places he never knew could hurt.

"I can't do that, (Reader)..." Kirtch's embrace constricted almost painfully tight. "You're all I've ever wanted. You can't ask me to let you go. I'll take such good care of you, you'll see. I have the rest of your life to make you fall in love with me."

They sat there, holding one another in agonizing silence, both loving each other in a way that they couldn't explain. The way their brains functioned didn't just mean that Kirtch could see a wider range of colors than (Reader), but the way their species experienced love was too vastly different for the other to comprehend. Despite Kirtch wanting to own (Reader), that was the greatest love he had ever felt, since his species did not pair bond and only mated when two beings agreed amicably that they wished to procreate. He knew that humans felt many forms of love, love for a mate, love for their offspring, love for a friend.. but to something that never felt any of those forms of love, Kirtch couldn't understand the difference between them.

"I love you, my little pet. And I will always love you."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere alien x reader #yandere alien #not proofread #cw humiliation #pet reader #pet human #cw death #feels #i'm just so tired #gender neutral reader

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winged-self-indulgence · 5 months

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Why Do People Like Yanderes?

Hi everyone, my name is Diya, and this was going to be a YT video-essay-type-thing but I'm too poor to afford a mic and too busy with college to learn how to edit videos, so here's my vague exploration of the psychology behind why people like yanderes so much through the lens of my favourite Visual Novels.

TW for uh. yandere content. Mentions of sex, gore, and non-con, particularly in the last topic. This is more like the first draft of an academic paper so while it's not explicit, I do go into some detail.

Introduction

If you’re a fan of anime or visual novels, then you’re probably already aware of what a yandere is, or at the very least you’ve seen that one picture of Yuno Gasai. Still, for the sake of thoroughness, let’s take it from the tippy top. The term ‘yandere’ is a Japanese portmanteau of ‘yanderu’ – the progressive form of ‘yami’ – meaning ‘sick’, and ‘deredere’ which roughly translates to ‘loving’. Together, the word refers to someone who is – in short – extremely lovesick. Obsessive to the extreme, and with little morality to spare, the standard yandere is characterized by a dangerous fixation on a chosen target, often appearing shy and caring at first only to flip the script and become violently aggressive towards perceived threats (Kroon, 2010).

It should be noted that yanderes are not a strictly romantic or sexual trope. The Ancient Greeks classified at least six forms of love, from familial (storge) to guests (xenia). Modern psychologists may distinguish love as either Companionate or Passionate (Kim & Hatfield, 2004) or consisting of three dimensions of Intimacy, Passion, and Commitment (Sternberg & Sternberg, 2018). Realistically, possessiveness shows up in a variety of relationships. However, people are generally primed to view certain dynamics as inherently amorous. Societal norms tend to encourage the idea that romantic bonds ought to rank above all others, and therefore if Person A is bizarrely fixated on Person B, then clearly there must be an element of sexual interest involved regardless of the actual relationship between the individuals in question.

Regardless, yanderes remain quite popular in fiction. Many dismiss it as a fetish, which it can be, but that isn’t the case for everyone. While there is nothing wrong with indulging in kinky fiction, not all of us get horny at the thought of being chained up in someone’s basement, no matter how hot our captor may be. So why is it so pervasive? Why is this trope so appealing that most writers cannot help but include at least a single line of dialogue implying that – if circumstances had been ever so slightly different – my wholesome shoujo romcom might have turned into a psychological horror?

Hybristophilia

‘Hybristophilia’, also known as Bonnie and Clyde Syndrome after the titular criminal couple, is a word is derived from the Greek word ‘hybridzein’ meaning ‘to commit an outrage against someone’ and ‘philo’ which means ‘a strong preference for’. Sexologist John Money reportedly defined it as a paraphilia in which an individual is sexually aroused by a partner who has a predatory history of hurting other people (Money, 1986, as cited in Matuszak, 2017). In his book, Serial Killer Groupies, true crime and crime fiction author RJ Parker distinguished two forms of hybristophilia: passive and aggressive. The former is when an individual contacts a criminal with the intention of striking up a relationship with them, allowing themselves to be seduced and manipulated but having no interest in committing a crime themselves. The latter are far more dangerous, as the individual not only derives sexual pleasure from their partner’s atrocities but are active participants in carrying out or covering up the crime. To quote Griffiths (2013, as cited in Pettigrew, 2019):

“[They] help out their lovers with their criminal agenda by luring victims, hiding bodies, covering crimes, or even committing crimes. They are attracted to their lovers because of their violent actions and want to receive love yet are unable to understand that their lovers are psychopaths who are manipulating them.”

In some ways, hybristophilia is the nearest thing we have to a realistic understanding of why people love yanderes. I mean, much of the fantasy surrounding such characters and their media tend to be filled with posts begging to be spat on or calling the rightfully terrified main character ungrateful for being a teeny bit upset about finding surveillance cameras in their ceiling. However, enjoying fictitious immoral activity does not predict real perpetration, so what does? There exists little consensus amongst psychologists as to what sparks this particular predilection, and that was strange to me. You would think there would be more studies into this topic, in spite of or perhaps because of its controversial nature. Heck, that one dude wouldn’t shut up about white women’s obsession with Bundy and Dahmer, and I assumed he had gotten that information from somewhere, but it turns out that was just him using modifiers to justify sexism.

However, I believe that we can hedge a few guesses, and over the course of my research, I’ve organized the main rationalizations under four umbrellas which I will explore through the lens of my favourite yandere-themed Visual Novels. Please keep in mind that most of these games are rated as mature due to sexual scenes and/or gore. Additionally, in the spirit of transparency, this ramble will be focused exclusively on male or masculine yanderes. So, without further ado:

Call Me Bob the Builder Because I Can Fix Them

If you’re familiar with DC Comic’s Batman, or just happen to have attended any costume event held over the span of the last 20+ years, you may be familiar with the character of Dr. Harleen Quinzel, better known as Harley Quinn. Initially created as the Joker’s one-off sidekick in Batman The Animated Series, she was so well-received by audiences that she became a recurring character in the cartoon and was eventually given a proper origin story in the form of a one-shot titled Mad Love.

Harley’s origin story has seen some alterations over the past decades, but the core aspects remain largely untouched. In the beginning, Harleen Quinzel was a promising young woman who wanted was a degree from the university’s prestigious psychology department, which she gained through…less than scrupulous means.

(Listen, I’m not sure if the authors were leaning on the Dumb Blonde stereotype, or if they simply thought that casting her as a genuinely bad student would make her later actions more believable. Either way, the idea of Harley as someone with a legitimate PhD came later)

After landing an internship at Arkham Asylum – a half-hospital and half-prison straight out of the 1870s that might as well be built out of one-ply tissue-paper soaked with gasoline and left next to a crate of fireworks – Harleen set her sights on the then incarcerated Joker. At the start, her fixation on the criminal wasn’t remotely sympathetic. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to use him. Harleen Quinzel wanted piggyback off his infamy and write a tell-all tale detailing what sort of messed up childhood resulted in Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime. Yet the more she interacted with him, the more the Joker took advantage of her empathy. By the end of their sessions, Harley no longer saw him as a violent serial killer with a clown schtick, but as a “lost, injured child looking to make the world laugh at his antics.”

But Diya, you may be asking, what does this have to do with the video? The Joker never loved Harley, and it could even be argued – as Shehadeh did in a 2017 essay – that her obsession with the pasty-faced clown is more akin to Histrionic Personality Disorder. While that may be the case, I believe that Harley’s story provides one of the reasons yanderes are so popular: their backstory.

Whether they were abandoned by their family, bullied by their peers, experimented on by evil scientists, starved on the streets, died under mysterious circumstances and then trapped in a haunted VCR tape for decades, or are simply so impossibly inhuman that they frankly do not understand why it isn’t socially acceptable to imprison their crush in a pocket dimension made of meat and non-Euclidean geometry, yanderes often have fairly sympathetic or at least understandable explanations for why they are Like That. Your mileage may vary significantly depending on how much you sympathize with these motives, but the point is that yanderes always make sense to some degree. Their morality and priorities may be twisted or even completely incomprehensible, but the audience almost always knows the reason, and that can be comforting. In the real world, other people aren’t always straightforward, and we never really know what they’re thinking, but narrative coherence demands a semblance of internal consistency lest the audience end up frustrated and confused. So yanderes are not only easy to sympathize with, but also fairly predictable. In-universe they may be unhinged freaks with a blood fetish, but to you watching from behind the safety of the screen they’re just acting out the script written for them based on a prototype. And if you understand the why behind their loose gears, then you might just be able to put them back together again.

The concept of rescue romances or “I Can Fix Them” has been around in our stories for thousands of years. The Epic of Gilgamesh detailed how Shamhat essentially ‘civilized’ wild man Enkidu through ritual lovemaking, and a concerning number of religions push the idea that women are dutybound to save men from the follies of sin. Yet men are not exempt either, with one notable example being the German fairytale, King Thrushbeard. Call it what you will regardless: Knights in Shining Armour, the Florence Nightingale Effect, or a plain old case of Because You Were Nice to Me, studies have shown that human beings generally like helping [DA2] others, even when the reason doesn’t necessarily stem from pure altruism. I will delve deeper into this later, but care and compassion are deeply ingrained in human nature, and arising from those roots is the appeal of this mentality: You can save them. You can change them. You can make them better. You are special, and the way you treat this person carries a weight that has not and will never be matched by anyone else for the rest of their mortal or immortal existence.

The illusion is a delicious one, especially if the person you’ve helped turns out to be a billionaire CEO with cash to burn, a super powerful ghost king willing to raze continents to dust for you, a demon having fun on a Friday night, or just your average hot creep with a knife. Moreover, different people have different ideas of what ‘fixing’ even means. Maybe you want to single-handedly rehabilitate your yandere into a functional member of society. Maybe you’re cool with the incessant stalking but would like them to stop slaughtering your friends, family, and local service workers. Maybe you want to make them much, much worse.

Not only do yanderes provide immediate proof that your actions have a tangible impact on the lives of others, but the fantasy also includes the desire of being seen as special. Of being admired and adored by someone whose life you inexplicably made better by virtue of simply being yourself, or an idealized version of yourself. In this fictional world, in this imaginary setting, the person you are is so uniquely, impossibly irreplaceable to someone. And if that’s the case then they can’t risk losing you, can they?

The Allure of Obsession, or ‘Til Death Do Us Part (Literally)

It shouldn’t be necessary, but here is my obligatory disclaimer anyway. Ahem: obsession is not a good thing in real life. Fixating on another human to the detriment of your own wellbeing and that of those around you is dangerous, as is encouraging someone else to obsess over you. You might think you are being worshiped, but real life is not a visual novel. The outside world doesn’t come with an age rating, the author’s guiding pen, and a convenient fade to credits sequence once you’ve reached an ending. The consequences will still be there in the morning, so don’t do it. Just don’t.

PSA out of the way, it’s natural to want to be wanted. Maslow’s Hierarchy places it just above physical safety, but I’d argue that it could easily be compared to baser drives. According to many psychological and anthropological studies, much of humanity’s continued survival and environmental dominance is largely attributed to our ability to form groups, cooperate with one another, and maintain complex interpersonal networks. Social support, intimacy, and a sense of belonging are linked to emotional and physical benefits, such as more optimistic health perceptions, higher subjective well-being, increased creativity and innovation, and greater self-efficacy (DeWall & Bushman, 2011; Harandi et al., 2017; Wang & Sha, 2018). Therefore, it’s perfectly understandable that rejection of any sort would be construed as a threat.

But if someone is obsessed with you, then you have no reason to worry about that, right? No more nights spent agonizing over how they feel about you, asking yourself whether your last text made you sound too desperate, or if you’re boring them because you spent the past hour info-dumping about Stardew Valley farm layouts. With a yandere, there will never be any doubt that they care about you. Sure, they might go about it in weird, manipulative, and insidious ways that violate your physical and mental autonomy, but you can’t deny their loyalty. They do love you in their own bizarre way. You are the sun around which they orbit. When you’re in the room, no one else exists. Every single messy flaw is just another bullet point on the mile-long list of why they adore you.

In essence, yanderes are not only attentive, but their love can be virtually unconditional. A yandere might know everything about you, and still revere you. It’s unhealthy as hell and you might genuinely question their taste, but it can be tempting to pretend that all of you, right down to the ugliest parts of yourself – the traits and choices that you would never share with another living soul even at gunpoint – are worthy of understanding, if not open praise and affection.

Attractiveness, or Okay but Have You Considered That They’re Hot Though?

I mean what am I supposed to say here? They’re hot, what do you want from me?

No, but in all seriousness, fictional media paints an idealized version of the world, and most yanderes are hot because they have the freedom of existing purely behind that screen; artfully arranged and edited to forever appear compelling to anyone who happens to enjoy their particular style. And there are a lot of styles to choose from. Whether you want them pretty faced and disarmingly cute, or scarred up and big enough to pin you like a butterfly, yanderes come in a wide variety of shapes and sizes that are meant to pique your interest and draw you in like a naïve little fish being lured towards the mouth of an angler fish, unwilling to believe that anything bad might happen to us when the bait is this pretty.

This is often referred to as the Halo Effect, a form of cognitive bias referring to the tendency for people to assume that a single obvious positive trait must be associated with other positive traits. The go-to characteristic is typically physical attractiveness, but a nice voice, good humour, and cooking skills are also factors which serve to influence our perceptions.

So, conventional physical attractiveness is one thing, but that’s only skin deep. What about beyond that? After all, the yandere still has to talk to you before they enact their master plan of tying you up in their basement until Stockholm Syndrome kicks in.

When I showed my friend a picture of John Doe from the game John Doe, she told me that he looked like a creepy slob, and she’s far from the only person who’s ever thought so. Look at them. I feel like if I tried to comb that hair it would simply eat me, and some of the CGs really put the scopophobia in Scopophobia Studios. I love Doe, but he is not hot, and he doesn’t behave in a normally appealing way either. If the player chooses not to take a bath, Doe will immediately comment that you “smell good” before following you home, breaking into your house, and leaving a bloody organ on the floor for the player to trip over. Many yanderes can at least fake a veneer of normalcy, but from the get-go Doe doesn’t even bother to pretend he’s anything less than an otherworldly creature stuffed into a vaguely person-shaped meatsuit. In an effort to find out why so many people had latched on to Doe – including me – I shopped around social media and YouTube for answers, and what I found was a widely unanimous sentiment.

While some were drawn to his fun design and goofy personality, most simply thought that he wasn’t inherently malevolent, just very confused. In addition to being a supernatural being with a completely alien axis of morality, Doe’s meta-awareness and unbridled attempts at winning the player’s affection lends him quite a bit of support from the audience, especially if you yourself also happen to struggle with social cues and relate to his pure earnestness. In Ending 7 of the extended version, the player character has the option to tell Doe – who has altered himself to pass as more ‘normal’ – that they prefer who he truly is, at which point he grows visibly flustered and sports an adorable pair of literal heart-shaped pupils.

Whether they’re charismatic, seductive, cute, sweet, funny, nurturing, or generous, the best yanderes have engaging personalities. Even while they’re committing truly heinous crimes against God, man, and your guts, you still kinda want to hang out with them, and you want them to acknowledge you as being just as interesting. And this is all fine in fiction because you’re the one in charge, and if you ever get bored or uncomfortable or busy with something else, then you can simply close the tab or window with zero consequences, which brings us to the final and most important reason.

Power Dynamics and Consent in Fantasy (I Couldn’t Think of a Joke Here Guys, This Is Kinda Serious)

Once again, I feel that I must preface this section just for the sake of my own peace of mind: sexual coercion and assault are vile and disgusting crimes that should never be emulated or tolerated in the real world. We are speaking purely of fictional media, specifically adult-oriented media in this case, so please be mindful.

In 2009, Bivoni and Critelli conducted a study on 355 undergraduate women with the goal of assessing the reasons behind fantasies of non-consent. At the time, there were two leading explanations of this phenomenon. One stated that women with high libidos but repressed views of sex used these imaginary scenarios to alleviate the guilt they had grown to associate with sex. Because the simulation was a purely mental exercise and they themselves were cast as helpless victims in the scenario, they were able to remain blameless while still finding sexual gratification. The second stated that these fantasies were an expression of liberation by women who were adventurous and comfortable enough with their own sexuality to engage with taboo ideas that they weren’t at all interested in performing in real life. Which do you think was more common?

If you guessed the second option, you’d be right. The study found that of the 220 women who had experienced such fantasies, 45% found theirs erotic, 46% were mixed, and only 9% reported pure aversion. One justification for this outcome relies on psycho-biological theories, for example masochistic preferences or the unintended activation of the sympathetic nervous system and subsequent mis-attribution of arousal. Other reasons have to do with higher order thinking and are tied to the power dynamics within such fantasies. On the surface is the appeal of being so desirable to someone that they simply cannot control themselves, but then there is a deeper impulse, which the researchers referred to as Adversary Transformation. To quote the article: “[fantasies] involve a struggle between an assailant and a potential victim in which it is relevant to consider who is the winner and who is the loser. At one level, it is a struggle over sex, but the woman's non-consent may be feigned or token. At another level, the woman may be seeking a victory that is not about whether sex occurs, but about what happens emotionally between the protagonists.”

Basically, the imaginary perpetrator may have ‘won’, but the self-character need not have ‘lost’.

Media provides an extra layer to the illusion, one that you as the viewer have absolute control over. If you are choosing to engage with a piece of media that explicitly labels itself as including R18+ yandere content, then you clearly have some expectations, and that background awareness goes a long way in reducing long-term discomfort and allowing audiences to make informed decisions. If you don’t like the plot, you can simply turn it off it with the click of a button, and when the screen goes dark it’s not like the yandere is going to punish you for saying no. Strade isn’t going to break into your house with a drill, there are no homicidal clown ghosts hiding in your TV, and no suspicious pink-haired hackers watching your webcam. They aren’t real, and the consequences aren’t real either. You have all the power here.

Conclusion

In summary, Yanderes are appealing for a variety of reasons. Whether you want to save them, think they’re attractive, wish to indulge in a dream of being utterly coveted, or simply enjoy a bit of spice in your me-time, it’s obvious why the trope has persisted for so long and will likely continue to do so. If you enjoy yanderes but are worried that having a taste for the less wholesome side of things might imply something about who you are as a person, don’t be. The notion that fantasies and media preferences directly reflect subconscious desires is not only painfully out of date debunked nonsense but also indicative of restrictive ideologies wherein bad thoughts = sin. This isn’t 1984. You haven’t committed a thought-crime by having a weird kink. You aren't going to superhell for fantasizing. The human mind is hardly ever so mathematically rational, and the point of fiction is to allow us to safely engage with and explore various ideas, provided the everyone involved is mentally, chronologically, and emotionally mature enough to do so.

Thank you all for listening to me. If you learned something or were just a little bit entertained. If you're curious about knowing more, I've listed my sources below

REFERENCES

Bivona, J. M., & Critelli, J. W. (2009). The Nature of Women’s Rape Fantasies: An analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents. Journal of Sex Research, 46(1), 33–45. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490802624406

Critelli, J. W., & Bivona, J. M. (2008). Women’s Erotic Rape Fantasies: An Evaluation of Theory and research. Journal of Sex Research, 45(1), 57–70. https://doi.org/10.1080/00224490701808191

DeWall, C. N., & Bushman, B. J. (2011). Social acceptance and rejection. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20(4), 256–260. https://doi.org/10.1177/0963721411417545

Flynn, F. J., Reagans, R., Amanatullah, E. T., & Ames, D. R. (2006). Helping one’s way to the top: Self-monitors achieve status by helping others and knowing who helps whom. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91(6), 1123–1137. https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.91.6.1123

Harandi, T. F., Taghinasab, M. M., & Nayeri, T. D. (2017). The correlation of social support with mental health: A meta-analysis. Electronic Physician, 9(9), 5212–5222. https://doi.org/10.19082/5212

Hazen, H. (1983). Endless rapture: rape, romance, and the female imagination. https://openlibrary.org/books/OL3161300M/Endless_rapture

Kroon, R. W. (2010). A/V A to z: An Encyclopedic Dictionary of Media, Entertainment and Other Audiovisual Terms. McFarland.

Matuszak, M. (2017). Hybristophilia White Paper. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/55dfd21ee4b0718764fb34cc/t/5cb7cabee5e5f00ab13be58b/1555548863275/Hybristophilia+White+Paper.pdf

Oarga, C., Stavrova, O., & Fetchenhauer, D. (2015). When and why is helping others good for well-being? The role of belief in reciprocity and conformity to society’s expectations. European Journal of Social Psychology, 45(2), 242–254. https://doi.org/10.1002/ejsp.2092

Parker, R. (2014). Serial killer groupies. RJ PARKER PUBLISHING, INC.

Wang, T., & Sha, H. (2018). The influence of social rejection on cognitive control. Psychology, 09(7), 1707–1719. https://doi.org/10.4236/psych.2018.97101

#reference list is completed!#yandere #sunny day jack #my dear hatchet man #mdhm #stnaf #ddlc #john doe #boyfriend to death #tpof #degrees of lewdity #your boyfriend #14dwy #br<3ken colors #camp willowpeak #br0ken colors #obey me #favour vn #binary star hero

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after-witch · 1 month

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Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: You're on your period, and your captor sits you down for a very special talk.

Word count: 1500ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader has their period, misogyny, lots of period talk, L being a weirdo

It’s rare that you let your kidnapper see you squirm. Mostly because he’s admitting to enjoying the sight of you fidgeting on the couch or bed; apparently, all of your little body tics in such stressful moments are just absolutely fascinating.

So, whenever possible, you make your body sit (almost) perfectly still. You keep your face neutral. You bite back responses, swallow insults, and wait until you’re alone in the bathroom to cry. (Though you have speculated he may have a camera in there, despite the lack of proof, and his cagey denial.)

It works, most of the time.

Except for now--for several reasons.

One being, you’re on your period.

It’s not something you looked forward to pre-kidnapping, and it’s something that you dread intensely, post-kidnapping. Sitting in front of your captor while you bleed into one of the standard-issue pads you found in the bathroom--the thin, generic kind that are often stocked at public bathrooms--is certainly not the highlight of your day.

Two, and two is the primary reason for the way your body is currently shifting on the chair: L, your kidnapper, the person you hate most in the world, has presented you with a tray of assorted period products. Pads, of several sizes and materials. Tampons, the same. Period underwear. And a silicone menstrual cup, fresh out of a plastic wrapper.

Behind this tray, he sits on his own chair, knees pulled up, a small smile on his face.

He gnaws on the end of his thumb and looks at you with something akin to gleeful hope, and you’d like nothing more than to punch him in the face.

“Well?” He asks, voice lilting. “Aren’t you going to ask why I put these here?”

You’d like to ask him where he gets the nerve. But that would only feed his ego, you think. So you breathe in and out through your nose, slowly, carefully. You flex your fingertips and press your hands together on your lap.

“Why,” you say, slowly, carefully neutral, “do you have a tray full of period products in front of me?”

L beams. “Glad you asked!” He gestures across the tray, like you haven’t been staring at it for what feels like five full minutes. “I’ve been monitoring your last seven menstrual cycles--your menstrual bleeding cycles, in particular--and I have come to the conclusion…”

He leans forward, eyes wide, eager. “… that you are not adequately handling your period every month.”

You have put up with a lot of things during your months of captivity. The loss of freedom, of course. The lack of autonomy. L’s incessant, creepy staring. His tendency towards over-analyzing you. His love for mental games that leave you wanting to tear your hair out.

But this?

This is too much. Too far.

Especially right now, with the awkward feeling of blood pressing between yourself and the pad, and a dull ache of cramps sitting low in your belly.

The snort that comes out of your nose would be fire, if it reflected how angry you’re getting.

“And how, exactly, am I not--handling my period adequately every month?” Even though you know he’ll get some special entertainment from your mockery, you can’t bite it back.

L grins again. “I’m happy to tell you my conclusions.” He reaches over to a side table, and retrieves a stack of papers. Your eyes go wide. No way. No fucking way. He didn’t--

He did.

He taps the stack of papers on the tray in front of him.

“I’ve calculated that during your active menstrual bleeding, you are 57% more irritable than on days without bleeding. Although there are many ways to reduce your stress hormones during these days, you refuse to do anything except mope around.”

Your mouth opens, lips sticking to your teeth, but he puts up a hand before you can tell him that being fucking kidnapped is the reason you’re “moping around.”

“And yes, I have taken into account your… unhappiness with your current situation. While that should account for certain levels of your stress hormones, it doesn’t account for all of them, nor does it negate the distinct rise in your stress levels on these specific days.”

Your eye twitches. It actually twitches.

“What else,” you bite out, teeth grinding, “have you calculated in that report of yours?”

He tilts his head, still smiling. He might look cute, if you didn’t want to knock his teeth out.

“Would you really like to know more? I don’t want to bore you. Ah, but if you insist…” He flips through the pages, until he lands on something he’d apparently love to share. “I’ve also discovered that your current pad use is simply inadequate for the flow and consistency of your menstrual bleeding.”

He can’t be serious. Nope. He can’t be. You must be dreaming.

“Stop,” you mutter, cheeks blazing hot, chest almost equally so. “Just--”

“I think this is important,” he says, blinking innocently at you. “I’ve noticed that you’ve stained your clothing--undergarments included--several times, and when Watari had the sheets laundered, we spotted some--”

Nope. You’re not doing this.

You stand up, body shaking, skin hot and flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m not having this conversation,” you say, voice stilted, teeth grinding on the inside of your cheek to keep you from screaming. “This is weird. You are weird.” Your hand points at him, vaguely, accusingly, but you drop it without fanfare.

His smile tilts into the smallest of pout.

“It’s not weird to be concerned with your inadequate usage of menstrual products. That’s why I’ve arranged some samples for you,” he says simply enough. “So you can see which menstrual product is best suited to your size and flow. Personally,” he adds, looking down at the tray with mild fascination, “I’m interested to see if the overnight pads are really more absorbent than the daytime heavy flow. Shall we conduct an experiment to compare?”

“No!” The words come out practically shrieked, and you grab one of the cushions from the sofa and hug it close. Calm yourself, you think. Calm down. Don’t let him see you get mad. It’s what he wants. It’s probably the entire reason for all this---well, this.

“I don’t need you to tell me what products to use. Or how to manage my stress. Or--whatever else it is you have in there.”

L pulls out another sheet of paper. “Well, I have also considered the effectiveness of your using microwaved towels versus a proper heating pad--which you could ask me for, but haven’t--and--”

It’s your turn to raise your hand and, to your surprise, he stops talking.

“I’ve had my period every month since I was 11.” The inside of your cheek hurts--there will be a blister, and blood, soon enough. “You really, really think I don’t know how to handle my own period?”

Maybe this is your attempt at giving him an out--a chance to apologize for being so unbelievably awful.To admit he’s wrong, in some small measure. Your hands tighten around the pillow, in hope--in anticipation?

His eyebrow raises; there’s a quirk of a smile on his lips.

“That’s the strangest thing about all this. I calculated that you’ve had…” And the bastard actually recites the estimated number of periods you’ve had since you started puberty. “… in your life.” He taps the paper in front of him with one short, gnawed-on fingernail. “You really should have had a more logical plan for this by now.”

The cushion bonks off the side of his head with unsatisfying softness, and you stalk away, intent on going into the only room in the house where you get any semblance of privacy--the bathroom.

“I forgive you,” he calls out, even as you walk away. “I know you’re only overreacting with this level of aggression due to the elevated level of hormones in your bloodstream!”

You can hear the smile in his voice as you slam the bathroom door. The mirror rattles. Your breath comes out in awful huffs, and angry tears prick at your eyes. Stupid asshole. Smarmy bastard. It’s like there’s no part of your life he won’t dissect, won’t turn impossibly irritating, and he’s just--

Your eyes land on the box of pads you’d found on the day of your first period here. It was a larger, plain brown box with a bar-code in it--he probably got it from some bulk place, hence the low quality.

Only now…

The box is empty. There are no more pads, thin, shitty as they were. And you know you’re about to be finished with the current pad resting in your underwear from the feel of it.

There’s a soft, playful knock on the door. He knew--he must have known the whole time it was empty. Probably knew you’d wind up storming off in here, too.

“Did you decide which of these you liked best?” Even with his voice muffled by the door, the sticky self-assurance rings loud and clear. “I’m guessing you’ll need them sooner rather than later…”

Before you start looking for any object you might throw in his direction if he opens the door, he calls out again--

"If you've chosen the menstrual cup and you're worried about the insertion process, I watched the tutorial video and it's really very--"

You don't hear what he says in the end over your own muffled shriek into the nearest towel.

#yandere #yandere l lawliet #yandere death note #afterwitch writes #yes this is named after the king of the hill episode

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envy-of-the-apple · 3 months

Text

Dark!Naga!Gojo Satoru x reader x Dark!Naga!Geto Suguru

Top of the Food Chain

I've always wanted to continue my naga!mha fic but considering i dont write for deku+co anymore, i decided to move my au a couple fandoms over:D 1.8k wc

Part two

(Warnings: animal deaths, blood, obsession, dark content, slight gun threat but not rlly, polyamory, gender ambigious!reader)

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Despite being here for nearly a week, you still don't think Satoru understood how delicate you are.

He's overbearing, in that sense. Constantly poking and prodding and squeezing until your lungs give and you're forced to squeak. You can't blame him for not understanding. He's an animal, after all. Inhuman. Despite his skin and hair, the scales coating his tail give away just how different he is. He was probably born fighting, kicking, and screeching his way through the foliage, hunting, chewing, and biting.

He's not like you when all you knew when you were younger was coddling and softness. You can see it in his scars, and bruises, and marks.

Luckily, for you, Suguru had an inkling that you weren't made for sharp claws.

It's not a fight, you can tell when they're fighting, it's more like a warning? A minor disagreement. Suguru hisses at the other naga, scrunching up his face, showing his teeth. Satoru is quick to respond, but a little more playful. Fortunately for you, the black-haired male seems to win the argument. Satoru's coils loosen around you. Air stops fighting its way to get into your lungs.

You finally go lax in his hold. Satoru seems to enjoy that, dipping his head to bury his face into the base of his neck. The first few times he did that, you were afraid he was trying to bite off your jugular. Now, you think it's just another way he can soak up your body heat.

Maybe you've been here for longer than a week. At this point, you couldn't really tell. Hope that you'd be found was starting to slowly fizzle away. The explosion had been massive. The ship had sunk in a matter of minutes. With a disaster that huge, you doubt anyone would still be looking for survivors. Especially on an uncharted island, where myth had turned into reality.

Satoru had been the one you'd woken up to. Washed ashore, barely conscious. You were half-certain he was planning on eating you with the way he held your leg, watching your muscles bend and turn. In his defense, he must have thought you were dead. Your shrill scream quickly convinced him otherwise.

It was barely a fight. More or less, a pathetic kidnapping as he grabbed your body, slinging it over his shoulder. You've never remembered screaming and crying so loudly before, convinced you were about to be eaten. Suguru probably heard you before he saw you.

Satoru's mate was a little less impressed with you. Back then, they didn't bother learning your tongue, speaking in hisses and snarls, unaware of your misery. Suguru's frown was glued on his face, but the naga never let you run away, always keeping a hand or a tail on you at all times. It was a rough first day; you didn't know they weren't interested in eating you until they tried to feed you.

Things were much different back then Nowadays, they are a lot more considerate of yourself and your soft body. You think you've come to an understanding with these strange creatures.

Suguru was the nicest out of the two. In that, you mean the least rough. Compared to his counterpart, he's a bit smaller, but that's not saying there's any real difference. If it comes down to it, you are more than certain he'd be able to kill you off as quickly as his mate. You thought he hated you, at first. Now, you think he has a hard time showing blatant affection. His touches typically come in the dead of night, when you're barely conscious. A clawed finger gently raking over your soft skin. Large hands sculpting your face.

Satoru's eyes were the first thing you noticed about him. Glittering like blue sapphires. You had a feeling they weren't just for show. Time and time again he's proven that he can see better than Suguru could. He smiles a lot more, but you're starting to wonder if that expression translates across species. He can speak your tongue slightly better than Suguru could. It most likely has to do with his insistence on staying with you. The more time you spend with him, the more you have to say 'No' 'Don't touch there' 'Stop'.

In the rare times you manage to escape their hold, you like watching them interact with each other. They often sunbathe for hours, lazing around hot rocks to soak in the heat. They like touching each other. Sometimes it's aggressive, like when Satoru chomps on Suguru's neck and you're suddenly much more aware of how careful he is with you. Other times it's: soft, unintentional, meaningless. Languid cuddling when you are finally able to braid Suguru's hair.

At this point, you've surmised they won't eat you. At least, not for the moment. You don't exactly know what they think of you. Do they have the concept of pets in their worldview? Maybe that's the closest thing you can place yourself as, at least in their eyes. They must think you're helpless. To them, you have no claws, no fangs, no venom. They probably don't know you come from a species that's hunted others to extinction and currently burning down the planet. You must be the first time they've ever seen your kind, stripped away from your weapons, when you're the least dangerous.

"You should be more scared of me, you know," you once whispered to Suguru in the dead of night.

He was dozing off, blearily keeping his eyes open to stare at your moving lips. There was a grunt behind you, and Satoru tightened his arms across your waist. Greedy for affection, even in his sleep.

"Humans are terrifying," you said, reaching out to touch, "top of the food chain."

Suguru had smiled at that. You found yourself smiling back.

"You're lucky I didn't have a gun on me. You probably don't even know what that is." It's dark humor to press two fingers into his forehead. Your way of coping maybe.

Or perhaps your actions prove that humans will always desire to be violent, no matter how perilous their fight may be.

"Bang." He leans into your touch, unafraid. Oblivious to the threat that you are.

You're guessing Satoru only let you go because of the food Suguru brought.

You're able to feel the ground again as he glides over to Suguru having just come back from a successful hunt. The carcass of the largest deer you've ever seen is slung across his back. The smell of blood already makes you nauseous.

You think Suguru had been the most panicked when you refused to eat, clicking and cooing while he tried to force-feed you the bloody leg of a bear. Back then, your communication was even worse than it was now. You were smeared in crimson by the time he relented. Practically dripping in it.

Now, Suguru knows you have different tastes than them. You're not a big fan of raw. The fish and the handful of berries are more than enough to sate you as you gather the items he's given in your hands.

"Thank you," you say. You reach out, touching his face with warm fingers. He purrs into your touch. You smile. It's the least gratitude you can give him. After all, he's not asking for much. If they hadn't found you, you would have been dead long ago, or at least, significantly less weaker. It's the least you can do.

For a moment, you delude yourself into thinking they were your pets. It'd certainly be easy too. They have little to no regard for personal boundaries, much like dogs. They're more animalistic than they are human.

It's funny to think of these monsters as lovable pets.

"Thank you," Suguru repeats. You giggle. It's not like they actually understand you. It's simple mimicry. Like talking to a parrot.

"Thank you!" Satoru chirps, never one to be left out. He pushes his mate out of the way, eager for your pets as well. Suguru hisses, but doesn't argue. You've learned they like to be scratched right there on the bottoms of their chins.

Suguru's less obvious, but Satoru has no desire to pretend. He melts into you, practically slumping his weight into your weak hold. It's a little adorable actually. You give a little laugh. He seems even more pleased at that.

They're fun to be around, but this can't last. You belong with other humans, far far away from this island. So far, you hadn't seen any boats in the horizon, but you hope one would come by soon. A plane would be even better. Close enough to give you hope. Maybe if you built a big enough fire, it'd reach someone eye.

Hopefully, in just a few weeks, these creatures will be a very cherished memory.

You frown when Satoru reaches over to grasp at your food, the meat specifically. You glare, moving away from his hold. He titters in clear disappointment. You hate seeing him sad but you already have so few food sources. It's best to conserve whatever you get.

"No," you pointedly tell him, "It's mine. Mine."

His frown deepens, and he opens his jaws to let his fangs pop out.

"Mine," you repeat.

He leans back, huffing. You laugh because you know his expression is more out of frustration than any actual anger. Again, animals. You pet his head in apology, before turning away. You'd have to start a tiny fire to start cooking. Raw fish is edible, but it's hardly desirable.

A hand grabs yours, clawed, the grip is tight around your frail skin. When you look back, Satoru is staring at you. Eyes wide. Eager.

"Mine," he says, but it's more like he's testing the word. Tasting it on his lips.

You scoff, unamused. "That's my arm. Not yours."

Satoru smiles. Sharp teeth. You suddenly remember he's a carnivore.

He's slow when he draws you in, practically dragging you into his arms. You're used to his spontaneous hugs, tight and suffocating. You can't fight him off, so you typically wait until Suguru has enough of his behavior and drags him off you.

"Mine," Satoru repeats. Alarm bells ring in your head but it's easy to brush them off. It's mimicry. They can't understand. It's like talking to a parrot.

You feel the weight of the other naga at your back. His arms wrap around your waist, pushing you against Satoru's chest. You stiffen when Suguru's fangs lightly graze up your neck. Never quite punctures, but is terrifyingly close.

"Mine," Suguru says into your skin.

You laugh again, but it comes out less hesitant. More airy. Amid their hold, a sudden thought comes to you.

If you weren't at the top of the food chain anymore, then who was?

#yandere #dark content #yandere jjk #non con touching #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #dark gojo satoru #dark geto suguru #naga au #naga gojo satoru #naga geto suguru #animal death #language barriers #polygamous relationship #Top of the Food Chain

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kohansara · 2 months

Text

plays his role

#art #btd #ren hana #boyfriend to death #btd ren #tpof #traditional art #drawing #yandere #tpof strade #btd strade #comics

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 month

Text

afton'd reader sets a man up to be straight up point blank Murdered and honestly, good for them, wish i could do that when someone flirts with me when im working smh

(i say that like i've been flirted with more than maybe two times in four years of customer service type shit)

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yanderes-galore · 4 months

Note

Could you make a yandere alphabet for Death from Puss in Boots?

I know some questions, specially the "Quit", are pretty obvious, but i still want to see how you're gonna answer them.

Sure! This is my new take on Death so it's different than his concept :)

Yandere Alphabet - Death

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, "Kidnapping", Death (Of course), Soft yandere, Slight sadism, Possessive behavior, Envy/Jealousy, Forbidden love, Brief mention of biting/marking but it doesn't happen, Dubious/Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

I'm going to try another way to write Death in this like what I did with the Jack Horner Alphabet.

Death is a sadistic individual, sure, but he also holds respect for life. Death would watch over his darling until their time is up. If you aren't arrogant and live life to the fullest, he won't chase you.

Although, Death certainly isn't expecting to fall for a soul such as you either.

Death mostly observes the one he holds dear as his job makes him wait in the shadows. Maybe you'll see him occasionally, a wolf parading as one of the living. You may not even suspect Death himself to be chatting with you.

I'd say his obsession can come off as intense.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

There's no doubt Death likes to get messy. However, he respects life around him. He can't recklessly kill those around you. As a result… he restrains the urge and decides to simply guide you away from them.

Who knows your fate better than him?

No one does.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Abduction for Death is most likely your time coming. Death isn't really cruel towards those who live a full life. He'll chase you if you fight him, but he respects you.

You are the soul he wishes to keep. He doesn't want to take you to the afterlife just yet… or ever, really. He wouldn't mock you unless you deserved it for being arrogant.

He simply wishes to guide you as a Grim Reaper does.

He just wants you to rest… he'll watch over you like he always has… don't fight his embrace.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Other than taking your life and showing he cares… not much.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Death isn't very vulnerable. He cares for you and you have a hold on him… but he tries not to show it.

Hard not to notice when he passes you soft looks or keeps delaying sending you to the afterlife though.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

You fighting back ignites his urge to hunt. If you tried to fight fate he'll take it as a game. Although… games have to end at some point, dear.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Chasing you is a game and he'd love watching you escape. However, what he feels for you isn't really a game.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When he reveals who he really is and takes you away. In a world full of magical creatures, it isn't too weird to be talking to a wolf. However… you never knew this wolf was Death.

He always gave a fake name and always appeared when you needed him. You were the Grim Reaper's guilty pleasure, someone he shouldn't be visiting in the living world.

But then he became a friend and companion to you.

So when he revealed who he was and that he loved you, you couldn't believe it. You may even try to run when he says your time has come. It's unfortunate…

But you can't fight fate for long… you'll come to him in the end… he knows you will.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Death's goal is to guide your soul. In the end he is meant to take you to the afterlife. However… he doesn't want to part with you.

He's been part of your life for so long. As a friend… along with watching you from the shadows. Even if you went to the afterlife, he'd still look to visit you.

He wants to keep you as his… both in life and death.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

If Death gets jealous he copes silently. Any lashing out he'd probably take out on his next arrogant target. He can't interfere… you're meant to live a full life with a love of your own… but he'll be waiting for you.

You'll be his eventually.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Death starts by watching you from afar. He's simply meant to observe. That's all he's meant to do.

Then Death starts getting attached. Soon he goes against his usual protocol and manifests to befriend you. It feels wrong.

Yet oh so right….

His obsession is kept on the down-low and he plays the charade of a living being. He keeps an eye on you and appears when you need him most. It soothes him…

Right up until he can claim you.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Death doesn't do much courting. He befriends you, maybe compliments you, but he mostly observes you. His interactions with you are through a facade.

He's playing his cards right to soothe himself.

He's patient and will wait until he can strike. Then he'll lead you away… claiming your soul as his. He isn't as bad as you think… you'll see.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

I'd say so, he has to bend rules to be around you.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Naturally I want to say biting and clawing to mark you, yet that's a bit too OOC for this version. Death doesn't want to punish you unless he has to put you in your place. No… he wants to keep up the persona of being a guardian.

He's someone that cares about you… even after passing.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

You'll have some freedoms in the afterlife, in fact about as much as you did in life. The only difference is Death looks after you a lot more.

But really… When has he not?

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Extremely patient, it's in his job to be patient.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No need to worry about this, you dying just brings you to him.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

A little but it's the job. He would not let you go.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

I'd say curiosity.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He tries to comfort you and say things will be okay. He'll make sure you're happy. If anything… you're safest dead. No one can hurt you….

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

His whole character is different.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

None.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not unless necessary.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Not a worship yandere but would follow you to the end of your days to have you.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

A long time… your lifetime, actually.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Unintentionally/No.

#yandere puss in boots #yandere puss in boots last wish #yandere pib #yandere death #yandere death the wolf

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princessanonymous · 1 year

Text

Perfectionist

Harry slowly woke up to the sound of birds chirping. He never thought he would wake up so peacefully, especially with Ron, Hermione and him being on the hunt for the Horcruxes.

He could feel the fluffiness of the bed and, for once in a long time, his back aches had finally left. This was pure bliss and —

Wait.

He looked around, bewildered. Where was he ? Ŝ̵͚a̸̩͛f̷̡́é̶̗

He winced. A headache. He slowly sat up from the gigantic bed.

He was in a bedroom. The room was pretty well decorated and cozy. He was currently surrounded by plushies on a large four-poster bed on one of the walls of the room, and a white bedside table decorated with intricate carvings was next to it.

The walls were painted beige with a darker beige patterns. In front of his bed was a big wooden trunk. A large wardrobe was placed at the right of the bed, a little farther away was a door.

Left to the bed was a window and next to it, a little victorian vanity set. A light brown ottoman was also placed in the room.

On the side opposite that of the bed, stairs led to a second floor on which Harry could see a book case. On the main floor, next to the second one, was a second door.

Harry frowned. This place looked familiar, now that he thought of it.

He tried to open the first door, but as he had expected, it was locked. The second, however led to a bathroom. Harry looked at himself in the mirror. His messy hairs were longer than he remembered. They now reached his shoulders, but they still looked as untamable as ever. Yet, there were more important things to care about right now. There seemed to be nothing in there so he decided to look in the bedroom again.

He peered out of the window. It was a calm cloudy day. Some sun rays could be seen passing through the clouds. From the window, he was able to theorize he was on the third level. He didn't think he could jump from here unscathed. There must be another way out. With his wand, he might be able to cushion his fall.

W̶͇̎h̴̢͒ỵ̷̈́ ̶̜̅w̵̮͋ô̸̞ȗ̸͈l̷̠̎d̸̙̔ ̴͉̀ý̷̲o̶͈̐u̷̠̕ ̸̻͌w̶͖͊ȃ̵͈n̷̠͑t̶̙͆ ̷̢͒ṫ̴̜ő̴͙ ̵̃ͅḻ̶̽ę̶̑à̷̡v̴̭̾e̸͉͌ ̵̰̈́?̶̨͘

Trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head, he managed to find a wand on the nightstand, but it looked different. He picked it up, examining it carefully. It was a grayish brown color. His usual handle resembling bark was replaced by a handle formed from two conjoined spheres. It vaguely looked like Harry's but like a bad copycat of it. The wand was definitely not his but it was a beginning. Part of the wand felt familiar to Harry.

Ẉ̵̉ḧ̴͈a̶̛̯t̶͍́ ̸̮͘d̶̼͘o̷̙͝ ̸͇̍y̴̘̑ő̷̹ǘ̵͖ ̵͇͝m̸̺̊ë̵̩a̸̙̾n̸̢͆ ̵̤̄?̶̺͂ ̸̩̀Ţ̶͆h̶̀ͅì̴͕s̶͚̀ ̴̝͘ḧ̴̳́ä̵͙́s̵̡͂ ̸̻͠a̸̲̒l̵̜̈w̷͇͘a̶͇̋y̵͔̌s̶͖͒ ̶̜̚b̷̤̓ḛ̷̒e̵̜͛n̵̲͝ ̸̦͘ȳ̵̳o̸̾ͅu̷̳͑r̴̯̂ ̸̗̽w̸͍̓a̴̖̐n̵̰̆d̸̞̓.̸͔̍

His captors th̸̨̾e̷̬̅ŗ̶̚e̵̙̐ ̸̯̐i̵̡̾s̵̙̿ ̶̣̆n̵̥͌ö̶́ͅ ̵̖̃c̵̟͠ā̶͕p̸̞̀t̵̪̆o̴͈̐r̵͔͗.̷̢̚ must've been very stupid to leave him with a ẙ̴͍o̷̫̊u̸̯̓r̵̪̓s̵̗͆ his wand. This whole situation was pretty peculiar.

When he heard the sound of a door creaking open, he instinctively pointed his wand at it. It was the first door and probably the door leading to outside. Someone came in. A lady with short black hairs wearing a black plague mask came in.

"Good morning, little master." It was barely above a whisper, yet it echoed in the room with such a resonance. "How are you today ?"

"Who are you ?" He asked instantly, his wand pointed straight at her.

The woman froze. "Do you not remember ?" She replied by a question of her own.

"Remember what ?" He snapped.

She bowed and said : "I apologize. I must inform the master of your predicament." The maid (?) left before Harry could demand answers.

He tried to follow her but she had lock the door behind her. Moments later, a tall slim man came in. He had black hairs tied in a low ponytail. He later noticed that the hairs underneath where white. His skin was deathly pale while his eyes were as dark as an endless void. The unknown man smiled.

There was something wrong with the man. His teeth were too white and too pointed. His eyes were too dark. His skin was too pale.

𝐿𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒶—

The man gave him a warm smile. It was able to put Harry more at ease. Ÿ̶̼́o̷̗͝u̵͔̕ ̶̯͠ȃ̵̢r̷͇͂é̸̘ ̵̢̀s̴̤͝a̴͉̓f̸͔͗ẻ̶̝.̶̻̐

Harry calmed himself down and took a moment to observe the other. The man's eyes held a certain hint worry. "Good morning, Starlight. How are you today ?"

"Who are you and what do you want from me ?"

The stranger gave him a defeated look. He sighed. "I cannot believe this is happening again," he whispered under his breath, though Harry was able to slightly hear him.

Harry asked the man what he meant by that statement. He stayed quiet, looking at him with an unreadable expression. His expression turned to one of resignation. "You should sit down."

The teen hesitated for a few seconds and finally decided to follow the man's suggestion. He sat down on the bed and next to him, the stranger did the same. He still felt on edge but, the fact that the man hadn't tried to kill him yet was a good sign, he supposed.

"I am Azraël Peverell. Does this name sound familiar to you ?" He started slowly.

Harry nodded. It did sound familiar. He had heard this name before. The adult smiled at this.

"It is because this has already happened before," the man explained, still using that soft tone. "This is in fact a common occurrence."

Harry frowned and tilted his head dubiously.

"These same episodes keep repeating themselves. Since the — an event that, I can only assume, left you traumatized, your memory has been affected."

"What ?" Muttered with a strangled voice.

"You sometimes can last months before another relapse starts and then... you just forget everything... You were improving, you know ? Last time had been your longest time without a 'reset', as you call them."

Harry stayed quiet. Mr. Peverell looked devastated. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He did seem to care about the teen, yet Harry couldn't remember who he was.

"I.. am sorry."

"No, sweetheart, you shouldn't apologize. Taking care of you brightens my days even with these little hardships," he assured, placing a cold hand over Harry's.

Perplexed, Harry asked : "But.. who are you ? How do I know you ?" He felt somewhat inconfortable asking this question.

His soft smile slipped and Harry winced. Then, the adult smiled again. This smiled, however, held more sadness. "I have been here for you since the incident. It brought us closer. You are... like a son to me."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh." How could he say anything else ?

The adult stood up, chuckling quietly. "I must apologize. It was not my intention to make you I uncomfortable," he apologized before pointing at the (his?) nightstand. T̵̩͎̃͝h̶̬͕͚̀ͅi̸̡̭̺̲͛͘s̵͓̈ ̴̜̣̃̌͑i̷̦̳̿̕s̴͛͂̇͝ͅ ̷̥̱̊͆̅͘a̵̩̗͇̒͂ḻ̴̎l̵̩̮̺͈̇̿ ̵̛͇͔̭͗̎̎y̸̖͉͔̰̽͆̽o̸̪͚̼͉̓̒u̷̘̒̔͐̀ŕ̶̜̲̭͆̓s̴̛̱̥̞͜.̷̗͚̺̮̈́ ̶͖͋T̷̨͙̰͋͆̾h̷̖̊i̵̫̭̓ṧ̶̹̬͉̄ ̸̧̤̳͈͛i̴̮̖̬͛s̴̗͚̈̓̂ ̴̱̦͕̐͑̈́ỳ̶̛͖̓ơ̴̤̜̝̓͌͝ù̷̪r̷̫̔ ̴̿̍̉͜͝r̵͍̄͋̍o̶͕̎̌̎͐ọ̴̻̺̑́̓̈m̷̭͆͆.̷̼̫̑̀̈

"You must feel overwhelmed. On your nightstand next to your invisibility cloak is your journal. You should read it. It might help you remember things."

Harry picked the brown leather journal and placed his hand on it.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ △⃒⃘ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Life, while still confusing, was quiet after that. His spent his day in the manor and around it, trying to keep himself occupied.

He had to admit he was lonely. There wasn't anyone to talk to other than the man and the masked servants. The adult was still there for him whenever he had the time so it was fine.

Life around here is lonely, Past Harry had written in his journal, I wish I could leave this place to go back to more normal times, but I know I can’t. At least, Mr. Peverell is here.

Harry didn't know why he was here. He had tried to ask around but no one answered it. Why couldn't he go back ? What was this incident ? And the war ? Who's side was winning ?

Harry bit his lips. He knew that without him, the Light had no chance to win. Yet, he was here. T̸̗͍̱̖͒̽̈h̶̡̜͈̹͆̀̈e̶͙̪̔͘͘ý̷͚͔͙̖̘͉͊͊͆ ̴̛̠̊̉̄͝d̷̪̎̉̀̈́̔̒o̸̡̨͕͕̣͍̊̽̍̍̿̽̐ ̷̱͕̹̯̦͂̎̍̃̈́̉͘ͅņ̸̠̰̺͇͈́̅̆́ǫ̴̛̠̟̣̅̇̌t̸̖͓̑͊ ̶̗̬͉͎̓̿̀̈ͅm̴̟̈̂̉̎͊ͅa̸̧͕̙̻̹͇͛̀̊͠t̶̯̯̀̂̄ẗ̸̼̩̈́̚e̶̲̦̘͚͊̆̋̃͆̈́̕͜ȑ̸̮̠̹̥̯̟̎͗̃̆͠.̸̡̣̦̱̣̤̂Harry sighed and went back to reading a book.

A few days later, he noticed something weird on pages 39 to 44 of the diary. There were some letters written in capitals when they shouldn't have been. Now, he would have chucked this as mistakes but he was sure he wasn't stupid enough to write 'day' as 'dAy'.

Sure enough, when he noted all those 'mistakes' down, they formed a message.

I’VE REGAINED SOME SMALL MEMORIES. SOMETHING TELLS ME MR. PEVERELL IS LYING.

A shiver ran down his back.

The journals were the entries of 'different Harry's'. 15 to be exact. 15 resets. Of course, they were all the same person in the end, but Harry just couldn't associate himself with any of them. In his mind, the 'incident' that traumatized him separated them and until he could understand and remember everything, (what this incident was and each reset) they would stay separated.

From what he understood, the first past him who wrote in this diary was not the actual first. The real first Harry who remembered how he got here just didn't think of writing in a journal since he hadn't expected to lose his memories.

False Harry 1 wrote from page 1 to 47. The teen simply couldn't shake off the fact that #1 turned into #2 (reset) only 2 pages after writing this message. This was probably only a coincidence. But.. even then... what did Harry #1, his past self, mean ?

This mystery kept Harry awake. #2 didn't mention anything related to that. He probably didn't even notice the message.

Sometimes, I wish I could leave this place. But I know how ungrateful I sound. Mr. Peverell is really a great person. He got so emotional when I asked to leave, so I try to forget those thoughts

On page 79, #3 wrote I think he knows.

And then, a memory came to him. The memory of a hug and a whisper.

· • —– ٠ ⏳ ٠ —– • ·

"You do not need to feign ignorance. We both know what is going to happen, do we not?"

· • —– ٠ ⌛️ ٠ —– • ·

Harry gasped at the memory, clutching his head. He groaned painfully. The memory felt like a strong blow to the head.

He stayed still for a while, waiting for the pain to dissipate. When it finally did, Harry closed the journal. He just needed to sort his thoughts out before going back to reading it.

The voice was definitely Mr. Peverell's. It was calm and composed but the feeling of dread he felt was almost overwhelming. He didn't know why yet but he was going to figure it out.

For the following days, he read the next pages more carefully, searching meticulously for the signs of any secret messages hidden. While doing so, Harry also had to make sure the man didn't notice anything. After all, it had been his downfall multiple times.

Page 215 was missing and he also noticed that page 216 was blank. Obviously, he immediately had the feeling something was hiding there. He touched the paper, feeling bumps. Someone had written so hard on the previous missing page and it had left marks on the next one. He thought for a bit, and then an idea came to him.

He took a blue pencil and started to draw all over the page. The words revealed themselves.

Behind a book Exactly under the orange one Directly next to the alchemy book

If it’s not there, start over from top to bottom.

In the book shelf, Harry understood. But that would prove to be difficult. The books certainly weren't in the same places. He had moved them around and had replaced them haphazardly.

Nevertheless he tried to look where the note wrote. When he found nothing, like the letter said, he tried looking from the top shelf to the bottom one. After a while, he frowned. There was nothing there.

He read the note again. Perhaps he had missed something. If it’s not there, start over from top to bottom. He gasped. The three first lines were meant to confuse him.

Behind a book

Exactly under the orange one

Directly next to the alchemy book

So he looked under his bed. There was still nothing there. Finally, Harry found a paper under his mattress.

Hi, if you are reading this, this means I have failed to leave and he has erased our memories again. You will probably know me as Harry #12. I am you, as you might already have guessed. This might surprise you but I swear on my magic that what is written here is true.

You cannot trust Mr. Peverell. From the informations I've gathered from the writings of the others, his real name is Death. He is a god and he decided to take me us as his pet.

He took us during the Horcrux hunt and since then, we have been unable to leave. According to recent flashbacks I have been having, he first tried to trick us making us believe professor Dumbledore has called upon him to train us to fight Voldemort. When this didn't work, he erased our memories and started this whole amnesia thing. From the beginning, he has been trying to gaslight us into a false sense of security. Don't listen to him. Every time something goes against his wishes, he erases our memories and starts over. According to Harry #9's hidden notes, he's trying to mold us into his perfect little son.

Don't trust the masked people walking around the manor. These things are called reapers. They are Death's subordinate and are on his side.

I am trying to find a way to escape, but if you are reading this note, I failed. I hope that you can find a way to get the us out of this place and back to the Wizarding world. I fear for the fate of Great Britain since we aren't there to stop Voldemort.

Good luck.

Harry knew something was wrong, but he hadn't expected this. It was hard to believe, yet it made so much sense. He clutched the note tightly.

So Mr. Pever— Death was the one who had been erasing his memories. He had been toying with Harry from the beginning and the teen had been none the wiser.

These things were only happening to him. Merlin, he felt lightheaded. Harry wanted to throw up and, he had to admit... he was terrified. Why was this only happening to him ?

A god. A god had been trapping him who knows where all this time. How was he going to pull himself out of this problem ? Could he pull himself out of this problem ?

No. He shook his head. Harry had been able to save himself many times before. He could do it again. The world was spinning and he wanted to vomit but he was okay. He would be ok.

His head pounded, sharp and heavy. He closed his eyes, fighting off nausea. Trying, even through the pain, to figure out a way to escape this once welcoming place. Now he felt like the walls were closing in on him.

· • —– ٠ ⏳ ٠ —– • ·

Harry slowly woke up to the sound of birds chirping. He never thought he would wake up so peacefully, especially with Ron, Hermione and him being on the hunt for the Horcruxes.

He could feel the fluffiness of the bed and, for once in a long time his back aches had finally left. This was pure bliss and —

Wait.

He looked around, bewildered. Where was he ? He sat up from the gigantic bed.

The walls were painted beige with a darker beige patterns. In front of his bed was a large wooden trunk. A large wardrobe was placed at the right of the bed, a little farther away was a door.

Left to the bed was a window and next to it, a little victorian vanity set. A light brown ottoman was also placed in the room.

On the side opposite that of the bed, stairs led to a second floor on which Harry could see a book case. On the main floor, next to the second one, was a second door.

This place was unfamiliar to him. He could declare with certainty that he had never been here before today. This certainly was the room of a well-off person. He had no idea of how he got here.

He tried to open the first door, but as he had expected, it was locked. The second, however led to a bathroom. There seemed to be nothing in there so he decided to look in the bedroom again.

At the thought, he immediately started looking for his wand. He patted his clothes and that when he realized he was wearing a long white chemise that reached his knees. A nightgown he knew he had never worn before. Did someone change him while he was unconscious? The thought was embarrassing. Nonetheless, the teen tried to ignore the thought and resumed searching.

He found the wand on the nightstand, but it looked different. He picked it up, examining it carefully. It was a grayish brown color. His usual handle resembling bark was replaced by a handle formed from two conjoined spheres. It vaguely looked like Harry's but like a bad copycat of it. The wand was definitely not his but it was a beginning. Part of the wand felt familiar to Harry.

His captors (because it was probably what they were with Harry's luck) must've been very stupid to leave him with a wand. Speaking of captors, why did they leave him in such a place ? He would've expected donjons and the likes. This whole situation was pretty peculiar.

When he heard the sound of a door creaking open, he instinctively pointed the wand at it. It was the first door and probably the door leading to outside. Someone came in. A lady with short black hairs wearing a black plague mask came in.

"Good morning, little master." It was barely above a whisper, yet it echoed in the room with such a resonance.

"Who are you ?" He demanded instantly.

"You can call me ᓭ╎ꖎᔑ⍑𝙹. I am a soul reaper but I am currently working as your personal maid," she explained calmly with that same strange echo. Her name was foreign and he had never heard something like it before. "I brought you breakfast."

He looked at the tray. There was bread, sausages, beans and scrambled eggs. Nostalgia set in at the look of the familiar Hogwarts breakfast. He hadn't been able to eat much while on the hunt for horcruxes. His mouth watered at the dish, yet he didn't dare to touch it. There was no way he was going to accept food from his kidnapper.

"What do you want from me ? Why not simply send me to You-Know-Who ?"

Harry couldn't forget the Taboo around the dark wizard's name. These people probably weren't Voldemort supporters. Summoning a second threat, the death eaters, by using Voldemort's name wasn't a good idea.

"I would never," she answered. "This would put your safety in danger and this is the last thing he want."

"He ?" Harry repeated cautiously.

"The master. He shall come visit you today when he will have time. He does not wish you harm."

She added the last part when Harry tensed. He narrowed his eyes, looking at her with a mistrustful gaze.

He was now 100% sure this wasn't Voldemort or any of his associates. They would've already killed him. He glanced at the food. If someone wanted to kill him, wouldn't they have done it earlier while he was asleep ? They wouldn't poison him, right ?

He walked up to the tray. He casted all the detection spells in knew (which wasn't a lot) and when everything came out safe, he looked at the woman again. She hadn't moved from her place next to the little cart.

A chair and a table appeared next to him. The woman placed everything on the table. Harry watched her doing so, making sure she wasn't adding anything in the plate.

After placing everything, she turned to him expectantly. The teen sat down, took the fork and then gave it to the woman. "Try it first."

"I am unable to do so," she informed with a neutral tone.

Harry glared at her. How did she expect him to believe the food was safe if she wasn't even willing to try it ? "Why not ?" He questioned coldly.

The woman slowly lifted her mask to show her mouth. Or rather, where her mouth was supposed to be. There was nothing there.

Harry gaped.

She replaced the black mask. "I am unable to do so," she repeated. How was she able to talk ?

He looked at her for a while. Then, he lowered the fork before looking at the plate again. He slowly took a bite and, seconds after, an other.

It was delicious. It had such a familiar taste that brought him so much comfort. It may be nothing for most people but it was the best meal he had eaten in a while.

When he finished eating she left with the tray and the table and chair disappeared. The woman locked the door behind her.

Harry then turned to the window. With the wand, he might be able to escape. He first tried opening the window but, of course it wasn't possible even with unlocking spells. After that, he tried a diffindo, a Bombarda and other spells of the sort.

He sighed, realizing the window was spell-proofed. He sat on the floor for a while, thinking about other ways things to try.

He probably spent another hour trying things out before the door opened again.

A tall slim man came in. He had black hairs tied in a low ponytail. He later noticed that the hairs underneath where white. His skin was deathly pale while his eyes were as dark as an endless void. The unknown man smiled.

There was something wrong with the man. His teeth were too white and too pointed. His eyes were too dark. His skin was too pale.

"Good morning," the man said. Like his appearance, Harry couldn't help but feel like there was something wrong with the man's voice.

"Who are you ? What do you want from me ?" Harry questioned.

"Do not worry, starlight. I do not wish to harm you," the man reassured. "You can call me.. Azraël Peverell. You are here for your own protection."

Harry's brows bumped together in a scowl, ignoring the familiarity of the name. "You kidnapped me," he deadpanned with a sneer. He wasn't going to be so easily played.

Mr. Peverell sat on the bed next to Harry who scooted away.

"I am sorry you feel this way. You, however, must understand there are dangers lurking. I had to do this for your safety."

The man placed a cold hand on Harry's. Harry backed away. "Who are you to make those decisions for me ?"

"Oh but your nothing but a child, starlight," the other started with a honeyed tone. "This war... you weren't meant to fight in it. Not you."

Harry scowled and stood up. "Get me out of here. I have a—"

"I am aware of the prophecy."

Harry quieted down at that sentence. How could he have known ? It certainly wasn't from Harry's friends or even the Order. From what he knew about Voldemort, he was too mistrusting to divulge it to someone. Maybe Dumbledore...

"Did you know Dumbledore ?"

The man smiled. "I am not on Tom Riddle's side."

Not a lot of people knew his real name but Dumbledore could certainly have told this man before his death. "Am I here to prepare before my duel against You-Know-Who ?"

The man looked at him without saying anything for sometime. Then, out of the blue, he answered: "It might take some time but you will only be able to leave when I deem you are ready to face Tom Riddle."

Harry looked at the man with admiration. If Dumbledore had chosen him, it must be that he was incredibly skilled. Harry couldn't wait to learn from him.

"And what about my friends ?"

"Sadly this opportunity is only for you," responded the man, shaking his head.

"Well, can I at least owl them ? I don't think Ron and Hermione know I left." Hell, Harry didn't know either how he managed to get here. "Or a floo call?"

Mr. Peverell gave him an apologetic look and shook his head again. "This place.. is very isolated. Think of it as a fortress of sort. Nothing can get in or out without endangering the safety of those inside."

Harry's looked down, disappointed. What must his friends think right now ? They were probably worried sick.

He fidgeted before sighing. Dumbledore probably knew what he was doing by choosing this man to train him. Beside, this was his war to fight. Not his friend's. Ig might be better to keep them out if it for their own protection.

He nodded dejectedly in acceptance.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ △⃒⃘ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Harry didn't know how long he had already spent here. Probably more than six months.

His days were pretty similar. Not in a boring way but it was still something he wasn't used to. Being the Boy Who Lived this was unusual. Still, the teen didn't hate it there.

His daily routine consisted of being woken up by that maid lady. He would then take a shower and eat a delicious breakfast while reading a book that had been recommended by a trainer (a masked man with a name as unusual as the maid's) or Mr. Peverell. After that, he would do whatever work was given to him for the day (dueling, learning new spells...) with the new wand. He had never been able to find his Holly wand which greatly saddened but the one he used now worked as efficiently.

He would eat lunch with Mr. Peverell with which he had been able to bond with a little bit.

Afternoons were spent how ever he liked. He could go outside as long as he stayed inside a certain area and while he was being accompanied by a masked person.

He would end his day by eating dinner again with Mr Peverell, spending sometime doing whatever he wanted to do that night and then sleep.

Life was a bit lonely but Harry was used to it. He hadn't had many friends before coming to Hogwarts. He had quickly learned as a kid how to live with it and suck it up.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ △⃒⃘ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It must have already been a year and Harry was becoming restless. He hadn't been able to keep track of the news of the war. Not that he hadn't tried to, he asked around to all of those masked people but they always recommended him to ask Mr. Peverell. The man would then find a way to change the subject. It was frustrating and a feeling of dread overwhelmed him every time he thought of it. Was the situation so bad ?

Harry looked up from his plate of Beef Wellington one dinner. "When can I leave ?" He asked suddenly.

Mr. Peverell tilted his head. "What do you mean, starlight ?"

"I mean, when will I be ready to fight Riddle ?"

The man gave him a worried look. "You are still but a mere child. Do you not think you should leave those things for the adults ?"

He narrowed his eyes. Look, Harry really appreciated the man. Throughout his stay here, Mr. Peverell seemed to have decided to take somewhat of parental role in Harry's life. He congratulated him on his achievements in his studies, he was often there to listen, he had a embarrassing nickname for Harry... but.. he sometimes treated Harry as if he was a young child.

Harry had had to convince him that he was old enough to use a real knife and not those plastics ones. This took him a while.

His room, as he later noticed, had every 'dangerous corners' protected so as to make sure he didn't trip and hurt himself.

And he had nothing against plushies but he knew that those were all in his room because the man thought of him as a kid.

Once, when he got hurt while dueling, the man acted like Harry was going to die while he had nothing more than a scratch. Harry hadn't been able to duel for weeks after that incident. Following this, the duels he had with his trainer became tamer, which was extremely frustrating.

"I'm 18, actually," he reminded the other.

"Indeed," he agreed.

Harry waited for him to continue but he didn't. So he said: "I am therefore old enough to go fight him."

"And I must disagree with this. You are simply not ready," he stated.

Harry groaned with exasperation. He should have suspected such a rebuttal. If the man was so worried when the teen received a simple scratch, how would he be willing to let him go to war ? The teen was beginning to doubt professor Dumbledore's choice.

"Without me this war will continue to drag on," he tried to reason. "I was only meant to be here to learn how to fight. My trainer told me I improved greatly. And now I want to go and help all those people suffering from this war."

The adult froze. Him who had previously been eating normally while talking to Harry between bites stopped completely. He looked straight at Harry, his jaw clenched.

"Are you willing to risk your life for them ?" His voice was toneless, flat.

Harry gaped for a while. "Of course !" He snapped.

He had to. He had been prophesied to do so. Without him to help, his friends and everyone else would be doomed.

"You have a whole life in front of you. Isn't simply forgetting this whole war a better choice ?"

Harry stood up, outraged by the man's suggestion. "Of course not ! I'm going to help them and you won't have a say in this."

The other mirrored his actions and got up as well. "Go to your room." He thundered.

Such a reaction from the man was unexpected. In fact, it was the first time Harry had seen him like this. His calm composure had disappeared.

"What ?" A shocked Harry asked.

"In your room," he repeated coldly.

"You're not my dad," the teen warned before leaving. Harry turned on his eels and left, making sure to slam the door behind him.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ △⃒⃘ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

30 minutes later, Mr. Peverell entered his room. Harry who had been reading on his bed just ignored him.

He stood there for a while before sitting next to him. "You do not have any self preservation skill," he stated softly. Harry looked up. "I merely wish to protect you and... if I must force you to remain here, I will."

Harry glared and countered : "Professor Dumbledore gave you the task to train me to fight Riddle."

"Oh but he never did," corrected the man while smiling.

Harry froze. "What ? But you told me—"

"I never said that."

"Yes you did," the teen repeated, an awful sentiment of dread overtaking him. "I asked you and... and—"

"You indeed asked me this question. This was not my idea. You came up with it yourself. You wanted to believe it. I simply had to expand on it a little by assigning you a trainer to make it believable."

Harry paled and backed up. "What.. what do you want from me ?" He whispered.

The man shot him a worried look. He place a hand on Harry's cheek. "Oh no, no, no, starlight. I would never think of hurting you. You are too precious. I am here to protect you."

His black orbs looked directly in Harry's green eyes. The teen tried to stand up but the man's hand gripped his arm harshly. Elongated fingers dug deeply in his soft flesh.

Mr. Peverell's hair seemed to float lightly and the man's teeth turned sharp.

"What are you ?"

"You know me as Death, god of everything that is not alive. You, my dear little starlight, are my child now and for the rest of our eternity. I did not wish for us to come to this but I believe we should start over."

Before Harry could try to comprehend the man deity's words, his world turned to black.

· • —– ٠ ⌛️ ٠ —– • ·

The pain from the memory was unbearable. Harry heard screams and felt hands on his shoulders. After a while, he realized he had been the one screaming. He unclenched his hands. He hadn't noticed he had been clutching his hairs. He slowly calmed down when the pain subsided.

He looked up. Mr. P— Death was in front of him, looking straight at him with his dark eyes. Harry scrambled away quickly.

"Are you alright, starlight ?" The god asked with an honeyed tone.

Harry didn't say anything. The deity took a step forward and Harry stepped back.

"Oh, I see," Death said neutrally. His face was devoid of any emotion. "You figured it out, did you not ?"

Harry's stomach churned. "I- Why.. why are you doing this ?"

"Do you not understand ? I am doing this for you."

"Doing this for me ?!" Harry repeated incredulously, "I don't wanted this! I never asked you to do anything. Let me go !"

The god shook his head. "I cannot do this, starlight. This world has hurt you enough. Your 'relatives', your years at that dreadful school, not to mention this Tom Riddle after you. I cannot let you go back only for you to get hurt again."

"I can take care of myself," Harry retorted furiously. "This is none if your business."

"You have no one." The being told him harshly. In a second, he held Harry's jaw under a vice grip. "There is no one that truly cares about you out there. Do you not understand that ? I am here. I want to watch over you. I want to care about you."

"I will not be your human pet." Even with the terror overtaking him, Harry was able to muster up the strength to utter those words with defiance.

"Pet ? Why ever would you believe such a thing ? Starlight, I would never think of you as such !" He cupped Harry's face gingerly, gazing at him with affection. "Beside, you could hardly call yourself a human now."

Harry frowned at that. What did he mean ? "Wha.."

The being turned Harry's head to the vanity set's mirror. The teen almost screamed at the sight. His eyes were completely green while his skin had turned as deathly pale as the other. Harry's teeth were now sharp and his face looked like that of a cracked doll.

"What... what did you do to me ?" Harry whispered, horrified. "I'm—"

"Perfect. Immortal and slowly becoming like me." He ran his long fingers through the teen's hairs. "I never would have guessed that you would have your first transformation during an outburst. At the least, this situation has a positive."

"No ! No, I don't want this ! Change me back !" He screeched hysterically.

While he was screaming, the god trapped him in an embrace. He attempted to shush him calmly, assuring him everything was fine.

E̴̫͋v̸̻͂ẻ̸̦r̶̖͘y̴̤̽t̸͎̍h̸̼̀ī̸͖n̵̝̈́g̴̥̾ ̶͍̕h̷̫̎e̸̹̓ ̶̘̍o̶͈͘k̸̭̀a̷̧͛y̷͔̓.̵̤̏ ̴̳̆Ą̷͗c̸̨̛c̸͙͝é̵̫p̵̮͆t̶̠͌ ̷̧̓i̴̝̎ť̶͜.̴̭͛

It all fell on deaf ears. Harry pounded on the being chest frantically with his fists. "Change me back, change me back ! Let me go ! Letmegoletmegoletmegoletmegoletme.." He slowly felt sleepy. He tried to fight it. "Let.. me.."

Harry could distantly here the deity's soft voice. "Sleep now. You are safe. Tomorrow, this will all be a bad dream."

E̵̱͛v̶̺̔é̴̦r̸̀͜y̸̘͋t̵̺̍h̵͇̀i̷̤͊n̶̦̚ǧ̵̝ ̷̮̂i̴̜͋s̸͖͑ ̶̩̉f̴̦̓i̴̯̊n̸͉̈́ě̸͇.̸̜̋

And like that, he fell into Morpheus' arms.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ △⃒⃘ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Harry slowly woke up to the sound of birds chirping.

#platonic yandere #yandere god #yandere deity #yandere death #yandere #harry potter #master of death #immortal harry #immortal harry potter #yandere platonic #possessive behavior #kidnapping

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leonstoenailunderhisbed · 26 days

Text

American Psycho Killer

Summary: Leon S. Kennedy, a man who’s taken his duty of protection very seriously. He’ll do anything to ensure the safety of people, especially the safety of one particular girl.

Warning: stalking, murdering, mentions of planned murder, mentions of drugs and drug abuse, gore (kinda), death, masturbation (m receiving), smut, creampie, yan!leon, not proofread lol, fem reader, psychopathic.

A/N: I did my research for this as I wanted this to sound a little spooky teehee :3

“I got you under my skin” - Mirotic, TVXQ!

Psychopath vs. Sociopath. The popular argument in between psychologists.

Leon never really cared enough to get himself checked out but there were signs. He didn’t feel empathy for others, his moves were calculated and he’s highly educated. He has a well paying career, he pretends to be this normal guy when in reality, he’s psychopathic.

What defines a psychopath apart from a sociopath? Psychopaths, at least in Leon’s case, cannot form established bonds with others. He doesn’t feel guilt or sad when he sees a person die by his hands.

His job already requires him to kill so this was an easy feat. He doesn’t care. He can’t feel anything.

He couldn’t feel anything until you came along.

Leon lived in this apartment complex just downtown of a city in the state. The apartment was big and had security cameras all around. It was well guarded and the people were kind.

When he saw the new neighbor move in, he felt weird. He narrowed his eyes as he watched you from the window of his apartment loft. He was growing suspicious at his behavior. Why did his chest feel warm? Why is his heart beating fast? Why are his hands sweating?

He didn’t know. Up to this point he didn’t feel anything but you brought something to him and it made him uneasy. So he decided to keep an eye on you.

Days passed after you moved in and you settled just fine. The old lady at the end of the hall brought you cookies, a sweet old lady. She talked to Leon a few times and he didn’t think much of her other than just as his neighbor. Nothing more.

But if you were to ask him what he thought of you? Oh boy, he thought a lot of things. Both good and bad.

Being a psychopath isn’t praised in society. Only 1% of the population is considered one and no one knew he belonged to that percentage. And he’d like to keep it that way; his excuse for his behavior was his job. He always left early in the morning and came back late at night. A manipulator and a liar is what he was, and a very good one.

He’s seen you leave your apartment from time to time. You’d take out the trash, went out with your friends- he’s seen everything you do.

Leon isn’t stupid, he’s attentive and observant. He leaves no trace behind of the murder he just committed. The male neighbor across from your door saw you one day when you walked out of your door with a short dress.

The man eye-fucked you so much he literally almost started drooling. Leon cringed and found him repulsive. How dare he look at you like you were some meat on the market?

He felt anger and disgust. No one should look at you like that. No one.

So, one summer day, he made up an excuse to visit him. Something about a water pipe connecting to his sink that didn’t make it work. Like I said, Leon is a good manipulator and a good liar. He always gets what he wants.

The male neighbor invited him in and closed the door behind him. He offered Leon a beer, to which he refused. He found liquor and other substances repulsive. He walked over to the man’s kitchen sink and began to inspect it.

He noticed the man’s sink had a garbage disposal unit. That’s pretty dangerous, he thought to himself.

He walked over to where the man was sitting. The male neighbor was sitting on his reclining couch as he watched a game with a cup of beer on the stand next to him. The neighbor was so engrossed on the football game that he didn’t notice Leon slipping something into his drink.

Leon was smart. Dangerously smart. He knew everything when it came to death- he worked in the DSO, of course he knew some things. He knew the effects of alprazolam and what it does to the brain.

So when he lied to a psychiatrist about his insomnia and got prescribed some Xanax, he crushed a high dosage into fine powder and slipped it into the man’s beer.

Stupid bastard, Leon thought to himself.

He watched as the male neighbor took a sip of his drink and Leon waited. Xanax is a powerful drug, can cause hallucinations and make your brain become a little too calm. You’re bound to fall asleep at some point. And with the amount Leon dropped into his drink, he knew he’d knock out sooner than later.

After a few minutes of “tinkering” with the man’s sink. He got up and went to check on the man again.

And sure as hell did the man find himself in a profound slumber. His snores layering with the sound of the TV.

Too easy, Leon smirked to himself. He put on some elastic gloves and made sure he wore shoes that wouldn’t leave footprints. In case things would get messy, of course.

He poured the man’s drink down the sink to get rid of the evidence. He then thought hard about how he should go about this.

There’s many different ways one can commit murder but Leon wanted the cleanest one. So he came up with one.

He brought pans to the stove and made it seem like the man was cooking something for himself. He partially cooked a stupid egg and left it there. Leon went back to where the man was sitting and dragged him out of his couch and towards the kitchen. Since this man’s place was small, the kitchen and dining area were joined together. He sat there man down on the dining table, which happened to be near the stove. He took out the man’s phone and put it in the man’s hand to make it seem like he was using it.

Leon went back to the kitchen and continued to prepare the scene. He took out bottles of alcohol the man had and poured them down the drain to make it look like he’d had a few drinks. He took a single cup from the cup rack and filled it up halfway. With the cup and bottle of whiskey in both hands, he walked back to the table where the man was sitting and laid them on the table. He took the half empty cup and smeared the man’s lip on the rim. You must cover every single detail.

He even poured a little alcohol into the man’s already parted lips. Leon walked back to the stoved and kept the gas on. Now all he needed to do was wait and let nature do its thing.

Leon walked out of his apartment, pretending to still be talking to the man since there was a camera on the corner of the hall. As the door opened, the camera couldn’t record that Leon had been talking to himself. It made the act believable.

With a smile, Leon walked back to his place and stayed there.

A few hours passed and it started to get dark outside, each resident was inside their unit and ready to go to sleep when the fire alarm began to sound. Everyone was forced to evacuate the premises as the firefighters came to the scene.

You saw as the ambulance brought out a stretcher into the building. Someone was still inside, you thought to yourself as your eyes widened and your heart rate increased. You tried to move but felt someone’s hand on your arm, it was Leon.

“Don’t. It’s too dangerous,” he replied in a serious tone as he stared at you with those cold blue eyes. You pinched your brows together. He was right. If you were to try and save the person, you’d die in the process. You nodded defeatedly and he let go of your arm. He stood there watching you- analyzing you.

You had a good heart, he thought. Too good for his liking. That made you an easy target for people and he loathed the idea of people exploiting your kindness. He vowed to protect you, to mark his hands dirty for you.

As the EMT brought back the stretcher, you could see a person lying there lifeless. All the other residents immediately started to mutter amongst themselves, some started to cry and others gasped in shock. You simply stood there, wide eyed and jaw slack. Leon’s expression remained unchanged as he watched you react to the man’s death. The man deserved it, he thought to himself.

Couldn’t you see that he was protecting you? You’ll come around eventually, he thought.

As the ambulance left the area, the firefighters started to clear the smoke as the police arrived. The police began to do their investigation as the firefighters checked the unit and deemed it good after clearing out the fire and the smoke. One police officer began to make her way to the apartment as the other stayed behind with the residents to ask questions.

Leon was a smooth talker. A trait most psychopaths had. He could get himself out of any situation and he could lie. So when the police asked him what had happened, Leon simply replied with, “I’m not sure. I went to his apartment to check his water supply as my sink stopped working and he lived next to me. I noticed he was making himself some food but I was too busy checking our pipes. He reeked of alcohol and barely spoke to me,” Leon’s tone was different. He sounded likey he spoke the truth.

You couldn’t help but listen to his words. To you, they are true. You saw him walk out of the man’s apartment.

The investigation was deemed as self-manslaughter. The police believed that the man suffered from deliberate alcohol poisoning which caused him to pass out in the process of cooking himself some food.

This made news headlines. Everyone believed the story but they thought the man was stupid enough to cook while he was drunk. Many of the residents believed it, he was a known alcoholic. Leon was never caught.

He was watching you from the window, months after the incident occurred. You had just come back from your college lecture. Leon knew. He stalked you, he followed you.

He knew your weekly routine. Monday through Thursday you had lectures. On Friday, you did work study. And the weekends were reserved for your personal time. He felt proud of you for balancing your life. You lived healthily and he couldn’t help but feel proud at your decisions. He knew you were smart enough to take care of yourself.

He knew the campus you went to, he knew the classes you were taking, he knew your major- he knew everything. But he pretended like he didn’t.

So when he saw you in the parking lot, right next to his car and you had trouble with your groceries, he couldn’t help but feel like your knight in shining armor. With his hardened expression, he asked you in his stern and serious voice, “Need some help?”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, “Yeah… you don’t mind helping me?” You scratched your head awkwardly. On the inside, he found it adorable. But on the outside, he maintained his cool. He nodded and walked over to your car to retrieve the bags of groceries you bought. He was so strong he carried all the bags to your apartment door. You thanked him graciously and invited him inside.

“You can put them on the table, I’ll assort them,” you said as you took of your jacket and hanged it on the rack right next to the door. He nodded and walked over to the dining table, where he put all the bags with food. He took this opportunity to look around your place.

You kept it simple. It was nice, colorful, but nice. You had tons of books on your shelves, he took a mental note that you probably liked to stay indoors. He noticed the way your laptop and a few papers were scattered on the couch and coffee table, you were studious and dedicated to your education. He silently applauded you in his head. He liked that about you. You had goals and ambitions.

“Thank you, again. I owe you one,” you walked up to him and gave him a warm, genuine smile. He looked down at you and nodded again. Pretty smile, he thought to himself.

“It’s no problem, let me know if you need help with anything. I’m a couple doors away,” he replied with his usual serious tone. He remained unchanged, at least to you. To him, he felt like he about to combust into pieces. You were perfect, absolutely perfect.

Days went by and you found yourself talking to Leon more often. Or at least on the days you could. Leon was gone most of the day, he told you about his hectic work schedule and you couldn’t help but feel bad about him. So you decided to make him a small dinner with a note.

You left it on the front door of his apartment and walked back to yours. When Leon came back from work, it was 2:27 a.m. As he climbed up the steps of the stairs, he noticed something on his front door and felt slightly confused. He hasn’t ordered anything. He grew cautious and slowly approached his door. But then he saw your name on a sticky note. He quickly picked up the lunch box and walked inside his apartment.

Walking to his dining table, he read the note you left. Even your handwriting was perfect. The little swirls of the letters, almost writing in cursive made him want to keep you all to himself. He brought the piece of paper to his nose and sniffed it roughly, the paper crumbling in his hands as he could smell your scent on it. He groaned in pleasure as he could imagine your soft and small hands picking up a pen and write something just for him.

Just for him.

That thought alone almost set him off. He couldn’t eat dinner, not with the growing erection in his pants. He put the dinner you made in his freezer and quickly walked to his bedroom. He sat down on his bed and unbuckled his belt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. He pulled down his pants and boxers and watched as his cocked sprung freely, hitting his abdomen with a thwack.

His left hand held the piece of water with your handwriting and your scent while his right hand traveled to his cock. He brought the piece of paper to his nose again and closed his eyes in pure delight. Your scent was intoxicating- sweet vanilla with a hint of coffee. He grunted and moaned at the thought of your hands picking writing this note. He could picture your small hands wrapping his big cock, rubbing his base up and down as your scent infiltrated his airway.

His muscles tensed up as the thought of having you in between his legs made his cock throb. His stomach coiled as he felt himself nearing his orgasm. He could imagine your mouth sucking on his cock as he rammed his hips deeper down your throat, making you gag on him. He’d grab your hair and pull you closer to his pelvic area, having his blonde pubic hair rub against your face as you took his cock like a good girl.

He growled your name as he came in himself. White ropes shooting down at his palm as he tried to collect his cum and prevent it from staining any of his furniture. He sighed softly and laid his back on the mattress as he thought of you.

You drive him wild, he’d do anything for you. If it meant having you as his.

And that’s what drove him to kill more people. One day, he overheard you while both of you “coincidentally” went to get the mail from the lobby. You were speaking on the phone to a friend and he tried to make it seem like he wasn’t listening. But he was.

He heard you talk about how your ex is pestering you and giving you a hard time. That you cried last night because you two had an argument while he tried to get back together. His blood ran through his veins as you mentioned you cried.

He’d kill anyone who made this sweet and perfect angel cry. And that’s what his next murder was going to be. He went back to his apartment and began to stalk you again. As a government agent, he had privileges the common folk didn’t have. He was able to run a background check on you and found out your ex. To his surprise, he was your first and only relationship so far. He knew this guy probably broke your heart as your first relationship will always be your worst one.

He narrowed his eyes in anger as he found the man who broke your heart. And jotted down the information he had on him- his address, his workplace, his contact information, etc. Leon found everything thanks to his job.

When you heard news about your ex dying, you were shocked to see that he died from overdose. You’ve never known he was a drug addict, or at least that’s what Leon made it seem to be.

Leon drove all the way this man’s house and observed his routine. Your ex went to work, came back home, and went to the bar. An alcoholic, this made it easier for him.

Leon walked into the bar with his casual clothes, he spotted the man sitting on the bar counter with a drink already in his hand. He walked over and sat next to him as he ordered himself whiskey.

Your ex was already stupidly drunk, flirting up some poor girl who was just trying to talk to her friend. So he’s a creep too, he thought to himself as he took a sip his drink.

Why do you always find yourself around creepy and perverted men?

Leon looked around and made sure no one was watching him as slipped some stuff into his drink. Leon then continued to sip his drink and even chatted up the bartender.

The more your ex drank, the closer he got to an overdose. Turns out if you mix alcohol with prednisone, the effects could be fatal. Your ex would develop a liver damage that could potentially end his life if he kept drinking like he was right now.

It was getting late and Leon paid his tab. It was 11 PM and he decided he should go home. He wasn’t drunk, not yet at least. So he was perfectly capable of driving back to his apartment. But not your ex.

It was nearing closing time for the bar and the poor bartender saw your ex passed out on the counter. She didn’t know what to do but she tried waking him up.

Unresponsive. Her eyes widened slightly as she over to his side and checked for a pulse.

Flat line. She called the police and reported the death.

The police declared it suicide. They believed he voluntarily took drugs and alcohol at the same time.

In your mind, you were in denial but then you slowly began to think to yourself. He’s been acting weird and out of the ordinary when he’d talk about getting back together. It all made sense now. His aggressive behavior, his short temper… he was a drug addict and an alcoholic.

You attended the funeral, of course. And when you came back, Leon had been unlocking his door. He saw your puffy eyes as you had your heels in your hands. You looked like you’ve been crying- which you probably were. Leon paused as he stared at you, he nodded once at you, acknowledging your presence. He then spoke up in a tired voice, “Rough day?”

You nodded as you blinked slowly, “You could say that.”

He hummed in response and looked back down at his doorknob. Then he looked back to you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Leon himself was tired as he just came back from a tough mission, but he would never be too tired for you. He pushed his exhaustion to the side and would rather take care of your needs for you.

You sighed and nodded slowly, “I could use a drink.”

He invited you over to his apartment and let you sit down on his couch as he took two glasses and one bottle of Jack. He walked over to the couch and set down the glasses and the bottle on the coffee table as he sat down next to you.

He began to pour for the both of you, not wanting you to work any more than you’ve already had.

“Cheers,” you muttered under your breath as you clanked your glass with his and chugged the liquid down your throat. The burning sensation almost making you forget about the mental strain you had.

He watched you as you set down the glass back down on the coffee table. Even in this state, you looked absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t wait to have you for himself. To prove to you that what you needed was a real man.

One thing let to another and you found yourself pinned under him on his bed. Your legs spread open as your knees rested on his shoulders. The head of his cock abusing your cervix, bruising it with brute force as he pulled out and pushed back in harshly. His balls smacking against your ass as his arms caged you under him. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails clawing deep into his flesh as the bed creaked from him pounding into you. The headboard hitting the wall behind the bed as he pulled out and forced his cock back into your tight walls. Your cunt clenching around his member as his hands gripped on your hair, forcing your head up so he could hear your stupid blabber.

He pulled out and rolled you over to your stomach. His left hand gripped on your waist as his right hand gripped the back of your neck and pushed your face down the sheets of his bed as he rammed his cock from behind you. Your ass jiggling as pounded harsher and harsher. Making sure you knew who you belonged to. He’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

You kept moaning his name against his pillow. Drool falling down your lips as tears rolled down your cheeks from the pleasure. You felt him even deeper from this position. His left hand gripped on your waist as it then traveled down to your ass and smacked, almost immediately seeing his hand print show in a pink and red hue on your skin. The burning sensation of the slap only made you more needy for his touch. His left hand found your hip and forced your body to clash against his as he fucked you straight to bliss.

Stars clouded your eyes as you whimpered and moaned. He cock throbbed and twitched inside of you as it stretched you. It hurt but it hurt good. His right hand gently squeezed the back of your throat, causing you to moan.

“Fuck- Leon- ‘mma cum-“ you spoke breathlessly in between moans and whimpers. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Cum for me,” he pressed a kiss on your shoulder blade as he felt you squirm under him. Your body convulsing as your orgasm took the best of you.

Your pussy clamped and clenched around him, wedging him with your juices. He didn’t stop, however. He kept pounding into you as the squelching sound echoed through his room.

He grunted and growled as he felt himself about to cum. He began to speed up and he let go of your neck. Now that both of his hands were on your hips, he gripped the fat of them and forced your body in and out of his cock. Bruising your cervix as your ass hit his hips. The sweat making your skin glisten under the shitty light of his room. You looked even more beautiful when he was fucking you like this.

His hot and sticky cum spurted out of his cock, coating your walls with a part of himself. In his sick and twisted mind, he branded you. He branded you with his essence and he didn’t regret it. He pulled out and heard you moan dumbly as he watched his cum slowly drip down the lips of your cunt to his bedsheet. He’d have to clean them but he didn’t care. He gave your ass a gentle squeeze as he patted your back for you to lay down. He knew you enjoyed it so much since you were on the brink of passing out.

You closed your eyes and felt as Leon cleaned you up. He took your hand and placed a gentle kiss on you knuckles. He was grateful to have you.

He wouldn’t mind killing again. Now that you were his in his mind, he’d go as far as killing every man who’s ever laid eyes on you.

For you, he’d become the world’s best serial killer.

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