#𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸

[yan-jack]

𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕖.

𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸𝔸

𝕙𝕚𝕚𝕚 𝕨𝕚𝕫 𝕚 𝕒𝕞 𝕒𝕘𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕪 𝕚𝕟𝕓𝕠𝕩𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕪𝕠𝕦 <3 𝕙𝕚𝕚 𝕞𝕒𝕪 𝕚 𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕪𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕠 <3 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕖 /𝕘𝕖𝕟

-𝕕𝕠𝕔𝕔𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕨𝕠𝕔𝕔𝕚𝕥𝕪 /𝕛

YO ITS THE BEING THAT FUCKS

Yes my dear friend you may!! Anything for the person that bullies me bc I love Stanford [=

(My fave is better /j)

So I’m gonna go for hc style on this one to feed the wonderful masses!

Romantic Yan Sheo x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, worshipful behavior, tiny tiny hints at smut, forced cuddling, mentions of genitalia to make a “suck my dick” moment.

You probably encountered him on one of his rare trips out of his home, to practice painting the green shades of Greenpath. His head snapped your way as you hissed, having a nasty and intimate encounter with the vines. A quiet chuckle left the bug, entertained by your anger towards the unmoving specimen. No fault but your own, though he had pity. Easing his form up, he crept behind you, going to offer his services,

Until you put a nail at his throat. Little cuts littered your clothes and body, soul leaking out your form like a faucet. Although you attempted to hold yourself stiff, you shook like a leaf lost from Unn’s reach. You were just a scared bug who was hurt and angry. The nail master had to stop himself from pulling at his paintbrush, deciding a diplomatic route would end this far quicker than any fight would. Not to say he couldn’t end you in seconds, especially considering your unfortunate health, but still. Mercy was sweet on a traveler so lucky.

It took a bit of coaxing, but you eventually lowered your nail to your hip (he found himself staring, much to his own embarrassment) and allowed him to guide you to his home. An off journey, especially with him having to carry you through the thorns. You had not a clue how his legs weren’t torn through by the natural dangers, but kept silent. A smart wanderer knows not to run the tongue lest it be cut. The trip was mostly filled with his chatter, seeming happy to have company even if it wasn’t exactly willing. His voice was nonstop. Switching between saying how you’d make a great subject for a painting and admiration of how strong you were even while injured.

Somewhere along the way, lost to the rumbling of Sheo’s voice, you drifted to sleep. It was a sweet, long slumber, filled with nothing but warmth. For once, you felt safe. For once, the infection and fighting were far out of your mind’s reach. Although you weren’t out of Sheo’s reach. His brush strokes were weak attempts to capture the beauty in front of him. He’d never seen such a truly peaceful face, especially from someone so worried. You used your nail as an extension of yourself; great for fighting, horrible for everyday life. Based off the way you slouched you probably hadn’t known a days peace in a long while.

The brush twitched with his hand, worry creasing his brow as he realized: you probably hadn’t had a days peace. But Sheo…he could help you find peace. All you had to do was trust him. You deserved better than what this world had to offer muse. Nothing but violence.

You had stayed with him for a couple days after that, often catching him speedily trying to outline something of those many canvasses of his. You were told not to look at them, under claims that they were just scenery practice and personal stuff a wanderer wouldn’t care for. Especially when you plan to hit the road soon. Although every time the bug mentioned it, he seemed anxious or even angry whenever you brought up leaving. You had to give it to him, he was good at prying information out of you. Stories of your childhood, your travels, and despite not being exactly an artist, what art you might like to see. It led to quite the interesting conversation, him doubling over as he laughed at your incorrect use of painting terminology. “The uh….the subject would be…Crystal Peak?” “THATS NOT WHAT A SUBJECT IS-“

Slowly these moments occurred more naturally between the two of you, slipping into a rhythm you would’ve loved to hear the end of, if you didn’t have to leave. Sheo hated it really, staring down the packed bag you carried. Seldom did you open the bag, despite his most often of queries to its contents. Truly puzzling. Something he loved; something he’d miss. Imagination was his greatest gift and curse, happily imagining you staying with him, finally being a willing and knowing participant of his paintings. To stay and learn new talents with him. No one was unreachable he believed, and he approached you all the same.

It hurt then, when on your last day he left for errands. He insisted you try and wait for him to get back to see you off, claiming to never have had such a visitor as yourself. “Truly a wonder you are,” he whispered almost breathlessly, “to have stumbled upon me in this accursed garden meant to keep all out.” Of course, you did your best to hold out. Couldn’t stand to think of hurting such a sweet soul as that. Biding time, you stared at the corner of the room filled with cloaked paintings. It taunted you, sheet draped so eerily well against the frames. It was only right then for you to strip the portraits of their confines, open them to the light and see the true nature.

Oh you wished you hadn’t. Your own reflection taunted you, of you sleeping, of you laughing, even you redressing after you had awoken. What kind of nonsense? No, no you had to flee. It was exactly as you had feared, an artist falling for someone to leave. Poetic brutality could suck your dick, you weren’t going to be trapped in some hut while the world awaited you. With a packed bag slung over your shoulder, the door opened and your feet moving forward-

Everything hurt. That’s all that crossed your mind. That you couldn’t see anything, and that everything was sore. Soft breathing came from beside you, a heavy arm becoming visible as your eyes creaked open to the dim moonlight. Nighttime? But you were supposed to leave yesterday. Instinctively, your hand traced your side for you nail, only to have an even larger hand cover it. “Stop moving so much my love. You’re making it hard to sleep. We both need our rest.”

Fear froze your frame. Sheo’s voice. The one you had fallen asleep too. What had he done? Supposedly knocked you out with how your head throbbed, causing you to feel sore. But now, he easily restrained you as his body slotted against yours, sighing happily and nuzzling into you.

What a perfect world to live in, with just you, your muse, and all the paint you could ever need.

WOOP WOOP AND DONE!! Shout out to you and Jack, once again doc for inspiring me to start this blog. Request anything you want at any time. You might even get a pass when requests are closed ;]