cozymoko

[cozymoko]

I stumbled across your writing and it's good! You're really talented 💕

Thank you, my dear! I'm so glad you liked it. (*°∀°)♡

[cozymoko]

Please request. I'm so bored...

Anything is fine. OC or whatever I write for!

[cozymoko]

TO TEACH A DOG TO SIT. —

⠀⠀MINATO CITY - TOKYO, EARLY 2000s

word count 𖹭.ᐟ approx 2,738

tw, tags 𖹭.ᐟ emotional abuse, bullying, physical injury, toxic relationships, self-loathing, angst, bullying, emotional abuse, toxic relationships, romantic tension.

Hey! so, I decided to post this, if you guys want to see more of him, maybe he'll become an OC, haha.

⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀NEW GAME?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𖹭⠀LOAD GAME?⠀ 𖹭

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀O̷̳̻͓͉̐̄͂͑̅̆̄̆͠ͅV̵̨̟͙͎͎͙̫̹̟̟̰̯̀̊̉̂̃Ȩ̴̲͎̰̝̞̻̳̘͒̀R̶̢̡̥͓͚͈̫̹͐̀͛̀̐͐̉̈̑͋̚R̸̢̖̺͖̟͖̝̤͉̥̀̀ͅͅİ̷̩̥̯̕D̴̢̡̢̲͚̖̱̼̹̝̠̔͗̈́͝Ȩ̶͔̲̫̥͚̘̜̩̹͉̓̅̏̅̒̆̂?̷͖̆͂̎̾!̵̨̫̮̲͖͇̲͉̪̟̣̀̈́̓̋͌̂̈́͛͊̚͠?̴͈͑!̴̬̣̰͚̞͕̯̭̲̳̒͋́͋͊!̵̛̤̥̳͆̿̇̏̀̏̀̊̚ ̵͇̹̜̻̹͙̙̄̌̇̋̀̔͝;

⠀⠀

⠀⠀LOAD GAME, SELECTED .ᐟ

⠀⠀LOADING, PLEASE WAIT...

⠀⠀

new info unlocked 𖹭.ᐟ MINATO CITY (also known as the Minato ward) is home to the wealthiest families in Japan. Happy hunting. (≧∇≦)/

⠀⠀

⠀⠀

𖹭

CHAPTER XXXX, 13:30PM

My, my, what a pretty girl you are. Birthed and bathed in wealth that the lower class would kill for. Soft, glass-like skin that could make all the girls kick and scream with envy. Talented, as though you were gifted by the heavens themselves, a divine being amongst all others. Your mom, for she was a woman of faith, proclaimed you as God's favorite creation as well we her own. And at some point, you began to believe her words.

God's Creation. God's Favorite. Everyone's favorite, she said.

So, what the actual fuck was happening right now?

The faceless, shadowy figures in the background were slowly gaining distinct features, their expressions becoming eerily human. The game world, once surreal and empty, was shifting, revealing a more tangible reality. What had been mere background noise now had identity, as if the boundaries between the game and reality were beginning to blur.

“C'mon, [Name],” He chuckles halfheartedly. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

A little? Was he fucking with you right now?

A little wasn't the clumps of mud hugging your scalp. Nor was it the dirt that absolutely ruined your neatly pampered skin. It wasn't the muck that stained and streaked the beautiful plaid of your uniform skirt. Not even, the crud and filth that soiled your stockings — seeping all the way to your Mary Jane's. A little didn't hurt your pride the way this did.

Your eye twitched. So what was so damn funny? "How could you say—"

A sickly-sweet giggle cut through your thoughts, high-pitched, cutting through your seething anger like nails on a chalkboard. You could almost hear the background music shifting into a jarring, high-pitched tune, like some in-game character had triggered an event that was beyond your control. When was anything ever in your control?

"Kyaa~! Nanase-kun, you're so bad!" The girl giggled, covering her mouth with perfectly manicured fingers, eyes sparkling like he’d just told the joke of the century. "I swear, you always make everything so fun! Poor [Name]-chan, though~" she added, not sounding the least bit sympathetic as she threw you a fleeting glance before turning her attention right back to Aohei, as if you were nothing more than background noise.

But the real target of your rage wasn’t her. It wasn’t even the filthy rich asshole standing next to her. No, it was Aohei. The boy you had grown up with, the one who, for as long as you could remember, had been there by your side.

Who was he? Glad you asked, honestly!

Aohei, the golden boy of Nanase Global—a name that made everyone in Tokyo bend the knee. A family that practically owned everything. Hotels. Fashion lines. Tech companies. Entertainment empires. If it had a name, it had money flowing into its coffers from the Nanase family. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if even the designer of your ruined Mary Janes answered to his father’s empire.

And yet, despite all of that, despite all that privilege, Aohei was standing there laughing. Laughing with them. The same obnoxious, clueless, no-name delinquents who thought it was hilarious to drag you down into the mud, as though you were some sort of joke. You didn’t think Aohei had the ability to be this cruel—this thoughtless. And yet, here he was, barely looking concerned. Barely. Fucking. Concerned.

Maybe he didn’t realize the severity of the situation. Maybe he thought this was all just some lighthearted fun. Maybe his stupid fucking trust fund brain had short-circuited for a moment. Maybe you let his leash run a little looser than you should've.

Dumb, stupid dog. Dumb, Dumb dog!

"Aohei, take me home right fucking now!"

Your voice came out slow, each syllable dripping with barely contained rage. Your hands clenched into fists so tight your nails dug into your palms, a sharp sting against your already frayed patience. And if you looked at this fool for one more second, you swore you’d pop a blood vessel.

His laughter stopped almost immediately. You could hear the shift in the air. "Eh? What’s the matter?" he asked, sounding...confused.

His voice triggered an odd sensation in your chest—almost like a glitch in a game when something doesn’t quite align.

You stare at him, incredulous—was he seriously asking that? With a sharp breath, you fish your phone out of your purse, fingers already dancing over the screen, ready to call someone—anyone—who could save you from this nightmare. You bite your tongue, swallowing every ''unladylike" — foul-mouthed profanity ready to spill from your glossed lips.

Before you could press send, Aohei’s voice rang out in a panicked shout, his hand reaching for you. "Hey, [nickname], don’t call anyone," he begged, visibly nervous. "I’ll take you home, okay?"

You could feel the tension in the air. Aohei's voice, now slightly higher-pitched, almost like a character breaking from his usual persona. You swore you could see the “affection meter” rising in the corner of your vision. This was an event you hadn't expected, but you were now forced to deal with the aftermath.

His hand wrapped around your wrist. Not to restrain you, but to pull you closer—just enough so he can see your face. His grip is warm, hesitant, as if afraid you'll slip away entirely, and when he shifts, dirt smudges against his pristine slacks, but he doesn’t seem to care. His golden eyes search yours, wide and desperate, drinking you in like he needs to memorize every detail.

For just a second, the warmth of his touch had soothed you, or rather her, whoever she was. But you barely registered the sensation before you jerked your arm away with a force that could’ve snapped a lesser person’s wrist. You glared at him.

Your voice came out ragged. "Don’t touch me." It was almost a breathless plea, as if there was too much going on inside of you. Too much to even vocalize. You stumbled to your feet, biting back a yelp when a sharp, shooting pain stung your knee—only to realize there was now a nasty purple-ish hue creeping up the top of your knee. Perfect.

You slowly pulled down your ruined stockings, each tug making you feel more and more like you were living in some twisted, never-ending nightmare. "Fuck," you hissed at the pain in your knee, glaring at the growing bruise, then straightened your shoulders. "I’ll be at the car. Don’t make me wait."

A system alert blinked before your eyes—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀WARNING ⚠:

‘Frustration levels are high.ᐟ’

‘Negative affection points accumulating.’

"Bite me," you scoff, closing your phone shut.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the group whispering, their eyes flickering between you and Aohei. There were the girls, squealing for his attention, the guys hyping him up, throwing out plans for the night—drinks, basketball, whatever the hell they did to get their kicks. It was all so... predictable. You knew how they’d react. Aohei had always been the life of the party, the golden boy, always so easy to be around. They’d gladly throw your name in the mud if it meant keeping him around just a little longer.

It felt like the game was taunting you now—like your actions didn’t matter, like you were just a piece to be manipulated by the other characters.

You phone pinged softly. Quiet yet unbearably shrill, a sound you've grown used to, regrettably so.

REMINDER.ᐟ REMINDER.ᐟ PLEASE CHECK.ᐟ

⠀⠀“A dog will always come running to his owner”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀CLOSE TAB: yes or no

You blinked at the words, almost like a coded message in a game. It sent a chill down your spine, the words feeling like a directive—an eerie reminder that you couldn’t escape what was happening. Your avatar might have been stuck in the game, but could Aohei have been a part of that too?

You didn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, you turned on your heel, making your way toward the car with all the anger in your chest, each step a stab of fury. The weight of the mud squelching against your shoes seemed to deepen your frustration. You didn’t wait for Aohei to catch up—of course he would.

“Wait, wait, [Name]—!" His breathless voice caught behind you, laced with guilt and panic, but you were too far gone. "I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t laughing at you, okay? Just... stupid jokes. I can make it up to—!"

The wind carried his words to you, distorted, like the sound had been slowed down in some game cutscene. His voice shook the air, making you feel the weight of each word, but you didn’t care.

You put yourhand up, silencing his pointless chatter. You slide into the passenger seat, slamming the door harder than necessary, right in his stupid, pretty face. The satisfying thud is the only thing that feels remotely in your control right now.

Aohei quickly followed, slipping into the driver’s seat. His usual sunny smile was now nowhere to be seen. Instead, his face was full of something darker, something that almost seemed like self-loathing.

"I’ll take you home. You’ll be cleaned up in no time, I swear," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

You could see his stats now—

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀AFFECTION: 90%.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀HOSTILE INFLUENCE: 10%.

The numbers flashing in your mind, like a hidden system you didn’t sign up for.

You crossed your arms, glaring out of the window as your heart thudded erratically in your chest. "You think a shower’s going to fix this? You let them humiliate me, Aohei."

Aohei’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. His jaw ticked in that rare show of tension. You couldn’t even bear to look at him. You knew that look. It was always the same, ever since you were kids—the look of a lovesick puppy. He was just trying to fix things with that stupid grin of his, his soft, golden eyes sparkling with the same desperate affection.

“I didn’t let them. I just... I didn’t realize how bad it was until—" He trailed off, guilt thick in his tone. His eyes were pleading now, searching for some kind of forgiveness, though it wasn’t clear if he was even aware of what he had truly done.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his attempt at explanation. There it was again, that look. His golden-brown eyes, wide and desperate, flickered toward you every few seconds, even as his hand tightened around the gearshift. Was he... waiting for your permission? For some kind of sign that you wouldn’t push him away for good?

The silence in the car felt suffocating, heavy with a tension you couldn’t shake. With every passing second, Aohei's presence seemed to grow more overwhelming, his devotion more unbearable. His dimples were still there, barely visible when he bit his lip nervously, his shoulder-length hair falling just perfectly around his face like some advertisement for a shampoo commercial. The piercings on his ear glinted in the dim light, drawing attention to how meticulously he had crafted his image.

When you pulled up to the gates of your mansion, the weight of the tension in the car was almost unbearable. He didn't speak, not right away. Instead, his voice came out in a low, strained whisper. "I’ll wait here. In case you need anything."

The ‘AFFECTION INCREASED.ᐟ’; banner blinked across your vision. You rolled your eyes. What a mess this all was.

You unbuckled your seatbelt without looking at him. "I don’t."

You could feel his gaze on your back, a weight that burned through your skin. But this time, there was something more to it—something darker. More desperate. A humorless laugh slipped past your lips as you stepped out of the car. You glanced at him one more time, barely a flicker of emotion behind your eyes.

"Macarons," you muttered under your breath. "Bring me my favorite, and I might forgive you."

As you turned away, the door slammed behind you, and Aohei didn’t say a word. You didn’t need to look back to know that he was watching you with those same soft, broken eyes.

Ha, what kind of stupid game did they have you playing this time?

A dog would always come running to his owner.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀CHAPTER COMPLETE.ᐟ

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SAVING...

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Yes or No?

final farewell 𖹭.ᐟ Oh, my, we've got quite the interesting predicament. Oh, do tell, what will you do? Trust me, darling, keeping secrets around here never ends well.

[cozymoko]

Morbid Pledge

remember 𖹭.ᐟ ~ I do not support behavior like the ones listed above. This is simply for entertainment purposes.

tw, tags. 𖹭.ᐟ ~ yandere themes, violence, gore, unhealthy relationships — psychological horror, macabre, gothic, etc.

national domestic violence hotline 𖹭.ᐟ @ 1-800-799-SAFE (7233).

Hey!

I have secret.

I think of you 

A lot...actually.

My fascination with you has transformed into quite the obsession.

And I often find myself getting lost in daydreams of us being

Lacerated open and stitched together,

Sharing skin and blood,

Conjoined in an abhorrent life until

Death arrives to pose a threat to our unison.

But I won't let them touch you, no! 

Only I touch you.

And if anyone were to try, then

I would...

Gift you a bone necklace,

Made from their stolen fingers.

And you could wear it throughout all the seasons,

Until even the years know

You are loved.

final thoughts 𖹭.ᐟ ~ I wanted to use this as a possible introduction to a possible OC for this blog. Let me know if you'd like to see more short poems like this, and request something along the lines of (yandere OC....) if I should make him a character.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ⠀⠀⠀⠀

[cozymoko]

Info ~ 情報;

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⁹ ⁹ ⁹ ふわふわり ふわふわる。。。𖹭

Ꮺ This list is constantly evolving as the years go by so just because the anime/manga isn't listed doesn't mean I wont. It's better to ask than forever hold remain curious, right?

DISCLAIMER: My blog very yandere based. I don't condone this behavior and it is strictly for entertainment. If you're in a relationship like this, please reach out for help.

What I write for...

DanDaDan

Demon Slayer (Kimetsu no Yaiba)

Diabolik Lovers

Fairy Tail

Fushigi Yuugi

Inuyasha

Jujutsu Kaisen

Kamisama Kiss

My Hero Academia

Naruto

Nura: Rise of the Yokai Plan

Say, "I love you"

Seven Deadly Sins

Tokyo Revengers

Tokyo Ghoul

Vampire Knight

Yona of the Dawn (Akatsuki no Yona)

AUTHOR...

Yunna ⠀⠀ᰔ ⠀⠀Japanese, American⠀⠀ᰔ⠀⠀INFJ

Shoutout to my biggest supporter — Anon 🟡

Ꮺ Id be more than happy to help new and upcoming authors with their stories or expressing new ideas. Feel free to message me for any editing or second opinions! :)

Rules...

This is a reader insert account, therefore I will only be writing for things like that.

I will not write darlings with specific body types, mental disorders, ethnicites/races, or features. Not because I dont value inclusion, but because it limits the anonymous feel of the reader.

No incest, feces, pedophilia, rape — you get the gist. I dont mind writing for dark concepts, I love a bad/unfortunate ending. However, if you have to question if it's normal, it's most likely not. Get some help.

This blog is based around what I'm interested in writing. I don't have an issue taking requests but this blog is something I do as my own creative output. Be kind.

I will discontinue this whole account if I catch anyone trying to steal my work. Do not plagiarize or repost on any other site but Tumblr.

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved.

[cozymoko]

Hello ! ヤホー、

SO...I've been working on requests lately and I just want to express something important. If you do not specify what kind of READER you want in the story, I will use my creative freedom entirely.

BEWARE, because I tend to like strong minded women (or even men) as the READER in my stories.

WORKS IN PROGRESS 🍡

Ꮺ Yandere! Fashion Designer x Reader

Ꮺ Yandere! Tomoe and Mizuki x Land Goddess! Reader

Ꮺ Jamie (yandere oc) If Reader Were Pregnant

Ꮺ Yandere! Sasuke and Neji x Shy! Reader

NOTICE: I intend on making a hashtag for important announcements on my page. Since I'm more active I want to revamp this blog in general and do a ton of editing!

REGARDING REQUESTS: I will be closing my requests at the end of this weekend so get all your thoughts out while you can!

See you soon READERS、

読んでくれてありがとう、Yunnaちわ。

[cozymoko]

I really loved your yandere cowboy OC idea (Jamie) and is it possible to ask for a part 2 or something? You have me hooked👀

My Fancy Lady

Yes, anon!

Nav. Masterlist

𐚁 Pairing. Yandere! Cowboy x City Girl! Reader

𐚁 Warning(s). slight yandere themes, subtle jealousy from reader, overall just lovey-dovey though.

𐚁 Format, word count. Scenario, 2.2k words

𐚁 Synopsis. You're returning to your home back in the city, but you wouldn't dare go without your precious cowboy.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

Jamie wasn't one for small talk—'less it was his woman doin' the talkin'. So, nights like this? Big ol’ fancy affairs? They weren’t his scene. He’d rather be anywhere else, maybe takin' on some honest work in town or catchin' a rodeo a few miles out. Hell, anything that didn’t have him stuffed into this stiff suit, collar chokin' him half to death.

But, reckon he had it comin’. You get yourself tangled up with a city girl, and suddenly you're wearin’ city clothes, trailed by folks who don’t know a lick about good, hard work. He couldn't help but stay close, though. With a pretty thing like you on his arm, he had to be. Men were wolves in these parts, sneakin' glances like they’d never seen a woman before—especially one who wasn’t theirs to look at. Made him chuckle under his breath. "What a damn shame."

Chandeliers dangled high above like crystal-studded stars, throwing soft light around the room. Gilded columns lined the walls, polished up so fine they seemed to look down on everybody else here. Tapestries hung alongside big, expensive-lookin' paintings—probably worth more than his whole ranch. The floor? It was slick as a lake after rain, shiny enough he’d bet a nickel it could trip even the steadiest cowboy.

Then there were the folks. Struttin’ around like proud peacocks, laughin' in polished tones that came off a little too uppity for his taste. Colors swirled around him—reds as bold as a fight, blues like icy temptation—colors he'd never even seen before danced across the floor. Reminded him a little of berries and fresh tomatoes, and just the thought got a chuckle outta him.

He’d never fit into this world, but it didn’t stop him from admirin’ its quirks now and then. Even so, this whole scene was like a country mile from his real life. He was just as sure he’d turn you into a cowgirl one day, but until then, he could appreciate the wonders of what money could do, even if he wouldn’t spend his hard-earned cash like this.

But there was one bright spot in all this: you.

There you were, right in the center of it all, falling into familiar voices and easy laughter. This was your world, and you looked like you belonged in it, talkin' to faces from your past who sized up the man beside you with curious glances. And yet, you smiled at them all—good and bad. Weren't you just the sweetest thing.

The cowboy stands across the ballroom, leaning against the wall, one foot tucked over the other. It's not that he didn't want to greet your folks, but your mama was a spitfire — hammering the two of you with more questions than he can count. He loved her, and your pa too, but he'd rather keep the last piece of his sanity tucked in his belt.

High society folks rubbed him wrong. Spoiled sons and daughters who’d had everything handed to 'em, struttin' through life without a lick of sense about hard work. Obnoxious, entitled, without a care for anyone who hadn’t grown up just like them. Jamie couldn’t stand it.

Yet somehow, out of all the men you coulda chosen, you picked him. What a thief, he thought with a quiet chuckle, his dark gaze never leavin' your face.

Course, he wasn’t all that innocent either—he’d done his damnedest to pull you away from this pampered life, wanted to whisk you off to the country, to his life, his world. And he’d caught you, good and proper. But that didn’t stop him from feelin' that familiar heat, the sharp taste of blood on his tongue from biting back the urge to snap at every wolf eyein' you tonight.

“Don't make a scene,” he murmured to himself like a man clingin' to a thin thread of patience.

He’d be lyin’ if he said he didn’t want you all to himself. Seein' you wrapped up in those fine silks, hair swept back in that way you liked best, lips painted in a soft color that made you glow... God, he wanted you. If he had it his way, you’d be in worn-out jeans, maybe one of his old flannels, smellin' of him and the wide open fields.

But he couldn’t tell you no. You hadn’t seen your family in months, and it just about broke his heart to see you so homesick. Jamie ain't one to go on about his old man, but if he learned one thing, it was this: happy wife, happy life. And you may not be his wife just yet, but he planned on changin' that real soon.

So to hell with all these other women, these high-class dames flittin' around the room. He didn’t care one bit about their money or their flirtin' glances. Jamie toyed with the silver pendant around his neck, tappin' his boot in time to the music.

Just then, a young woman drifted up, not much older than you, lips red as blood and curving into a sly smile. “Excuse me, sir,” she purred, “would you like to—”

“I’d be careful, sugar,” he cut in smooth, twirlin' his whiskey glass. “My wife fights. And I'd rather not see you back at your surgeon’s tonight.”

A crooked grin played on his lips as he raised his glass to his lips, his eyes catchin' yours across the room. There was only one woman he wanted on his arm, and she was wearin' a ring that matched his own.

You never thought you'd see him in a suit before your wedding, but it was quite the surprise — a pleasant one, at that.

Standing there in front of you, Jamie looked like he’d stepped right out of a magazine. Broad-shouldered, lean muscle wrapped in a midnight suit that clings just right, standing out among the tailored suits and smooth accents. The crisp white dress shirt only made his deep auburn hair look richer, slicked back smooth with every curl in place, and those dimples peeked out just as he caught you staring. His boots clack as he shifts, whiskey swirling in his hand, that silver band on his ring finger catching the glint of the chandelier. The sight of it alone sends any would-be admirer scuttling off with barely a second glance. He’s your plus one for the night, and the whole room knows it.

When he smiles, there’s a glint of trouble in his eyes, and those dimples—well, they could make even the stiffest folks around here swoon. He looks like the kind of man who just barely tolerates a tie, tugging at it with a smirk whenever he catches your gaze, as if to say, “You really think all this makes me any fancier?”

He’s still Jamie through and through: rugged under all that polish, with a bit of a roguish streak he could never quite hide. And tonight, even though he’s dressed up to meet your family and stand in this world of chandeliers and silk dresses, he’s every bit the man you fell for—charmingly untamed, with a quiet confidence that makes you weak in the knees.

Your friends try to pull you into old stories and polite gossip, but your eyes keep drifting back to him. Jamie’s gaze is steady, unwavering, as though he has little interest in the things around him. There’s a hint of a smirk playing at his lips every time he catches you staring, his dimples deepening, and that mischievous glint in his dark, loving eyes. You know that look too well. It’s possessive, fiercely protective, as if he’s daring anyone to even think about taking his bride-to-be.

The more you look at him, the more it pains you to look away. You try to play it cool, but he knows you too well—knew what to say, when to say it, and how to say it. It leaves you with thoughts from earlier in the day, making your knees weak all over again.

“My, my, he cleans up rather nicely,” a warm, familiar voice whistles beside you. “Don’t you agree, dear?” You jump, blinking back into the present, only to find your mother smiling knowingly.

“Distracted?” she teases, twirling you around to face her, an amused smile etched onto her red lips.

She glides past the group of dazzling damsels, fanning herself as she casts an appreciative glance toward Jamie. “Lord, honey,” she whispers in your ear, amused. “If he’s not about the most handsome thing I’ve ever seen—and the way he looks at you? It’s like he’s afraid the floor might steal you away.”

You laugh, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, but her words are truer than she knows. Jamie tips his glass toward you from across the room, raising it in a silent toast. There’s something soft in his expression—a flicker of mirth in his dark eyes.

You almost let them drown you, submerge you in their warmth. If not for the grating sound to your left.

"Who might that be?"

"I haven't seen him around."

"Should I ask him for a dance?"

"Do you think he's spoken for?"

"Of course, look at the jewel on his finger!"

"I quite fancy him. Shall I pursue him anyways?"

"Oh, how shameful~!"

Some of the girls here are looking his way—of course, they are. Jamie has that rugged charm, like he was carved out of southern dirt and bathed in the evening sun, with the wild confidence of a man who knows he’s got nothing to prove. His auburn hair, slicked back in a style that both respects the occasion and still says he’s a cowboy first, gives him a sharp, roguish look that’s almost out of place here, like a tiger in a cage.

But despite the glances, the obnoxious remarks, no one dares approach him. The way his eyes follow you, even from a distance, says more than words ever could. He isn’t here to be seen; he’s here for you.

Yet, it doesn’t make it any easier to hold your tongue. You’ve hosted these parties since the age of fourteen and know how people behave here—their promiscuous ways, and the men who can’t help but leer. High-class harlots looking for any man to pounce on, taken or not. Greasy men following women’s every move, provoked or not. You remember too well. This was the yearly matchmaking party hosted by four of the wealthiest families in the city, your family being one of them. It wouldn’t look good if you didn’t attend the event your household had built its reputation around.

You knew Jamie would settle on keeping to himself, yet you hadn’t thought your rugged companion would be the talk of the party. That alone makes the joy blossoming in your chest wilt. For once, it feels as though he isn’t just your fiancé, but everyone’s. Of course, you want everyone to love him as much as you do—but without undressing him with their winged eyes.

Just then, Jamie makes his way over, his familiar smirk making your heart skip a beat. “Sugar,” he says, poking the soft flesh of your cheek, his eyes gleaming with a familiar, mischievous warmth. When he finally makes his way back to you, he tips his drink up, raising a brow. “Sugarplum.”

His words go in one ear and out the other, turning fuzzy and static as they pass through your mind. A deep frown settles at the corners of your lips as exasperation bubbles over.

“Jamie, stop it!” you huff, swatting his hands away. “You’ll ruin my makeup, you damn brute.”

“Yeah, yeah…” he murmurs, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t bother moving his hand from the top of your head, his fingers gently brushing through your hair as if daring you to protest again. You turn away, cheeks flushed, doing your best to regain the poise you usually wear like a crown.

Jamie notices the pout you're trying to hide, his lips curling in amusement. For all your princess-like composure, you’re showing more than you realize tonight. He leans down, his voice low and teasing.

“Don’t pout, pumpkin. Fix your face.”

You glare up at him, crossing your arms, but he just chuckles, reaching for your hand. Before you can react, he pulls you closer, his grip firm yet careful, as if he were holding something precious.

“Remember, Sugar,” he murmurs, giving your kiss a long, playful smooch. MUAH! “You’re the main character.”

With a playful glint in his eye, he twirls you around, his hand never leaving yours as he guides you in a slow, elegant spin. You can’t help but let out a surprised laugh, your frown dissolving as he twirls you like with practiced ease.

Only then had you decided.

That night was quite the surprise indeed—

A pleasant one at that.

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[cozymoko]

OMGGGGGG I love love love your cowboy fic!! do you have any plans to write more of him?? Also, was he intentionally trying to get under our nerves when he was saying all that about the other girl or was he just genuinely just talking and trying to avoid making us do work?

More Jamie? 𐚁

Ꮺ Post of Interest. Here !

Ꮺ Nav. Masterlist !

ANSWER:

I plan on writing more about him as long as you guys keep requesting! I really love cowboys, haha.

Jamie can be an airhead at some points, but he honestly didn't see the harm in mentioning Mary Anne. Even though his comment about [Name] being on the rag was just plain ignorance.

He would never actively try to make [Name] jealous; you're his one and only, he wouldn't even look at Mary Anne twice if he could!

Here's a little cutesy scenario to sweeten the request. Thank you for saying such kind things, anon. (*°∀°)=3

Ꮺ (Also, I'll add color to this later, it looks so bland.)

WARNING(S): None!

“Well, darlin’, I ain’t never seen someone hold a rake quite like that,” A certain good-for-nothin’ drawls as his plump lips twitch into a grin. He leans against the maple fence, resting his chin on the palm of his sun-kissed hand. His warm eyes twinkle, watching you wrestle with the tool. So simple, yet, watching you do it made it look like a serious challenge. “Ya tryin’ to charm the ground into plowin’ itself?”

Truth be told, the cowboy was praying you were doin’ just that.

You huff, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow. The heat was driving you crazy — more so than the fool at your side. You felt sticky and gross each time you had to peel your blouse from your dewy skin.

“It’s not as easy as it looks, you know,” you mutter, tossing a glare his way. But he just chuckles, that deep, rich resonance that quickly sent a shiver down your spine.

He saunters over with a little chuckle, leather boots crunching over dry dirt. “Here, sugarplum, let me show ya. ‘Cause if I leave ya to it, we ain’t gettin’ dinner ‘til midnight.” He teases.

Jamie slides the rake from your fingers, his touch lingering just a tad bit longer than necessary. His fingers brush yours, and you feel the heat rise in your cheeks, which only mafe his grin stretch all the wider.

With practiced ease, he shows you the rhythm, his body so close you can smell the faint hint of sweat and honey that clings to him. “See?” he whispers, voice low as he guides your hands. “Ain’t so hard when ya got someone teachin’ ya, hm?”

You roll your eyes, but the fond smile creeping onto your face betrays you. "Yeah, yeah, cowboy."

Jamie’s gaze softens, and he leans in just a bit closer. “I gotta admit, sugar, watchin' you try so hard, all city slicker and outta place...well, it’s ‘bout the cutest thing I ever did see.” He tips your chin up with a gentle finger, and for a moment, the playful gleam in his eyes shifts into something a touch darker, something hungry. “I could just eat’chu right up.”

You swallow, feeling your pulse quicken, and he laughs softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But don’t worry, darlin’. You’ll get the hang of it. And even if ya don’t...hah, I believe I’d like keepin’ ya right where you are.”

⠀⠀𐚁🐎

⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[cozymoko]

Hey, so...

It feels like my blog doesn't get as much attention as it used to. Perhaps it's because I've moved away from anime based writing?

Send your requests, anime or not. I'll even accept Naruto requests again lol. I just really enjoy writing. It's my comfort thing.

Have a great day, readers.

—Yunna *(^o^)/*

[cozymoko]

Wild, Wild West 𐚁

Introduction fic for my cowboy OC idea. I hope you guys like this. This was in my drafts for at least half a year, haha.

Pairing: Yandere Cowboy x City Girl! Reader

Format: Short fic; 1.4k words

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, possessive, minor insecurity from reader.

Synopsis: Jealousy, Jealousy, read all about it! When in a new environment, insecurities are bound to surface. Why don't you go get you a drink to simmer down a bit?

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

The old Texas sun was relentless, harsher than usual, beating down on the skin of those poor townspeople just going about their day. Its temper reminded you of your late grandmother, always nagging and pestering like there's no tomorrow.

You found refuge near the large clumps of hay by the stables. The smell was mundane, simple as though it were straight from a story book—unpleasant, sure, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

Why the hell were you out here anyways? Damn you for wanting to tag along to keep that big oaf company. He couldn’t stop poking fun at you, pushing you past your limits. It was like he knew you inside and out, from the surface of your pampered skin to the depths of your fluttering heart. For a man who wasn’t too fond of school, he sure seemed to study you quite a ton.

And speak of the devil. There he is.

He wiped dirt and grime off the worn denim that hung low at his waist. “What’s the matter, darlin’?” he called out, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “You don’t look too hot.”

Hell, that was an understatement.

He sauntered over, slipping his hat off his head. His long strides had him at your side in moments, staring down at your seated position. Pushing his deep auburn hair from his damp skin, he squatted next to you. “What’s the matter?” he asked, placing the hat back on his head with a lazy grin.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, torn between telling him and keeping your indignation to yourself. You weren’t even doing any of the heavy lifting, just spectating, but somehow, that made the heat even worse.

“It’s hot,” you mumbled, swallowing your pride.

“Then take ya' shirt off.” He grinned, raising a brow. “It’s just you ‘n me today, and it’s not like I haven’t seen you without it anyhow—”

“Stop!” you shouted, hugging your knees to your chest. If not for the heat, you were sure you'dve flushed even redder.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Jamie smirked, planting a quick kiss on your temple before rising to his feet in one swift motion. He turned back to his polished truck, the one he treated like gold. Sometimes, you swore he loved that hunk of metal more than anything, but you’d soon learn that his world revolved around you.

Your eyes followed his back, tracing the way his muscles moved with each twist of the wrench. Jamie was a tease, but damn if he wasn’t easy on the eyes. Your gaze drifted to the tattoos scattered across his tanned skin, lingering on the intricate, slightly faded markings near his jugular—your name, carved right there. The sight of it made you hot all over, and you even found yourself popping open a few buttons.

You had told that stubborn fool not to get it, warning him that tattoos were permanent and took hours of pain to remove.

“Why’re you sayin’ something like that?” he’d chuckled back then. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I get this baby removed, sugarplum. Dont worry about me nun’.”

The memory made you want to laugh. Jamie was as stubborn as a bull—and as big as one too. Too bad all that stubbornness would be the death of him. Not literally, of course.

“You wanna help me with the cattle? Think they need some lovin’, too.”

You tilted your head, a spark of hope flaring up. Maybe he was serious about wanting your help, about spending time together—maybe he was letting you be part of this place, tending to your shared home. But then he shrugged.

“Or I could get Mary Anne to come by. She’s always good with ’em—knows her way around horses like she was born with ’em.”

Mary Anne. Just the mention of her name made your blood boil. You’d seen her—all soft curls and sweet smiles, the kind of girl who fit right in here. Unlike you.

Your lips thinned, the jealousy rising like a rattlesnake. “Oh, is that so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even despite the bitterness creeping in. “Mary Anne this, Mary Anne that—why don’t you just go on and ask her, then, since she’s not a ‘city girl’?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Hey now, what’s got you so riled up, sugar?”

“What’s got me riled up?” you snapped, rising to your feet. “You know damn well, Jamie. You think I don’t notice how you bring her up every time it’s my turn to help?”

You took a deep breath. “I know I’m not as capable as the others, but this is my home too. I’ve been here for over a year, and you still don’t ask me to help.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing as he straightened up, towering over you. “Aw, hell, [Name]. You actin’ like this ’cause you’re on the rag or somethin’? Ain’t no need to get all hot ’n bothered over nothin’.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, disbelief turning into a wave of fury. “You think that’s what this is about?” you hissed, your voice sharp as a knife. “You think that just because I’m upset, it’s gotta be because of that?”

Jamie shrugged, unfazed, and that was the last straw. You spun on your heel, the dusty ground kicking up beneath your boots as you stormed off. “Go on and call her, then!” you shouted over your shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just itching to help you!”

You didn’t wait for his response. You marched across the sunbaked field, fists clenched tight. You needed to get away—somewhere he wasn’t. The barn blurred into blobs of red as tears stung at the corners of your eyes. But you weren’t about to let him see you cry. Not now, not ever.

This is not where you wanted to end up. An old, run-of-the-mill saloon on a Friday night, surrounded by drunkards and divorcees, the air thick with the stench of stale tobacco. Voices murmur, glasses clink, and the laughter around you is harsh and grating. To hell with it all. To hell with them.

The whiskey settles in your veins, warm and familiar as you lean against the sticky bar. Neon lights flicker, casting a red glow across your half-empty glass, and you blink to clear your vision. You know you’ve had too much, but the night’s long, and the noise makes it easy to drown out everything.

"Fuck," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

You’ve never been much of a drinker. After moving to the countryside to be with Jamie, life on the ranch demanded your focus. Jamie hated liquor, practically despised it.

Dammit, [Name], forget about him. You shake the thought away.

“Now, darlin’, looks like your glass is ‘bout empty,” a smooth, slow drawl cuts through your thoughts. The man tilts the brim of his hat back just enough for you to catch a glint in his eyes—cold, calculating, like a snake. “Why don’t you let me get you another?”

Oh, right. You weren’t exactly alone.

“Sound good?” he asks again, his voice dripping with intentions you’re too drunk to untangle, coaxing you with the rough pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

You hum. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you try to recall his name—Michael? Richard? Ashton? Danny? None of them sound right. Nothing about him feels familiar. Just another face in the blur. You decide he’s irrelevant.

"You don’t want it to get cold now, do ya?"

A voice in your head tells you to stop, to head home before you cross a line. Something about him makes your stomach churn, but you blame it on the alcohol. It doesn’t take much persuasion before you reach for the glass.

The liquor is bitter but good. But once it slips down your throat, the room spins. You blink hard, trying to steady yourself.

The barstool creaks as you sway, gripping the counter for balance. The stranger’s grin stretches wider, eyes watching you like a hawk. You know you shouldn’t have taken that drink, but it’s too late. The world starts tilting.

You turn, ready to brush off the man beside you, when you hear the heavy boots. They echo on the old floorboards, slow and deliberate, each step sending a chill down your spine. Then, a hand rests on your shoulder, the grip firm, possessive.

“Takin’ drinks from strangers now, sugar?” His voice is low, a whisper against your ear. “Why’d you go and do that for? You know better.”

Jamie.

His breath is warm, almost too close, as his fingers dig into your shoulder just enough to keep you anchored. The stranger’s hand pulls back, and you catch the flicker of fear in his eyes.

Jamie’s fingers tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. “Ain’t polite to drink without me, darlin’.” His tone is calm, but there’s a tension in it, like a leash pulled too tight.

You look up at him, the soft light catching the curve of his grin. The cowboy hat sits low, loose curls brushing the nape of his neck, his button-up shirt hugging the broad stretch of his shoulders. His forearms, tanned and strong, are exposed as his sleeves are rolled up. His eyes, though—dark and unreadable—pin you in place. There’s a hunger in them, one that makes your skin prickle.

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping off the smudge of your lipstick. His grin widens, revealing sharp canines that peek between his lips. It’s friendly enough—too friendly. Like the way foxes smile when they’re circling prey.

“Mm, you’re drunk.” He says it like it’s a fact he’s already known for hours. “How much you had tonight, sugarplum?”

You stare at your glass, pretending you don’t know. You don’t want to admit to your carelessness.

Jamie chuckles, a low, knowing sound. “So, quite a bit, huh?”

His laugh is loud, and it feels like a warning. He leans in, his hand settling on your hip, fingers curling possessively. “And flirtin’ with some nobody at the bar. That’s new.” His eyes narrow. “So, you gonna tell me who he is?”

The stranger shifts uneasily, glancing between you and Jamie. His bravado fades, and he mumbles, “Look, I didn’t mean no harm. Just thought she could use some company.”

Jamie doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on yours, sharp and unyielding. “Ain’t that sweet?” he says, his voice soft, but his grip on your hip tightens, like he’s claiming a prize. “But I think she’s got all the company she needs.”

The man hesitates, looks like he’s weighing his options, then backs off with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

The world tilts again, and you’re struggling to stay upright. The bar fades around you, the noise drowning in the back of your mind. The room swims, and your vision blurs, the faces blending into nothing but shadows.

Jamie’s presence feels suffocating. His eyes linger on you, dark and intent, like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s testing you. And you know, deep down, that he doesn’t just hate you drinking—he hates you here, surrounded by people who aren’t him.

“Let’s get you home, darlin’.” His tone is almost gentle, but there’s an edge beneath it, something nasty and foreign brewing beneath the surface.

Before you can protest—before the room spins again—he’s there, pulling you into him, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing. His arms wrap around your waist, and the world blurs as you’re hoisted over his shoulder, carried out the bar like a mere sack of potatoes.

The night air bites at your cheeks as he strides through the darkness, the cold wind cutting through the haze in your mind. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath you, and his fingers grip your thigh, possessive and unyielding. He’s not letting you go.

Everything in you says to fight back, to push away, but he smells like home—like honey and oak. The world narrows down to him, the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his touch.

“Man, you’re gettin’ heavy. Eating too much pumpkin pie, huh, sugarplum?”

“Fuck you,” you manage, but it’s weak, and the smile he gives you is sharp and satisfied.

You close your eyes, the world tilting again, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

Maybe this is just how it’s meant to be.

⠀⠀𐚁

⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[cozymoko]

Ohh!!! Can i have fruitykawa with a reader who's kind of insecure about their relationship with him? Like,yes she's aware that they are married and all,but Fruity is such a wealthy (and handsome) man that surely there are alot of women around him. It makes her feel upset and tries to distance herself from him.

🌕 anon

ALWAYS, MY BELOVED

It's been a while since I updated. Shoutout to my homie, 🟡 anon for this request. Kinda got burnt out at the end, but I tried my best. Enjoy~!

Pairing: Hachiro Furukawa x Female! Reader (1.9k words)

Format: Headcanons, mini scenarios

WARNING(S): yandere themes, jealousy, insecurity, mentions of cutting (plastic surgery).

Synopsis: Hachiro Furukawa, my oc, with a wife who's insecure due to him being so handsome! (≧∇≦)/

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

NAVIGATION 🍮

Being WEDDED to the BEST is not for the weak-spirited. You had to appear stronger — better than the average woman so that they wouldn't dare question the legitimacy of your place. With your status, a ring costing nothing less than a fortune would never be enough. 

Your marriage had become public only a few years ago. Due to Hachiro's wishes. Yet that didn't seem to stop many promiscuous women from testing their luck. You bit back the unladylike words bubbling in your throat as they approached him. Fluttering their long lashes and flashing their pearly white teeth.

Models, lawyers, entrepreneurs: the party was bustling with so many. For a moment, you felt like nothing more than a pretty little accessory.

“Mr. Furukawa, how nice of you to make an appearance!” The host's eyes shift to you, thick and clouded with disdain. “It's a joy you brought the misses with you this evening.” The snarkiness of his tone was palpable. It seems the host wasn't exactly a fan of you, but then again, who was? After all, no one bothered to hide their curious gazes when Furukawa was not within earshot. But all you could do was hold your husband's arm just a little tighter.

The women especially.

"Is that Furukawa? Isn't he just dashing!"

"Wah~! He's even taller than I imagined!"

"Do you think he'll drink with me?"

Tightly sewn dresses, embracing the ladies that adorned them. Various warm shades painted lightly across their lips. Bouncy twists and swirls curled into their hair. Bedroom eyes peering over the many men scattered across the room; married or not. It's safe to say you weren't exactly pleased that your husband was one of the few.

You often hid yourself behind layers of lovely fabrics and excellent posture, in hopes of maintaining your modesty. In your eyes, it only seemed right that you matched the appearance and aura of that of your Husband. Though it seems each and every day was a torturous test of your self-restraint.

Nonetheless, you were never one to lose your composure. A straight face was essential in any type of business setting. Sure, you weren't as deadpan as Furukawa, but you could definitely play the "cold wife" role perfectly.

RECENTLY, you've had QUITE THE OBSESSION with FASHION. You have encountered plenty of upcoming entrepreneurs, many of who you've managed to befriend. One of your closest ones is a fashion designer.

She would soon be introducing her new line of work after months of a troublesome hiatus. So, after pulling a little bit if strings, you were able to help her out. By strings, you mean asking Hachiro for some assistance. With his support of the project, people were bound to come and see the clothes. Granted, he was skeptical of your request, it didn't take him long to break and give you what you want.

That evening, the two of you attended an induction ceremony for the company's new clothing line. Hachiro had no reason to attend, but the grin on your face was much too difficult to resist. Just knowing that he made you happy warms his heart immensely. You were the cutest.

But, all good things, of course, come to an end.

“Oh, my! Look who decided to grace us with his presence.” A woman with rosy lips approached the two of you, swaying her hips a bit too much for your liking. “Hachiro, dear, it's been so long since I've seen you!”

Even other women didn't dare to acknowledge you, especially in the company of Hachiro himself. He didn't take kindly to people dismissing your presence. But this girl, definitely had some guts.

“Inoue,” he hums languidly, watching her in masked disdain. “I'd rather you not address me so informally in such a public setting.”

That's right, KAMIKO INOUE, one of the top models that had recently taken Japan by storm. You were expecting her appearance after Hachiro's announced sponsorship, but her rudeness surprised you a bit. Especially her addressing your husband as though they were closer than friends.

You scoff, looking away from the two. Seeing how you'd much rather watch them set up than listen to Inoue's mindless flirting. Hachiro placed his hand on the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles into your skin. But you couldn't dare look into his tender gaze, knowing of the possessiveness bursting within your chest.

She giggled, “How silly of you, Hachiro!” She reached her manicured hand out to grab his free arm just for him to grab her by the wrist.

“Please refrain from touching me so familiarly, Inoue. I'm a married man, and I'd be simply overjoyed if you would respect that.” He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his steely eyes, before pulling you flush against his chest.

A bright red bloomed across your skin at his affection. Hachiro never showed too much PDA. "You have a photo shoot to attend to, no?" He asks coldly. "Me and my wife will be sure to cheer you on from the sidelines.

That soiled your mood for the evening. Snatching the genuine smile from your lips and replacing it with one faker than the plastic on that whore's skin. For once in your life you were truly feeling vulnerable.

YOU had CONTEMPLATED GOING UNDER the KNIFE more times than YOU CARE to ADMIT. Not for your own pleasure, but the sake of your sanity. You didn't know what you'd do if you saw another beautiful woman talk to your husband.

Even in your youth, he was the center of attention. He had captured the hearts of many girls from various levels of wealth. You would know as you were one of them. But you were in no way richer or as elegant as the others who approached him. So why did he choose you? You asked yourself.

That night you had taken the guest room. It felt cold and quiet. Absent of the usual scratching of pens and occasional shuffling of papers you had grown accustomed to. The pleasant rumble of his chest as he attempts to entertain you whilst working. But you couldn't bring yourself to lay by his side with such heinous thoughts roaming your mind. You were able to fall into a long, dreamless slumber. But not without the company of a few heavy tears and a single question.

Were you selfish?

From that day, you didn't bother answering his calls, whether it be morning or dawn. You didn't bother visiting him during those long hours he slaved away at the company, though many times you truly wanted to. You didn't bother to allow your personal driver to pick you up, and if he tried, you merely snuck out of the house.

Any and everything reminded you of him, and that alone rendered you to tears. While he was away, you didn't allow yourself to be another burden pestering him on his business trip. You couldn't allow it.

AND IT WAS ALL DRIVING HIM CRAZY.

THE FLIGHT HOME was DREADFULLY SILENT. Aside from the tapping of someone's sleek dress shoes. Hachiro had not so much as uttered a word since boarding the plane, nor did he intend on it. For if he did, nothing kind would leave his mouth. Perhaps a, "hurry up," or two — or three. But all of it was for the sake of his sanity.

Hachiro needed his wife, desperately.

You slip through the large double doors, entering your bedroom with wary steps. It was quiet, as expected, and without your presence, it felt almost dead. A week had passed since you last drowned in the warm duvet. A week had passed since you relished in his scent nestled deep within its silk. And oh how you missed the smell of him. Finally, at peace, your shoulders dropped. You took a seat on the edge of your bed. Under your confident front, you were only one person. One person with one mind; though you usually had two. Hachiro and your own. But your pride didn't allow you to confine in the man you loved. What were you scared of? Being shamed, or perhaps laughed at — scolded? Though none of it seemed likely, you could not shake the feeling of embarrassment that held you on a tight leash. CREAK! You jumped, startled by the sudden weight pressed against your back. "Thank God you're safe," your heart swelled at the sound of his voice. The voice of not a stranger, but a lover — a partner. Hachiro grabs you by the chin and lifts your face up. You quickly recoil away in shame, praying he didn't get a peek at your messy face. The need to prove yourself had increased tenfold, you couldn't allow yourself to falter in his presence. “look at me, [Name]," he whispered softy. Hachiro lifts your head once more, swiping away the tears rolling down your cheeks. "You're crying? Tell me what's troubling you. I can help you, [Name]."

And just like that, you broke. Loud, anguished sobs tore through your throat. Your stomach fluttered at the familiar smell of citrus and mint. You couldn't get enough of it. His arms were warm and comforting, and you couldn't deny the safety you felt by his side. His embrace was stronger than anything you've ever known, as if holding him wasn't enough, you held him as though he were your lifeline. It wasn't your intention to tell him, but you just couldn't help it. Each and every thought was placed on the table. The insecurities that you felt bestowed before him. The people you despised and envied slipped past your lips without thinking. All while Hachiro cooed sweet nothings in your ear, promising you his loyalty until his last breath. “God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered, running his thumb through the swollen flesh of your eyes. His usually cold eyes burned with something you couldn't possibly describe. “I can hardly control myself sometimes.” You stared at him dumbfounded — in utter disbelief. His glasses must've been dirty, you thought. Your hair was a literal wreck. And the past couple of weeks had not been too kind to your skin. Small breakouts peppering your cheeks from stress; bags that could carry at least a ton of sorrow nestled beneath your eyes. Surely his vision was just a little blurry. But upon further inspection, you couldn't spot not a spec of dirt on his lenses. Upon your lack of response, he hums, leaning in a bit closer. “I'm serious, dear.” You huff, burying your face into his neck as your skin takes on a feverish shade of red. Damn him for being so attractive. You felt like a high schooler all over again. Smiling softly, you held him closer. “You're the best, Hachi.”

Hachiro sat awake by your side, gently stroking your back with easy motions. His lips had found themselves on your warm skin. And his heart beating vastly at the things you had confessed to him. The possessiveness you had experienced for him. The jealousy and anguish that had consumed you on his behalf.

Of course, he never wanted to see you upset, but seeing how you value him makes him a bit selfish. Just seeing you made him snap a little on the inside. His rational mind fought for control over his need to have you, to prove his love to you. But he decided against it. He would be sure to show you how deeply his love runs on a later occasion. But for now, he settled for cradling you in his arms. Promising to take all those bitter emotions away from you.

“Good morning, Japan!” Shouted the host. “It's come to our attention that Ms. heartthrob Kamiko Inoue has quit the modeling industry after a life-threatening accident!”

“...HUH!?”

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[cozymoko]

The Confession Of A Man

It's been a minute since I've written smth for me.

WARNING(S): Yandere themes

My, my, what a witch you are,

A siren, enchantress, who's taken the form of that of a human.

With eyes that bewitch and a voice like a star,

You've woven a spell that no mortal can loosen.

And I have fallen victim to your dark magic.

After tasting you, anything I put to my lips is lacklustre.

Your essence lingers, rendering all else dull,

A symphony of flavor, a melody of touch.

I crave the moments when your scent fills the air,

Each breath a whisper of our shared ecstasy.

I could imagine devouring you if it meant that you'd be inside me forever.

Your presence a sweet possession, abiding within my grasp.

But then I ponder the cost, the agony of such bliss,

To consume you whole and hold you tight,

Yet lose the sight of your smile, the light in your eyes.

And we could be one.

Our souls entwined in a dance eternal,

A fusion of hearts and dreams.

But how could I bear to silence your sweet voice,

The music of your laughter, a balm to my soul?

But I couldn't stomach not being able to see your smile,

A beacon of joy in the shadow of my longing.

Or hear your sweet voice,

A symphony of everything perfect,

Playing endlessly in my mind, a comfort in the night.

Unless, of course, it were to play in my head like a orchestra of everything faultless.

Every note a reminder of your beauty,

Every chord a memory of our shared love.

So it begs me to ask — to tell you once more,

My, my, what a witch you are,

A siren, enchantress, who's taken the form of that of a human.

With eyes that bewitch and a voice like a star,

You've woven a spell that no mortal can loosen.

A ghost of passion, a phantom of desire.

Out of a twisted curiosity,

If I were to devour you, would you promise to haunt me forever?

In the depths of my longing, in the recesses of my dreams,

Would your spirit linger, a gentle torment,

An eternal reminder of the love that once was?

—♡.

[cozymoko]

Since requests are open, would you be willing to write something for Mizuki (Kamisama Kiss) with a goddess darling that one day just disappeared like Mikage did on Tomoe?

Welcome back, btw❣️

WHY MUST YOU LEAVE ME?

Note: Hey! I'd actually be more than willing to write this. Also, I'm happy to be back. ♡

—sorry this is so short. I'll edit it later.

Format: Headcanons

Featuring: Mizuki from "Kamisama Kiss"

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, unhealthy dependency

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀「お嬢様、どうして僕を置いていったの?」

The whole thing felt like a fever dream. A painful dream — fueled by his desire for your return. Mizuki had served you for years on end, and not once has his loyalty wavered. Oh dear, he could never imagine a day that it would. After all the effort the poor thing’s put into ridding you of all those pests, who so foolishly tried to take his place; how could he ever betray you?

Many say that hate is a strong word. And perhas it is, for a familiar especially. Even after your abandonment, Mizuki could not harbor such feelings towards you. He held you far too dear. He poured his heart and soul into your entire being, simply to please you. If not for you, he'd have no purpose in this wretched world. How unfortunate.

Your shrine felt like an eternal home. Seeing how the poor thing could hardly find the courage to travel even s few inches past it's garden. As it was the last thing he had that reminded him of you.

The silk of your kimonos felt cold against his skin without your warmth to adorn them. Your scent remained rich in it's fabric, as though you had worn it mere days ago. His nose was buried deep within its silks, swallowing it's tantalizing scent. If you were here to see it, you'd surely scold him.

“Lady [Name],” He breathed into its fine silks. “I miss you so very much.”

Nanami had found him, moping around at the entrance of a beautifully kept shrine. You'd never even guess that its been vacant for nearly a decade. Reality began to weigh in on him like a heavy stream — you weren't coming back.

His light had dimmed significantly, though he tried to hide it. And somehow, the poor thing mustered up a large grin to the teenage girl. Mizuki appreciated her generosity, truly. The familiar even tried to pursue the Land God in hopes of mending the hole in his heart. However, thoughts of you consumed his every being.

Mizuki wouldn't miss an opportunity to brag about his otherworldly mistress. You were absolute perfection and nothin less. But even so, not even his feeble words could convey his utter admiration with your being. It almost felt shameful to speak of you to such lowly creatures who would never have a chance at experiencing your presence — your kindness.

Then again, he's not complaining~! (Too much)

The harder he tried to forget you, the louder his heart wailed. Thoughts of you had clouded his head, day after day and he could do nothing about it. No woman nor man interested him. Prizes and jewels were feeble to say the least. Even his new mistress, Nanami, could not hold his attention for more than a moment.

A gentle breeze tousled his pale strands. It was soothing, much like the hand you had once caressed him with.Though, even then, it lacked your tenderness. Nights like these were frequent. Days filled with longing and sorrow.

But who's to say he won't look for you? It's very likely that he would. This is the same lovestruck fool whom you had at your beck and call for decades on end, or perhaps even a century. His new job as the Land God's loyal familiar does little to determine him from his real goal: Finding you.

[cozymoko]

Platonic!Yandere Dad Gojo would be swell for me obvs not for the kid

Glad to see you back 🤗

PLATONIC! YANDERE DAD GOJO SATORU

Note: Hey, hey, hey! I'm glad to be back.

Format: Headcanons

Featuring: Platonic! Yandere Gojo Satoru

WARNINGS: Slight yandere themes

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀— 「大丈夫でしょう。だって、君弱いもん。」

Whether you're the product of a fling, a past relationship, hell, even if you aren't his blood. GOJO SATORU will take full responsibility for you!

You're spoiled rotten; it's honestly humorous. Even if your eyes linger for a moment, it's yours. No matter the price — the time — hell, even the place. There's no room for anything even relatively mediocre for you.

The day you met Megumi was the day he felt complete. If not for Megumi constantly being by your side, Gojo would've already worried himself to death! Sure, he gets a little jealous of when the two of you spend time together but that's normal, right?

There's not a moment when you aren't on his mind. In a very caring way, of course. Expect plenty of souvenirs from him, matching keychains being one of his personal favorite. But that's only when Gojo's not sneaking around his responsibilities (too much). If there's an opportunity, he'd take you out on several expensive trips, pushing his work onto Megumi to make up for it. Hey, it's not his fault he has a little too much favoritism towards you!

“Hey! That's no fair!” Gojo pouted. “You've been hanging out with Megumi more and more lately!”

You sat there, dumbfounded, at the behavior of the man you once admired wholeheartedly. In other words, your childish father. Maybe you'd be surprised if this were the first time it's happened; but, it's not.

At times you felt like his parent, but it was kinda of endearing in a sense. Gojo's strange mannerisms always kept you on your toes, patiently awaiting his next move with anticipation or even anxiety. But it wasn't all that bad.

You wouldn't give it up for the world.

Gojo is protective towards all his students, so you are no exception. Perhaps he'd be a bit more watchful of you but that's it. Gojo truly has no desire to monopolize your time, if anything he just wants to give you a better childhood than he had. But hey, teenagers need space! He gets that.

Sure he likes to joke around, but not at the expense of your well-being. The thought of you dying on his account is enough to send him spiraling. Man I'd hate to be whoever's on the receiving end.

“It's a shame, really. To end your life so early, that is.” The sorcerers' tone was upbeat yet seemingly forced. A tight lipped-smile adorned his lips, though it didn't reach his vibrant eyes. "But you've hurt someone extremely important to me. For that, you'll have to die.”

Gojo lowered to his heels, gazing lazily at the curse trembling before him. It was a rather hideous one at that. To think this thing almost caused you so much grief renders him ill. More so than the dark emotions brewing in his being the longer he watched it squirm.

Only then, did a single thought cross his mind. A thought that turned his cold smile warm — genuine, sinister even. “Hah! But don't worry, I'll make it worth your while. After all, being tortured by the strongest should be an honor.”

Your youth slips day by day, and with it your attention. It's only a matter of time before you go on to pursue a career in the adult world one day. The hourglass only has so much sand. Oh, that cruel side of the world that isn't made for such an oblivious kid — Satoru's kid at that.

Unlike Megumi, Gojo knows there's no real guarantee that you'll join the Jujutsu world. It's dangerous, so in a way he's relived by your lack of interest. However, if you attended Jujutsu Tech, then he could spend more time with you. Plus you're the child of the strongest, so there's no way you could lose!

“Wahh! My baby's growing up!” Gojo wails childishly, squishing his pale cheek against your own. “Please say you won't forget about Daddy!”

You scoff, peeling his lean arms from your shoulders. For someone so slim, he sure had a grip that could kill. “Dad, you're so dramatic. Of course I won't forget about you.”

He smiled, waving you off with a cheerful bye. Only for that same smile ti drop once you left.The genuinity of your words did little to soothe him. His heart churned in his chest as though it was being restricted by the sturdiest of rope.

You were growing up so fast he could hardly believe it. Soon enough you'll be moving out and starting a family of your own. Well, a new family plus him and Megumi of course!

As a father, his yandere tendencies aren't too noticeable to the naked eye. Some would argue that they dont exist. It's truly a side that Gojo never wants you to ever see. The opinions of others matter little in comparison to your own. Gojo desperately wants you to have the childhood he could not and he won't stop until you get just that. You deserve it.

GOJO SATORU isn't willing to get his hands dirty for just anyone. But it seems that when it comes to you and Megumi, he's more inclined to letting it happen.

Oh! Don't mind the blood on his hands. It's nothing, honestly! Just go hang out with Megumi for a bit until Gojo cleans up his little mess. Oh, and remember not to ask any unnecessary questions~!

[cozymoko]

PERFORM, FOR US.

word count: 1.9k

WARNING(S): slight yandere themes, suggestive behavior

Yandere! Ice Skater x Pianist! Reader ❄

It's freezing, both outside and in. But it's winter so that’s to be expected. While a smooth, chilling breeze nipped at the skin of many, warm blankets shielded the bodies of many more. And before they knew it, the Winter Olympics were just around the corner.

Your fingers twitched above the monochrome keys, itching to play whatever dared enter your mind. A faint hum had just barely buzzed past your sealed lips, reaching the curious ears of the man sitting before you.

This year’s theme: Soft Wonderland

It was strange, you thought so too. But that didn’t stop you from giving it your all. The way you played piano was something otherworldly, and you were just as lucky to have such a skilled skater performing it.

The skater in question was seated directly to your right.

You reached out and lightly flicked his exposed forehead. “What’s with that look; is there something on my face?” Your question was rhetorical, even dripping with a hint of sarcasm; yet it flustered him all the same.

VINCENT hastily shook his head, placing a pale hand on his reddened skin.

You opted to ignore the look of admiration that had painted his sharp features. It didn’t suit him. Not at all. On television, he was a blessing to the eye. Gifted a cold exterior and a face to match. Most of his fans viewed him as the reserved, prince-boyfriend type, who’s protective and well-composed no matter the circumstance. If not for his previous interviews, you could even say he seemed unapproachable. 

Ugh, they couldn’t be more wrong.

Vincent Yves Beaumont is a star in the making. Thief of Hearts and Trophies galore. A real gentleman, who's real easy on the eyes. A prodigy, successfully obtaining more than a handful of awards at the young age of twenty-two. Born in France; raised in Belgium, fluent in at least three languages. That in which has gained him quite the fanbase.

He was amazing, in the eyes of the public. Made to be something phenomenal — a star. Vincent was…he was…

A big fucking baby.

Even now, he rubbed gentle circles into your thigh with the smooth pads of his thumbs. His arm was propped against the edge of the piano-polished frame while his chin rested upon the base of his free hand. He was close, incredibly close. So close that you swore you felt the richness of his cologne tickling your nose: Cinnamon with a hint of pine. The faint remnants of mint mingled within his scent subtly. It was pleasant, but you distanced yourself anyway.

A quick glance at the clock was enough to send your heart spiraling. You only had an hour, sixty fucking minutes, to record all the edits you made on the sheet music before Vincent’s big performance. Although after having an inner monologue, mid-session at that, you truly anticipated nothing less.

“Se concentrer! Nous avons peu de temps.” You scolded. 

'Focus! We don’t have much time.' Those were your exact words, in French at that. Despite it being your first (and his), you only used it when he managed to annoy you. Unfortunately, that was arguably his favorite pastime.

Why did this irk you so? One might ask. And luckily, there’s a simple answer to this unbelievably idiotic question. It’s the Olympics for crying out loud and this childish fucker was going to be representing you! Sure, you didn’t doubt his abilities; he had quite the talent. But still, you never worked well under pressure. You have a whole reputation to uphold!

You were a composer, after all. A damn good one at that. For only being twenty-six, you easily retained the talent of someone well into their sixties. You spent most of your early twenties frolicking alongside plenty of well-renowned figure skaters; Vincent being one of them. You had won a handful of awards along the way, along with plenty of generous deals.

Meaning, that everyone had high expectations for you.

A soft chuckle breezed by your ears. It was deep but just the right amount. If you hadn’t known better, then you’d say your viable hysteria amused him. Hmph, What a sadist.

“I am,” He grins earnestly. “I promise.”

Maybe you’d believe him, just this once. You were even tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But when he snaked his arm around your waist, all your hope when flying out the window. Then again, you didn’t have much of it anyway. “Vincent, get off of me you pervert.”

“Noo, You’re my lucky charm, I need you in order to perform well tonight.” The brunette whined into the crook of your neck, his nimble fingers toying with the fabric of your wool sweater.

Vincent shifted practically all his weight on you, causing you to go tumbling off the side of the wooden piano stool. You wrap your arms around him for support, refusing to acknowledge the sinful sound that slipped past his rosy lips. For fucks sake, he acts like a virgin.

Then, as if he couldn’t get any closer, leaned in and gently ran his tongue along the shell of your ear - like a cat in heat. Vincent’s pretty lips tug into a subtle smirk, purring, “If I win first place, will you reward me, Mon cœur?”

Never mind, definitely not a virgin!

Your heart was drumming against your chest, cheeks flushing at the man’s proximity. Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!! What were you supposed to do? He’s getting far too close for this to even possibly be appropriate, not to mention he called you “his love”. 

You shrug him away weakly, just barely maintaining your composure. Vincent slightly loosened his hold on you, only to meet your gaze. Half-lidded eyes, blessed with long and full lashes. His chin rested on your chest, his hair tickling your exposed clavicles.  His cheeks adorned a deeper shade of red, as though just the sight of you was managing to rile him up. This alone was euphoric.

“Please, [Name].”

God, he looked shameful. What a perv.

Using all of your strength, you push him out of the room, slamming the door right in his face. “Go get dressed, damn it!” You managed to scream through rigid breaths. This was no longer your problem — Vincent was no longer your problem. This was an issue for Hualing — his makeup artist; or Enlai — his stylist. 

For that fact, you were grateful.

“Fuck, I only have thirty minutes left!”

After dropping the CD, you hailed a cab to take you back. Your lungs were screaming for air; your back practically collapsing in on itself. At this point, you were positive that the only thing keeping you from quitting it all was a shit ton of stress and adrenaline. But just as you were about to unlock the door, a loud DING echoed through the hotel's vacant halls.

Hesitantly, you opened it.

MR. ALWAYS ON TIME (VINCENT’S COACH):

Hey, [Name]! Just so you know, Beaumont won’t be the first performer today….

▷ delivered 19:34

To your delight (and vexation), Vincent would be the third performer of the night. “Gee, thanks,” You replied. That definitely would’ve been great to know earlier.

That evening, you were able to put those extra minutes to good use. You’d cleaned up rather nicely, compelling those around you to compliment your attire. They’d never guess you were an absolute wreck not even forty-five minutes ago.

You greeted his coach with a curt nod, before sitting a few seats down from him. Due to your reputation, others were quick to offer you seats closer to the front. And there was no chance in hell you were going to decline.

You learn back in your cushioned seat, blasting soft classical music over the booming voices of those around you. From what you knew, Vincent should be on any minute now and ready to—

“AHHH!!!” 

You sigh, “I spoke too soon.”

Squeals that mimicked pigs and spoiled children tore through your ears (and sanity). It was loud, so loud that not even your headphones could withstand its volume. You reach to massage your temples, peeling your eyes open to try to focus on the man before you.

Once on stage, he bowed to the judges before adjusting his posture, allowing the bright stage lights to catch the purple shimmers decorating his uniform. His smile commanded the audience’s attention; seemingly genuine with deep dimples pooling at its sides. Full, ebony strands parted and combed out his eyes.

Cat-like, hazel eyes flicker over the vast audience; left to right, side to side. In search of something - or rather someone. The star was quick to find you, watching him with a certain regard that made his heart flutter. He felt light, under your gaze. It burned him, like a flame nipping away at frostbitten fingers. Hungry, craving more than what should suffice. 

A feverish smile tugged at the corners of his rosy lips, one he didn’t bother to hide from the public. Vincent still acted like a young schoolgirl in your presence. Despite meeting you all those years ago. Despite being your fan as long as he can remember.

“Now for the star you’ve been waiting for, the heartthrob of a century…Vincent Yves Beaumont! ”

Gliding along the sleek ice like a Blue Jay spreading its feathered wings. Vincent’s movements showed a feeling of contentment and even bliss. Each quad looked like mere child’s play as he landed them, perfect without the tiniest flaw. Each turn was perfect as though he was programmed to perfection. Each and every axel he executed pulled a series of silent cheers from the crowd.

The skater nearly rolled his eyes, for he couldn’t finish his choreo fast enough. He didn’t want to pretend like he enjoyed being down here, at least a hundred feet away. He didn’t want to compete for something as insignificant as a medal when he could have your love as a prize instead. But he did it in a heartbeat…for you.

Nothing mattered if it wasn’t for you. 

If not for you, this career meant nothing.

The fame didn’t matter if you weren’t experiencing it with him.

He wanted you - No, needed you.

And he’d fucking have you too.

You hum in realization as the last three lines of your song carried through the wind. Vincent’s performance was coming to an end. Landing his final quad loop, smoothly transitioning into a back-counter triple counter. His choreo had ended, and with it your song. He bowed once more, drowning in a sea of applause that engulfed the stadium.

Roses, Peonies, whatever you could think of was thrown in the ring. Yet, Vincent didn’t bother to acknowledge one. His eyes were locked on you, yours on him. You gave him a friendly wave, and to your surprise, he did not reciprocate it. That in itself was weird.

Now, you may not be a genius but the look in his eyes was far from normal. Everyone’s precious star, Vincent, was staring at you like a lion watching its prey. If you hadn’t known any better you thought he’d be already trying to pounce on you at that very moment. Hah, and you’re not wrong! He could hardly strain the animalistic urge to take you home and finally make you his.

That’s when it hit you, you’ve never seen him lose a competition. So that “deal” you made earlier was getting closer and closer to becoming reality. And something told you he wasn’t going to let you go~!

“Fuck me, bro.”

[cozymoko]

hello:)) could you maybe do a yandere kaname kuran with another pure blood girl? the girl could be a pretty inexperienced vampire, maybe she was kept as a human for safety kinda like yuki.. change around as you like!! thank you☺️☺️

if possible maybe even a little spicy 😏😏

YANDERE! KANAME W/ A PUREBLOOD READER — 🩸

Pairing: Yandere! Kaname Kuran x new pureblood! reader

Note: Yesss, ofc!

Format: Headcanons; 2nd person

WARNING(S): yandere themes, slightly suggestive (bad)

THE COLLAPSE OF many pureblood families had unfortunately not been uncommon. Yours, my dear, happened to be the unfortunate choice. And with their destruction went your title. You had been forced to live as a human, without a memory to your name. All for the sake of your being, a new bloodline. It felt surreal, like a dream. A dream you had no choice but to come to terms with.

Luckily (or not) for you, a certain Kuran was determined to revive your former self. The real one he had come to adore. Hah, it's safe to say you have a very extensive past with each other.

Though he admits, your parents did quite an extraordinary job at hiding your whereabouts. Not even your average pure blood was guaranteed success in their searches for you. However, Kaname is no ordinary pure blood; oh heavens no! Rather, he holds the blood of the infamous Kuran family, a group notorious for their selfish and greedy actions when it comes to those he holds dear to him.

You happen to be one of the few. How lovely~!

Kaname reaches out and cups your cheeks in his palms. He savored the warmth of your skin, for it was the last time he would feel it. The gentle flushing of your cheeks had gnawed away at his last ounce of composure. Truthfully, it wasn't in his best interest to ravish you, though it was tempting. It would simply have to wait.

He almost felt guilty for snatching it all away from you. The subtle beauty of being a human, living your life as anything bus immortal, passing on with those you held close. Ahem — almost.

“[Name],” The man cooed. “Do you trust me?” You blinked, resisting the urge to squirm under his watchful gaze. He was a patient man, though not when it came to you.

Even having you beneath him for hours on end had not been enough to quench his thirst. Even now, he awaited your answer like a loyal dog, itching for your affections.

“Y...yes.”

Your hesitancy didn't go unnoticed, not that it mattered anyways. Your skin went soft against the chill of his lips, it was definitely something you had to get used to. Kaname slowly nipped at your skin, lavishing it in wet, hot kisses.

He held your hand tight in one hand, fingers interlocked into one; whilst the other tucked loose strands from your sight. Gently stripping you of the silks that concealed your skin, allowing your blood to bleed through its sheer fabric.

“Let me know if it hurts, [Name].”

HE WAS QUICK to wed you after your transformation.

However, he’ll keep it a secret if you happen to attend the academy. There's no doubt that you’ll be transferred to the night class to live alongside him and the others. Though he tries so hard to hide it, he’s a possessive man at heart. Kaname in no way views you as an object, and yet he wishes to own your entire being.

Under no circumstances will you take blood from another man - or anyone for that matter. If you do, he’s quick to wipe them from your sight. You should never have to rely on someone who isn't him. Just the thought drives him insane.

Isolated and subjected to hours of needles, torturous thoughts of the world around you. The world you had once embraced in your mortal body. It's a shame what love does to a person. It's laughable, truly. You just happened to be one of the lucky ones to get to finally understand what hell feels like...

Im intrigued; wont you tell me a little, dear~?

Soft tears spilled from your puffy eyes for what seemed to be endless. They were warm, something your skin no longer was. You had tried not to let your sorrows consume you, but today, they’d bested you. Hugging your knees to your chest, you peer out one of the many windows that stretched along the Kuran manor. Well, your manor. And yet it provided you little comfort. “What’s bothering you so much, dear?”

Instinctively, you reach out, allowing the man to scoop you into his lean arms. You were a fool, your mother would scold you. How could you ever allow a Kuran to woo you so; to take away the mortal life you were gifted? But you couldn’t help it, he was all you had. Kaname was the only one who kept you warm at night.

Kaname was the only reminder of your old life.

Kaname was the only one you could trust.

Kaname —

“I’m sorry…” Kaname murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. “I truly am {Name}. Please, dry your tears.”

Sorry? Yes, that he was. Although not for the reasons you’re thinking dearest. He’s a Kuran after all; the man is bound to be selfish! Kaname is so, oh so very sorry. He hates seeing you cry…but, he hates the thought of losing you much more.

[cozymoko]

KAMISAMA KISS

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀updated: 7/15/23

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

TOMOE

General Yandere Headcanons

Platonic headcanons