#yandere icicle imagine

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 1)

Title: Fractalize

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness.

Word count: 3700+

Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating a lot, morbid pondering, suicidal thoughts, explicit/triggering language/words, Reader's thoughts on possible sexual assault in future. Part 2

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Sometimes you stand in front of a mirror and try to picture yourself in another timeline. One where your life didn’t take this specific turn. You try to imagine a different setting, a different apartment - perhaps the one you had before Chrollo started moving you around like a luggage bag. Maybe living in a cottage by the sea or an old farmhouse. Someplace rural, peaceful. With a garden and fresh air, far away from the city noises.

It's difficult at first, your reflection keeps slipping through your mental fingers every time you think the image is set in place. But with practice it becomes easier, sort of, so you can now see yourself clearly as you brush your hair - not here.

A blue dress on, made for nights at parties with friends. Laughing until your stomach hurts and eyes become sore. Making silly faces over alcoholic beverages. Or you can wear your favourite jeans with a high waist and head out to the pub, the same one with crooked stools and a broken sign. Drink cheep bear, eat greasy peanuts from a little bowl, listen to some small band play unknown and unheard songs.

Leave intoxicated, and everything is too fast and vibrant and wonderful until you're back home.

It's your favourite pastime now: imagine, remake and slip.

Imagine. Remake. Slip.

You don't quite remember the last time you laughed, a month ago maybe. Maybe more. Lack of hope creates a strange kind of numbness, dull, cold, you would compare it to a winter plastered all over your insides, but it's almost colder than that. It freezes everything and turns it into icicles hanging off the roof.

Remake, slip.

You have new vocabulary now.

"Mm" - is for when he asks you if you like a dress or a top and it doesn't matter how you actually feel about it, because it's going to end up being worn anyway.

"Okay" - is for when Chrollo sets another fancy meal for you on a dinner table and "Eat, don't be shy".

"I'm not hungry" - doesn't work with him, even if it's the truth. You always eat what's put in front of you, that's the rule, because he's not above shoving the spoon into your mouth, so you spare yourself the tears and sobs that will probably come with that. It's so bizarre: how much effort he puts into keeping you alive when you're anything but.

"Whatever you want" - is for when he asks you something that requires a choice, between two or three options usually. He's not one for an extensive list.

"If you say so" - for everything else.

You used to delude yourself with the idea that if you managed to appear pleasant enough, pleasant-talking, pleasant-listening, smiling a bit here and there, it would gain you some privileges and perhaps a bit more freedom. It did. But never where it really mattered. Those little things were absolutely inconsequential in the grand scheme. Yes, you can have that sweater, dear. No, you can't have your own bed. Yes, you can come shopping with me, if you give me a kiss. No, you can't take walks without me holding your hand.

Yes this and no that.

Those moments were fragile and so very takeable that they didn't give you any sense of accomplishment, just a short respite and bitter aftertaste that made you feel pathetic.

Wasn't worth it.

***

"Do you like animals, dear?" Chrollo asks out of the blue one day. He's reading something on his tablet while you're curled up on the couch, watching TV.

It's a new series that's been on the major channels for a few weeks, a mystery drama about a girl who moves into a house she inherited from her grandfather. The picture provides a distraction enough to have you forgetting where you are for a brief period three times a week.

You pull the blanket higher. "I do."

He knows it.

The girl on the screen finds a mysterious box hidden in the attic. Perhaps there's something valuable inside. Or information about her grandpa; your fingers tug on a loose blanket thread without much thought.

"What kind?"

Or maybe it's just a time capsule with photos and postcards and random objects collected over the years.

Or-

You had a cat before he took you. A foster grey ragdoll with blue eyes who liked to rest on your belly and bump her head against your chin. You called her Miss Whiskerton and kissed her little nose, because she did act like a proper lady - poised, dignified and entirely too proud to eat food mixed with medicine. The worst enemy Miss Whiskerton has ever had in her cat life was the corner of your couch. When you weren't paying attention, she would dig her claws into the fabric and leave thin lines. You hope that someone took her in.

She probably thought you abandoned her.

"Cats."

Chrollo hums in acknowledgment and continues scrolling through whatever he's looking at - maybe news or auction listings, you don't know nor do you really care. You shift under the blanket, pulling your legs closer to your body.

"We can get one, if you'd like."

"No."

Your answer is immediate and short, without thinking. You know it, you know him by now - there's nothing Chrollo does out of spontaneous generosity, it always benefits him in some way. And you've studied him enough to figure that any pet would only be a tool to keep you tamed and compliant. Puppies make life better. Happier, lighter, with goofy smiling faces and wiggling tails. Cats make life better with soft purrs and paws stomping on your chest. They're too easy to love.

"Why not?" There's a sound of tablet set on a wooden surface.

The girl on the screen is trying to solve a combination lock on the box when the TV switches off and your little world of carefully shot scenes and scripted lines vanishes. You don't need to turn around to guess where's the remote.

She almost had it, but now you won't know what's inside until Thursday evening.

Your reflection stares back from the dead screen, blank-faced and with a blanket pulled up your nose. It tickles a bit. "Because I don't want one."

A chair creaks. "Why?"

You close your eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. This is tiring. Always probing, digging, pushing. Trying to find chinks in your armor, but all you're wearing is just a flimsy dress with thin straps and a blanket you wish could swallow you whole.

"Don't need it."

"You said you like animals," Chrollo sits next to you and places a hand on top of your covered legs. He squeezes your thigh and you stare ahead, wishing he would just leave you alone tonight.

"I do." Your fingers twitch under the blanket, nails scratching at the fabric.

Strange. Sometimes it feels like he understands perfectly that you want to be alone, have time for yourself and don't want his constant physical presence. At the same time Chrollo brushes this all aside like old tin foil wrappers - insignificant. He pulls the blanket down and you cling on it stubbornly for a few seconds before letting go. His thumb and index finger grasp your chin and turn your face towards him so you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

There's such still intensity within him that made your skin crawl whenever he looked at you with this much focus and attention. You don't know what he saw there most times, it used to be fear or anger or sadness - right now it's none of these things. Everything inside you feels jammed and stiff.

"We should get a fish then," he continues, brushing hair out of your forehead. "You can watch it swim around, wouldn't that be nice?"

Chrollo talks to you like this sometimes, as if you're a child who needs to be convinced to eat veggies or take medicine. Like you're simple-minded and he's reasoning with you out of good will. It's sickening. You hate it.

"I don't want a pet," you repeat the words slowly. "If you're going to give me something only to take it away, then I don't want it."

His finger leisurely stroking your chin pauses at the edge of your bottom lip. Something flickers behind his eyes, it's barely noticeable but you've become good at catching those minuscule shifts. He smiles, yet there's nothing joyful about it. "Take it away? Why would I do that, dear?"

"Because that's what you do. Because that's how you are." You don't try to pull free from his hold, he'll only tighten it; not enough to hurt, no, he is too suave and polished for that - or wants to appear so - but enough for you to feel trapped under his palm.

There's something off about you, you can tell, but are not quite able to discern what or where. It sits in the very structure of your bones and eats away with ravenous appetite. An imbalance in the gut. Fever-warm body, cold fingers. Thoughts like potholes.

"And how am I exactly, according to you?" His voice is light, playful, a stark contrast to his eyes that study you with unnerving precision. Chrollo rarely loses his temper and never gets violent with you (yet, you correct yourself), but he has other ways of expressing displeasure, and they're petty, ugly and cold.

"Cruel," the word rolls off your tongue so effortlessly that almost frightens you; it's easy to tell the truth when you're this numb.

He looks taken aback for a split second, and the smile freezes. His hand stops midway to your hair. Then everything's gone.

Chrollo releases you and leans back into the cushions, almost thoughtful, like your observation is something that requires careful consideration.

"I suppose, it depends," he says finally.

"On what?"

"On how you choose to see things. Your perspective is bound to be biased, dear."

You don't respond.

To continue this conversation would be pointless and circular, like running on a treadmill, like everything else between you and Chrollo, really. He simply has too many answers to any possible argument, and no matter how convincing you manage to make them sound, he'll poke holes into each one. You don't want a fish. Or a cat. Or a dog, a bird, anything that moves and breathes and looks at you with big, trusting eyes.

Chrollo is cruel. Not in a way that's straightforward and brutal. Not in a way of someone who'd tear your limbs apart or rip off a fly's wing to see it wiggle. You have no doubt that he is capable of such a thing, but that would be uncouth. Cruelty in his case is a quieter, more delicate affair - in a way of a sculptor who'd chisel off everything unnecessary and unneeded, no matter the size or significance, to produce something entirely his.

His hands are soft, his voice is always composed, and he wears well tailored clothes. But the rest is sharp, clean and merciless.

"I think I'll go to bed," you say and push away the blanket.

"It's early."

"Mm."

He takes your hand just as you're about to slide off the sofa. Chrollo's always faster than you, always ahead and always observing, and that little realization while bitter is not so shocking anymore, more like another fact that you file away from your interactions.

You watch him. Wait.

"You're distraught," he says. "But you should know by now that there's no need for that."

Your hand remains in his grasp, limp and heavy.

"I don't enjoy seeing you upset, dear. Even more if you make false conclusions."

You turn to see the expression on his face - and there isn't one, at least not the type that most people would make. There are no frowning eyebrows, no clenched jaw that would indicate irritation, nothing like that.

"You're giving me too little credit," his tone is quiet as he runs his fingers up and down your wrist. "My intentions are not to hurt you. They are much, much sweeter than that."

"But you would," you say quietly and lean closer, ignoring the obvious implication behind his words. There is a hollow sensation inside of your head that prompts you to speak, everything is hollow - body and mind, heart, the space in your guts, your throat. "You would hurt me, if that's what you thought was necessary. Rip me apart and leave me deformed beyond repair, to fit into whatever framework you've laid, you would do that."

You're not being deliberately cryptic or fatalistic. These are your observations, based on a period of months spent together. They take root in no one being there for you anymore, in your phone which is long gone, in your closed accounts, your missing laptop and old clothes, the entire previous life in the city that has been discarded for something new. Chrollo was very methodical, you can give him that.

He doesn't listen, he studies your responses. Every single word. He has a talent for that, for absorbing everything about you while hardly ever letting you glimpse his interior - all that you know about him are tiny slivers which you picked up through living together, observation, accidental bits.

You expect him to contradict your statement, to offer a logical explanation why you're wrong, but instead Chrollo brings your hand to his lips and presses a kiss against your knuckles. The touch is light and dry.

"You're not entirely wrong, dear," he says and moves closer until you can smell his aftershave, something fresh.

His proximity is uncomfortable, it always is and probably always will be.

"I'm right then," you say.

"No," he keeps your hand in his grasp. "But you're not entirely wrong either. That's what makes you interesting."

There's a strange kind of fondness in his voice, it's subtle, yet undeniably present. You've never felt less interesting in your life, in a dress with thin straps that's too fancy for a lazy day at home and your bare feet and tangled hair.

"If you say so," you respond and slowly tug your hand free. "I really want to sleep now."

You get up, and he lets you go without another proposition. The blanket falls off onto the sofa, and before you slip into the semi-darkness of the bedroom, he says,

"Not beyond repair. But I like to believe we can both agree it doesn't have to come to that."

***

The drive feels endless. Houses and streets blur in a mix of colors, shapes and people, which soon change to an empty highway with greenery on both sides. Trees and fields, tall grass swaying gently in the wind and rare cars passing you by. Chrollo's hand is resting on your leg; he hasn't moved it since the car started, but you choose to ignore it in favor of your regular pastime, the one that's made of imaginary worlds and places where the timeline stretches differently.

Mostly it's just you and the layout of your fake apartment.

Imagine, remake, slip. Repeat the steps until it becomes muscle memory.

You have this daydream on loop now. Wooden floor and wide windows, lots of sunlight. Books everywhere, comfy clothes and not a single skirt in your closet. A cup of tea with honey in the morning, and Miss Whiskerton curled into a soft grey ball on your lap. You feed her salmon in a shiny bowl, occasionally she catches a lizard outside and drops the tail on your doorstep as an offering, looking immensely proud of herself.

A smile slips on your face without meaning to, a wobbly thing; you promptly wipe it off.

It would be a crime to show such blatant joy. This fantasy has become so sweetly personal that every fiber of your being resists even acknowledging it in front of Chrollo. He can sense a stray happy thought from miles away, like a hound, and will never stop prodding until everything is raw and tender. You've learned to say less in his presence, especially if it's something that has you invested. Chrollo knows how to pick things apart.

You lean your cheek against the glass. This world would never happen, never in a million years, but dreaming doesn't hurt anyone, does it?

Your grandma, wearing an apron, sets a tray filled with fresh pastries on a table, because she's amazing like that. She fusses and worries and pretends to scold you. For not calling enough, for not coming sooner, for not eating well. For leaving.

"Dear."

You almost jump.

Chrollo's voice brings you back where his hand is heavy on your leg, you're wearing a dress above the knee and aren't allowed to use scissors or knives.

"Mm?"

"That frown of yours," he says, turning into a small road. The surroundings change again, it's quiet here, not a soul in sight. "It's been there for fifteen minutes now."

You sit up straight and move your hair out of your eyes. Chrollo's a perceptive one, so this is a reminder not to sink too deep around him, unless you absolutely need it.

"Was just thinking."

"You do it a lot lately," he states and looks at you from the corner of his eye.

True, but you have no intention to confirm it. First, he won't like the reason behind these thoughts. Second, he will dig and try to worm his way in. No. Most of what you've been fixating on, staring out of the window like a mindless drone, or reading and rereading pages that you barely grasped, would fail to create anything more complex in his heart than desire to pull it out.

For whatever twisted reason, Chrollo cares for your well-being, or, more precisely, your acceptance of his advances. Yet his way of caring isn't nurturing in any sense.

Chrollo's interest (you don't dare call it love) is crushing, too heavy to carry - he'll find what troubles you and "fix it" in way that will twist it into something pathetic. Something that shows how you have nothing else to cling on but him. You're not stupid enough to keep falling into this trap. Being a slow learner doesn't mean you don't learn at all.

He's done it before. He'll do it again. So you reply, "I haven't noticed."

His thumb rubs circles on your thigh; you press your shoulder against the car door as if hoping it might open. It doesn't, much to your disappointment.

"What was on your mind then?"

Something you shouldn't tell him, that's for sure. Chrollo's watching you, even if his eyes are trained on the road.

"Random stuff," you say. Half-truths, half-truths are safe. "A weird dream I had this morning."

If you bothered to look, you'd see a raised eyebrow and the faintest hint of amusement at the corners of his mouth. You don't.

"Tell me."

You hate when he does that.

"It was boring."

"I'm interested in anything that made you so pensive."

Chrollo likes conversations with you, even if they're short. You can tell that he does, or he wouldn't be trying to make you talk and getting subtly frustrated when you choose not to. It never shows outright, Chrollo is very gifted at keeping his calm exterior, but there are certain giveaways like the slight tightening of his hand, an emphasized "dear", a pause here, or a quiet exhale through the nose. You could make a list out of these.

If you ignore him, he gets quiet and handsy or petty enough to throw away the only dress you feel comfortable in. Stop bringing you new books. Take you to places you hate.

It's always the small things that kill you, not the big, dramatic ones. The devils in the details.

"There was a lizard," you begin, and he hums in response, prompting you to continue. "It was cute with brown spots and a tiny tail."

Lies weave themselves easily, intertwine with truths and turn it into something that resembles a story.

"It was sitting on my windowsill and I wanted to pet it. A cat came out of nowhere and almost ate it, then I woke up. It's a silly dream."

There. Nothing to dissect here, not that you can see. Just a nonsensical dream, filled with random happenings and strange emotions.

"And that's why you frowned for fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, I got sad."

Yes, you think. Yes, Chrollo. I frowned, because I care for the damn lizard that doesn't exist, an animal from a dream. A stupid musing, nothing special, a very mundane and simple thing, because people do have silly dreams sometimes, and it's not a crime. It's not a crime and has nothing to do with that fact that I have a whole dream world where I'm not with you in my head.

"How peculiar. You never struck me as the type to get upset over something like this."

"You never asked," you respond flatly and Chrollo's hand on your thigh moves an inch.

It brushes up, closer to where you really, really don't want it to be, so you squeeze his fingers hard and redirect them to the curve of your knee.

"True," he says after a pause, not sounding too bothered. A month ago you would've brushed his hand off completely, probably that's why. Chrollo is convinced that with enough patience and effort he'll be able to close that final barrier between you both. Time, coaxing, a dose or two of endearment, some carefully calculated touch - but you'd rather stick a knife through your ribs than have sex with him. Or his patience will simply run out and he'll rape you. You're not delusional. Not a fool. "Well, that can be fixed. I'll make sure to ask about your dreams more often, dear."

You lean back into the seat and stare ahead, this time without anything pleasant on your mind. Of course he will. Of course he'll take this as a sign to dig deeper and invade that small bit of solace, Chrollo can't simply co-exist. He wants it all.

"Mm," you say.

Your new vocabulary is such a handy thing.

#hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere #hunter x hunter fanfic #chrollo lucifer x reader #shalott fanfiction

[thecuriousquest]

Thirsty Imagine - Shoto Todoroki

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, non con vaginal fingering, non con vaginal sex, non con anal fingering, non con oral sex, implied kidnapping, brat taming, light spanking, nudity, dominant behavior, controlling behavior, daddy kink

Master List

Request Rules

—————————————————————————

Here you stand in front of Shoto, pointing an accusatory finger in his face.

“You fucking dipshit! I’m not listening to a thing you say, you kidnapping asshole.”

His arms are crossed, his dual colored eyes cold as his frost, his expression neutral even though a feral and wicked grin is hidden by the mask he presents to you.

No, you have no idea how much he loves this. The push, the thrill of the challenge to tame you.

It’s the reason why he hasn’t raised a hand to you yet, hasn’t really put you in your place other than the occasional warnings to comply or else…

Or else what? You have no idea. He always leaves his words chilling yet burning with curiosity.

Why would he tame you so quickly when he could have fun in drawing out the process? He could let you have your fun exerting your energy with a hot anger feisty enough to match his higher temperatures and then he could watch you fall to your knees once you find out that you really shouldn’t fuck around with Shoto Todoroki.

He’s had his fun watching you be a brat, watching you bitch and whine here and there. Enough is enough now. You tried to escape, and he just can’t let that slide.

“Snowflake, are you just tired?” He smirks at you, toying with you.

You put all your weight on one foot, jutting your hip out with a hand on the same side. “I’m tired of you. I wanna go home!”

Taking a step closer to you, he places both hands on your arms, right on the long sleeves of your shirt.

“No, I think you’re tired. In fact, I think my little snowball needs to go down for a nap.”

Those mismatched orbs of his stare into you, crushing you with the weight of the different colors.

“Shoto, get the hell off of me.” Your voice is different now. It doesn’t hold the same bite that it did before. You start to feel like you’ve been enveloped by his flames, trapped in a dangerous situation.

No, your voice is a tone akin to a quiet mutter, still comprehensible but only because he’s so close to you.

“I think we should get you ready for bed.”

He burns your shirt off of you. It happens so quickly that you barely feel the heat of the fabric burning until it falls to ash. Your shorts are taken from you next, leaving you in a bra and panties.

Shoto thumbs the lacy waistband with a tiny bow on the front. He smirks. “Cute, just like my little icicle.” Instead of burning them off, he simply tears them away from your hips.

A scrambled groan and scream mix in your throat as his fingers deftly move to your back to unhook your bra. You’re left completely nude, trying to cover yourself with your hands.

“Shoto, no!”

He grabs your cunt, wriggling two fingers knuckle deep into your perfect little pussy, so wet, slurping up his digits like the good little slut you are. Wet and made for his hands, his mouth, his cock. Only him.

Your perky tits, bare to the air for him, for his fingers to caress and twist the pink little nubs.

Shoto picks you up, letting your legs hang around his waist. Your clit rubs against the rough fabric of his jeans with every stride. He takes you over to the couch, laying you down on your back and leaning over you.

“Yeah, you’re just being fussy. Don’t worry, Daddy knows how to deal with fussy girls.”

“Sho-to! Oh, fuck, Shoto!” Your hips bump up into his hand as he palms your clit with vigor, filling your cavern full of his rough and scarred fingers once again.

“I just need to tire you out. That’s why you’re being a brat, huh? Too much energy building up in that tight little pussy. Daddy can fix that.”

He mouths your cunt, gorging on your juices. His tongue flicks in and out in all the right ways, clinging to your walls. A savory dinner and sweet dessert all in one.

You wrap your hands around your mouth, not wanting him to know how much pleasure he’s making you feel. You don’t want to give this fuck head the satisfaction.

You heard about something like this happening though, but you never actually experienced it for yourself. While that tight feeling of pressure builds up and up, making you feel weightless and heavy at the same time, you gush and squirt into Shoto’s open mouth.

And you couldn’t be more humiliated. You sob into your hands as you watch him lick his lips, making a show of swallowing your orgasm.

“Daddy’s turn now.”

He crawls over you, and you turn on your side, trying to get out from underneath the pro hero. You claw your way off of the couch, wailing when you feel a hand on your ankle dragging you back up.

“No, no, Shoto! I don’t wanna!”

“It’s only fair, snowflake. I made you come, now Daddy gets a turn.”

You shake your head as he situates himself on top of you again, spreading your legs with a knee prying them apart. He works his pants down with one hand. It takes a few moments, but he likes the build up of the anticipation.

His cock is hot pressed against you, lined up to thrust into you like a sword. He drives into you, the plane of his ass dipping lower with each bottoming out of his hips.

“Yeah, just a fussy little girl who needs to get fucked out, make you all cute and lazy. Is that what you need, snowball?”

You writhe beneath his warm body, sweat beads replacing the goose bumps from earlier. Your thighs quiver, jiggling from his rough movements. He’s not a slow and gentle lover.

No, he’s dominant through and through, making you learn your place, forcing you to know where you stand in his presence or rather kneel.

Every ministration is so intrinsic, the burning passion he has for you displayed in every touch, every grip, every plow.

“Shoto, please, wait-”

Shoto grabs you by your face, squishing your cheeks and lips into a pout, those lips wet with tears for him.

“You better fix that before I turn this into a punishment.”

You bite your lip, not sure if you should say it. You know what he wants, have heard him give you so many warnings about it before.

However, how can this get any worse?

“F-fuck you…” The bite is intently torn away from you now. There’s no heavy temper in what you have to say.

Shoto smirks knowing this.

He turns you over on your stomach, pushing your knees up until you’re hunched over on the back of the couch. His worn hand promotes obedience with firm discipline, and he strikes your bare ass ten times in a row, upping the heat in his palm with every slap.

“You know exactly what I want to hear.”

You growl, “Alright, Daddy, stop it.”

“Your manners are atrocious.” He slips his finger into your puckered asshole. “Well, it is a daddy’s job to teach his little girl some manners.”

His two fingers fuck into you with the same intensity as when his digits explored your pussy. You shake your head and kick your feet.

“Feels weird! Please!”

“Please what? You want me to stop and fuck you normally? Fuck your tight little pussy until you’re squirting on my cock?”

You nod your head. “Yes, yes, Daddy, yes!”

“Will you be grateful now when I fuck you? Will you be good for me and take it instead of whining like a little brat?” His fingers drive deeper into your hole, and you squirm at the uncomfortableness of his handling.

“Yes, I’m sorry I was acting bad!”

He pats your sore bottom a few times, withdrawing his fingers from your back hole.

“Turn over and spread your legs for me, snow bunny.”

This time, you obey him, not wanting to be spanked or fucked in the ass.

He pushes his mushroom tip, heated with his quirk, deep inside of your soaked cunt. You throw your head back, feeling like he’s going to split you in half. You feel his tip press into your stomach, a bulge forming where he’s situated in your cervix.

You whimper, gripping onto his back, holding him close to you as you raise your hips to meet his.

Anything to get him to come and release you.

Anything for you to come now that you’re all buzzed.

And when he does fuck you so hard, jackrabbiting into you like a feral animal, his balls slapping your ass where he spanked you so hard with each punishing hit, he pounds you into an oblivion.

You gush around the fat head of his dick, and not even a few moments later, he’s making sure you’re filled with his seed.

Pulling out, his cock leers at you as he kneels over your chest. “Be a good girl and clean Daddy off.”

The thought of sucking your come and his off of his own dick doesn’t sound very pleasant, but at the same time, you just want this to end. You pump him a few times with your lips, knowing better than to bite down or scrape him with your teeth. You breathe through your nose all the while, making it clean of all the juices.

You pull away from him, looking up at him with pleading and teary eyes. “Is that…is that okay?”

“Yeah, my little snow storm. That’s good.”

He picks you up in his arms. “You were so good for Daddy, listening like such an obedient little slut. I’m proud of you. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for that nap.”

He gives you a kiss on the head, and you rest your cheek against his chest.

Maybe next time, you can figure out how to fight him and actually back up what you have to say.

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling #yandere themes #triggering content #triggering themes #my hero acedamia #my hero academia #yandere my hero academia #boku no hero academia #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere shoto x reader #yandere shoto todoroki #mha shoto todoroki #bnha shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto

[mothgodofchaos]

The line from damien video, actor mark saying "acting like you dont have blood in your hands!" to damien makes me imagine that our sweet beloved mayor isnt so sweet... so may i request a horror damien? Something like how sinister he can really be when he put his mind into it :)

Sweet

I got several requests to continue my Yandere Damien idea, so I hope this answers your ask sufficiently! The mayor has a habit of letting his influence get to his head, and not caring about who is off limits to him.

Damien x GN!Reader, TW: possessiveness, hypnosis, stalking, yandere Words: 692

You were so good for him. How he’d offer his hand to you and you’d take it with a smile on your face, his arm being a perfect perch for his little dove. How pretty you looked in your gilded cage of peppermint steam he created around you, how sweet you sang only for him. He cherished you, let you flourish, in all the ways he allowed you to. You’d sing along to those old croony tunes he loved on the record player, how he could watch you sing for hours.

But others started getting suspicious, how could they? They were just jealous of how much he loved you, wanted you for themselves. But he didn’t have time for such people, and neither did you. Did they not know how important he is? Only he held the key to your cage, and he was going to ensure it stayed that way.

“I heard you, Mark. You know how the papers are, they write rumors, hoping they catch on, and then they launch an investigation if it gains enough traction. Simple solution: squash it out when it starts.”

You overhear him speaking in his office as you make his morning tea, and something in the pit of your stomach says that this is important, that you shouldn’t just brush it off like you normally do. You know that Mark is one of his close friends, a friend from his childhood. But the way Damien spoke, it felt unnatural, like sharp talons grazing slightly up your back, a small suggestion of the pain he can inflict if he so desires. “I’m having my men take care of it this evening. No one will notice a thing, and those who do, won’t say a word. Not if they don’t want to go the same way as this nosey reporter.”

No, something is deeply wrong. You drop the spoon you were holding onto the ground, making a noise of surprise that seems to get his attention. He hangs up the phone and you hear the click of his cane against the hardwood floors, sending a chill up your spine instead of the usual warmth that it typically brings. You jump when he enters the room, eyes wide with fear. 

“Something the matter, dearest? Something concerning you?” Damien tilts his head at you, taking slow but deliberate steps towards you. You turn around quickly, backing up against the table, looking to the doors, seeing if there’s any quick way out. Surely you could outrun him if you needed to, he has a bad knee after all. “Were you eavesdropping, dearest?” His tone shifts, a darker sinister look in his eyes as he encroaches in your space. Bodyguards fill the doors with their shoulders, blocking your exits as you glance around, trying to look for another way out. “N-no Damien, I’m j-just tired- I-” He uses the head of his cane to lift up your chin to look into his eyes, the once inviting blue now a sharp icicle piercing through you, searching for evidence of betrayal. You watch as he sticks his hand into his pocket, the pop of a cork, and a small glass vial is shoved under your nose. You try to push him away, but he blocks you against the table. “Deep breath now, come on, no need for those dangerous thoughts of leaving. You're safe here, dove. My sweet thing…” The sweet smell of peppermint overwhelms your senses, making your brain fog until you no longer struggle, the smile returning to your face. He cups your face, his expression softening to the same inviting, charming smile he usually greets you with. “There we go, isn’t that much better?” “Y-yes, I was jus-” “Shhh, it’s okay. I know it’s scary, but you’re safe here. With just me.” He accepts you into his arms as he begins humming a sweet tune, one that you continue as he just holds you, bodyguards resuming their usual positions. 

He doesn’t have blood on his hands, he must keep his perfect white dove innocent and safe. But he has no issue in ordering subordinates to do it for him.

#damien #wkm damien #damien x reader #damien markiplier #wkm damien x reader #mayor damien x reader #gn!reader #TW: possessiveness #TW: stalking #TW: hypnosis #TW: yandere #meek mayor #chaoswrites

[yandereorg]

Hello girl boss I just woke up so if this seems nonsensical you know why lol 😪😵‍💫 now I'm thinking about literally any Gotham yandere villain kidnapping s/o during the purge so once it's over nobody can legally take s/o away n shit AHHHHHH thinking about Harley & Ivy kidnapping a platonic!darling and be like surprise adoption YIPPIE!' meanwhile they just merked ur whole family so u have no one else but them bfsjsgj or Icicle Jr 😳🥴 imagine minding ur own business n this dumbass kidnaps u all cause of a lil crush 😭 he's just like 'hiiiii🥴😏 ur mine now teehee I'm taking u home 😘😋' - Bimbo anon 💕

!!! i mean they go arkham every weekend so like you have a week at most before Bruce gets em and he's got a thing for orphans so you have a new fam ig

Imagine, I feel like you could just bully him n he just cries

#bimbo anon

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Can you do 8 & 15 romantic yandre! For Jordan Mahkent?

8. “A monster? I can show you just how much of a monster I can really be if you keep acting like that.”

15. “I would cover this whole town in their blood if it means I get to see your face everyday.”

You really liked Jordan when you had first met him. He was kind and generous, giving his attention to whoever was speaking, even to lower level workers like you. It was nice and it made you feel heard. So when Jordan had personally come to you about a promotion you were shocked to say the least but also very overjoyed. You would have your own office, you got to work with Jordan himself, and it was pay increase which in itself was nice.

The longer you and Jordan spent time working together the closer the two of you had gotten. You both started opening up with each other, discussing about your wants in life and him telling you about his wife and how that completely tore him apart. You were friends now and it was nice to say the least.

While you were content with the friendship, Jordan was growing to want more. He was catching himself falling for you faster and harder as the days went by. Jordan was starting to see you as his second chance at love and happiness again. So far, you have been speedily filling that void in him that was left after Christine’s death.

Yet after confessing his everything for you, you turned him down. You didn’t see him the same way and you already had significant other that he hadn’t even known about. Seemed like you were keeping more from him then he thought.

Sure, Jordan was hurt but he was mostly disappointed. Disappointed in himself and disappointed in you. But he couldn’t hold everything against you. You were just being led astray after all; by yourself, by your significant other, by everyone.

But don’t worry, it was only a matter of time before he made everything right.

....

If only you’d known just how far he was willing to go to have you. To fill that void. To feel that same feeling he’d lost the same night he lost his Christine.

Maybe you would have thought twice about befriending him.

Maybe you would have thought twice about ever coming to meet him.

But here you are; left shivering, cold and helpless. It’s dark and you aren’t too sure where ‘here’ is. It isn’t until you hear a familiar voice that you know you’re truly helpless.

“J-Jordan? Is th-that you?” The cold was just too much. If it wasn’t so dark, you were sure you could see your own breath.

“What is it, my love?” How could he sound so calm? Especially when it was freezing!

“I can’t see. What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Where, you ask? Why, we’re home, Y/n. I hope you don’t mind the temperature too much. This was mostly for your punishment but I’m sure you’ll get used to it with time.”

Home? Punishment? Just what the hell was he talking about?

“What are you talking about, Jordan?”

It was silent for awhile before he finally spoke up, “The day I confessed how I had fallen for you and you turned me down, I had decided right then and there that you were being led astray like the little lamb you are.”

He didn’t give you much time to process that before he continued on. “So, I planned to take you. I brought you home, to my home, our home where we’d all be a family. Where you would be my doting love and be here when I and or Cameron came home. Greeting us, loving us, caring for us.”

He took you? He took you away from your own life just to play house? And what the hell did he mean you were being lead astray like the lamb you were?

“You can’t just take someone for your own selfish needs and wants, Jordan! It’s not right! You’re not right!”

“I can do whatever I please, Y/n. Because I know what you need. Because I know what this world needs.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“That’s alright. It doesn’t have to make sense now but soon you’ll see just how I plan to make this a better a place. Fortunately, you’re nothing like the people who will inevitably be gotten rid of. I can’t say the same for everyone else though.”

“You’re a monster!”

“A monster? I can show you just how much of a monster I can really be if you keep acting like that.”

“You can’t just get rid of the people who agree with you! That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s much more than that. I will get rid of anyone who gets in my way no matter what; agree or disagree. I will make this world a better place, starting with Blue Valley. And I will make you mine. I will see to those who have come between me and my goal, between me and you, and I will ensure that they suffer. I’ve already seen to a few as we speak.”

“What have you done?!” You can’t help the shaking in your voice. You’ve never seen or heard Jordan act like this in any fashion and it honestly terrified you.

Jordan didn’t say anything more as he turned the light on in the room you were being held in, except you would have given anything for them to have stayed off. The sight that greeted your sore eyes was horrifying.

No wonder the room was so cold, there were a handful of what looked like ice sculptures except they all looked as real as could be if the fear in their frozen faces was anything to go by.

You were so taken back by the familiar and unfamiliar faces that surrounded you, you had almost forgotten that Jordan was even there. It wasn’t until he started talking again did you realize he had moved right behind you or that he was now holding you against his chest.

“I would cover this whole town in their blood if it means I get to see your face everyday.”

#yandere jordan mahkent #yandere jordan mahkent imagine #yandere stargirl imagine #yandere stargirl #yandere imagines #yandere writings #yandere #yandere dc #yandere dc comics #yandere dc imagine #yandere icicle #yandere icicle imagine #stargirl imagine #dc imagine #dc comics imagine #Jordan mahkent imagine

[hanayumi]

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞

— bonten!sano manjirou x reader x haruchiyo sanzu

contains smut ((🔞)) and dark themes || 7k+ wc.

tw violence/gore, drug use, yandere undertones, noncon, degradation, dacryphilia, toxic/unhealthy relationships, physical violence/choking, hair-pulling, exhibitionism, size kink, facefucking, mild corruption kink, lmk if i missed anything

// mikey keeps you around because he loves you. he thinks you’re the epitome of undeniable purity, with pretty angel wings like ivory — soft and dewy, most naive to the touch and begging to be held and cherished. but it’s too bad, really, because he only knows how to take.

// you think he’s got you on borrowed time; haruchiyo thinks he knows what’s best for his dearest leader.

note: please read the warnings carefully! this is a whole lot darker than what i usually write ๑´ ³`)ﾉ it’s the first part of a multi-part series i’m planning on writing, idk just seeing where this goes at the moment

if you read for mikey there’s a lot of smut, if you read for chiyo there’s just… a lot of him hating on you <3 but it won’t stay that way hehe

snapshot ;

Have you heard of this saying? Only a diamond can cut another diamond. Mikey glances at your doll-like face and figures there are two stuffed right inside your eye sockets — those ‘pretty eyes’ that Haruchiyo warned would one day be gouged out — to match the toughened gem of his heart. People think of him as the grim reaper with that malignant glint in his eyes, the last sight ghosting behind their eyelids before their lives were extinguished without a care or a hint of sanity; but truth be told, even the grim reaper has his soft underbelly.

∗

His body prickles all over and the only way Haruchiyo knows to fix it is to destroy destroy destroy — but when he settles for his unsuspecting victim for the night, a young maiden that looks suspiciously similar to you, he can’t help but imagine that it’s your face that he ruins beyond recognition, your cries that flutter like a sweet melody in his ears —

He has all the time in the world.

Your lover, the untouchable Sano Manjirou, is a little rough around the edges.

But if you were to paint a picture of his heart — a vivid, true-to-life picture of his ticking heart — you’d splay every inch of the canvas with brilliant watercolours; make it shine and glimmer pretty, like a chatoyant, tear-shaped crystal sitting numbly in your palm.

And criss-crossed and braided like a twined thread into its crystalline lattice, is a rich rich crimson.

The kind of crimson that’s thick and sticky and warm and won’t go away no matter how many times you put it through the washing machine. Unsalvageable — like the red that flows through every blood vessel in his body, jagged icicles branching out like vines under his skin — promising to one day burst, to splinter his bones and tear his innards to ribbons, should he forsake those dark dark desires of his. And all for what?

To hold him hostage. To shred. To make sure that he stays broken in a world where beauty will only be tarnished.

You can tell that much, because you’ve seen it happening in slow motion, unfurling right before your wide eyes; the gentle, excruciating, deconstruction of a paper crane — the way he fell apart gradually, slowly, the bird’s delicate feathers all crumbling to dust in the wind. That is how he has come to be the indisputable king, the very top of Japan’s worst criminal organisation to date, with his roots dug deep into a life of treachery. That is how you ache, deep and painfully, from the very core of your being, because no matter what you did, it had been inevitable.

He knows them like he knows you — the little voices leeching off the back of his mind whispering tiny, macabre yearning. He used to fight them, used to have outbursts in the middle of the night screaming back at them, used to be so disgusted with himself that he couldn’t even bring himself to confide in your panicked pleas to tell me what’s wrong.

Until the day he got too tired to pluck the little fuckers off, so he left them to thrive on his raw, puckered skin.

Now the soft, beating tissue exists no longer. You’re the only one who’s ever seen his heart in the flesh, despite the rumours that he was born without one. Because he, now rising twenty-seven and no longer the tender boy you once knew, wears apathy like a crown atop his pretty head — cold eyes flickering like a dying flame whenever he blows lightly at the smoke rising from a loaded gun, slinking away in silence only to leave a mangled corpse slumped in the corner of a nondescript alleyway. Left to bleed out. Left to rot.

It’s not rare that he comes home caked in that sticky red that you hate so much. A frown ghosting over his lips, his hair all mussed from the day’s work. Some of the blood’s his, some is not. He looks like a zombie, with a body that’s been hollowed out entirely of its internal organs.

The scene of him stumbling through the doorway has your heart leaping to your throat.

Thin fingers grasp at air, like tendrils stretching across the open space, feeling around until they make contact with your stiffened shoulders. He pulls you in, cages you in his arms without a word, clutching your head in a vice grip and breathing heavily through his mouth — and you’re too scared to ask what happened. No one ever told you how icky blood feels when it’s pressed right up against your cheek or how nauseating the smell of iron can be, he simply let you find out for yourself.

You force your muscles to lean into his touch, nuzzling your head into his chest and fighting the urge to wince. You tell him in a shaky voice that the bath’s ready and he must be tired, isn’t he? and let him stay like this a little longer, squeezing your eyes shut and swallowing hard, so you can tune out his heartbeat pounding so desperately against your head like a dizzying metronome.

So you can somehow pretend that everything’s fine and okay, even though his body count will never stop rising and rising and rising like the swelling summer tide. As if each life stolen by his hands is merely a drop in the ocean of a malice that knows no bounds, knows no satisfaction, no fulfilment.

You wonder, off-handedly, as his nails dig into your scalp, when the time will come when he decides to turn you into one of them.

But what can you do?

You let him caress your cheek, with a bloodied thumb and a hollowness shadowed in those familiar eyes. Somewhere in there is the man you’ve loved since your high school days. You love him. So when he bleeds, so do you — when he bleeds, you’re the only one who’s left to cauterise the wound, the one that never heals, the one that hides beneath the thick membrane of his skin.

But it’s truly a shame he doesn’t bother to pull wool over your eyes anymore. Doesn’t clean up before stepping into the penthouse. Doesn’t make excuses for the chip on his shoulder dripping scarlet. Doesn’t tell you which disobedient pawn he shot in the head today either — but you’ll find out on the news real soon.

∗

Sinking into the porcelain bathtub, you don’t bring up the fact that he’s spoken less than three words to you tonight — even as you rub his back and slather him with the intoxicating scent of lavender and pink roses, little fingers coasting over his pale skin in an effort to coddle him. Your thighs straddle his hips as you massage small circles over the tiny cuts that litter his forearm. He doesn’t get hurt often; only does so on purpose when he feels particularly sadistic and wants to watch his prey struggle before their last breath.

Iridescent bubbles pepper along the curve of your shoulders and reddish bathwater laps at your thighs, with your bare body glistening in the dancing candle light. It’s almost muscle memory at this point — you dip your hands into the water, letting the impurities dissolve into the murky foam soaking your bodies, then squeeze a portion of sweet-smelling soap on your palm, smearing it all over his scalp as your fingers comb through his damp hair. Rinse and repeat — until all visible proof of his bloodlust liquefies into a translucent pink.

The smell of iron hits the air but it’s easier to ignore when the soap bubbles quickly drown it out. Something strange is brewing under his tepid gaze, and you’re none the wiser. Something lurks underneath the shallowness of his breaths, as you lovingly knead your fingers through his silver tresses, and you’re nothing if not oblivious.

You can’t help but hum a little as you reach over to unclog the bathtub, your voice melding with the sound of rushing water and echoing off smooth marbled porcelain walls. Pink and red swirls down the drain like a cyclone; you smile a little as you start to douse him in lukewarm water flowing from the tap, delicate hands coasting over his slick skin. Your movements are natural — doting.

Something is wrong.

He feels an unnameable emotion creeping up on him. Feels his skin start to prickle like fire everywhere your soft fingers ghost over. Feels a compulsion — fed by your little form hovering over his body, bare skin shining with droplets of water, so perfect and so vulnerable, ripe for the taking — so horrible it makes his jaw clench.

He watches you bend over the tub to reach for a towel and feels the raw, aching need to break something.

∗

Your vision has been plundered, stolen — you know this to be the irrevocable truth.

He used to hoist you up in his arms and promise you the world; and you’ve got the world alright. But at what cost? You can only view it through a foggy lens of your own creation — through the mist-soaked glass precipitated from the memories that you will eternally hold of a time when he was sweeter. Gentler. Now he isn’t, not ever. Not unless his praise and his affection is dipped in sleet and rolled over in filth first.

When he drags you by your hair, still dripping and damp from the shower, past the pristine hallways and all the way to his lush bed, you’re sure this little game is about to come to an end.

“You’re so fucking pathetic, you know? I could kill you right now.” He’s livid, eyes clouded with fury when he shoves you onto the pillowy mattress. Why?

“Gonna let my fingers curl ‘round your pretty little neck, so fragile that it’ll snap in a second. You’ll let me, won’t you? Let me take that precious, pathetic life of yours?”

But he wouldn’t. Would he? No. You know he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t — h-he wouldn’t.

“It’s all you’re good for anyway, being my little toy.”

But even so, even so you can’t help the wetness pricking your eyes, the broken sobs that escape from your quivering lips — the cherry red lips that he bites and punctures until they bleed. Why? Why is he being like this? He pushes your knees to your chest, his lithe body bathed in the silver sheen of moonlight. He wastes no time with prep, wrenching a deep cry out of you as his cock breaches your folds painfully, his eyes reduced to cruel slits like rifts cut from a pitch-black void. When he sees the teardrops beading at your lashes his scowl only widens.

Why, why, why?

Stupid and naive — because you were stupid and naive to think that you could be strong for him. You wanted to be strong, stronger than anything, so that you could be his strongest pillar to rely on when the waves came crashing down; so that he didn’t have to rely on hurting others just for his own amusement, so that he could come to you instead — you, who promised him the world as long as he stayed in yours.

But now you see. Through that hideous, fogged-up lens, you see.

It was the vestiges of sentimentality clinging onto his heart, telling him to bide his time before disposing of you for good. Just to use up every single last drop of you. See if your puny life could ever amount to anything worthwhile in his eyes. After all, how could someone like you possibly hold his genuine affection? How could he stare at you with such contempt in his eyes and hiss at you with a tone laden with such coldness, and —

How could he rut his hips against yours so deep it hurts, and still call you his lover?

“The hell you crying for? Thought you loved me enough to take it, huh?” he snarls with his fangs bared, fingers grabbing fistfuls of your hair. When he pulls out and rams back his thick cock back in it feels like he’s snatching the breath away from your very lungs, pulling strangled sobs from you as you’re left helpless to stop him. And no, oh no, since when has his roughness left you feeling so hot? So reciprocative as he grunts a string of insults, so aroused as his rough hands come to pinch at your hardened buds?

Oh no, he’s got you all messed up too, hasn’t he?

But he always fills you up so good — always makes sure you cum so hard that you’re dizzy and drooling onto the silken bedsheets; makes sure that your speech is diminished only to screams and whimpers and cries of his name, pussy ruined with buckets of thick cum oozing out — all messed up for him, just as you should be.

“T-too much too much too much,” you whimper, tiny hands pawing and beating at his chest in a feeble attempt for mercy, only to be slapped away with a deep deep snarl. “‘S too much, Mikey—”

Why can’t you see? Why can’t you see that he needs you? He’s seething when his hand cinches around your throat, fingers wringing volumes of air out of your dented windpipe as you cry out. His nails burrow into the unmarred skin, leaving crescent-shaped indents in their wake. It hurts like hell and your vision’s gone blurry with tears and when you try to claw at his hand he only pins you down with a growl and everything’s gone blurry. Everything about him hurts like hell.

“Whiny little bitch.”

His grip wanes, if only to let the smallest amount of oxygen reach your lungs, as if dead set on squeezing the very life out of your body. His brutal thrusts are unrelenting, cockhead penetrating to a near painful degree the gummy walls of your womb, again and again igniting a rapid heat in your core that only serves to make you spiral further into scatterbrained madness. Everything’s spinning and tunnelling into hues of black and white — if not because of his hand seized around your neck then because he’s fucking you way too good than you deserve.

Your heart feels like it’s about to give out, about to burst into shreds right in front of him, but your body is honest. Gossamer strands of your juices coat his length when he pistons into you, sickening squelches that echo in the room reminding you of your own depravity. When your mouth drops open to moan only raspy cries claw their way out of the sandpaper stuck to the back of your throat. He’s got you trapped by his thighs, locking you in a position that has his cock ramming incessantly against the tiny opening of your cervix, a decadent gleam flashing across his maniacal eyes as he towers over your abused body.

You love him.

Even though he’s not gentle at all. Even though he thinks you’re prettiest when you’re battered and bruised by his hands. Even though he spits in your face when you gasp for air and let out strangled pleas, grinding against your clit harder when you cry in overstimulation and hot tears streak non-stop down the apples of your cheeks.

You’re getting close, and the harder your body thrashes, the harder your walls clamp down on his girth, the meaner he gets. The more he gnaws and tears at your supple skin with his teeth. The faster his twisted affection rears its ugly head, in the colour of withered roses carved like permanent brandings into your body. His body.

“Christ—so fucking tight, baby.” His chest heaves, beads of sweat glittering under the moonlight. “A-ah, fuck—you’re mine, all fucking mine. Say it. Say it, fucking whore.”

“Y-yours, yours, all y-yours,” you rasp, mouth gaping wide as you fight to draw in breath after breath. He bends your boneless, pliant body to his will, forcing your knees to press up further against your shoulders, rutting into you so hard you feel like snapping in half.

One hand relinquishes its grip holding down your wrists only for him to force his fingers through your drool-slicked lips, tracing the ridges of your canines and hooking against the roof of your mouth until they’re drenched in saliva. You wheeze around his digits, letting out gargled cries when his fingers flatten against your tongue.

“All sloppy and wet for me, aren’t you? Should’ve—known—you’re such a whore for my cock. C’mon, say ah, baby. You like this, don’t you? You little whore,” he grates, each word accentuated with a snap of his hips, fingers prodding forcefully at the back of your throat just enough to make you gag and cry harder. You whine and mewl into his fingers, babbling faint agreements as trails of saliva dribble out the edges of your mouth.

Your head’s been stuffed with bales of cotton, clouded with lust-filled haze and a syrupy, golden, animalistic desire to fuck yourself stupid on his leaking cock. He’s panting lightly and silvery strands of hair stick to his forehead and neck, and even in your half-lidded, teary euphoria you’re still captivated by his beauty.

Pretty, pretty, pretty — even when fractured into diluted shards of glass, tiny reflections staring back at you in each one, he’s still the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen on earth.

“Gonna fucking ruin you, and you better enjoy every second of it,” he snarls, flexing his fingers on your neck. You choke on a moan as his grip tightens and tightens, feeling more tears welling up and tumbling down your cheeks. Stop, please, please. You can’t — you can’t take any more! — you’ll snap! you’ll —

Frenzied thoughts rush to fill bottomless gaps in your mind — buzzing like static electricity in your eardrums when your head strains to break free from his iron grip. But the more you struggle the darker your vision gets, the faster you tumble headfirst into sweet excruciating asphyxia, and he revels in it, with a sick sick glitter to his eyes, the same one he gets just before slicing the throats of his wriggling victims.

The bedroom spirals into varied tones of black — you can’t make out his face anymore even as you desperately try to fight off the heaviness shackling your every limb, body thrashing to no avail, your choked cries filling the room as you scour for any sliver, any morsel of air that can scrape through your cinched throat. It’s no good.

He stutters and lets out a long, drawn-out groan, and with a heavy thrust, his warm seed bursts and spills into your insides, filling you up with ropes of white-hot cum. Your eyes roll to the back of your head in response, toes curling as lurid colour flashes behind your eyelids. You’re cumming, you think — there’s so much liquid gushing from your abused cunt that you can’t stop trembling from head to toe, muscles spasming as shadowy blotches start to cloud your vision.

Then it stops.

His cruelty fades obscurely into non-existence. He relents his serpent’s chokehold on your fragile neck. You cough and splutter loudly as at long last your lungs flood with sweet oxygen, grappling to retrieve each and every one of your senses even as the world continues to flicker in and out of view. Every fibre of your body seizes, your fingers twisting the sheets, the abused muscle on your neck contracting and throbbing, with a familiar purple bruise blooming in the shape of his fingers — it won’t be going away in the morning.

His taunts ring upon deaf ears as your hands fly up to clutch your neck in pain. Jagged coughs rack your chest, legs still quivering in the afterglow of your orgasm, whitish fluid marking an irreparable mess between your thighs. A thumb swipes at the tears still cascading down your cheeks in multitudes, and a tight grip on your hand tethers you back to reality. Slowly, in a mockery of gentleness, he peels your hands away from your neck, lacing your fingers with his instead.

You feel fuzzy. All you hear is shrill ringing and your blood pumping in your ears until he calls your name.

“Hey. Look at me,” he says, tapping your cheek, when the sharpness in his gaze has dulled to a low, biting flame. When the fire has quelled and all that’s left is the saccharine ivory that burns exposed, licking gently in spurts at your stinging wounds — in his hand smoothing out your still damp tresses, his fingers wiping away your tears and snot and saliva, and his lips pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple in what feels like a quiet descent into mourning.

Your laboured breathing brings a hazy smile to his face. He traces the line of your jaw and brings your panting mouth to melt against his. Forceful, like always, but tenderly so.

“You’re okay, sweetheart.”

That’s right. You’re okay, you’re breathing. You can breathe. You’re okay because you think you know what he really means — I love you, laced in the way his fingers still latch onto yours, his lips ghosting over every tender wound he has left tonight, until your breathing stills and your eyes flutter shut with exhaustion. You’re okay.

“Don’t die on me yet,” he mumbles, when he thinks you’re half asleep. You think you know what he means.

Wishful thinking.

∗

His fingers pause halfway when they’re threaded in your hair. All you hear is his warm breath brushing against your ear, not a single moving muscle in his thighs where you’re seated pretty on his lap. The uneasy feeling in your gut hardens into lead at the possibility of having said something wrong — like the crushed-up petals of a hydrangea flower, glued like thick sludge to the back of your throat, absorbing wholly whatever noise that tries to escape from within.

Why haven’t you killed me yet? — you asked.

Sometimes when you’re both alone in his oversized office he likes to reward you with soft kisses to your ear, nibbling on the tender cartilage and whispering if it’s okay to let your husband play with your pretty hair for a little while. You always say yes — you wouldn’t be caught dead refusing an offer of his affection. It’s rare, so rare, akin to trapping a single lightning strike in a glass bottle. When you’re alone he is painfully gentle, even with his insults that cut superficial on your heart — because you think you know what he really means.

But sometimes the hesitant truth can spill out where there is even the tiniest of openings, cutting a clear stream through the muddled fog of your inhibitions.

Not you. Never you — his answer doesn’t come out, because he is still as stone.

A hand steals out to rub against your cheek. You force down the snarling urge to incline your head into his touch as he presses his fingers to the soft skin. He coos your name hoarsely, as if he thinks it’s utterly ridiculous what you’ve just asked him — and the sound of his voice, how it drops a tired little octave, flits around in your ears like the flutter of a dove’s wings.

There’s a thud at the door; your body stiffens. Your eyes dart to the source of the disturbance — two short thumps, ones that belong to someone you recognise immediately from the curt sound. Mikey’s eyes narrow, though it’s not like you can see, and he growls something under his breath before issuing the order to come in. (You’re a little disappointed that the conversation was cut short.)

It’s his second-in-command. He strides through the towering, gold-embellished doors with an air of indifference, bowing with a polite greeting before beginning to recite a well-rehearsed report on Bonten’s shiny new project. One that involves a boatload of cash and a landfill of body bags, you surmise with a frown. You push down the fluttering unease in your belly, dropping your gaze and hyper-focusing on Mikey’s grip around your waist, his fingers toying with a strand of your hair as he listens with impeccable silence.

Today he has you clad in his favourite babydoll. It is ravishing as it is expensive, adorned with pretty white lace that flows just perfectly like fine silk along your soft curves, but it’s also thin and skimpy and barely leaves enough for the imagination — and you rarely get through the day without having it ripped from your body, so that his hands are free to wander between the silken skin of your thighs during every important meeting, playing with your little nub to hear your kitten-like whimpers as his placid executives collectively avert their gazes.

Whatever shred of modesty you possessed, he’d forced you to abandon. Now all that’s left is the pliant, submissive doll that he’s moulded to fit his every need, obey his every beck and call — his perfect girl.

His fingers toy with the hem of your nightgown, your breath hitching as he nudges your legs apart with a jerk of his knee. His hand starts to gravitate to where you dread the most — where your heat pulsates the most. Goosebumps feather up on your skin as he brushes his knuckles against your clothed cunt and you let out a tiny noise of surprise, eliciting a breathy chuckle from the man. Haruchiyo looks increasingly disgruntled as his boss merely replies with non-committal grunts to his words, attention being focused solely on you writhing on his lap.

And another thing, Haruchiyo clears his throat, it’s just the slightest bit unprofessional, what he’s doing. His executives may be desensitised but the other, newer business associates are not. Keeping a woman, a fucktoy, in such confidential quarters, where every twist and convulsion in the underground network surrounding Bonten is buried to the hilt, is not exactly a good idea. Not to say that he doesn’t respect Mikey’s wishes, he does, but given your… weak nature, there’s no telling when some other rival crime boss (like there are any, Mikey rolls his eyes) will swoop in and kidnap you — torture you, wring every single important, fatal secret out of your pretty eyes as they gouge them out one by one.

(That’s just a shame, isn’t it?)

Fucktoy. Weak. His words cut deep in your chest, especially when your supposed husband does nothing to refute them. Smirks, even. You can hear it in his voice.

“Don’t, fucking, care. If anyone tries, I’ll have their head on a platter.” He pushes your panties aside, scraping the pad of his finger against your clit idly, drawing breathy pants from you as you start to squirm on his lap. “Anything else before you leave? Or do you wanna keep talking my fucking ears off.” Haruchiyo’s eyes reflect red as he regards you, perched all whimpering and cowering on his King’s lap, with a cold stare that you only recognise as pure, unadulterated scorn.

“No, my king,” the subordinate grits through clenched teeth, straining a bow. “I shall leave as you wish.” He turns and heads for the door, the soles of his shoes thudding against carpet and clicking against glossy marble. You don’t miss the way his scarred lips are curled into a sneer just as he takes one final look at you, fingers stretched taut over the golden door handle. You swallow down a choked cry, feeling an unspeakable fear penetrating deep into your bones, but Mikey merely raises a brow.

“Well? Quit starin’,” he says, low and grating. Voided eyes belying unspoken wrath as his arm tightens around you unconsciously. “Unless you want me to put a hole in your damn head.”

∗

God, does he fucking hate you.

Haruchiyo doesn’t think he’s an evil person. Aggressive and the tiniest bit sadistic, yes, but after all; everything he does, everyone he kills, he does so in the name of his indisputable king — his raison d’être. If Mikey were to order him to slaughter every single living soul in the fifty-storey building he would gladly do so without a tremor of hesitation. He’s fucking unhinged where his dedication is concerned.

How evil could he be, then, to want to strip his king of all his weaknesses? So that he’d be guaranteed absolute control — stay at the very top forever, overseeing his inferior subjects with a bloodied, unyielding fist? (Ah, the thought might just send shivers down his spine.)

There was no reason for him to let you live, he deduces.

He knew this for a fact since the first time he laid his eyes upon your meek form. You were more timid back then, dainty little legs dangling off Mikey’s lap where he held you on display, your fingers twisted into his shirt with his jacket hanging off — no, engulfing — your shoulders, burying your head into his chest to shy away from sharpened gazes though it was obvious that you alone held the centre of attention in the room.

His king barely betrayed any emotion, merely ran his fingers up your jaw and ordered you to lift your head. Looks like you have an audience, he said, and even then, as Haruchiyo watched you quiver and avert your gaze anywhere but them, he felt a strange sensation welling up from beneath his outer layer of skin.

There was something about the way you often clung to his king as if he were your lifeline, something about the panicked, fearful gleam in your eyes whenever they met his by accident, in the scarce moments when you passed him in the halls without Mikey for once, that plucked and tore at his nerves in a disgusting, wretched way — like a bitter spat accumulating clump by clump on his stomach lining.

When he leaves the office (or rather, gets kicked out) his teeth grind on instinct. It’s been years and still, the answer is left far out of his reach. What is it about you that has his boss wrapped right around your finger? You’re weak as hell the way he sees it, no one could give a shit if you died — because he knows, no one has come searching for you in the four years you’ve been roaming the Bonten building like Mikey’s shadow.

He jabs his finger at one of the elevator buttons, biting back a hiss at the immense throbbing at the back of his skull. Doesn’t know where he’s headed but he doesn’t care as long as he gets out of these suffocating walls. Something is tingling like a bluish flame — something under his skin is itching like an old scab and it’s near unbearable like always. He reaches into his breast pocket, feels around for the little pills that he adores so much, and breathes a long, heavy sigh.

Slender fingers toy with a pretty two-toned capsule. He flicks it between his thumb and forefinger, eyeing the puny little thing before plopping it into his mouth, swallowing it dry.

Let it be known that his loyalty is written in blood; he would have your silky entrails littering the spotless hallways of the sprawling establishment if it were up to him.

He has plenty of time to get rid of you, he thinks, as the elevator dings and he’s stepping out the doors with a putrid scowl on his face. For now he plays the waiting game, merely seeking to chase the bubbling desire surging through his veins; the one that tempts him in a sultry voice to watch the decay of butchered skin on bleached bone.

His body prickles all over and the only way Haruchiyo knows to fix it is to destroy destroy destroy — but when he settles for his unsuspecting victim for the night, a young maiden that looks suspiciously similar to you, he can’t help but imagine that it’s your face that he ruins beyond recognition, your cries that flutter like a sweet melody in his ears —

He has all the time in the world.

∗

Have you heard of this saying? Only a diamond can cut another diamond. Mikey glances at your doll-like face and figures there are two stuffed right inside your eye sockets — those ‘pretty eyes’ that Haruchiyo warned would be gouged out — to match the toughened gem of his heart. People think of him as the grim reaper with that malignant glint in his eyes, the last sight ghosting behind their eyelids before their lives were extinguished without a care or a hint of sanity; but truth be told, even the grim reaper has his soft underbelly.

And if there ever is a modicum of doubt, he’ll gladly admit it. When he made you see stars for the first time, cumming so hard on his cock and begging so prettily that his world began spinning in colourised euphoria, he knew then how it felt like to have every semblance of control pried from his scarred, shaking fingertips, hurtling him headfirst into an addiction worse than any drug — love.

Love is written in the way he adores to fuck you within an inch of losing your sanity. Love is sprinkled into his callous quips of how fucking useless you are without him, how much you depend on him — so much so that he couldn’t leave you for a second lest you run off and die by yourself. Love is every ounce of taking and taking as it is giving, but even when he’s giving he expects to be repaid a hundred times more.

And it’s too bad that, no matter how much you beg, no matter how much you cry for him, there will never be a happy ending, filled with conventional love and softness, for either of you.

His fingers retract from your head.

“On your knees,” he commands softly, and all he has to do is count to three in his head before you’re snapping out of your daze, scrambling off his lap and onto the floor, dropping to your knees like the obedient little pet you are. Like the pet he made you to be. He feels an odd pride well up at your complete lack of hesitation, a sick satisfaction that you no longer flinch when he slides his hand comfortably around your bruised neck.

“Did I do something wrong?” Your voice is barely above a trembling whisper, sending soft vibrations drumming against his fingers. He looks into your wide eyes, brimming with fear, and almost wants to coo in condescending adoration.

Oh, how could he tarnish something so pure? How could he desire, from the very depths of his soul, to pluck from its very stem, the most delicate flower there exists, only to rip off every single glistening petal? To tear you apart again and again, yet convince you that you’re absolutely nothing without him?

He loves you, that’s how.

Neither Haruchiyo, nor any of those repulsive ‘business associates’, can ever begin to comprehend this simple fact. They will never comprehend, with those golf-ball sized brains they have encased within their thick skulls, because he’ll have them all in cardboard coffins by the time the thought crosses their minds to lay even a single finger on a strand of your hair.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, darling. Nothing at all.”

He smiles down at you, giving your neck a soft squeeze, and it’s genuine, you think. Like a sliver of sunlight, refracted by his crystalline heart. Your shoulders relax a little as you reciprocate a tiny smile; his eyes soften.

This is love.

He rubs his heel against your calf in a silent prompt. You take the hint almost immediately, trembling fingers reaching towards the growing bulge in his pants, cheeks flushing bright red as you palm his cock lightly. “C-can I…” You look to him shyly for permission, fluttering lashes framing your pretty eyes, and he almost feels his heart melt.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he purrs, a hand reaching down to engulf the back of your head. You swallow the lump in your throat and nibble on your lip, before unbuckling his belt and tugging down the waistband to reveal his hardened length.

“Think you can take me whole?” he coos, fingers digging into your scalp, coaxing you forward. It feels more like a statement than a question now; your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight of whitish precum beading at the tip, your head inching closer to give it an experimental lick.

He groans, a deep and breathy sound that has you feeling giddy with joy, but he can only be so patient. With a sudden force his fingers are shoving you face-first into his cock, paying no heed to your surprised squeals to slow down as he presses you deeper into your warm mouth. The back of your throat burns at the jarring intrusion, bringing a fresh onslaught of tears rolling down your cheeks as you gag violently.

Your jaw struggles to widen to accommodate his thick length — you’re breathing heavily through your nose as his movements increase in fervency, not once giving you a moment of respite. Drool trickles down the sides of your mouth; you let loose a string of muffled moans and choked mewls as his cockhead juts roughly against the back of your throat.

Hands twisting into your hair for leverage, he forces your lips to continue dragging in and out from the base of his cock, gruffly ordering you to use your tongue and your hands. You fight to whimper a small ‘yes’, palms cupping his balls and massaging softly, your tongue trying hard to swirl at the tip whenever he pulls out — just the way he likes it.

“God— you were made for this.” His fingers tense and shakily press you in further as his hips buck up ever so slightly, mouth dropping open and heady groans hitting the air. “Taking me—real good, my little cockslut—fuck—that’s it, babe.”

He’s dead set on chasing his own high, muffling you against his dick unabashedly, as your stomach churns heavy with anxiety. Anyone could walk in and catch you now — catch you red-handed, with your mouth stuffed full of their boss’ cock, whining so lewdly and drooling so messily it drips all over the designer carpet. You have no idea if the spotless walls are soundproof — almost everything about Bonten and its headquarters is kept from you (that, or you’ve just gotten extremely good at tuning out every single tedious meeting), but if there’s anything you’re sure of, you’re certain that everyone knows better than to disrupt Mikey’s alone time with you.

He throws his head back, allowing you the gorgeous view of his sharp jaw, tiny beads of sweat glimmering like shards of diamonds down his neck. “Fucking hell, princess,” he breathes shakily, and you know that he’s close. His thrusts get sloppy, fingers trembling ever more furiously, and before you know it the muscles of his thighs are flexing and tensing before he’s letting out a deep groan, fisting your hair as thick spurts of cum spill into your throat.

“Don’t you dare waste a drop,” he rasps, fingers sliding to the base of your neck to hold you down. Your mouth is flooded, the salty fluid overwhelming your tongue as you hold your breath, clenching your eyes shut as you try your hardest to swallow around his length. His cock slides out with a small ‘pop’, and you’re slapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a hiccup, dried tears streaking your cheeks.

“Show me.”

You force the remaining spurts of cum down your throat, before opening your mouth as wide as you can for him to inspect, doe eyes looking expectantly at him until he nods in approval. His big hand descends upon your head of hair, patting softly as another smile spreads across his face. Your heart twists. Twice in a day — you must’ve been good then. He wouldn’t smile so much otherwise.

∗

You scan briefly through the recesses of your mind, faint memories of him trashing the penthouse in a fit of blind rage rushing back to you, but no, you realise with a frown, even considering those times, never have you ever seen him this pissed.

At times the reigning king of Bonten can have a temperament akin to the calm before the storm. In his irises there’s a permanent hollowness etched into a bottomless black — but still, a deadly edge sewn into that piercing gaze.

Today there is nothing short of fury burning behind that emptiness.

The Haitani brothers share a look; Takeomi’s jaw locks though his gaze is fixed straight ahead. Haruchiyo is silent for once but his fingers toy with the cap of a tiny pill bottle, flipping it on and off with his thumb in a repetitive fashion — a nervous tick, you suppose. The others don’t look too good as well; the tension in the air is so thick that it’s enough to wedge a coarse lump in your windpipe. It’s oppressive. No one dares speak up, not after the news was dropped like a bombshell within the confines of the meeting room. They all know.

They know that in Bonten, there is only one supreme ruler — and whatever Mikey wants, he will make it happen.

If he wants to keep you by his side like his own personal lapdog, he will. If he wants to rule the whole of Japan with this lapdog tending to his every need, he will. If he wants to bring his lapdog along to that god-fucking-awful ‘errand’ they have to take care of for two whole days, he fucking will.

The only problem is, he can’t.

(If you really cared about her staying alive, you’d let her stay here.)

Takeomi didn’t say it, but he sure as hell implied it. It’s an unspoken duty that he’s been appointed with — spitting out the cold hard truth when it meant it was the best course of action. In this case it’s because Mikey is too fucking stubborn a boss to get through. Perhaps if he were thinking with his head instead of hormones he’d realise that you were more of a hindrance to keep around — but that’s a talk for another time, Takeomi thinks (but doesn’t dare bring up). Of course, his steady voice was almost enough to belie his uneasiness.

Under the hesitant scrutiny of his subjects the king lets out a deep, guttural groan.

A scowl materialises on his face, screwing up his pretty features into an expression that you hate so much. Your head is tilted up to look at him from your spot on the floor by his side, and you tug at the cloth of his pants ever so slightly. He tears his eyes away from his advisor to catch your worried gaze — and almost as if it were magic, you think you see a flicker of longing in his eyes, his frown thinning out just the slightest as he wordlessly observes your face.

But then he’s clenching his eyes shut, obscuring your view of those pretty irises, and putting a hand firmly on your head before sinking back into the plush of his chair, puffing out a long, defeated sigh.

He looks to his executives, gaze as steely as ever, and utters two things — a begrudging acceptance, along with an absolute order that has both your and Haruchiyo’s stomach dropping to the floor.

“This is final,” he emphasises, “don’t wanna hear you fucking complain. I’m pissed enough as it is.” His grip tightens on your scalp as he shoots daggers at his second-in-command. Oh, if looks could kill, Haruchiyo would be disintegrating on the spot right now.

But is it just you, or is he oddly unfazed? After the initial shock tapers off, you swear you notice the corners of his scar-ridden mouth twitch.

A chill runs down your spine when the rosy-haired man cocks his head curiously, his sapphirine gaze flickering towards your frozen form. As if eyeing up and down a fresh slab of meat — a milky sheep, made to be present for a bloody slaughter.

You don’t have time to ponder about what’s swirling inside those pretty blues, though, because when Mikey’s ordering them all to get out (and they do), he doesn’t wait for the doors to finish closing before lifting you by your waist, and slamming you onto the lean desk.

“Not—leaving—you—” He grunts sloppily into your neck, teeth sinking like needles into the pliant skin. His breaths are heavy, his eyebrows are scrunched together in frustration and he’s pinning you down like a snarling animal. “Never. Never.”

“Never,” you echo his words softly, breathlessly, lips parting just as he licks at the fading bite marks down the skin of your nape, already eager to leave new ones. Your hands caress the back of his neck, little fingers edging him closer ever so slightly.

No, he will never leave you. Physically he has to, but before you know it, he’ll be back to you like always.

Until then he has to bite back his fury and let Haruchiyo look after you. Because who better to trust than his right-hand man?

pt. 2 coming soon (ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³

#header image : ojou to banken-kun #tw yandere #tw noncon #tw drug use #first foray into relatively dark fics hope its ok🥺 #chiyo didnt get any action because this part is already way too long :< #mikey smut #mikey x reader #tokyo revengers smut #yandere mikey #yandere tokyo revengers #sano manjiro x reader #haruchiyo x reader #haruchiyo sanzu #🐝; sweet syrup #chiyu; dark

[viridwns]

Phantomhive MOM!AU

Yan! Vincent phantomhive x F!MOM! reader

Masterlist

word count: 2K

warnings: not proof read! Yandere themes, dark themes, mentions of abuse, controlling husband, slight mention to noncon, unhealthy relationship

AN: This a few months after the marriage (Vincent and the reader married in October) and the reader didn't have the twins yet.

happy valentine

The chill February air was softly caressing your skin. Your cheeks were tinted due the cold along with your red colored nose. Snow covered the streets with its white glow. Your feet were gliding over the icy ground; your brown boots not giving enough grip to walk properly on the sidewalk of London. A snicker escaped your husband’s lips as you squeezed his arm again to prevent yourself from falling face first on the ground “Don’t laugh at me Vincent.” You sneered at him, regaining your walking position and pretending you didn’t glide away for the umpteenth time. Vincent turned his head to look at you, an amused smile stretching across his lips. He was clearly enjoying the fact you had to rely on him this whole walk. “Don’t be like that darling. I think It’s endearing to see you totter like a just born penguin.” You looked up at him, your [E/C] eyes turning into slits as you pursed your lips. “You aren’t funny. You gave me these slippery boots on purpose, didn’t you?” you interrogated him. He chuckled and turned his head to look forward again.

“Now why would I do that? It’s valentine’s day after all, the day of love. It would be cruel of me to buy you useless shoes on a special day like this.” He answered you and to be honest, you could never tell when he was lying and when not. You sighed at his response, knowing it would be a bad idea to question his ‘love’ further. You slipped again; a shriek leaving your mouth as your arm slipped from Vincent’s. Time seemed to slow down for a bit as you felt gravity pulling you down, but the universe loves you as much as it hates you; one slender arm wrapped itself around your middle, preventing you from hurting your behind on the hard street. You gasped as your heartrate had spiked up by 100, white puffs of smoke leaving your lips as your breathing became ragged. “Careful sweetheart.” The shit eating grin of your husband made you wish he didn’t save you and instead let you fall and break your neck on the stone. He was still holding you in one arm as he leaned forward a bit, his reddish nose touching yours. Even though you were already cold, his touch made you shiver. “Didn’t the exact same thing happened when we meet for the first time?” You rolled your eyes at his remark. If you didn’t fell over that stupid crate of apples, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. “No.” Was all you had to say before gripping his scarf and helping yourself regain balance, making the navy haired man stumble forward a bit. Now it was your turn to laugh at his flabbergasted expression. “Come on Vincent, I am actually genuinely excited to see what you had planned for us today.” You turned around and walked away, hearing the quick thumping of your husband’s boots coming after you. “This was the last time you’ll dodge my kisses darling.” He stated before intertwining your hand with his again and putting them in his pocket. You hummed at this, knowing he wasn’t joking about it. You still were pretty excited for the surprise. He didn’t take you out that much. Most days your were locked up in the master bedroom, only being able to read and draw. Half of the time you would look out the window and imagine yourself just freely running through the grass fields that stretched over the lands of the earl. “We’re almost there, just around this corner.” Vincent broke your line of thoughts as he lead you to a small pond. You awed at the winter wonder land that surrounded it. Around the pond were many trees, each covered in thick snow, you could see some icicles hanging from some of them. The sun shone through the branches, giving the pond a mystical glow. You tumbled a bit as he pulled you over to it, your feet sinking ankle deep into the snow surrounding the little pond. “Vincent what are you doing?” You questioned him as he sat down into the snow. You raised your brows as he pulled out two pair of ice skated from the little bag he had strapped on his back. “Come on, put them on.” He didn’t answer your question, but it was pretty clear what the two of you were going to do. You complied and sat down with him. He handled you the skates, before binding his around his boots. You copied his actions as your butt slowly began freezing for sitting on the snow for too long. “Understand now why I gave you those boots?” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone. You shook your head, before tying the laces around your shoes. Vincent stood up and slowly made his way onto the ice. You got up after making sure the skates were tied securely around your feet. You waddled to the pond, your husband already gliding a bit; waiting for you. You steadily placed your skates on the ice, you didn’t dare to move as you slowly slid over the ice. Your eyes grew big as you didn’t know what to do next, you hadn’t ice skate in forever and the feeling of standing on frozen water again was foreign. “Need help?” Vincent skit up from behind you, gracefully gliding in front of you. You huffed as he stretched out his hand. “No, I got this.” You answered as you gently pushed his hand away and began moving your legs. Vincent held up his arms as if he was admitting defeat. “Whatever you say

darling.” You were in utter concentration as you began to get into it at a slow pace. You were now gliding over the pond without trouble, a small smile placing itself on your lips at the small victory. Vincent watched you in adoration. He knew this would be the perfect place to take for a valentines date. He began skating next to you, absolutely basking in your little giggles as you almost slipped away. “Race you Vincent.” Was the only warning you gave him as you gained speed. You laughed as he called your name. Suddenly feeling all childish an giddy again, just like the first time the two of you met. Vincent stared at your slowly receding form and smiled as an idea popped up in his head. You were still skating like a mad man as you turned around to look for your husband, but he was nowhere in sight. You stopped moving and let your skates glide further over the ice as you furrowed your brows. This wasn’t another test was it? You questioned yourself. You turned your head back to see if he had caught up with you yet, but there was not a single soul. You looked forward again; doubting on what to do now. And when you registered your surroundings again, your husband stood before you out of nowhere. A scream erupted from your throat as you were skating into him at full speed; making you both have a nasty meeting with the hard ice. Vincent let out a groan as you face planted in his chest. “Got you.” He murmured. You whimpered at the impact of your body hitting his. “Was that really necessary Vincent?!” You groaned as you pulled yourself off of him. You weren’t in any extreme pain luckily. You just had the nasty side affect of the adrenaline leaving your body and the whiplash of the fall entering it. Vincent slowly sat up right, holding his hand to his head. “Of course it was, how else could I catch you?” He retorted, trying to grin at you, but the pain was clear on his face. “You are an idiot Vincent Phantomhive.” You muttered as you untied your skates. “I am your idiot.” You grimaced at his words. Your idiot. You stood up, skates in hand. “Come on, take your skates off, otherwise you’ll never make it back to the mansion.” He nodded at your words as he complied to your request. Soon the two of you were walking back to the Phantomhive manor; the sun setting before the two of you. Vincent held your hand as you held the bag with the ice-skates. He was humming a soft tune as he walked straight ahead. “Today was fun. If you keep this up I might take you out more.” He broke the comfortable silence that was in between the two of you, you wished he kept it that way. “Oh, yeah I would like that.” His words didn’t really register in your head as your lips tucked downwards. He pulled on your arm gently, you lifted your eyes upwards to meet his soft gaze. “I’m glad I married you [Y/N] Phantomhive. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.” You stopped your movements, looking at him with wide eyes. You didn’t know how to respond to this. You knew you had to say something back, but nothing came up. Vincent let go of your hand as he stood in front of you, he blocked the sun with his figure as he loomed over you. “Why can’t you just act like this every day.” You whispered, still holding eye contact with him. He raised a brow at you as he opened his mouth. “Whatever do you mean?” He questioned as he leaned closer to you, holding his hand under your chin. “Like this Vincent, soft and sweet and caring. Not aggressive, obsessive and forceful. Treating me like some pet. Why did you have to change?” You grabbed his wrist, desperate for him to just spit it out. His eyes darkened and in a split second his soft touch became a grip of iron. A whine escaped your lips at the sudden change. His fingers digging into your cheeks. “It’s for your own good dear, you know that. Outside of the walls of our home is a dangerous world, that only I can protect you from. Who knows what predator is waiting for you, waiting to attack you—” He brought your face even closer, making you stand on your tippy toes as venom dripped from his voice. “—I can’t even

stand the thought of you leaving my sight.” He let you go and you stumbled back, your hands automatically grabbing at the spot where he just held you. This was definitely going to bruise. He sighed and put a hand on his head, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Let’s just go darling, we had a busy day and I am tired.” You had tears in your eyes as he stuck out his hand for you to grab. When you hesitated for a second, he grabbed your hand and pulled your forward. “You know, I loved you Vincent. I did, but you have only yourself to blame for me falling out of love with you.” You had the courage to speak back to him, pride swelling up inside of you as you yanked your hand away from his and kept walking. He stopped, just for split second, and all the courage, bravery, hope everything you felt, sank into your boots as he started walking next to you again. No smile, not even a frown on his face and that’s when you knew this day wasn’t going to end well. You should’ve just kept your big mouth shut and let him enjoy manhandling you. “You’re going to hold my hand now and I’ll forget what you said. We’ll discuss this at home dear. I’ve been too lenient with you.” His tone of voice held no emotion at all, but something about it was creeping you out. A chill went up your spine as you obeyed and grabbed his hand. You knew you had just lost all your privileges of going outside or even being alone. The best thing you could do was to shut up and do anything he says without a squeak. It was horrible, you crying into the cushions of the king sized bed, your body being sore and bruises forming all over. One of your ankles was definitely sprained and you were sure your neck was bleeding. Your hands were bound to the bed post as you refused to get in bed with him. And all he did to comfort you was saying this will only happen again if you misbehaved. You despised Valentine’s day from that day on.

AN: happy valentine's day everyone! Here is a special addition to the mom au.

Song i listened to while writing:

#x y/n #anime #y/n #anime x reader #yandere vincent phantomhive x reader #yandere vincent phantomhive #yandere vincent #yandere bb #yandere kuroshitsuji x reader #yandere black butler x reader #yandere black butler #yandere kuroshitsuji #yandere vincent x reader #vincent phantomhive #Spotify #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler #black butler x reader

[peachesandmilktea]

Can I request VIP Todoroki x Server Reader?

Squid Game AU - VIP Guest!Shoto x Server!Reader

Squid Game AU Masterlist.

TW: Yandere, Dark Undertones and Implications, Mentions of Murder and Violence (in the context of the games), Shoto is the dark ice prince of my dreams no matter the context.

He was cold, you thought.

Cold glares, cold demeanor, cold expression on his face. His fingers were icy when they brushed against yours whenever he took a glass from your hand, and the contact birthed freezing shivers running down your spine.

He didn't speak, didn't look at you as he drank, the drops of champagne lingering on his lips making them glimmer until he licked them off, the move so fleeting and yet cold and calculated all the same. It was as if he himself was made of ice, not only his fingers or his eyes but also his heart, as if there was a glacier dormant in his chest, as if he couldn't care enough to let it melt, not even as he watched lives ended and friendships betrayed in the game that unfolded right in front of him.

Marbles fell to the ground and he watched through the tall screens, little round pearls coated in blood when they rolled and rolled and rolled, away from the clumsy fingers that had dropped them.

"I don't know this game," he told you, and somehow, even his voice was full of ice, sharp and cold and deadly at the same time. The low, deep sound made you startle and turn to him, but he still wasn't looking at you. His mismatched eyes, so pretty in the way they were expressionless, unreadable under his mask, were still focused on the game, on the screen, the blood, the executions.

"Explain the rules."

You tried to imagine what kind of person hadn't played with marbles as a child, but maybe the answer was easy, simple, just right there on the tip of your tongue. The kind of man who never had a childhood, perhaps. The kind of monster who sought thrill in the gory demise of others. The kind of person you never wanted to approach.

And yet, as the words rolled on your tongue, stupid little childish rules told in a shaky breath, almost a whisper when it spilled through your lips, he looked at you. His gaze followed the tilting of your head as you tried your best to get away from him, licked every inch of your masked face, dove into yours when he leaned towards you to hear your low voice better over the laughter of the other VIPs.

Mismatched eyes found yours.

Looking as disturbingly fascinated as they did when watching death unfold in front of them.

"You're pretty," he said, trapping you into the ice prison of his words. You froze, but there was no going back, not when his cold, cold, cold fingers brushed against your wrist, snaking around it like a cage made of icicles, soft and sweet and kind and yet scary, deadly and inescapable.

It didn't seem to matter that you wore a mask over your features, didn't seem to matter that he couldn't see beneath the black velvet concealing your face from his gaze, didn't seem to matter that you were shivering beneath his touch when he gently grabbed the hem of the fabric, his face so close you could feel his cold, icy breath tickling your lips.

It was as if he didn't really care about your concealed appearance.

As if he was yearning for your soul instead.

"Let me take you away," he whispered, and it sounded like a tricky offer, the kind that fairy tales tried to warn you about, gentle words sweetly murmured in your ear by a man too ethereal to be true, one that was more of an ice prince from ancient stories than a real person made of flesh and blood and bones.

And maybe you'd forgotten all about those fairy tales, cursed their warnings and stomped over their stupid rules (do not take a stranger's hand, they said, no matter how beautiful he is), but you found yourself leaning into his touch, ice clawing through your chest and reaching for your heart, and you let it, you let him, you loved it.

Yes, you murmured against his lips.

If he'd been yearning for your soul, then who were you to deny him?

As he looked at you, pure, obsessed fascination swarming in pretty, ethereal mistmatched eyes, it felt as if, somehow, if he'd torn your soul away from your reluctant heart, you held a part of his in your palm, safely tucked there.

Warm when you held it tight.

-----

Join the taglist?

I LOVE Shoto but writing him is my worst nightmare dnsjkndks I can NEVER get him right. I was struggling so much I put it some fantasy imagery aka my comfort zone ndjksdnks

Tell me your opinion please ❤

#shoto x reader #squid game #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #yandere bnha x reader #yandere mha x reader #yandere shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #shoto x you #shoto todoroki x reader #mha x y/n #mha x you #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #yandere shoto todoroki #Peaches writes #yandere x reader #shoto todoroki smut

[b000mbayah]

Yandere Itzy reaction to fem reader crying during punishment?

,'*〄*:`･•;*〄;'*,°.`•･〄*'•.;*°〄*:･.〄*:･ﾟ'•*〄*:･

Yeji

The sheer panic that flashed through her eyes had connected to the sudden ache in her heart. Seeing you couching out a great gout of salted tears so suddenly had caught her off guard completely, shocking her down to the bone.

"Y-y/n" She'd stutter upon her lack of knowledge, she's never dealt with you crying during a punishment before, you've always been emotionally strong, had she finally broken you? Or maybe something else..

Maybe she had broken something inside of you, like perhaps a bone? She can't see any signs of blood above the surface of your skin, only red marks from where the blood has rushed to the area she's been hitting you.

This was truly an unordinary situation for yeji to be in so Yeji had no clue on what to do except kneel down to aid you, examining the bruising area with careful hands.

She can't deny the guilty feeling circulating within her veins but she also can't help but feel disappointed in you, you couldn't even last an hour before crying.

Lia

Her eyes widened significantly, a single tear broke from your eyes, running trails down your face before splashing onto the floor beneath. Lia had frozen.

Were you beginning to cry? "Are you okay?" Lia asked, immediately putting away her weapon of choice to shuffle up beside your shaking figure.

"I don't want to do this anymore" you say with a sheepish voice, avoiding her eye contact as you do so, hugging yourself as more tears begin to flood the scene.

Acting out of love, Lia pulls you into her own embrace, feeling you tense up even more, a deepening frown growing on her face. 

Your tears stain her shirt, but Lia can't bring herself to yell at you for doing so. She just hugs you tighter, wanting you to feel safe with her.

"Okay… I'll stop" she smiles softly, resting her chin upon your head as she too begins to cry. You've affected her life so much that her emotions depend on yours, love does crazy things to crazy people.

Ryujin

Her stare turned ice cold, like icicles refusing to melt under the ray of the sun. Seeing you silently sob had triggered a segregation mode, her mind leaving her emotions, detaching her touch with reality as she silently watched you tear up.

She could feel all types of emotions, ones she's never really experienced and because of that, she's stuck in a thought loop of what to do.

"Ryu-" you managed to whisper, too fearful to move away from her, not even daring to turn around as your bleeding back would sting too much.

Hearing you call her name was wakening her again, allowing her to breathe normally, allowing her to blink for the first time in a minute or two. Her mind had tricked her heart into harming you yet again, forcing Ryujin to strike fear into your system.

This was sure to leave scars of never fading memories, but these will be the last. Ryujin will never listen to her so-called "logical" brain again when it comes to punishments.

Chaeryeong 

Your hyperventilating state didn't phase her in the slightest, neither did the muffled screams of agony. However, the sound of you beginning to cry had somehow made her pause.

Her breathing had halted within her throat, refusing to leave as she carefully came closer to you, facing your front in order to see your face.

It was contorted with different types of pain, looking almost like a wounded soldier as your shoulder bleeds, the fresh cuts across your face staining your skin.

A heavy gasp had escaped her, being shocked by her own damage, by her own doings upon the person she lives for, the person she thrives for.

"Oh god, oh dear-" Chaeryeong is at a loss for words if all truth be told, she never imagined going this far with a punishment to the extent that it had actually made you cry.

The bewildered feeling flowing through Chaeryeong's body was nothing compared to the guilt, she's going to have to deal with it for now.

Yuna

Unlike some, your clotted crying had pushed Yuna to the extreme, dealing more damage than already dealt till your body was on the brink of passing out.

Your shivering figure was released from the punishment for now, your hands instantly going to your face as you attempt to curl up into a small ball of protection.

Looking at your fatigue figure had submerged whatever jealousy and fury she was feeling beforehand.

"I'm sorry" Yuna says with little to no remorse in her voice, she knows what she's doing and she knows the purpose, why should she feel bad for doing such a thing when you had hurt her, emotionally.

You should know by now, if you're going to mess with crazy, you'll end up crazy in the end.

It's like common sense, but you can't see that. You don't know that. You apparently don't know many things, but Yuna will teach you, she has till either one of you dies to teach you.

#itzy #hwang yeji #choi lia #shin ryujin #lee chaeryeong #shin yuna #yandere #requested #anon #kpop #kpop girlgroup #itzy girlgroup #yandere itzy #yeji #lia #ryujin #Chaeryeong #yuna #jyp #itzy jyp #writing #korea #yandere itsy reaction #itzy reaction #gxg #female reader #itzy x female reader #yandere itzy x reader #yandere itzy x fem reader #itzy x reader

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

IM ASSUMING THAT REQUESTS ARE OPEN?? if they arent im super sorry but like IMAGINE LIKE YAN NEIGHBOR KIRI VS YAN NEIGHBOR BAKUGOU LIKE HAVING A CHRISTMAS LIGHT FIGHT and like meanwhile reader is just like "oh i like your wreath ☺️" ?? just a thot..

OMG Bro that's literally what got me started on this idea, like the Martha May Vs Betty Lou Who in the Grinch!!! Thanks so much for being my first Ask ❤❤❤❤

Just a heads up I wrote this being in suburban au where there are no quirks

Yandere Neighbor Wars: Decorations

Bakugo💥vs Kirishima🥊

⚠[Warning: Yanderes and their behavior, competition, and implied swearing]⚠

💥🥊Before you showed up they got along as fine as any neighbor with a vacant house in between theirs would

💥🥊You’d show up one day with a friendly disposition taking your neighbor’s hearts like it was free food

💥🥊And it wouldn’t be long before they both had walked out to “spontaneously be outside” at the same time you would, seeing each other fighting for the same neighbor

💥🥊Other than Bakugo’s brash (and loud) comments about Kirishima being a stalker and Kirishima claiming Bakugo had anger issues you didn’t really notice this crazy feud between the two

💥🥊I mean sure Kirishima was very eager to give you a chair that he built one day and the next Bakugo demanded that you wear a sweater he knitted for you

💥🥊They were just your friendly neighbors...Yup nothing suspicious about the oddly specific gifts when you start running low on supplies for the house...yeah

💥🥊And when it wasn’t gifts it was just petty competition

💥🥊It started when autumn first began, Kirishima had been slaving away on his front lawn to rake, blow, and pile all the fallen leaves into a hefty pile

💥🥊You were walking in after a long day out and you witnessed the unnatural redhead finishing up his pile and you decided to compliment him

💥🥊“Hey nice pile”

💥🥊“Thanks...do ya wanna jump in it?”

💥🥊Whether you’d say no or not, you ended up running and jumping in alongside him crawling out laughing

💥🥊You and him would spend the rest of the afternoon putting the leaves back into the pile to jump into all over again

💥🥊Bakugo was watching and he was not happy

💥🥊That night he made a point to make sure his pile was even bigger

💥🥊He waited in the morning for you to walk by and compliment him on his pile, maybe stay and jump in

💥🥊You didn’t.

💥🥊Instead you hurriedly rushed out of your house with (F/B) in hand and stopped to look at his porch

💥🥊“I like your pumpkins.”

💥🥊You left after that and even though he was mad you didn’t even look at his leaves, you liked the pumpkins he’d littered around his porch

💥🥊Getting those early, to beat the snotty nose rugrats was the best idea ever

💥🥊Kirishima would not only witness your simple complimenting but your follow up on asking Bakugo to help you pick some for your porch

💥🥊How seriously unfair!

💥🥊And this would go back and forth through Halloween to Thanksgiving

💥🥊Finally after a momentary truce they agreed that whoever had the seemingly better Christmas display on their house would have the honor of having you over for dinner and subsequently relocating you to your new forever home

Although I totally agree and love the clueless (Y/n) I think it’d be pretty funny if it went like this:

Kirishima’s house was decked in green and red lights that showed off the decorated tree he had in his yard. With his blown up reindeer on the roof and a Santa waving happily near his tree with the accumulated lights on the bushes, his door and even the mailbox, he was confident.

“Yours looks like Santa %$#@&*! all over your yard.”

Kirishima turned around in surprise to see the unimpressed look on his rival's face. “I didn’t ask you, Anger issues.”

“What’d you call me?!”

“Nothing, geez. Are you done decorating? Yours looks like some demented modern retake on Christmas.” Kirishima said, gesturing towards Bakugo’s house. His house had fake icicles on his garage and a giant frosty standing between to completely lit up blue and white Christmas trees along with a Santa Claus decoration hanging off the roof.

“The theme is blue and white. Something a hair-for-brains like you wouldn’t understand.”

“You know what-”

Your car was coming down the street! Bakugo ran back to his house and Kirishima stood in place to fiddle with a giant candy cane he had. And as you stepped out of your car to trudge to your doorway both of them were waiting for you to say their name out of that pretty little mouth.

“Kiri,Baku”They looked up to see you addressing both of them in adorable nicknames and all the while waving a hand to keep their attention,”I like your Santa and I like your reindeer.” You disappeared behind your door leaving the decision to the two demons rhat you had for neighbors.

“She said mine first!”

“She called me first!”

Whisper shouting to settle for their prize they miss how you walk out again with a box. “Ooof” you grunted catching the boys’ attention. You positioned yourself to kick it towards your house before getting a running start. Both watched your every move as you beautifully punted the gift box into your house. They watched as tons of lights, ornaments, and blow up figures attached themselves to your house easily outshining and ultimately out-decorating their own.

Their jaws drop as you spend literal seconds doing work that took them hours if not days. “My brother is an inventor,” you explain, ”making decorating the easiest part of Christmas is child's-play for him.” Still unable to process the absolute bling that is your house you pop the question

“So by the way would you guys be willing to come over for Christmas dinner?”

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yanderes #yandere harem #yanderexrea #yandere bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha kirishima #Bakugo vs Kirishima #yandere bakugou #yandere kirishima #bnha au #suburban au #yandereneighborwars #yandere

[mrsgiovanna]

I love the concept of a soft yandere "prince charming" Giogio... he's beautiful, unapproachable... and his sharp gaze can freeze an entire kingdom, except for his darling who barely knows who he is in the beginning. Insert medieval meet cute scenario in which darling shows him some kindness, and thereafter he decides he must acquire them (which he does).

I love the idea of him being an ice prince, whose love is like being preserved in a block of ice, unyeilding and frozen in a moment of time, if there's too much of resistance it and the inhabitant can be shattered, destroying everything completely, but it's all he knows. To him precious things need to be sealed away, far removed from everything, even himself to a certain degree.

Darling however exudes a gentle warmth, and it takes time, but they show him how with a bit of patience and trust that things will work out for the best, he can experience something more beautiful than he ever imagined, gently thawing the icicles and allowing the surroundings to bloom and flourish instead.

#giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #yandere x reader #giorno x y/n #giorno giovanna x y/n #yandere giogio #yandere giorno giovanna #don giorno x reader #giorno giovanna #don giovanna #don giorno #giorno #yandere jojo x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere giorno imagines #my stuff #my edits

[raggaraddy]

The Devil's Pet

4: When hell freezes over

Master Taehyung x reader. Submissive Jimin.

Summary: You're determined to fight him as much as possible. You meant it when you said you were going to make him regret ever meeting you. It's just, your plan doesn't seem to be going too well.

Trigger warning: Yandere themes, smut, restraints, ambiguous torture.

Chapter list

Previous chapter Next chapter- ASAP

On second thought, it seems you might not be as cold-resistant as you imagined. It turns out clothing plays a major part when trying to survive in cold conditions. And thinking back to those nights in your youth where you slept on the streets, you did have fairly thick clothes on, and strategically placed sheets of metal around as a windbreaker cubby. And that tin can fire you made was perfect for stopping your fingers and toes from turning numb, blue and then falling off.

But here, there's nothing. You're completely naked, completely isolated and exposed, and you're laying on tiles that are just getting colder and more fridgid by the second.

Through the windowed wall, the dim moonlight is giving you a view of an analog clock hanging by the bedroom door. One that is painstakingly keeping you informed of every single minute that passes.

It's 7:22 am. That is over 10 hours that you have been convulsing in harsh polar conditions.

Huge blusters of wind keep storming into the room. All the previous heat has been sucked out, and replaced by freezing air that is so sharp it's hurting to inhale. For a brief while you attempted to maintain a steady body temperature by doing push-ups, sit-ups and every other kind of exercise that you can manage with the limited space this chain is giving you. But after 45 minutes you were exhausted, and only making yourself sweat, which seemed to just make the biting gales even more vicious.

Through the night you have been so desperate to sleep. To close your eyes and open them on the other side of this. Each time you begin to drift though, the snapping icicle feeling is too severe and it wakes you up. The most you have gotten is about 18 minutes but you were woken up being drenched by a shower of rain that had been blown in.

You just want to sleep! You just want to be warm. This is torture!

You're sure this bastard is going to give you hypothermia! You don't know how long a person can spend in these sorts of temperatures without becoming a Popsicle. But you're sure you're approaching the limit.

The sound of the door opening draws your attention. Rolling to your side, the fresh tiles sting with their chilled bite. Your muscles staggering, you lift yourself into a sitting position, seeing Taehyung waltz in looking rested and warm.

"How did you sleep?" He asks sardonically.

"Fuck you! Get me out of these things!" You spit at him, glaring with heavy tired eyes.

He clicks his tongue, rounding on his heels. "Well. I can see that you're in no mood to talk. I'll come back later when you are in a more receptive mood." He leaves with an over the shoulder glance, amusement on his face.

"What!?" you scream after him. He isn't going to leave you here? He can't! "No! Come back!"

The collar kicks on. The sharp brutal pain ripping through you, leaving you groaning on your back as you wait overwrought for it to end.

******

"Jimin!" There is no response for the fourth time. "Jimin!" You're not sure why you're calling for him. You don't even know if he is in the house, let alone why he would help you. After 20 minutes or so you give in, slumping back into your pained shivering.

You had been trying to find something positive to cling to. For whatever reason you were under the illusion that come daytime this misery would get easier, the sun being your ally. But the sky is filled with a thick grey blanket of clouds and there hasn't been the slightest moment of sun the entire day, only hours upon hours of rain and wind.

Not only are you exhausted and sore from the continued tremors, but your head is still hammering from when this stupid collar was attached. Your entire body is in pain to the point where you might throw up. Then again, you've been feeling so violently sick due to everything for the past several hours already, that if it was going to happen, you're sure it would have already.

With a delicate mouse-like quietness Jimin opens the door, peering around it. Like he wants to come in but is not allowed to.

"Jimin! Man, I need to use the bathroom! Let me go so I can go pee. Please." You haven't eaten in over 24 hours and the only thing you drank you're sure you sweated out, but still, you're busting to use the bathroom. And assuming the Elite arrives home same time as yesterday you're still at least three hours from being released.

The tepid boy takes your pleas as a petition to enter, keeping his eyes down as he comes closer. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Look, I promise I will come and sit straight back down here. Just let me out and I'll come back." You don't know if you even believe your own words, but right now you'll say anything. You're in so much discomfort and all of the other elements on top of it, you're rabid to be let free. "Taehyung never needs to know. I won't tell him. You won't tell him. Please just let me go to the bathroom."

With sympathy flashing in his eyes he steps forward onto the lower platform. His forehead wrinkled, he begins chewing his thumbnail. "Miss please, I can't."

There is something off about the way he's walking. Not something from before, something new. He's limping, but obviously trying to hide it. His movements are unnatural and forced.

"Are- are you okay?"

He shakes his head, opening his mouth for a second, thinking of a beginning to a sentence he decides not to say. Then in the same monotonous tone he had used before he explains, "Master Kim punished me for displeasing him. This is no more than I deserve."

The image of Taehyung giving Jimin that uncomfortable look as you said his full name, springs into your mind.

There is no way he would have gotten punished because of that. But if he did, that means that it was your fault again.

Your spirit drops.

You're certain if you continue to argue with this guy, you could have him unlock you and you could be free from this cold and discomfort for a few hours, at least until Taehyung returns. But the Elite is an unjust bastard. And even if you get yourself locked back up before he returns, you're worried Jimin might tell him anyway.

I can't do that to him. You can't let him get hurt because of you.

"Oh, okay. Never mind then." you dismiss him abruptly, unable to think of a way to wrap up the topic. "I'll wait until he gets home. Do you know when that might be?" The pressing on your full bladder becoming a demanding issue, you can't help but ask but are determined not to push it further like you did with the name issue.

To your relief Jimin replies of his own volition, giving you the idea that this information is freely available. "Usually between 7:00 to 7:30 PM, Miss."

Okay, only 2 and a half to 3 hours. You just have to keep your mind off of this. You can do that.

******

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Any moment now. Any moment. It's 7:16 PM.

You're pretty certain that your bladder is going to explode. Although, if you were still trying relentlessly to stay positive, you could say that things are, for the moment, looking up. In the sense that your need to pee is so substantial that it's sufficiently distracting you from the intolerable cold. And your headache has faded considerably, down to only a dull thud, your ears no longer ringing. So, yeah. It's looking up.

But also, "Oh my fucking God, where is he!" you scream into the emptiness of the room, rocking back and forth, your legs extended out intertwined with each other, the pressure reaching the point where this is literally the only thing you can do to keep from imploding.

"Is something wrong, pet?" Taehyung caws, entering the frigid room.

Fuck you asshole are the first words that pop into your head, but you have to keep yourself in check or you're going to die.

"Can I please use the bathroom?" It's a strain to behave deferentially. But you maintain some composure, your tightly curled toes harbouring all of your irritation.

"Are you going to obey?" He leans into the wall, his smirking eyes staring down at you. Right now you couldn't care less about your nakedness though. With a stiff nod, you try intently to stop any aggressive expressions from showing on your face. "Good. Then do what I told you. Make yourself cum."

You can feel your eye twitch, but you reign it in, keeping a civil face and tongue.

"Okay, I will. But I am not going to be able to without first using the restroom. 2 minutes that's it, then I promise I will come straight back." you bargain.

With a slight nod, he signals his agreement. Pressing his hand to the lock on the chain, it falls away from the collar. In a minute you're going to have to obsess over how the fuck he removed that so easily after you've been fiddling with it for hours. But first,

Attempting to seem collected, you slowly stand rushing through the room, your limbs numb and rigid. Shutting the door of the bathroom you twist the lock, sealing yourself in for the moment. Knowing he is right outside you turn the shower on trying to make noise so you can comfortably pee.

And finally, you get some relief, "Oh thank god." you whisper to yourself. Never had you thought you would be so relieved to have such a basic need filled.

Sighing, you rest back on the toilet seat giving yourself a moment to enjoy this slightly warmer room, thawing your extremities. Steam is starting to cover the mirror, the shower warming the room significantly. Standing, you don't flush the toilet, hopefully giving the impression that you're still using it. Instead, you slink into the shower recess, the warmth on your frozen body creating a painful stabbing feeling throughout. But you press on, drifting further under the wash of warm water cascading down your body, wetting your hair and covering you head-to-toe in a painful yet soothing euphoric feeling.

The much-missed heat quickly bringing out the tiredness that you have been trying to refute for the day. Wanting to not drive yourself insane with the prospect of sleep from it being seemingly unobtainable with the elements raging around you. Sitting on the shower floor cross-legged enjoying the warm waterfall down your back, the stinging pain resides. Closing your eyes, your body relaxes, being able to feel a moment of contentment for the first time in 24 hours.

24 hours. You've only been here a day. One long ass day.

"Open the door." The Elite orders, a calm threat in his tone. Rudely interrupting your relaxation. You guess he figured out you weren't just peeing. Damn, and you were being so quiet too.

But... the door is locked. He isn't exactly getting in here. You keep your eyes closed revelling in the tiny victory, relishing the heat.

"Pet, you have three seconds to open the door." This time the threat is much closer to the surface. Still you remain silent.

I'm not allowed to say no, so there is nothing else to say. You smirk in thought.

It's not like he is going to break down his own door. And even if he does, you'll claim ignorance. It's hard to hear under the running water.

There is a mighty crack to the left of you, the door splitting in half. The top folded over, it hangs inside the room. Taehyung removes the rest of the door by grabbing the inside and one-handedly ripping it back, pulling it off the hinges and tossing it behind him like it was made of foam.

Okay, yeah. He is a hell of a lot stronger than you assumed.

He storms in, his poised and calm expression being conflicted by his aggressive actions. You don't move as he approaches. He just pulled a door off the wall like it was nothing, so there's not much you can do. With a solid grip, he grabs your wrist tearing you to your feet he drags you over the broken remains of the door back into the icy bedroom.

"What are you doing?!" you yelp at him.

"I warned you."

"Warned me of what? What are you talking about?" you play ignorant. But he doesn't play back, throwing you to the ground, fastening the chain to the collar once again. "Hey! What is your problem."

His blazer is wet from the splashback. He removes it throwing it on the bed. It's soaked through to his white collared button-up shirt and he removes that also.

Stalking forward he hovers over you, bare-chested, denim jeans sitting low on his hips, showing off his square frame and hard chest. Seeming a little more intimidating now that you know what he is capable of.

"You broke your promise." He clicks his tongue, kneeling down in front of you. For a moment you're tempted to kick your leg out and sweep his foot, breaking his balance and sending him splattering to the floor. It would certainly be an undignified look and some payback for the indignities you've had to suffer. But maybe while you're chained to the floor such an action would be poorly timed.

"I didn't." you bite back with the attitude of a schoolgirl.

"You promised to go the bathroom and come straight back. I never said you could shower."

Your eyes twinkle, the chance to taunt him is too easy.

"You never said I couldn't. What, do I have to ask your permission for every single thing I do? Oh, please Mr Elite, let me breathe, let me speak, let my heart beat." you scoff, flicking your hair to the side like punctuation on your words.

"Do you think you're amusing?" he smirks, "This is nothing more than the behaviour I would expect from a scrag of Menon." He insults you right back. The urge to kick him is growing. "Now continue with your task." He instructs, "And if you put on a pleasant enough display, I may rethink further punishment for your words and disobedient actions." you lean away, resting on your palms behind your back, feigning disinterest in his threat.

"Hm, I don't think so. I changed my mind." you mock him, with a smarmy facial expression. "But I do understand how being such a creep must stop you from getting any action, so if you want to see a girl get off, can I suggest paying for one. You probably don't want to touch her though, cause that'll dry her right up." you snap your fingers for emphasis and have to clench your mouth to stop from laughing.

His eyes drop low, the amused grin growing. "You must like the cold."

*****

Three. Days. It has been nearly three days, that you have been chained to this fucking floor!

You can't take it anymore. It feels like you are losing your fucking mind. Everything feels wrong. You're freezing, starving, you want nothing more than to sleep. And all of this has you feeling sick like at any moment you're going to vomit, but you have nothing in your stomach to throw up, cause as it was mentioned you haven't eaten in three days!

Yesterday there was a brief 2 hour period where the sun came out and while it wasn't as effective as you hoped it might be, it provided enough heat to allow you to sleep brokenly. But 10 minutes after it went away you were back to convulsing.

You've been trying to remain as still as possible, the tiles below your exact spot seeming to be warmer by a degree or two. With your fingers interlocked between your thighs, you're trying to use what minuscule body heat you have to keep your fingers from falling off. Your extremities are filled with the sensation of being stabbed by thousands and thousands of pins sticking the same spot over and over again. Your toes are feeling the same, but unable to cover them you've tried to angle your body in such a way that they receive the least wind but it's barely helping.

You may need to reassess how you plan to deal with the Elite. Because right at this moment, it doesn't seem like he is feeling the wrath of your rebellion as you wanted him to. You on the other hand are certain that you're going to be hospitalized after this. Or dead.

There has to be a way that you can resist his intentions without it leading to you spending the entire time suffering.

But right now your brain is frozen. And until you come up with something, it's going to be less arduous to compromise your pride for the time being. Because just three days into this whole thing and you're already worn down. Enough so that if you could merely get to sleep in a warm bed, have some food and get out of these chains, you might be able to tolerate being an obedient pet for a while.

So- The problem at the moment is that neither of them has been back to check on you for the last day. Not since you insulted Taehyung. You've screamed for their attention, but nothing. Not even a glance to make sure that you're okay or even alive. You can hear them out there. You know that they're around the house, they are just giving you no mind.

But you're done. You can't bear to sit here in the cold any longer.

Fine. If he wants you to make yourself come, you can do that. You've certainly done it before.

Laying on your back, the cold sting of the tiles shoot up your skin, making you pant. You bend your knees and spread your legs shoulder-width apart. Taking a deep breath you try to still your trembling and begin running your numb fingers between your thighs, running them over the only part of your body that has managed to stay warm this entire time. Dipping a little lower you can feel the heat radiating from your opening.

From what you can tell by sound and from the quick tour of the house, Taehyung's bedroom is just down the hall at the other end of the top floor. So it won't be impossible to get his attention, you'll just need to make enough noise.

Time to put on a show.

You begin rubbing your clit. Because of the many other things impeding you, it takes a few seconds before it starts feeling good,, bringing you to a slow takeoff. However, the faster stroke yourself the better it feels, it reaching the point where tingles are spreading down your legs. You gyrate your hips, giving you extra motion making it feel better.

The first moan comes from the back of your throat, it being almost silent, rumbling in your chest. As the pleasure builds though, your cries of excitement grow louder, the sensation filling you up.

You try to hold out for as long as you can, letting every moan and cry pour out of you, hoping to attract as much attention as possible, but after 5 minutes you can feel you are so close to exploding. Your loud moans becoming vehement and unbridled. Your fingers start to slip, you're getting wetter with each motion, feeling yourself dripping, pushing you closer to climax. At the apex of it all, you flow over and the pressure explodes.

Screaming out, high pitched and piercing you rock your hips up into your hand, throwing your head back, arching into your orgasm.

Keeping a steady pace of stimulation, you try to extend the feeling as long as possible, even as the orgasm fades.

Eventually, it dies down, your body resting heavily on the ground as you pant. The after feeling pulsing between your legs. Your body relaxed and blissfully content. A euphoric smile on your face, brought on by both cumming and the large amounts of oxygen you gulped down. It feels so good and you feel heated inside. Maybe you should have been doing this to stay warm this whole time.

In low riding sweat pants and nothing else, Taehyung walks in on your orgasmic aftermath. A small grin on his face. His arms crossed over his chest, obviously feeling the freezing cold that you're being forced to endure at 1:00 AM.

The way his arms are crossed it pops his biceps. And his hair is wild and messily in his face. You hate that you're thinking it, but he looks so damn good. Where the hell was that image 5 minutes ago? He walks past you silently closing the sliding door, the bitter winds being blocked out. Crossing you again, he adjusts the thermostat next to the bedroom door. The space swelling with an air of heat, the current streaming over every inch of the room. Your body lapping in the encroaching warmth.

With one hand he opens a cupboard and tosses a folded up blanket at you, which you catch and unfold in the same movement, covering yourself from chin to toes wrapping tightly in the fluffy material.

"Good girl." He praises genuinely, leaving you alone in your newfound comfort.

Okay, so having these chains removed, a bed and food would have also been preferable but right now, you have to savour the little victory.

So fucking warm.

#yandere bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #yandere #yandere bangtan #bts reactions #bangtan reactions #bts requests #bts fan fiction #bangtan fanfic #bts smut reactions #bts #bangtan #yandere taehyung #dom!taehyung #bangtan smut #bangtan smut reactions #bts taehyung #taehyung #taehyung smut #bts yandere #bts x reader #bts smut fics #kim taehyung #bts jimin #jimin #park jimin

[yanderenightmare]

YANDERE ! TODOROKI SHOTO x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, arson, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation

FEVER

Her wrists were still a raw and ugly reminder of how he’d tied her up in those days were she still had some will left in her to fight back. Now, as she still amused the thought of resisting, she knew that the act itself were a strange type of prideful gesture that always ultimately defeated the purpose. For every ounce of strength she pushes into fighting him, he’ll only return the favor and make her aware of who there is the strongest, who there is the smartest, who there is the quickest and who there can go the farthest without breaking.

As the boiling hot fingers were replaced by frostbitten ones she gasped, only barely catching herself before recoiling away, her hands latching onto his shoulder, fingernails pushing into firm flesh as she moved further into him instead, resting her forehead against his, wrenching her eyes shut, biting harshly down into her bottom lip with a hiss. He felt her clench around the new set of digits, but it was rather all of her that tensed. The sweat that coated her skin started to drip down her chest, past her nipples that budded with a newfound perkiness, inspired by the shock of near hypothermia.

While kneeling so perfectly in his lap, one of his hands steadying her thigh, something dripped down on his forearm, the one that was playing with her tightness, drawing careful freezing swirls onto that sensitive little haven. He looked up at her through his lashes and the locks of hair that forever covered his eyes, wanting to find her drooling or sweating, but found that the liquid was tears instead. It was strange, he couldn’t imagine what he was doing at the moment was that painful. He pondered while feeling the wetness of her forehead damp his hair, her grasp on his shoulders relenting as she fought to keep the sniffles at bay. She failed. Chewing on her bottom lip even more.

His fingers kept dipping and waving through her folds as carefully as it were careless, feeling like icicles. The contrast between her heated flesh and the cold emitting from his hand causing steam to roll and drip from her, so much so it left her feeling light-headed; feverish. “Am I hurting you?” His voice was so deceptively soft. Seemingly with no ill-intent, yet the shift of his hands told a different story, again skewering her on his achingly hot digits, his cold hand coming to steady her like its partner did before, or else she might just plummet by the climbing fever.

She gasped at the change. “N-no” She choked out, not particularly wanting to strike a battle, having already humored his treasure-hunt, where he chased her around the mansion like a sick game of hide and seek or tag or just plain old predator chasing prey only to play with its food once he caught it, predator skinning its prey of her fur, ripping her clothes to shreds, leaving her in that degrading uncomfortable red and white lingerie set that matched his hair to a narcissistic degree.

“But you’re crying?” He sounded concerned; affectionate. It only increased her quaking, more so than the dangerous suffocating dynamic between her naked vulnerability and him fully clothed, black fine-knitted polo-neck fitting him perfectly, hugging close around his muscles. She wasn’t sure if that was his goal. No, she was definetly sure that was his goal. To make her feel small and exposed and his.

An explanation was needed, she knew he wouldn’t take kindly to her silence. “They’re not from pain…” Her voice was so thin, so meek, so precious as she whimpered when his hands changed again. Icicles replacing molten iron rods yet again, two digits waving and worming inside her, wet warmth turning to dewdrops coating her thighs, dripping onto the expensive fabric of his black pants.

His brows furrowed slightly upon her words, pondering what she could possibly be hinting at. “Are they of pleasure?” His voice, though still so very soft, sounded much too enthusiastic for her liking, something which she felt the need to correct at once.

“Terror...” She’d learned dishonesty would be punished, she only prayed brutal candidness wouldn't prove the same result.

“Terror?” His fingers curled inside her, making her stir to shift, yet his other hand kept her in place to meet the digits pumping in and out of her velvet tender walls. “Of me?” They scissored, making her wince, more tears sprinkled down on the attacking arm, yet he was proud that she didn’t move more, proud with how well she was able to hold on to her composure. “Of what I’m going to do to you?” His thumb, feeling like an ice-cube, pressed into her clit, followed by a moan that had the pooling spit in her mouth hang like silver string from where her lips parted. “Of my quirks?” Starting to rub tight circles with the rough base of his thumb into the tender swollen pearl. She had to throw her head back in order to breathe, strutting her chest forward to be met with Shoto’s cool breath on her warm feverish skin. “Of my love?” His lips captured her stiff nipple before his teeth took ahold of the nib, the action making her roll her hips forward, his fingers reaching deep within her, reaching towards that sweet toe-curling spot. “Of how much you are beginning to enjoy it rather than resent it?” And there it was, that voluntary and encouraging squeeze she made with her hands on his shoulder, his dangerous dominant chromatic eyes being met with her opium cotton-flavored ones.

He hummed through the soft smile displayed on his face, watching her eyes blink like the crushing of waves, her lips falling open as in her absentmindedness she nodded as well, agreeing with his words. She hadn't even noticed just how gone she was, and now there was no more room left to care.

PART ONE

#yandere #yandere shoto todoroki #yandere shouto #yandere shoto x reader #yandere shoto #yandere todoroki #yandere todoroki shoto #Shoto #shoto torodoki #bnha todoroki #bnha shoto todoroki #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki #shoto todoroki #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x reader #shotou todoroki #shotou #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Can you please do yandere icicle sr/jordan mahkent from stargirl?

Yandere Jordan Mahkent/Icicle

Jordan is ruthless in his pursuit to end the JSA, the same could be said about his pursuit to woo you. His obsession wouldn't be planned or anything premeditated, he never planned on moving on from Christine, but something about you ensnared him.

I feel like he would be adamant about avoiding you. He can't handle the way you make him feel, just like his wife had, and he doesn't want to feel like he's betraying her spirit by becoming engrossed in you.

But just because he's not stepping up to the plate doesn't mean you can just be sweeped up into someone else's arms. He'll keep to the shadows, pulling strings behind the scenes to ensure no one else takes you away. Much like how he tried to first talk to Christine.

Jordan will come to his senses soon enough and accept his feelings, knowing his wife would want him to be happy just as much as she wants him to go about completing his goal. He won't let you slip through his fingers.

You'd probably already be working for him but if not, he'd kindly offer you a job with his company. He'd know you were taken care of financially and he'd be able to keep a closer eye on you.

Jordan would definitely have you followed and monitored on the daily. You'll always work very closely with him. If you're not working for him yet then he's always at your place of business for some reason or another.

He's always charming and generous when you're around. He'll offer to take care of anything for you, even offering to buy things for you instead of you using your own money. He'll even offer to buy you a house or rent you an apartment. He will go above and beyond to woo you.

His parents will already know about you, encouraging his attempts to get your attention, as long as it doesn't deter his original plans.

Jordan will definitely be over the top protective and possessive of you. He's already lost one love of his life, he won't lose another. You'll probably have some sort of tracker put on you or something you wear or maybe even something you always have with you.

He will want to know everywhere you go and everyone you have contact with. If he hears or sees someone getting too close, they're gone. If someone mistreats you, they're gone. If someone tries to hurt you cause any harm to you, they're definitely gone.

Cameron will probably be a little iffy about you and his dad, but he would come around as long as you weren't trying to replace his mom.

Jordan would definitely want to "play house" with you. He wants you to be a doting mother figure and matriarch for the family. He would want to have children with you too. As much as he loved/loves his previous wife, he wants to start a family with you as well.

I feel that Jordan would be pretty on edge about your health. The slightest sign of sickness would put him into a frenzy. He's still not completely over what happened to Christine so he'd be very weary of when you'd get sick too. He doesn't want the same thing to happen to you that happened to her.

Jordan can be delusional, thinking of you as his second chance, he'll do everything in his power to make sure nothing happens to you. If you do try to run, especially after knowing everything, he's not gonna let you get away. You would have the whole ISA after you just to bring you back to him and none of them could give less of a crap about you, but you're important to Jordan and that's what matters most.

I could see Jordan keeping you locked up somewhere in the house until you learn your place and you WILL learn your place. You're going to be his one way or another, so why don't you just play along and it won't hurt as much.

Jordan isn't cruel to you, on the contrary he's sweet almost too sweet, but you take it for granted(his parents words not his or yours). You aren't being as susceptible to the relationship as he hoped, but he doesn't want to hurt you, he'd never hurt you. He might lose his cool if pushed hard enough and lash out but he'd never purposely hurt you. He might handle you a little roughly in these moments but it won't last long and he'll profusely apologize, begging for your forgiveness. He doesn't want you to see him as a monster, he just wants your love. He wants what he lost with his wife and he wants that from you. Can't you just give him that?

You aren't going to get out of this relationship ever. He has people out there who will bring you back. His own parents won't let you leave. His parents are probably a big part in the more rough treatment he puts on you. If you're not willing than they think Jordan should mold you more into what he wants. They'll highly encourage any behavior he has, wanting their son to take what he wants and for him to keep it this time. And they're more than willing to help him achieve that.

I could see Jordan using his ice to make a makeshift prison or cage in your shared bedroom and forcing you to cuddle with him. But even that won't warm you. You'll be surrounded by the cold no matter where you turn.

Jordan just wants a second chance at something that was taken away from him too early. He wants to be happy again, he wants to feel the way he felt with his wife again, and he wants that from you. And he's going to get that from you.

#yandere jordan mahkent #yandere icicle #yandere stargirl imagine #yandere stargirl #yandere jordan mahkent imagine #yandere dc imagine #yandere dc #yandere writings #yandere imagines #yandere #jordan mahkent #jordan mahkent imagine #stargirl imagine #dc imagine #dc comics imagine #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere male #male yandere x reader

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Can you do a platonic jordan mahkent love letter?

To (Name),

For as long as I can remember I have wanted to make a better place in this corrupt world, I wanted to do what was necessary to ensure a better future for the next generation. My late wife encouraged my endeavors, she craved for a better place where we could raise Cameron and have a better life all together. I want to make you a part of what me and my wife had envisioned, to bring you into our lives, into our family.

How I wish you could have met her, she would have loved to meet you too. I'm sure she would have adored drawing with you but Cameron has taken up his mother's passion and I'm sure he'd be more than willing to share his art with you. I know she would be happy to have you as a part of our family, just as I am.

I've watched how that so called 'family' treats you, it's not the worst environment and you seem happy enough but I know I could give you so much more. You would be better taken care of with me and my family. Your brother and grandparents are already waiting for you to finally come home but I need to get a few things in order before then, especially in regards to your current family. Until then, I'll stay away but just know that we're awaiting your arrival and we can't wait to welcome you to your new home, to your new family.

Sincerely,

Your New Father J.M.

#yandere jordan mahkent #yandere jordan mahkent imagine #yandere icicle #yandere stargirl #yandere stargirl imagine #yandere love letters #yandere writings #yandere imagines #yandere dc #yandere #yandere platonic #platonic imagine #platonic #jordan mahkent imagine #jordan mahkent #stargirl imagine #stargirl

[anxiousnerdwritings]

⭐️Stargirl Masterlist⭐️

Headcanons

Yandere Cameron Mahkent (general)

Yandere Cindy Burman/Henry King Jr (general)

Yandere Poly!Cindy Burman/Henry Jr (romantic)

Yandere Crock Family w/ Coach!Reader (platonic/romantic)

Yandere Henry King Sr/Brainwave (general)

Yandere Henry King Sr/Brainwave (platonic)

Yandere Henry King Jr (general)

Yandere ISA (platonic)

Yandere Jordan Mahkent/Icicle (general)

Yandere JSA (platonic)

Yandere Rick Tyler vs Yandere Cameron Mahkent (romantic)

Yandere Rick Tyler/Hourman (general)

Yandere Paula Brooks/Tigress and Larry Crock/Sportsmatser (general + nsfw)

Imagines/blurbs/ect

Highs and Lows [Mahkent Family/Zarick Family] (platonic)

💕Love Letters💕

Yandere Cameron Mahkent (romantic)

Yandere Henry King Jr (romantic)

Yandere Henry King Sr/Brainwave #1 (platonic)

Yandere Henry King Sr/Brainwave #2 (platonic)

Yandere Jordan Mahkent/Icicle (platonic)

Yandere Larry Crock/Paula Brooks (platonic)

Yandere Rick Tyler (romantic)

Prompts

Yandere Artemis Crock #1 (platonic)

Yandere Cameron Mahkent #1 (romantic)

Yandere Cameron Mahkent #21 (romantic)

Yandere Cameron Mahkent #25 (romantic)

Yandere Cindy Burman #33 (platonic)

Yandere Crock Family #2 (platonic)

Yandere Henry King Jr #16 (romantic)

Yandere Henry King Jr #27 (romantic)

Yandere Henry King Sr/Brainwave #28 (platonic)

Yandere Jordan Mahkent/Icicle #4 (platonic)

Yandere Jordan Mahkent/Icicle #8, #15 (romantic)

Yandere Jordan Mahkent/Icicle #19 (platonic)

Yandere Larry Crock/Paula Brooks #31 (platonic)

Yandere Rick Tyler #6 (romantic)

Yandere Rick Tyler #12 (romantic)

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