promiscuouspomegranate

[promiscuouspomegranate]

✧. ┊    Snowflake // 1

TWs: Reader is 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎 👅, depression, abusive relationship(s)/dynamics, and more as the series continues.

Remember, you are responsible for the content you consume. Stop reading if you feel uncomfortable!

Boreas expelled the numbing winds of the North, and I felt a familiar shiver crawl down my neck, freezing the words forming in my mouth. My chapped lips parted as I gave asphyxiated apologies to my coach.

"You choked again," Lena mumbled, her thin lips pursed in a scowl, and took the Salem to her lips. She slowly drew the smoke in and exhaled it in my face, "Go home, Y/N."

"I just need more time, please," I gave otiose protests, and Lena took a step closer—too close.

"I'll be waiting in the Mercedes, Y/N," Lena put the cigarette out on my worn athletic jacket, "I hate waiting." "I know," I muttered and watched as her wooden cane hit the concrete.

Tears pooled in my timorous eyes as I glided to the exit, stepping off the rink and into the lockers. I wiped the tears from my face, irrationally untying the laces of my skates before throwing them aside. I shoved my blistered feet into old, off-color tennis shoes before storming out of the building, holding my bulky bag. I didn’t bother bringing my skates home—I’d just return to the rink tomorrow. I tried to stabilize my shallow breath as I approached Lena’s car; she never was fond of criers or, as she deemed it, bitching.

“A bad skater is like a snowflake, Y/N. They are delicate, light, graceful, and—most importantly—they fucking melt whenever there’s heat,” She sighed as I stepped into the passenger seat and tossed my bag in the back, “Are you a bad skater?” “No, Lena, I just—”

“Did I tell you this was a conversation? It is rather amusing how you fail to learn the simplest things after all these years,” Her hoarse voice raised as she pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive, “I’m deeply concerned, Y/N. You’re starting to slip away from the spotlight you once held in a formidable chokehold. You haven’t placed in your last three performances… God, should I even take you to Klutzcow’s?” “Lena, please, I—” She slammed the brakes, and my head hit the dashboard. I felt a sharp pain in my nose as I lifted my head and stared at my lap. “I didn’t fucking ask for an answer. Why are you so dumb? You’re lucky I put up with you,” She practically spat the words out.A single tear trickled down my face but was masked by the blood slowly oozing from my nose. Lena parked the car a little further from my apartment and sighed, her calloused hands brushing against my face as she leaned my head forward to dab the blood with a crumpled Kleenex. Her fingers found their way to my cheek as she gently treated my wound.

“I’m sorry, Lena. I’m so sorry,” I sobbed like a bullied child and felt my stomach twist into knots, “I’m trying my best; I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I get so tired on the rink, and nothing helps. I’ve tried dieting, exercising, meditation—”

“Darling, it’s going to be okay. You’re still the prettiest little skater in the rink; that’s what you’ve always had going for you. I’ll choreograph a new routine just for you, hm? I forgive you,” Her hand lingered on my face after the bleeding stopped, and she smiled for the first time in a month, “Besides, you’re getting older now. Maybe it’s time you retire and settle down; give the kids a shot at fame.”

Before I could protest, she handed me my gym bag and stared at me with her icy, seafoam eyes. I knew it was time to leave, but I wanted to savor her warmth for a moment longer. 

“Thank you, Lena. You always are so… tender towards me,” I looked at her with puffy eyes as I stepped out of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow and pick you up to go to Klutzcow’s Saturday. Wear something nice, I don’t want you looking like this,” Lena rolled the window up, and silence permeated the air.

It was a painful walk back to my apartment, and my eyes could barely process the environment. I kicked off my shoes, unzipped my jacket, and tossed it on the floor. I ambled to the kitchen and saw Edyth ordered something for me. Disregarding the strict diet Lena ordered I followed, I brought the battered fish to my lips and made quick work of the meal.

“Aw, I knew you’d enjoy this dinner! You’re always so hungry after practice,” Edyth’s warm arms wrapped around my shoulder, and her chest pressed against my shivering back, “Do you like it? I made it for you, Y/N…” “It’s good, I guess,” I pulled away from Edyth and pushed the empty plate aside. I stood up and stared at the carpet, “Thanks.” “Y/N, why are you so—” “Leave me alone, Edyth,” I muttered and walked to my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I slumped down against the wall and could hear Edyth’s voice crack as she said she would buy some drinks from the gas station.

( ఠൠఠ )ﾉ NSFW !!! I took off my athletic wear and climbed into bed, my body aching as I felt the bruise on my thigh throb. I placed my left hand on my cheek, where Lena’s fingers were.

“I’m a terrible skater, aren’t I?” I bit my lip, trailed my hand down to the bruise, and pressed on it. Pain surged through my body, and I let out a cry of discomfort.“A-ah.. Lena, I’ll be better for you,” I breathlessly muttered, moving my hand toward my panties as I roughly fondled myself. Fuck, could I be any more pathetic? I covered my mouth with my right hand and bit my finger.

I could feel a dampness form in between my legs as I slid my index and middle finger inside my panties. Sweat formed on my arms, and I knew it wasn’t just from the heat of the room; I needed it. I whimpered as I rubbed my aching clit, feeling my hips jut up—it had been a month since I last treated myself. I felt blood ooze into my mouth as I ruthlessly teased and prodded my needy pussy.

Her name leaked from my chapped lips and was caught by my clammy palms. The friction from my fingers wasn’t enough, and I owned nothing else. My heart raced and skipped a beat when the front door opened. Edyth never knew when to fuck off, did she? I pulled the covers over my body and closed my eyes, ignoring her knocks on my door. Although it was Edyth's voice asking if I was asleep, I fantasized about the husky, sadistic tone of Lena. . . . It's so obvious I don't write NSFW normally.. isn't it 🙁

#yandere writing #dark romance #yandere #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oneshot #❤︎.pomegranate

[promiscuouspomegranate]

“I was warned to not go alone at night but I couldn’t help myself.”

this is an indulgent slight NSFW post… sigh! 💔 no OCs but just me yapping.

Heh!! I guess this is also a small tiny itty bitty reveal of the loser writing what you read on my blog 😁👍

You talked to me about something stupid today—you always do—and I just wanted to grab your hair and kiss you. I’ve dreamt about it for so long, but I know it will never come true. Instead, I will tremulously nod my head and cringe as my voice cracks whenever I respond to you. I’m pathetic aren’t I? I don’t want to hear you say it though, I’d probably start to cry.

I’d love to cry for you, though, if that’s what you wanted.

I’d prefer to make you cry though.

I want to get in between your legs as you squirm around, your legs trembling in fear or pleasure. I’d lick the blood off your thigh and look up at you. Do you want this? Do you want me? God, please want me.

My head would cradle itself in your neck, inhaling your scent. You’d reek of sweat and blood; it’d drive me mad. I’d bite your tender flesh and whimper into your ear.

My breath would be heavy, and I’d have to excuse myself from the room—I would be too excited to continue. I’d bit my lip until it bleeds, fantasizing about kissing your chapped lips.

I’ll wait. I have to wait. I can’t hurt you any more than I have already…

I don’t want you fading on me.

#❤︎.pomegranate #yancore #yanblr #irl yandere #yandere girl #yandere

[promiscuouspomegranate]

✧. ┊     Dreich / 1

. ➶ ˚ AFAB! Selkie Reader x AMAB! Fisherman

TWs: Abduction, violence, light gore from wounds, manipulation, abuse, and the usual. (FURTHER IN THE SERIES) I gave the reader short hair. Sigh... don't hate me long haired readers 😍🥰

You are responsible for the content you consume! Stop reading if you feel uncomfortable.

The sun had not yet risen, and the waters wore an illusion of darkness—a blurry veil of sapphire that soothed my soul. My eyes crashed to a close like the waves on the rocks. I heard the conches communicate in hushed whispers as the wind howled a lachrymose lullaby to damned souls like me. Did I dare to sing with the waters and profess a forbidden love for the sea? No, I wasn’t the fool I was yesterday or the day before. After all, people change like the tides before it all goes still.

As my kitten heels clicked on the cool concrete path, I looked back at the sea once more. I firmly held my straw hat in place as Notus, determined to blow it away, caused a trickle of sweat to drip down my forehead. I pulled out my embroidered handkerchief and wiped the bead off before I resumed my stroll away from the waters. The distant cries of the mighty albatross of the North Sea faded into the bustling streets of Essex. I hummed as I swooped up a newspaper from the trash, scanning the headlines before tossing it away. I opened my parasol as the sanguine sun stretched its fiery body above the port, piercing every shadow with blinding radiance. Hoarse offers of fresh-cut flowers, baked loaves of bread, imported treasures, and every meaningless trinket imaginable overwhelmed my ears. My nose—ever the detective—picked up the scent of fresh fish, and my mouth involuntarily watered. I blushed when I felt the saliva trickle down my chin and wiped it off with my glove. “It seems I am quite the mess today,” I muttered as I approached the stall, eyeing the filleted flesh with an unspoken urgency.

I removed my gloves as I picked up the headless haddock, resisting the temptation to consume it as is.

“Somethin’ catch yer eye, missus,” A gruff voice chuckled as I set the fish down, “By all means, buy it.”

“My apologies, sir,” I cleared my throat and felt my ears burn red at my indecency, “I just haven’t seen fish that looks so… delectable.”

“Relax, missus, ya needn’t be so stiff ‘round me,” He hoarsely chuckled as he adjusted his stained apron, “Can I cut somethin’ fresh fer ya?”

“Do you sell cod?”

“Of course.” He turned around and seized a flailing cod with strong, hairy arms, setting it on a wooden cutting board. He gripped his knife with a steady hand and, with a quick motion, cut the fish’s head clean off. Blood splattered on his face, and I felt my stomach growl at the scent.

“Seems like someone’s hungry,” He grinned—the way most sailors do—and packaged the fix with practiced ease, “Don’t tell me ya ‘aven’t eaten yet, missus. Yer already too thin as is, delicate thing, aren’t ya? What’s a lovely lady like yourself doin’ in the markets?”

“I haven’t any time to sit down in the mornings; too much to be done then to idly ruminate as I eat,” I took the bag from his hands and—what I assume was intention—felt his calloused fingers against my hands.

“A woman after my own heart,” His gray eyes bore into my soul, and he wiped the blood off his cheek, “Didn’t feel a ring on yer hand too so I won’t have to sneak in through the back.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you any class?,” I gasped and pulled away from him, crossing my arms.

“What’s wrong, little lady? Need me to put a ring on ya finger first? Don’t know if I could afford somethin’ worthy of you,” He smugly grinned as I reached into my purse, “Now, I know yer not offerin’ to pay fer that. Take it, it’s free of charge.”

“Thank you, sir,” I hoarsely responded, trying to make my disapproval apparent through my mannerisms.

With that, I walked away and only glanced over my shoulder once to see a smile that nobody had ever presented to me. Would it be wrong to ask for his name?

“Don’t be foolish, Y/N,” A small, unfamiliar blush swept across my sunkissed skin as I walked into an alleyway, “Man and monster do not go well.”

I unwrapped the package and, with sharp, beastly fangs, tore into the scales of the sea. Blood splattered on the old stone pathway and onto my gloves as I ravished the fish. Its bones cracked in my strong jaw, and I spat out whatever remained of the fish. I threw my gloves away and wiped the blood off of my upper lip; the feeling of hunger still remained but wasn’t as unbearable. I opened my parasol and disappeared into the sharp turns and jagged rock of the unspoken alleys of Essex.

…

His calloused fingers reach into the bins and examined soiled lace that reeked—oddly enough—of fish.

“Seems like we’ve got ourselves ‘nother beast in this town,” He hummed as he pocketed the gloves, instantly recognizing the package.

His eyes widened, and his crooked teeth flashed an unruly, savage smile. He took the gloves out of his pocket and inhaled the scent of fragrance, blood, and sea.

“Yer all mine, little lady,” He chuckled and squinted his eyes as the sun shone brightly, illuminating all that was hidden.

#yandere writing #dark romance #yandere #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oneshot #❤︎.pomegranate #☆–graham #yandere male #yandere x reader

[promiscuouspomegranate]

erm.. i'm somehow still alive help? i'm going to post something soon... maybe idk 😭 I got so busy with school + holiday bs that I haven't had any time to create.. my bad gang

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Guys I’m reaching midterm season + recovering from a sinus infection + reading list is too long… might die. Thots and prayers please 🦑

Anyway, I’m making another poll because I feel like it’s easiest to ask this way. WHAT DO WE WANT TO READ THIS TIME !?

#❤︎.pomegranate #yandere writing

[promiscuouspomegranate]

could we get more on ezra? his character seems interesting and i wanted to see more of him in the oneshot! IT WAS STILL REALLY FOOD THOUGH !!

Me fucking rambling

TWs: Bullying, harassment, self harm, physical violence, stalking, manipulation, unstable home life, Lenore isn’t a good person, and Ezra just sucks.

(I hoped someone would ask for more because I focused on adjectives and “Oo, this sounds pretty” more than the plot… erm.. my bad 💀)

When Ezra was nine–maybe ten, he can’t remember anymore–he witnessed his dad strike his mom across the face. His dad cussed her out over a minor inconvenience and then left her alone to go for a drive. His mom needed her “beautiful boy” to hold and coddle with saccharine affections. She whispered in Ezra’s ear, “You are far kinder than your dad… Never turn out like him, Ezra.” Ezra’s father came home an hour later with a bouquet of roses, and he heard his parents kiss from his room. At that age, Ezra took to heart the interaction and prayed that God helped him flourish in love the way his parents did. God never answered his prayers, but the devil did.

When Ezra was twelve–he could never forget the moment–he felt his childhood friendship with you change. You were starting to flourish and grow in ways he never knew someone could. Your mother had passed away, your father became a deadbeat, but you managed to thrive in your miserable conditions. He viewed you as someone capable and strong.

You ruined his perception when he heard you sobbing at the pond. You were crying for your mom to come back. That’s not what you were supposed to be like. You were meant to prevail by yourself. He already has to take care of his poor mother, now you?

The next day at the cafeteria, Ezra handed you a packed lunch from his mom. He waited for you to thank him and swoon–maybe confess your love if you felt like it–but you were so ungrateful. You hoarsely muttered, “I don’t need this, but thanks.” That’s definitely not how you were supposed to react. Weren’t you needy? You needed him. Stop being so confusing.

Your pessimistic attitude and nihilism–as philosophical as a middle schooler gets–were apparent to others. You arrived late to your classes, you cried in the bathroom stalls, and you were no fun to be around. People used to show false sympathies and whisper amongst each other, “Oh, poor thing, I hope they brighten up soon.” Even teachers pitied you and would murmur in the lounge between gas station cigarettes, “Can hardly believe what it’s like to be so young and lose your mom. I knew her well before she passed, lovely thing. Such a shame she didn’t pass her optimism to her child.”

You first experienced bullying when Ezra, enraged by your unwillingness to acknowledge you needed him, spread a rumor about you freshman year. A tale so disgustingly detailed and grotesquely exaggerated, it just had to be true. He told others in a hushed whisper in the band room you caused your mom’s death, whether willingly or not, he left for people to interpret. The car accident was your fault; you told him in tears, “Couldn’t handle hearing complaints about your father anymore. You snapped and lost her in a second.”

He showed them pictures of you in the hospital and old diary entries about your mother. Soon, people felt revolted by his lie and found you guilty of your mother’s death. Rumors stacked, and suddenly, you were getting things thrown at you in class; people would fight you when you least expected, and you were violently bullied and belittled by everyone.

Ezra realized his plan was working when he overheard a group of girls gossiping, “Bet they miss their mom so much they’re trying to join her in the afterlife. Someone saw them cutting themselves in the bathroom… like; get a fucking life, honestly. I knew them in middle school, and they always had a horrible vibe, y’know?”

Yet, not everyone believed Ezra’s story. The school’s book club knew a plot hole when they saw one, and there were quite a few in Ezra’s rumor. The polished president of the club, Lenore, extended a hand and invited you to her group. She would defend you when one of Ezra’s friends harassed or threatened to hurt you. Although her reputation was battered and she became a target, she stuck with you.

At a snail's pace, your personality resurfaced, and your mind soothed itself. By senior year, you laughed alongside your friends, defended yourself from verbal altercations, and debunked Ezra’s rumor. Only Ezra’s friends believed it, and many had apologized to you for their actions.

Yet, the wound was still bleeding, and you could only apply bandaids to patch it. Yes, your depression faded, but it persisted. Yes, you could walk in the hallways without getting your hair dragged, but you still faced violence. Yes, you had a friend group and a fantastic soul to defend you, but Ezra was still there. Why couldn’t he leave you alone? You used to be friends.

Lenore tried to patch your grief with positivity and smother sorrow with her sweet smile. Lenore would hold you close and whisper, “I’m here for you. Isn’t that all that matters? You have someone to look after you.” In contrast, Ezra would open wounds and stab you with words. He’d always repeat, “Just give up, fisheyes. Some people will always know the truth that you’re a murderer.”

tbh I’d move to Wisconsin in this situation and make cheese for a living !?

#yandere writing #dark romance #yandere #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oneshot #❤︎.pomegranate #☆–ezra

[promiscuouspomegranate]

The Fish Cries Too

Reader x Ezra

TWs: Reader suffers from severe depression, bullying, suicide attempt, vomiting, mutual obsession(ish), forced kissing, kidnapping (?), and angst. THIS IS DARK !!!

(… democracy asked for a new male character and damn.. he’s definitely a character!! This got a little rushed toward the end and I’m sorry 💔)

I dipped my red Converse in the murky, muddy pond as my hollow eyes examined the playful, pink petals of the waterlilies. Baggy black denim jeans stuck to my skin as I sloshed through cattails and schools of brown-gold carp. The water rose to my midriff, and melancholic moonlight guided me to a floating cardboard box. Trembling hands seized the package and carried it above the water. I vaguely remember setting it down on the grass before my body failed me–slipping to a dreamless slumber in the woods.

.

The song of the mourning dove and the sunlight poking above the treetops caused my eyes to open. I weakly reached my hand out to the cardboard box and softly smiled. What mattered was that Dad’s present was safe; I didn’t care about anything else. I rubbed my head and stirred to my feet–a migraine formed, and I felt sick.

I ambled across uneven ground covered in flat rocks, smashed cans of beer, and dogwood branches. I stepped across the small creek and tripped up the dirt mound. Thorns stabbed my skin, and I bit the inside of my cheek. I jerked away and muttered curses, grabbing the cardboard box. I saw the outline of my home enlarging until I was at the broken wooden fence.

I balanced the box above my head and was careful not to step on rusted nails. My head throbbed as I opened the sliding glass door, waking up my little brother–who insisted on sleeping on the couch in the basement. His curly hair shot up from his train pillowcase, and his wide eyes locked with mine.

“Did it happen again,” His gentle voice yawned and then questioned, “Why do they–”

“It’s a silly prank. It’s what friends do to each other,” I smiled as he approached me, holding his fuzzy teddy bear, “They’re only joking, don’t worry.”

“Charlie doesn’t play with me like that,” He hugged my leg, “Why are they meanies?”

“You’ll laugh at it when you’re older,” I patted his head, “When you’re my age, everyone is mean.”

I guided him back to the red couch and tucked him back in. I waited for him to fall asleep before I went upstairs. I set the damp box on the kitchen counter and taped Dad’s birthday card. He wanted a new fishing rod for his birthday to take on his boat; I found a used one and refurbished it.

I muttered as I wandered down the hallway and opened my bedroom door. I saw my chipped phone screen glowing and hesitated to grab it. I felt something hot burn my throat and scrolled through seemingly endless notifications from the latest hate group chat. Highlights consisted of Ezra calling me ‘Fisheyes’–a nickname that used to be endearing–and videos of my friend Lenore protecting my battered, unconscious body from getting injured any further.

I replayed the video a few times, carefully examining the change in Ezra’s behavior when the fight was broken up. If I hadn’t known him, I would’ve assumed he was a bystander. How fortunate I was that nobody knew Ezra the way Lenore and I did.

I blocked the numbers and turned off my phone. I rested my head on a pillow and stared at the upholstered headboard. I traced my hands along the design and thought about the pond. Memories of playing with Ezra in the water and grabbing fish flooded my mind. I was far too weak to suppress the memories of childhood friendship, and the ringing in my ear reminded me of the Sunday church bell.

“We used to draw together in first grade; in second grade, we played house,” I muttered and felt tears trickle down my cheek, “Now, you wish I were dead.”

A thousand thoughts of suicide entered my mind, but only one remained. I thought it would be rather poetic to drown myself in the pond I spent most of my life around. Perhaps, if there was an afterlife, I could watch Ezra’s smug face crumble into a hallowing emptiness. I almost felt the water filling my lungs as my face paled and something rose from my throat. I stumbled to the trash can in my room, and stomach acid spilled from my chapped lips.

“Sorry,” I breathlessly mumbled to whatever divine being was watching, “I won’t think like that anymore.”

I wiped my face with crumpled tissues and pulled my hair back. The nausea finally cleared, and I felt slightly relieved. Footsteps approached my door, and I gently smiled when I saw my dad’s face. Thoughts of sorrow melted from my mind when I saw a toothy grin.

“Shucks, kid. You did well this year,” He heartily laughed and wandered inside my room, “Say, Mr. Borrego and his son, you might’ve heard of him, Ezra.”

He paused for comedic effect and expected me to laugh. I managed to fake amusement.

“Anyway, we were all going out on the boat, just us lads. But, I think it’d be best to bring my favorite kid with me on my birthday trip,” He patted my shoulder and grinned, “You have the honor of receiving my old rod.”

“I can’t fish, though,” I felt nauseous again and resisted the urge to cry, “I shouldn’t go.”

“Ezra can show you how, fisheyes,” He winked, “Besides, I’ve heard from Mr. Borrego a certain someone can’t stop speaking about you.”

“How lovely,” I weakly muttered.

.

Dad was wasted, and Mr. Borrego was rambling to him about how, in his glory days, he caught thirteen catfish from a single river to impress his buddies.

“I could catch a catfish anytime today, y’know what I mean,” My dad howled with laughter, and Mr. Borrego copied, “Y / N ‘s mother was the only fish for me. What lovely scales she had.”

“Her hands weren’t that callused,” is what I wanted to say, but I knew better than to argue with my dad.

“How I’d love to say something about my wife, but I know Ezra would immediately proclaim it to his mother. Such a mama’s boy, it took him ages to stop cozying up between us in bed when he had a nightmare,” Mr. Borrego took a sip of his beer then pointed at Ezra, “Didn’t you always say it was clowns?”

“Can you cut it out,” Ezra sighed, and his hand tightened on his fishing rod.

“Don’t want to embarrass your son in front of my kid now, Joaquin,” My dad’s eyes locked with Ezra’s, “Lord knows he’ll throw a fit the way he used to all those years ago.”

Silence permeated the salty ocean air, and the gray-blue waves rocked the boat. The soft song of the water made me yawn as my dad looked at me and then over to Ezra.

“I’ll drop you two off at the shore,” He hummed and slowly stood up, “You kids don’t need to listen to us drunk adults ramble anymore.”

“Thank God, I can finally fucking leave this shitbox,” Ezra muttered loud enough for me to hear, “Fucking hate it here.”

I felt frightened and approached my father, who was steadily cruising the old boat towards the docks.

“I want to stay here,” I tugged his blue flannel and whispered, “I don’t want to be alone with Ezra. Dad, I've wanted to tell you for a while–”

“Relax, I know you two kids have the hots for each other,” He stupidly grinned at me, “I know you’re nervous to make a move because I know you. Trust me, Ezra’s dad can’t keep a single secret about his son. The boy is a little more than head over heels.”

Protesting seemed pointless; who was I to ruin my dad’s birthday with silly complaints about fears? Besides, Ezra never laid a hand on me personally; it was always his friends. ‘It was fine,’ the words echoed in my head as the motor’s noise softened. ‘It was fine,’ formed in my throat as my sandals nearly fell off my feet when I stepped on the jagged, algae-covered rocks.

“Don’t get into too much trouble, kids,” Mr. Borrego called out as the motor loudly started.

“We’ll be fine,” my eyes and mouth said.

When the boat was far enough, I looked at Ezra.

“I’ll leave,” The words quickly fell off my tongue, and I attempted to ease the tension, “Just tell them I wasn’t feeling good.”

“No thanks, fisheyes,” Ezra smiled and stepped closer, “You scared or something?”

I was at the edge of the rocks and could feel Ezra's amusement. Yet, it didn’t matter anymore. The waves reflected the pale moonlight, and I saw my face shatter and reform in them.

“You think I’d actually hurt you or something? It’s my birthday gift to your fatass dad,” He laughed and tilted his head, “Oh, forgot you’ve always been obsessed with your dad. Don’t yell at me, please.”

The water called to me like a siren, and I felt an overwhelming urge to

Dive.

The frigid ocean water shocked my body as I opened my eyes. They stung with salt, and I felt hysteria overwhelm common sense. I jammed my foot inside the rocks and felt a delightful pain overcome my ankle. I crammed it further until it was stuck and felt relief sweep over my body. The ocean was no pond, but it was death–how could I complain about my wish?

A year, hour, minute, or second passed–it didn’t matter. I felt my lungs override my hysteric state and could hear Ezra’s hoarse shouting from the surface.

‘Fisheyes,’ I thought, ‘I bet his eyes are wider than mine. I loved Ezra’s eyes; they were always prettier than mine. Emerald green with thick, dark eyelashes. They sparkled when they looked at me.’

.

Warm and cold, then warm once more–the cycle of the ocean and my relationship with Ezra. I thought it’d finally freeze over; I thought he wanted me to die.

“Liar,” I threw up water and seafood dinner. My voice croaked out another, “Liar.”

An overwhelming sensation of pain that was too profound to protest any treatment consumed my nerves.

“You’re fucking insane,” Ezra smacked me across the face and clenched my soaked t-shirt, “You’re actually fucking insane.”

“Part of me hoped you’d save me,” I felt my eyes close and smiled, “I mainly wished you let me die.”

“I wish you fucking died. You’re ruining my life,” He muttered and let go of my shirt, “I hate you.”

“Why, Ezra?”

“Because you’re always on my mind, fucking fisheyes. I can’t focus on anything but you; it ruins my day to see you happy when you don’t even know the lengths I go to.”

“You’re lying. I fucking hate it when you lie.”

A chill crept down my spine when he cupped my face. His emerald eyes were wider than my own when our lips pressed. He crammed his tongue into my mouth, and I felt like vomiting again.

“Lenore always got in the way whenever I got you weak enough to do this,” He wiped his mouth, “Fucking bitch, why are you two still friends?”

“Lenore doesn’t get her friends to beat the shit out of me and doesn’t have fantasies of molesting me.”

“I bet I was your first kiss.”

Stomach acid crept into my throat, and I started to sob.

“Calling my dad and telling him you got tired. I’m taking you back to my place,” Ezra left my cold body on the rocks and cocked his head, “You look like shit.”

“I tried to kill myself,” I laughed and felt hysterical, “You want me to go back with you after this? I’ll throw myself back in the water.”

“Gives me another opportunity to tongue you,” Ezra smirked and grabbed my neck as he called his dad.

“They’re fatigued, Dad,” He stared at me, “I’m taking them back to our place; it’s closer. Besides, Mom loves to see Y / N. No, I– Shut up. I’m leaving now, bye.”

“I fucking hate you, Ezra,” My lip quivered, and I felt frigid.

“Cry it out,” He picked me up and wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

#yandere writing #dark romance #yandere #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oneshot #❤︎.pomegranate #☆–ezra

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Democracy has spoken and asked for a new male character. Expect to meet Ezra sometime this week!!

I am going to take my time writing this one. It may focus more on technique, so I apologize if it sounds a little rough/confusing.

Have a phenomenal week, everyone 🦑

#❤︎.pomegranate

[promiscuouspomegranate]

HELLO !!!

I’m thinking about what to write to keep you guys entertained! I will do a mini poll because I have more than FIVE followers (Internet icon.. no need to remind me).

#yandere oc #yandere writing #yandere oneshot #❤︎.pomegranate

[promiscuouspomegranate]

still not recovered from the Carnell x reader… i need more of him.. 🤤🤤🤤

please i need one where instead of that STUPID IDIOT SAYING HE HATES US we go in and smooch his lips and it doesn’t even have to end with abduction i just.. i need my man 🤤🤤🤤

TWs: Carnell couldn’t handle the kiss and got too excited… 😞

He might offer a handkerchief first for all that drool..!

But if you kissed him.. it might’ve gone a little something like this…

“I’m going to kiss him today,” I stood up and gathered my belongings, “I know I’ve said that a thousand times, but I’m going to do it.”

“Well, good luck with that,” My friend hugged me and dreamily sighed, “I wonder if Lila needs someone to massage her back after carrying your entire class.”

I rolled my eyes and hugged them back before going to the practice room. I was incredibly excited to work with Carnell; I felt my heart pounding as I reached the door. My hand weakly opened the door, and I stepped inside.

“You’re late again,” Carnell playfully teased, “I assume you barely made any progress on our song?”

I almost retorted but took a deep breath.

“Carnell, could we try something different today? I need help learning a song on the piano,” I took a step closer and set my violin down, “Could you help me?”

“I– Of course, I could assist you, Y / N,” Carnell seemed flustered and put his sheet music back in its black binder, “Besides, considering how miserable your violin is, you will need the help of the best to teach you how to play.”

Usually, I would think of a witty comeback, but I decided to let Carnell boast. After all, I figured his resentment was his way of poorly masking his innermost feelings toward me.

“This song is uhm,” I felt my hands shake as I gripped the piece of paper. Sweat stained what was once pristine, and I nervously muttered, “It’s a bit abstract in how you uhm.. perform it.”

“What do you mean? Here, let me see it,” He grabbed it from me before I could protest.

I watched as his eyes widened as he read the song. I felt my heart pound as he shakily set it down on the bench.

“Your song is terrible,” He furiously blushed and scoffed, “I’ve seen better compositions from elementary students. I suppose, out of kindness and pity, I will teach you how to perform it.”

I sat beside him on the bench and set my hands on the cool, white keys. Our thighs brushed against each other as the song “For Carnell” stared into our shy souls.

“You want to start your fingers on the middle C,” He grabbed my hands and positioned them to the right spot–disregarding any musical knowledge I had.

“Like this,” I coyly asked, deciding to play into his little fantasy, “It’s been a while since I last played piano.”

Instead of listening to his instructions, I let my hands cautiously wander down the keys to his. I moved closer to him on the bench and awkwardly attempted to flirt.

“Your hands aren’t as rough as mine; it’s nice,” I felt a heat rise in my face as I regretted my choice of words. I fell back to my old ways and quickly added, “Hah! I guess that proves I practice more than you do.”

Silence filled the air like a burning fire, and our fear of vulnerability kindled the flames.

“I fear you are mistaken, as per usual,” Carnell lightly held my hand and examined it, “Your hands are like delicate little p-petals.”

“The skin on my hands is rough,” I guided his hand to my blushing face, “It’s softer here.”

Eyes locked and lingered on facial features as shyness slowly transformed into yearning. The sun seeped in from the window and highlighted natural beauty. Reality blurred as hidden fantasies emerged.

“You’re a pretty boy, Carnell,” I stopped thinking and softly smiled. I leaned in closer and whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” He murmured and closed his eyes.

Arms wrapped around bodies as lips revealed every unspoken feeling. I felt our hearts touch as his lips passionately pressed against mine. I slowly pulled away and savored every moment. A stupid, lovestruck smile swept across my face as I sighed.

“I was hoping this would happen,” I chuckled and stared at him, “Do you like me, Carnell?”

Silence filled the air again as my heart ached for an answer. I felt his hand firmly grab my arm as I looked at him dumbstruck.

“I don’t just like you, Y / N,” His eyes widened as a saccharine smile plagued his face, “Oh, I am fervently and exceedingly devoted to your existence. You are my sun and my moon, my goddess and my devil, and my muse and damnation.”

His words felt unnerving and his mannerisms were no longer charming. His fingernails dug into my skin as his affections overpowered his reason.

“Kiss me again,” He pleaded, “I want to feel your mouth all over my skin.”

#☆–carnell #yandere #yandere writing #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oneshot #dark romance

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Illicit Ivories

TWs: Stalking, Manipulation, Carnell is condescending, bullying (sort of), forced kissing, and angst (kinda).

(There is so much tension between you two, and you are CRUSHING!.!.! This is softer, but if there was a part two.. you’d see 💀 Enemies to lovers enjoyers come feast !! Yet again, another sleepy write pasted from notes.)

Each callus on my hand faintly whispered a story of my musical past, from begging my parents to buy me a violin in 4th grade to my first piano solo in middle school and restless evenings rigidly practicing sonatas for Macherów’s entrance exams. Every little chipped fingernail, bloody finger, and tear shed was all I could offer to such a grand university. Yet–although I am not entirely loyal to any god–I found divine intervention, and an accidental performance with a professor allowed me into the school of my wildest dreams.

The campus was nothing to write home about, but it was the prestige and education that set Macherów apart. Many of the contemporaries graduated from Macherów–except for a select few who decided to dabble in the University of the Muses would help them excel. Yet, I firmly believed that only the world's elite musicians came from Macherów. Those who failed to get in were better off playing piano for an elementary choir recital or tuning instruments in a music shop.

I gripped my sticker-covered violin case and headed toward an empty practice room. For, I believe I finally found my Melpomene to my Thalia. Carnell was an ostentatious, melodramatic, and horrendously talented musician I despised more than any mediocre musical performance. He relished competing with me in every aspect of music and boasted whenever he bested me.

The professors must have been severely intoxicated or praying for my unraveling–perhaps a bit of both–when they announced a graded concert. I remember hearing people gossip and whisper amongst themselves when I saw two names written in bold.

“Carnell and Y / N – An original duet composed by both.”

“Fucking Cosend must’ve been behind this,” I mumbled and pulled out ink-stained, crumpled sheets of paper, “He’s a madman, but fuck.. he knows how to arrange a good performance.”

I heard the door open and rolled my eyes as Carnell entered, his glasses at the tip of his nose, his long, black hair pulled back with a blue ribbon, and his pristine clothes tightly fitting his scrawny body.

“Wait.. fuck no. No! Y / N, he is not fucking attractive,” I thought and glared daggers at Carnell.

“I hope you intend on putting more effort into your appearances as well as your playing,” He advanced to the piano and smirked at me, “Have you tuned your instrument yet?”

“I’d worry about your piano playing; try not to hit the C sharp key so much this time,” I took my violin out of its case and began to warm up. I slightly blushed when I realized it was out of tune, “Don’t you dare fucking say anything.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take things seriously, as per usual,” He hummed to himself and took out the composition he worked on, “Now, you need to start with an E. Do you need assistance finding the right fingering?”

“I will fucking kill you with my bow,” I grumbled and positioned my fingers, “I hate you.”

“Oh, but I thought I was the miserable wretch? You are quite amusing, Y / N, full of contradictions and lacking in musical proficiency,” He laughed the way he usually did and smiled his stupid smile. His laugh always came from his stomach but sounded elegant despite its volume.

His smile was always mischievous at first as if he knew something you would never understand. Then, he showed his teeth, and his nose slightly crinkled. It softens his rigid, upper-class ego and looks. It made him look friendly and…

“You played the wrong note again,” He chimed, and I snapped back to reality.

“Whatever,” I muttered and resumed playing.

•

I took a spoonful of fruit as my friend knowingly smirked at me.

“You love Carnell; you’re so in love,” They loudly teased, “At the end of the duet, you should confess your passionate, animalistic desires to your lover!”

“S– Fuck off! Don’t talk so loud,” I blushed and covered their mouth, “Fuck you so much.

“Not as much as you want to fuck Carnell. I wonder what he’d say if I told him that in class today,” They grinned and gasped, “What if I told Carnell for you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” I loudly whispered and glared at them, “Stop talking about Carnell, I don’t like him.”

They burst out into uncontrollable laughter, and I felt my face burning.

“Oh shit, he’s right there,” They froze and pointed behind me.

I jumped and turned around, seeing nobody there. My friend started laughing again, and I splashed my water at them.

“The way you jumped! You sprang out of your seat,” They fluttered their eyelashes and spoke in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, is that my dearest Carnell waiting for me? How I wish to kiss his chapped lips and play with his ugly hair!”

“His hair is not ugly,” I scoffed, “You should focus on Lila’s horrible outfit choices.”

“Lila dresses like a sexy librarian, okay? She wants me so bad,” They groaned and slammed their hand on the dining hall table, prompting some people to look at us.

“But.. does Carnell talk about me in class? Seriously, don’t tease me, or I’m telling Lila that you’re not interested,” I pleaded, “I will finish the rest of your theory work, please!”

“You are so desperate,” They smiled and leaned in, “But.. I might have heard that he got caught practicing a song with your name on it.”

“You’re fucking with me,” my jaw dropped, and I giggled, “No, you’re actually fucking with me.”

“It was so Carnell worded too,” They took a bite of their all-melon fruit salad, “To my dearest Y / N, or some corny shit like that. Anyway, let me know when you two make out during practice. I might’ve pressed my ear against the door once or twice, and oh my gosh… You wear your heart on your sleeve. Don’t worry, he does too. Normally, he’s an asshole to everyone.”

“I’m going to kiss him today,” I stood up and gathered my belongings, “I know I’ve said that a thousand times, but I’m going to do it.”

“Well, good luck with that,” My friend hugged me and dreamily sighed, “I wonder if Lila needs someone to massage her back after carrying your entire class.”

I rolled my eyes and hugged them back before going to the practice room. I was incredibly excited to work with Carnell; I felt my heart pounding as I reached the door.

“Carnell, do you like Y / N? C’mon, just tell us, dude,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say as I listened in on the conversation, “There’s a rumor going around you wrote a song about them.”

“Oh, you honestly believe I would dedicate one of my songs to someone so vulgar and disorganized? Please,” Carnell scoffed, and I could picture his eyebrows furrowing, “I would rather dedicate a song to bile than write a measure in her name. She’s a terrible musician; you haven’t had the displeasure of working alongside her. Her head is always in the clouds, which is probably why she’s so breathless and air-headed whenever we rehearse.”

I felt my heart sting as he continued.

“I look forward to the end of this concert so I can get back to focusing on real music,” Carnell sighed, “Her saccharine, sappy, and utterly abysmal compositions make me want to cut my fingers off and never play any instrument again.”

“Damn, that’s harsh,” The voice laughed, “You suck.”

I heard footsteps approaching and hid inside a different room. I waited until the person was gone and went into our practice room.

“You’re late, Y / N. Right when I assumed you were beginning to take our practices seriously,” He playfully teased.

“Sorry, I guess I’m too much of a fucking airhead to remember anything,” I felt my emotions get the better of me as I clenched my case, “Maybe if I weren’t so stupid, I’d do a better job composing.”

I could see Carnell was taken aback and dropped my case on the ground.

“You know, Carnell, I actually really fucking liked hanging out with you. I thought our dynamic was fun,” I felt hurtful tears trickle down my face, “You– Carnell, I can’t believe you’d say that shit about me. I.. I liked you in a stupid, high school crush way. I was going to buy you fucking fresh-cut roses for the concert and shove them into your hands.”

“Y / N, I–”

“No, fuck you. I don’t want this duet to happen. I’m going to Cosend and telling him I quit,” I stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind me.

I felt myself crying as people whispered and pointed. I pulled out my phone and called my friend.

“Pick up,” I muttered and shoved it into my bag when they didn’t answer, “Damn it, they’re probably too busy fucking harassing Lila.”

I stormed off to the school gardens and took a secret path my friend showed me. I sat under a massive oak tree, pulled out a sheet of music titled “To Carnell,” and began to tear it into pieces. I cried and felt an irrational hurt in my heart.

“Fucking prick,” I wiped my eyes with my sleeves and took a deep breath, “I’m never talking to him again.”

I heard frantic footsteps and poked my head up. I caught a glimpse of a navy blue vest and immediately knew it was Carnell. I gathered the torn-up paper and stumbled to my feet. He panted as he stood before me, gripping a bunch of papers.

“What do you fucking want,” I croaked and mentally cursed myself for sounding so pathetic.

“Y / N, please, listen to me,” He took a deep breath, and I noted that he seemed slightly manic, “There’s a confession I have yearned to tell you ever since freshman year.”

“That you despise me and think I’m stupid,” I mumbled and tried not to cry again, “I got the message.”

I looked at his face and felt shocked when I saw how wide his eyes were. I stepped back and felt like something was terribly wrong with him.

“Oh my word,” He laughed, not as he usually did, but breathlessly and erratically, “This feels so unreal. I can barely believe that you reciprocated my feelings. Obviously not to the intensity I have, but still, you love me.”

He shoved the papers in my hands, and I looked through them. They were dated back to freshman year and were all dedicated to me. The content varied from musical compositions, dramatic sonnets, and poetry to ink-stained confessions with details that sent shivers down my spine.

“You are my muse,” He took a step closer, “When I laid eyes on you for the first time, I thought that the heavens were deceiving me. How could someone so perfect be at this university? When I heard you play for the first time, I had to excuse myself from the classroom. I bit my lip so hard it started to bleed. The crimson red reminded me of your favorite pen–the one you still use despite it being taped.”

He grabbed my arm, and I saw an eerie smile creep over his paling face.

“Your conversation with your friend at lunch today, I overheard it,” He leaned in closer, “You confessed you wanted to kiss me. Well, let me confess something as well: ever since I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve thought of ravishing your body.”

“Carnell, please stop,” I mumbled and tried to pull away, “You’re freaking me out.”

He feverishly placed a kiss on my lips, and I felt my eyes widen. He quickly pulled away and whispered words of excitement.

“Hah! This– You are so much better than I ever dreamed of, my beloved,” He tightly embraced me, and I could hear him smelling my skin, “I-I need more of you. We need to finish our duet, dear.”

#yandere #yandere writing #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere male #dark romance #☆–Carnell

[promiscuouspomegranate]

Hi I just wanted to drop in it's telling you that I absolutely love your writing is that even if you have one post I love it .your writing style is just delicious if it was a meal I'd rate it 10 out of 10🦇

aw.. shucks…!!! thank you so much I love the compliment I love it thank you thank tank thank you 🤭🤭🤭

(You are my favorite now….)

[promiscuouspomegranate]

If you're not busy can I request a yandere shane from stardew I really don't see that much of him😸

Midnight Martini

“A little oneshot with some rambles toward the end.”

Oneshot TWs: Drinking, Existential Thoughts, Shane is Depressed, You got Drugged lol, implied abduction.

Ramble TWs: Alcoholism, Depressive Thoughts, and Yandere Behaviors

(You’re the second person to request something.. so I simply have to entertain the anon. I hope you like it.. I was sleepy writing this 😪)

º

“Do you ever drink, Y / N or do you constantly keep up the happy farmer charade? I’m genuinely intrigued by your little persona,” Shane smirked and elbowed me, “What happens at this lake stays between us.”

I nervously gripped the martini I ordered earlier and quickly chugged it. It was dry and bitter and overpowered my mouth with gin. I covered it and felt a burn in my throat. Shane, instead of getting a water bottle for me, laughed as if comedy peaked at this very moment.

“You seriously have never drunk before? Fuck, I didn’t know I’d encounter someone like this ever,” He took a swig of his bottled beer and wiped his mouth, “It’s kinda sweet.”

“Shut up,” I nudged him and groaned, “I was always the damn designated driver at work events and high school parties fucking sucked.”

“Oh, you can curse too? It seems my world is coming to an end,” He chuckled and set his bottle down, “I get it, though. I didn’t start until.. well, until some time ago.”

“I don’t get how you enjoy this shit,” I glanced over and realized what I said, “No offense, of course!”

There was a moment of silence between us, and the moonlight rippled through the iridescent lake water. I moved in a little closer and grabbed an unopened bottle of cold beer. I used the dock to pop the cap off and took a sip.

“I don’t even like to drink, honestly,” He sighed, “I only like the feeling of being drunk. It’s the only way I feel happy, y’know? So much shit happened, and life continued. I wasn’t fucking ready to man up, so I drove to the closest gas station in ZuZu city and came him with a six-pack. I woke up the next morning with a throbbing pain in my head and vomit in a bucket, but not a single memory about the shit that happened to me. It’s.. it’s become a ruthless cycle.”

I took another sip and Shane grabbed his bottle. He gazed at my face and rubbed his stubble.

“Do you ever think this is it? All we have in life is a cycle of horrible feelings and emotions until we die? Yoba, I hope it’s not,” His voice sounded raw with emotion as he spoke, “I just wanna get better.”

“For what it’s worth,” I paused and thought about what to say. I set my bottle down and grabbed Shane’s hand, “You’re not alone, Shane. I don’t know what happened, and I would never expect you to tell me. I know what despair feels like, and you can’t help but think it all fucking sucks. That’s because it does. Everything is horrible, but.. but we have these ever so brief moments that make life worth living.”

He was silent and I decided to continue.

“When I first came here, I was depressed. I lost the only family member that genuinely cared about me and had no fucking money, friends, or food,” I laughed and looked at him, “Shane, I remember approaching you, and you told me to fuck off. I went home and started sobbing because I felt like shit. I could’ve wallowed in my misery, but then.. I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Reality seemed to blur with desire and I selfishly leaned in closer. I brushed my hand across his face and his eyes glowed in the darkness of the valley. He felt warm and my mind felt fuzzy.

“I want to be here with you,” I murmured.

“Fuck you,” He whispered back, “Fuck you for being so.. you. Damn it, you’re not supposed to be a flirty drunk. I’m supposed to be making a move on you.”

Our noses touched and I felt my heart racing with intoxication and want. I wanted this kiss to happen and I wanted it to be with Shane. I quickly pressed my lips against his and pulled his head closer to mine. He reciprocated my feelings and wrapped his arms around my body. After a moment, he pulled away.

“That was a long time coming,” I slurred my words and grabbed his face, “I want more Shane. ‘S not fair to kiss me then pull away so quickly.”

“Oh, I know sweetheart,” He calmly replied and kissed my forehead. He stood up and put our bottles back in the cooler, “I’m just concerned about how you feel right now.”

“I’m fine,” I stupidly smiled and bounced up. My head was pounding, and the ground felt like it was swirling, “Just.. just sleepy.”

“That’s good to hear; you’ll be out any second now. It’s past your bedtime, isn’t it,” He pulled me into his arms and muttered, “Just go to sleep. It’ll all be better in the morning. We’ll be together.”

.

That whole scene would take A LOT of gifts and bonding to happen. I’m sensing a major inferiority complex and, “Oh, if I talk to them, they’re just going to think I’m some stupid drunk who can’t take care of himself.”

I think something terrible happened in his life that spiraled into his alcoholic depression. His parents refused to accept him after discovering that he had nowhere else to go but Marnie’s ranch. He’s stuck in the past and refuses to move on from what happened. He feels horrible and desperately needs to feel something other than self-hate and sorrow.

When you first approach him, he’s too absorbed by his grief to realize that YOU WANT TO BE THERE FOR HIM (like.. you don’t bite.) He tries to close off any form of interaction and conversation. Why would he deserve to talk to someone when he’s terrible? He’s too afraid of his flaws to let anyone close.

Yet, you insist on hanging around like some incurable parasite. Shane feels startled when he finally realizes you want to be with him. Here’s this kind farmer who thinks that HE is worth something. He hasn’t felt proper affection in so long that his feelings spiral immediately. He finally has someone that makes him feel like he has self-worth and that he’s important.

He starts drinking less and talking to you more. As he sobers up more, his feelings are less intense but still linger. He wants you to himself and hates the thought of you falling for another bachelor. So, what better way than to take you late at night? Not like he could just ask you out himself.

Give this man counseling and a hug ⁉️⁉️⁉️

#yandere stardew valley #yandere #yandere shane #yandere writing #dark romance #yandere sdv

[promiscuouspomegranate]

hihi!! sorry if you already have requests or if you’re busy!

could you write a story about a poor fem reader who meets a rich noble? probably not something modern but not too ancient. idc if it’s the stereotypical “omg an injured sexy prince on the side of the road!! let me bring him back to my cottage and feed him stone soup because i am so sickly and poor!!”

thank you !! 🩵🩵🩵

Aching Autumn

Fem reader • Prince Thatcher

TWs: Abduction, Mentions of starvation, Poor living conditions, Reader gets death threats, Thatcher is rude, Violence, + Reader gets her fingers dirty.

(This is my first request I’m literally foaming at the mouth cackling crying sobbing and so HAPPY!! THANK TAHK YOU!! I worked on this a bit and I think it turned out well. If you have ivory skin or locks of gold.. my bad 💔 Feel free to let me know if you wanted anything else. Sorry if it isn’t that good… this is my first time writing in a while 😭)

Although the seasons changed, it seemed the conditions I lived in were stagnant, from the cruel, cold winters that frosted my lips and gnawed at my fingers to sweet spring days that warmed my heart and soothed my soul. It seemed I was destined to live a life of poverty and hunger. After all, what could the bastard daughter of a drunkard wanton accomplish other than lamenting on the town streets of what could have been?

On this particular autumn evening, there was an ache in my heart; no words of comfort or looks of pity could soothe, for I saw the man who was supposed to be my father holding a child with golden hair and ivory skin–something I never had. I tried to elevate myself above the town gossip, but when I heard his name, I knew I had to see it with my own eyes. I needed to see my replacement. He smiled at the child, and I could feel bitter tears streaming down my ragged face.

“My father… You are supposed to be mine. Not that stupid angelic creature who you hold so dearly,” I bit my thumb and stared into the window, “You horrible man! You are my father!”

My father glanced out the window, and I felt my heart shatter when his face contorted into pure disgust. I emptily stared at him and pressed my hand against the glass. That child of his and some refined lady had stolen my leisurely life. I gently knocked on the glass and begged to be let inside. The baby began to sob, and the curtains were drawn. The front door opened, and I was violently dragged into the streets by my father.

“I told her to keep you away from me,” He furiously whispered and tightly grabbed my arm, “You are not welcome near my home. You are no child of mine.”

“But I am! I came from you and will always be a part of you, please,” I cried and pleaded with him, “If I were given an opportunity to clean myself up and become a member of society, I swear I could–”

Before I could finish my sentence, I was thrown into the road and kicked in the stomach.

“You will have to seek your opportunities elsewhere,” My father stepped back and glared, “Perhaps you could sell yourself the way your mother does. You’ll gather enough money to raise a regret of your own.”

He abandoned me, the same way he did when I was nine, slowly and cruelly. Savoring every moment of my cries for him to stay with me and ignoring my presence like I was the wind blowing on his back.

“Horrible man,” I muttered to myself when he was gone once more, “I hope the child dies in his arms and he can feel half the misery that I know.”

I brushed the excess dirt off my dress and readjusted my crimson scarf. I ambled through the town and arrived at the front of my dilapidated building. I decided I had encountered sorrow once too many today and went to the woods bordering my home.

“What I would give, if I had anything of value, to soar in the sky with the doves,” I squinted as they fluttered by, “How lovely.”

The mourning doves called out to each other and perched on pine branches. They hid themselves from me, and I strolled deeper into the woods. I ignored posted signs and warnings to the common people to stay out of the Queen’s forest. I hardly believed it was her land; she had never stepped in the forest. What right did she have to claim what she couldn’t see?

“I suppose it must be nice to claim things as you please,” I felt myself slip into my fantasy of grandeur and smiled, “I would claim the whole world if I were Queen.”

I pretended that the trees curtseyed and bowed as I strolled by. I straightened my posture and pretended the birds were my people. I politely waved and smiled like a queen would–delightfully and regally.

“Oh, I suppose these flowers are for me? Why, thank you, little girl,” I went down and picked what I assumed were wildflowers from the forest floor, “They will look lovely in my crystal vase by the stained glass window. The sunshine yellows would make a lovely spring gown.”

I hummed to myself and stooped down to pick more flowers. I carefully selected each one, though each flower seemed perfectly grown. I selected each by how strong the fragrance was; the more robust the scent, the more I could sell them for in the town.

“I wonder what kind of flower these are? I haven’t seen anything as beautiful growing in the forest before,” I murmured and put one in my hair, “I’ll gather one to replant in front of home.”

I had only begun to uproot the flower when I heard the galloping of stallions and the blasting sound of brass horns. I paid no attention; usually, the royalty stuck to a particular path to hunt the Queen’s favorite animals–ruby red cardinals, acorn brown deer freckled with pearly dots, and soot black bears. I heard the bloodhounds howling as the galloping began to fade into the ambiance of the forest.

I finished uprooting the flower and placed it with the others. I felt something lick my hand and gasped. I saw a bloodhound lazily resting beside me, panting and stupidly staring at me. It licked my hand again, and I pulled my hand away from the dog.

“Stay back,” I demanded but looked nervous, “I’ll.. well, I don’t exactly know what I would do to you.”

I cautiously reached my hand out and placed it on the dog’s head. I began to stroke behind its ears gently and smiled.

“I suppose you’re not that scary,” I mumbled and looked for a tag, “It appears the Queen hasn’t claimed you. Perhaps I will make you my own.”

I took my scarf off and wrapped it around the dog’s neck. I felt joy when it stared at me and rested its head on my lap.

“Such a beautiful thing, aren’t you? You can be my dog since the hunters are so careless,” I squeezed it and sighed, “Yet, I fear you don’t understand a thing I am saying. You probably will run from me the second you see your owner.”

The dog began to howl, and I felt alarmed as the galloping returned. I tried my best to soothe the dog into silence, but it persisted upon howling. I turned around and saw stallions charging toward me. I scooped the dog up, grabbed a flower or two, and sprinted through the woods. I heard men shouting after me, demanding I stop in the name of the Queen. I felt terrified and ran to the frantic beat of my heart.

Yet, no matter how fast I was to run, the horses would always defeat me. I was cornered by nobility and froze in fear. The other bloodhounds were growling at me, and I set mine on the forest floor.

“What an odd combination of bird and tiger. The cowardice of a bird to take flight and the boldness of a tiger to try and outrun horses and your fate,” A man wearing a green cloak frowned upon me–he seemed repulsed by my sight, “Speak, peasant. Make your last words something interesting.”

Promptly, he aimed his rifle at me, and I began to sob in fear.

“Brother, put your rifle down. The woman is clearly lost; why else would she be in these woods? Pity the poor thing and don’t frighten her,” A man wearing a brown cloak intervened–his eyes seemed gentle and welcoming.

“Einarr, could you spare your false sympathies? Not only has she racked up enough crime to be a prisoner in hell as well as Earth, but she also trampled through mother’s flower garden,” He scoffed and put his rifle aside, “It’s either I put her out of her misery now, or mother decides to stroll through the forest and sees her garden missing flowers then makes the whole country suffer her wrath.”

“Thatcher, you seem to forget about our mother’s kind nature. How, if a flower or two went missing, she would smile and think of the beautiful creature that wandered into her garden and was able to appreciate beauty,” Einarr dismounted his horse and clutched its reigns.

“Beautiful creature? I’ve seen more beauty in war than I have her ragged face,” Thatcher dismounted his horse and approached Einarr, “I am assuming this is your attempt at humoring me, so I spare her.”

The two seem more occupied with arguing than dealing with me. I wiped my tears away and fell to the floor. I could feel their eyes burning into my skin as I weakly opened my mouth.

“Forgive my insolence, Your Majesties. I never meant to cause such trouble and ruin your hunt. It is true I wandered into the forest and got lost along the way,” I prayed nothing would ruin my lie, “It tattered my dress and face; I find myself quite weary. I never will step foot in the woods again if it means you so graciously spare my life.”

I heard chuckling from one of the princes and poked my head up. I saw Thatcher terribly trying to mask his amusement as Einarr glared at him.

“Ah! For an ill-bred lady of low rank, she manages the audacity to ask favors from us? Say, do you think you’re more nobility than we are to make such demands? I will fetch your golden crown and scepter, and Einarr will–”

“That is enough, brother. Clearly, she is more worthy of a crown than you are. Such gentleness and kindness despite the cruelty of her circumstance,” Einarr approached me and kneeled to my level, “What is your name? I must know, or I fear I will go mad.”

“Y / N,” I sputtered out and felt breathless, “I am no lady, your majesty. I am only a bastard daughter who managed to lose herself to the perplexities of the woods.

“Einarr, you should be more careful around the animal. She might be rabid and contaminate you with the unforgiving disease of poverty,” Thatcher followed behind Einarr and shoved him aside, “Besides, shouldn’t the heir of the kingdom be at a diplomatic meeting?”

“I suppose you are right about something, Thatcher,” Einarr mounted his horse again and stared at me, “Farewell, Lady Y / N.”

Einarr rode away, and the dogs followed behind him, except for the one I called my own. It was lying beside me, and Thatcher seemed unamused.

“Eris, do not lay with her. Come, girl,” He demanded and crossed his arms, “I said come!”

Eris seemed content lying beside me, to Thatcher’s dismay. He noticed the scarf wrapped around her neck and glared at me.

“You... You were going to steal my dog, weren’t you? You wretched woman,” He clenched his fists and pulled me up, “How dare you steal so much from your providers?”

“I apologize, Your Majesty! I thought the dog was unclaimed and–”

“Silence! Einarr may be foolish enough to entertain your words, but I will have none of it,” He tightly gripped my arm and frowned at me, “Not even death will be enough to punish your crimes. You deserve to be tortured among the criminals of your dastardly rank.”

I felt my lip quiver as his auburn eyes searched into the darkest corners of my heart.

“Yet, even the most painful torture is not fit for you. No, I will choose your suffering myself,” He led me to his horse and forced me to mount it, “I will decide your fate, Y / N.”

He hopped up, wrapped his arms around me, and tightly gripped the reigns. I felt my heart pound as he rode away from the forest.

“Are.. are you going to kill me? Please, just put me out of my misery now,” I begged and felt nauseated.

“I am going to give you a fate worse than death,” He whispered in my ear, “Your fate is intertwined with mine now. Enjoy the scenery of the forest, for I fear this is the last time you’ll see it up close.”

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[promiscuouspomegranate]

MASTER-LIST

“A guide to everything I write. Most of it falls under the “yandere” trope, but I prefer classifying it as dark romance or obsessive love. If you are not a fan of either, feel free to block my account and continue with your day. I only write for adult characters and accept requests from any fandom.”

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