#Former Yan

[kazu-naito]

i wonder if aleksandra knows she made them gay as hell

[obsessed-loverboy]

I want to be held and kissed and comforted but I don't want anyone else in the room... certainly not anyone that could realistically show up anyways...

is it weird to hope some ghost takes pity on me?

[yansurnummu]

oh I keep forgetting to share drals' playlist so here it is if anyone's interested. it is 46 minutes of emo/post-hardcore because it felt very fitting for him

[hana-no-seiiki]

I'm sorry about what that mean anon said. while your content could be considered mild, that doesn't mean its not yandere. Your characters still have the key aspects of a yandere- obsession, delusion, and homicidal. As long as they have those aspects (which they do and they ard very well written) that counts as yandere.

fr. though we don’t know if it’s the intensity they’re talking about or something else. like they really need to take a lesson on writing papers cause goddamn i have no idea what they were referring to.

also for new readers (which im assuming you are one too non) i do have intense yans i just don’t write for them as much since they aren’t popular/fun to do. unless we get more writers for dom! reader and yans that focus more on ruining other’s lives instead of their darling + stalking/simping over them, i’ll just take up that job.

[ddarker-dreams]

As Above, So Below.

Yan Anaxagoras x Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalances, some co-dependency and emotional manipulation. Word count: 2.2k.

Anaxagoras is a polarizing figure. 

It’s to be expected, considering his lack of propriety. He cares little for respecting age-old traditions, observing social customs, or sugar coating his words. This has earned him no shortage of detractors. While they might label him a heretic or lob other accusations, even his most ardent opponents can’t deny that he’s brilliant. 

You’re no stranger to his eccentricity. His teaching style fluctuated between the routine and the sublime, you never knew what to expect. Nonetheless, you’ve always felt he takes his students’ edification seriously, hence his extreme tactics. Upon reflection, you concluded that this distinct pedagogy molded your mind into its current shape. Curiosity, drive, and a will to question the supposedly infallible have become your core tenets, courtesy of your professor. 

Who would’ve thought the very skepticism he instilled in you would one day be directed towards him? 

Ever since your most damning accusation left your lips, silence has reigned in his office. You projected a semblance of confidence for most of your exchange, but that façade has long since dissipated. You’re fidgeting, nervous energy building inside like a dam ready to burst. You regret doing this in his office, but the conversation necessitated privacy. The room has always left a strange impression on you. One glance at the notes strewn about his desk confirms the immeasurable gap in your intellect, how he’s discovering answers to questions you’d never think to ask. It’s both awe-inspiring and demoralizing. 

You can feel how he’s observing you, mentally breaking you down to your base components. There are only so many ways one can respond to the charges you’ve presented. Denial is by far the likeliest, followed up by indignation or disbelief. You’d run through this scenario hundreds of times in your head. Each time, he’d said something by now, constructing a meticulous defense. This silence denies you the catharsis rage would allow. Instead, you’re made to sit in a limbo of your own creation, replaying each element of this confrontation. 

Was your evidence lacking? Did your emotions seep through too much, discrediting your logic? Or are you not right in the head, having imagined everything in some paranoia-fuelled haze? 

Gathering your courage, you look up, steeling yourself for whatever stares back.

Anaxa’s composure is striking. He’s smiling, a sentiment akin to fondness softening the lines around his eye. If that wasn’t disconcerting enough, he chuckles, quietly at first, but ending in a hearty diapason. You drop all pretense and openly gawk at him. This goes beyond a few character quirks, this is madness. Righteous fury sends your blood boiling. You stand up, ready to storm out, when he raises his hand, a motion that keeps you in place. 

“Please, sit,” he supplicates. No vestige of his former derangement remains; regardless, it isn’t so easily erased from your memory. Sensing your apprehension, he continues, “Haven’t I taught you to always finish what you’ve started?” 

You part your lips, ready to insist that this is different, but the argument dies on your tongue. He has a way of making you doubt yourself without doing anything. Even now, you’re plagued by an impulse not to disappoint him. Feeling defeated, you return to your seat.

He leans back, crosses his legs, and rests his folded hands on his knee. “How long have you held these suspicions?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Untrue. Try again.” 

“... Since the Month of Gate.” 

“That long, hm?” Anaxa muses. He leans closer, his gracile form hunched forward, like when he’s on the precipice of a great revelation. “We’re in the Six Month now; why wait as long as you did?” 

“Because I couldn’t believe it!” 

He clicks his tongue. “Willful ignorance, then? That’s unbecoming of you.” 

Your heart plummets at his reprimand. Memories of your first few one-on-one oral tests come flooding back, pelting your psyche. He accepted nothing less than your absolute best. You used to think he purposefully set you up for failure, demanding the impossible, but the results proved otherwise. He saw potential in areas you were too frightened to spare a glance. He encouraged — no, demanded — that you face them head-on. Consequently, you discovered yourself capable of feats previously unthinkable. 

That habit of his must extend beyond the lectern. 

“You come to me presenting vague, disconnected data, without the resolve to say what it is I stand accused of.” 

Something in you snaps. “How about falsifying my grades, coercion, bribery, and stalking, to name a few?” 

“An excellent start!” he asserts, slightly breathless from exhilaration. “Finally, we’re getting to the heart of the matter. Your reasoning is solid, if lacking in scope. Expand on your argument.” 

“This— this isn’t a learning exercise. If you don’t take me seriously, I’ll…” 

You trail off, fully aware you lack the means to substantiate a threat. Scowling, you internally berate yourself. He’s successfully stirred up your temper. Who could blame you, though? His disregard is baffling! You know him to be insensitive, sure, but never purposefully cruel. A lump forms in the back of your throat. You fight it with all your might, not wanting to add to your humiliation. He hadn’t made you cry in ages. The last time would’ve been his scathing critique of your first assignment, many years ago. You swore never to endure that again. 

“Don’t look at me like that, my dear,” Anaxa sighs. “I am taking you seriously. Forgive my excitement; I’ve been awaiting this conversation. Now, I know you’re thinking, ‘he’s lost it,’ or something to that effect. Let me reassure you — I’m perfectly sane. How else could I have accomplished what you’ve accused me of?” 

You eye him warily. “So you’re admitting to it?” 

“Not everything. I never tampered with your grades.” 

He’s focusing on the least egregious charge? Wouldn’t anyone else refute stalking or coercion first? You almost left out the dubious grades, it paled so greatly compared to the other accusations. 

“You never told me I failed after an oral test.” 

“I never said you passed, either.” 

“But you looked pleased!”

“Does that translate to a high grade?” 

“It’s disingenuous!” 

“Disingenuous, yes, but falsification? Hardly.” 

“Why is that what you’re caught up on?” you demand, your voice rising in pitch. “The point is, you’re keeping me from graduating. That’s the issue here.” 

“Is it not up to the professor whether their student should graduate or not?” 

Anaxa’s acting facetious to get under your skin and it’s working. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, recalling his lessons about the advantages of preying on your opponent’s emotions in a debate. Is that what this is? Had that been the case, you’d expect a more subtle approach. All this ambiguity is doing you a disservice. He claimed you ‘lacked scope,’ so you opt for a shift in tactics. 

“Why don’t you want me to graduate?” 

“An improvement over your earlier questions,” he notes, nodding in approval. “Still, you should know I dislike giving answers you’ve arrived at yourself.” 

“I haven’t—” 

He interrupts you by speaking your name, his tone low and chill-inducing. Shudders travel along your body. His disappointment reaches into your chest cavity and steals your oxygen. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. This ever-present desire to make him proud has twisted your priorities. Despite yourself, his earlier praise, meager as it was, sent your heart soaring. The acknowledgment of a genius is titillating. 

… Maybe you’re not right in the head either. 

“You’re attracted to me.” 

“A shallow description, albeit accurate.” 

“You don’t want me to leave The Grove.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Some warped sense of attachment, if I had to guess.” 

“Hmph. I wouldn’t call it warped,” Anaxa replies. “The ethics, perhaps, but my intentions aren’t so nefarious. Your talent would be wasted in Okhema. Should you stay, I’d have you as my assistant, a position you’d find challenging and rewarding. Is that not a tempting offer?” 

Your mouth goes dry. 

Tempting? Life-altering would be a better description. The role of assistant to a Sage is enviable for its benefits, monetarily, but more vital, academically. Other scholars are more willing to collaborate, you have access to any materials you research necessitates, and you’re welcomed into previously inaccessible circles. It’s a chance your younger self would’ve killed for. 

However… 

“My intention has always been to return home and apply what I’ve learned. Okhema’s one of the last standing city-states, I want to contribute what I can.”

Anaxa pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re still clinging to those fantasies? Leave that city to the Goldweaver. She has her shortcomings, but when it comes to ruling, she maintains order.” 

“We can’t rely solely on Aglaea. Common people should do their part,” you insist. “I want to see my home prosper, not limp from crisis to crisis.” 

“Such are the times we live in.” 

“So I should just give up, then?” 

“If you have any sense.” 

“Whatever happened to ‘finish what you start?’” 

“We aren’t finished yet,” Anaxa responds, unusually harsh. “Focus on that. Everything else is secondary, a distraction.” 

Your eye twitches. 

“What about what I want?” 

“You want to stay. It’s a misguided civil duty fooling you into believing otherwise.” 

Anaxa’s speaking like he’s objectively correct, as if any claims to the contrary are insipient, a waste of his time. It’s equal parts fascinating and infuriating. You’re reminded of the countless hours spent in this room, passionately defending your rationale against his methodical deconstructions. Except now, it isn’t a theory or method you’re debating, it’s your future. Ultimately, no one aside from you has the final say. His claim that you’re deluded by sentimentality is projection. He’s acting absurd here, not you. 

“I’ve always had great respect for you, professor,” you admit, ignoring a terrible ache in your chest. “You’ve never been afraid to question the status quo, even if it meant challenging the gods. That’s why… that’s why I struggled to believe you’d sabotage me. Call it ‘willful ignorance,’ or whatever, but was it so wrong of me to have faith in my mentor?” 

Anaxa’s eyelashes flutter shut and he smiles. “An appeal to pathos, is it?” 

“It’s called being human, Anaxa.” 

That gets under his skin. His eye is hooded when it reopens, belying irritation. 

“Anaxagoras,” he dryly corrects. 

“Your priorities are a mess.” 

“Insolence should never be tolerated,” he asserts. “I commend your rhetoric. Need I remind you, however, that I’m not to blame for the image you’ve formed of me?” 

You exhale sharply through your nose. So that’s the angle he’s deciding to take? He’s willing to desecrate a shrine you dedicated to him, built with precious memories and experiences?

While studying his physiognomy, you note how stoic he’s become. He’s toned down his usual theatrics. There’s a solemn nature to his gaze, his eyebrow slightly upturned and jaw set firmly. Through his outerwear, you can make out the alchemical symbols inked into his arm. When it comes to pursuing his ambitions, he’s like a man possessed. Nothing is too sacred, not even his own flesh. 

What chance do you have against such determination? 

“You must be lonely, professor.” 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Resorting to insults now, are we?”

“It’s just an observation,” you say. Then, a prolonged pause. “One that you aren’t denying.” 

Anaxa reclines in his seat and clears his throat. “Your company… isn’t unwelcome.” 

It could be your imagination, but you swear there’s a light dusting of pink over his cheeks. He fiddles with the cuffs of his outer garment. Out of all the dubious comments he’s made, that’s what made him self-conscious? The absurdity takes you a few moments to recover from. Anaxa leverages the opportunity, bringing your hands into his. You try pulling away out of instinct, only for him to exert surprising strength. 

Effectively trapped, you cease your futile struggle. 

“Stay,” his voice is so soft, it almost fails to reach your ears. “I’m not above begging, if that’s what it requires.” 

He lowers his head, seeking to propitiate you, as if golden ichor didn’t flow through his veins, denoting his supernal status. He who scorns the divine has taken on the posture of an acolyte. An act befitting a lifelong blasphemer, you suppose. 

Anaxa speaks your full name, each syllable rolling off his tongue like honey. 

“Should you leave, I’ll hasten the eschaton of this world by aiding the black tide.” 

“... And you claim you haven’t ‘lost it?’” 

“Not yet,” he murmurs against your inner wrist. “You’re still here.” 

“What you said could warrant execution.” 

“I prefer to die having had you for myself than to live apart.” 

“You’re mad.” 

“As the progenitor, can a malady fault its symptoms for existing?” 

“Casuistry at its finest.” 

Anaxa finally relinquishes his hold, but not without kissing your racing pulse. 

“Be critical of me all your days, I’ll delight in the offense.” 

You bring your hands to your chest, the skin he lavished in affection tingling. Your head is spinning, like he shifted the world on its axis. His eye scalds you, his magenta pupil burning hot with unrestrained fervor. There's no room for compromise. He will see his designs made manifest or immolate this dying world to punish your rejection.

"What will it be?" he asks.

You close your eyes, unable to withstand his smoldering gaze any longer.

"... My place is by your side, professor."

[heartfullofleeches]

Boys in cheer hit harder!

Masochist Bully Yan + Male Cheerleader Darling

[Physical Violence, Masochism, suggestive themes so 18+, as implied by the title - reader wears a skirt/presents feminine]

-

“Wanna repeat that again? Huh? Bitch-” 

Locking your arms around his neck, your knee soars into the bridge of your assailant's nose - thick, runny blood gushing like a broken faucet as he staggers backwards, nauseated from the pain. 

Hands shove and prod at his back, the defeating cheers of the ever growing crowd clawing at his ear drums as he's flung squarely in the direction of your follow up attack. Stars staining his vision, sound is all there is to guide him as your fist crashes into his side - the studded ring gifted to you by one of the girls on your team sure to leave a curious bruise. He wheezes, splatters of crimson dying the whites of your favorite blouse red. A deep, hateful color- One that paints your vision as you screech in rage. 

“Making fun of the way I dress isn't enough for you.. Do you know how hard it is to get stains out of the shirt?!” 

“Wait, I'm sorry, about everything- Please-” 

His head bounces off the concrete - your entire body weight launched at him at lighting speed as you scramble to climb on top of him. Meaty thwacks proceed one after another as you unleash your fury on, refusing to let up as screams of vindication muddy into murmurs of hesitant concern.

Everyone knew he deserved it. Even the ones who arrived late to the show. Hell- he was the one who swung first, but there is a fine line between self defense and manslaughter. 

A single soul in the crowd didn't give a damn if the beating was justified or not. All he cared for was the bastard's vile words towards you - and his audacity to take his rightful place at the mercy of your wrists. 

The two of you had been walking home together when it happened. You, enthusiastically retelling the exciting tales of your day. Him, working up the courage to hold your hand. Truth be told, Erin had been neglecting time with his boys in favor of you. Some understood, others didn't. 

Why would anyone choose a freak like you over them? 

He didn't want to cause a scene. Erin was dead set on cooling the situation publicly, dragging his so-called “friend” behind the school to teach him a lesson - but you acted first. Everything happened so quickly. If he hadn't been so overwhelmed by the gust in your - something unheard of in a gentle soul like you, he would have protected you better. 

From the current outlook of things, he should be the one in your protection. 

That should be me. 

Erin's mouth hangs agape as your shapely ass springs off the chest of his former ally - a tiny, defeated whimper creaking from his throat as the crack of a heavy handed slap reverberates through the air. So close he can almost taste it. Almost feel it. Your manicured nails piercing his skin. Those powerful legs straddling him as you pummel him into submission. Your glossy lips smeared with his blood and tears. 

“Ngh..” 

He hisses through his teeth - the buckling of his hips weaving traction to the growing tent in his pants as the sensitive flesh grazes the fabric of his boxers. Nowhere near as soft as the panties you so proudly flaunt by your lonesome in the locker rooms, but enough to leave him a breath away from crying out for his turn. 

“You got my stuff, Rinny?” 

If there was anything to make him come undone, the airy giggle in your voice hit the nail on the head. Erin rubs at his neck, your backpack shielding the painful stiffness in his jeans. He glances around - the crowd now disburse with two of his other former acquaintances dragging their unconscious friend away. 

“Ah… y-yeah… Why don't I.. just hold onto it until we get to your place?”

“Awwwe, you're so sweet, Rinny!” 

Gluing yourself to his hip, you snuggle into Erin's arms - fingers interlocking with his. Erin clicks his tongue, wiping at your bloodied cheek with feigned annoyance. 

“You're such a mess.” 

But you're his mess, and that's all that matters. 

[spooklies]

# Sinister - Platonic!Yan!Mark Grayson & Older!Sis!Reader

♡ ... › Her little brother saw the worst of it that night and since witnessing the death of their mother he was never the same. Gone was her sweet and joyful little brother who’s smile could rival the sun — his diminished light leaving a sinister shadow of what once was. But she has hope he could return to his former self one day, unaware of what else she lost that night.

— Words - 3.2k

♡ ... › Warning(s) - Forced imprisonment. Forced eating. Mentions of death. Dubious/nonconsensual touching (hugs, hand on jaw, etc)

She should have stayed home that night, she shouldn’t have rolled her eyes at her mother before leaving, she shouldn’t have avoided her mother when she leaned in to kiss her forehead–

But she had, and now she’ll never get the chance to make it up to her. At the age of eleven, she’d been pulled aside by her friend’s parents asking if they could drive her to the hospital to go be by Mark’s side. Initially, she had assumed Mark was the one who got hurt, possibly snuck back onto the roof despite her constant warnings of why he shouldn’t be up there, but then she was pulled into an all-encompassing embrace with the words she’ll never forget whispered into her ear sorrowfully.

Your mother had been found dead.

They’re saying your little brother had seen it all happen.

Your father hasn’t responded to any of his calls or messages either, so they’re asking if you could go be by Mark’s side since he’s all alone at the hospital right now.

The drive to the hospital was spent with her staring at her hands as tension pounded into the sides of her head. She’d done her best not to think about her mother or the way they’d left things off earlier and instead put all her focus on Mark and his well-being. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what he must be feeling if what they were saying was true – at just seven years old, he’d watched his mother be killed.

She spent the rest of the drive trying not to puke, and by the time she made it to Mark all of the adrenaline that had been building up was instantly expelled. She ran to Mark’s side and pulled him into a hug, the blanket they had him draped in the only thing between them for a moment before she felt his little arms peek out from the fabric to wrap around her in return.

“You’re okay now, Mark. I got you, everything will be okay,” She continued to whisper to him, her lips meeting the crown of his head after each sentence. The more she repeated the reassurances, the more she questioned who they were really for – him or herself. Meanwhile, Mark hadn’t uttered a sound, nor had he shed a single tear like she’d started to. She found it concerning at first, and when she was pulled away from Mark and ushered out of the room she’d asked the nurses about why her little brother wasn’t saying anything, or why he wasn’t reacting like she was.

Mark was just recently traumatized, they explained. He’s most likely suffering through the first symptom of that which is shock. And given his recent witness of events, he’ll need to receive a constant flow of attentive care and affection from here on out. As his older sister, she didn’t hesitate in promising the nurses as well as herself that night that she’d do just that. She’d take her role as his older sister more seriously, unknowing that in Mark’s mind, he’d made a similar vow; to ensure that he’ll never be so weak as to let someone he cares about be hurt ever again.

\\\

Life after their mother’s death was incomparable to what it once was. With their father stricken with grief and a new motive for revenge against the person who’d taken his wife from him, he’d begun teaching her and Mark how to fight. She’d played along with the lessons in the beginning, if only for Mark’s sake. She wanted to be someone he could rely on more thoroughly, and the other reason which she wouldn’t outwardly admit given how allergic to affection her father had become, was seeing how happy the training made Mark.

It was rare to see her little brother smile so much after that eventful night, she’d done everything in her power to bring back that spark by using methods that would’ve worked before. She got him his favorite comics and even offered to read them with him. She offered countless times to play catch with him in their backyard all the while regretting the numerous times he used to do the same and she would decline. But none of her methods worked nowadays, the only ones that did were when she asked to spar and practice a new move she learned.

Mark was competitive, more so than before. He never held back with each punch, leaving her with a bruise or two on more occasions than not. Meanwhile, she let him. She knew that with her taller frame and more developed muscles she’d be able to win each fight effortlessly, but she wanted to be the reason her little brother smiled again – whether that be in victory from a fight, or when she’d playfully throw him to the ground and begin tickling him while pretending to be an enemy called, “The Tickle Monster”.

She tried her best to give Mark that semblance of a childhood back, it’s what their mother would have wanted. But she’s not around to help guide them anymore, which left their father in full control. His way of parenting contradicted everything their mother had preached; where she was gentle, he was harsh. He’d see the bruises Mark would give her and pull her aside and out of earshot to call her weak-minded for letting someone else win a fight they shouldn’t have won in the first place. And instead of arguing back, she’d bite her tongue, making empty promises to not do it again only to break that promise the very next day.

A bridge had begun to build between them, and she had convinced herself that she was fine with it. If it meant Mark could be a kid for a little longer, then she’d make those necessary sacrifices in a heartbeat. So by the time she turned eighteen and still hadn’t developed her powers, she was cast aside by him in favor of Mark. With her bags packed and at the door, she was quick to train her expression into calm neutrality at Mark’s expected appearance.

“You’re leaving? But why?” Anger carved harsh lines across Mark’s face, hardening his jaw and turning his cheekbones into slashes of tension. She felt a pinprick of anxiety poke its way into her heart, the sound of her blood pumping making her almost dizzy.

“I have to, Mark. Dad doesn’t want me around and… and this house isn’t what it used to be.” She needed a change of pace, she’d spent so long putting all of her time and energy into keeping the family together. But after all of these years of failure, it was time she faced reality and lived for herself for once.

“You can’t just leave! What would… what would mom say?” She shut her eyes, inhaling her initial anger at his words, and then exhaling any regrets she could have possibly felt at that moment towards Mark.

“Don’t, if Mom was here then she would have scolded you for even saying that.” Mark huffed, shaking his head and then turning away from her, his fists clenched.

“You can’t survive on your own, you’re weak. You’ll regret doing this.”

Y/n took in his words, and as she processed them another realization settled in – one she’d kept buried in the recesses of her mind.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” At her confession, Mark scoffed and walked back to his room. By the time he was out of frame, she cupped her mouth and hiccuped, tears warming her eyes and causing her nose to sting as if she were breathing in water instead of air.

She had failed Mark – she’d failed as an older sister.

After she’d left her childhood home and all but abandoned what she had left of her family, she stopped receiving random texts and calls from Mark. It wasn’t until four years later that all of that would change when the world would be forced to plummet into despair when she’d see him again.

But he was different, attempting to compare him to the sweet and outgoing boy from their youth was laughable. She’d heard of him through the news before everything would be changed to “Viltrumite” propaganda, that a person dressed in yellow and black had begun enslaving humans alongside the man she recognized to be her father.

So like everybody else, she’d gone into hiding. People who resisted the Viltrumite empire were slaughtered without remorse. And after a while rumors had begun to spread that those who went into hiding were deemed rebels too. She’d carved her death sentence the moment she joined a group known as the Resistance, that fact would only be given more merit when more rumors began to spread, this time involving her specifically.

“They’re looking for a person who matches your description, Y/n. And they’ve promised a reward to the first person to turn you in.” Eve, a prominent figure in the resistance, had been the first to break the news to her. Her features were drawn into concern, but her eyes told her a different story.

She had considered it at one point.

“And you’re telling me this because..?”

“I’m trying to warn you, there are people here who wouldn’t hesitate in turning you in if it means they get to save their hide.”

A hypocrite, everyone who had considered turning her in, or currently still is was a huge hypocrite in her eyes. But she needed to hear Eve out, she knows better than to take things like this at only its surface level. And what she’s beginning to understand from her words caused dread to coil furiously inside her gut.

“You’re going to suggest I leave, aren’t you?”

Eve heaved out an exasperated sigh, her elbows which were propped on the table they sat at brought into a position where she could cover her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’ll give you supplies to leave with, but you being here risks the entire foundation of this group. People could begin turning on each other, or worse, they could start killing if it meant being the person who turns you in first.”

She didn’t want to argue with her either, she’d spent a year at the resistance already and the whole time of her staying there, she’d rarely contributed to the few excursions she was sent on. It was clear she’d overstayed her welcome, and that Eve wasn’t suggesting – she was demanding that she leave.

So without bothering to argue, she did. But without a clear destination in mind, she was lost. The rations they supplied her with were just enough to get by for a few days, a small mercy to reprieve the possible guilt they felt for forcing one of their own to fend for themselves in the ruins of what once was. She kept to the shadows, never lingering in one place for long, and found clothes to keep her identity better hidden. After a week of surviving on her own, videos began to display on every screen she’d come across – Mark, in his recent attire, asking that she come back home.

She didn’t want to for numerous reasons, but then the lives of others were threatened, a dozen people would be killed each day she didn’t return. So with a heavy heart, she finally relented and returned to the one place she promised to never return to.

She went home.

Upon opening the door, she was surprised to see everything perfectly intact. The other houses in the neighborhood were either ransacked or destroyed altogether. But stepping inside her old home was akin to traveling back in time. With trembling hands, she approached a picture frame of her family, her eyes immediately zeroing in on her mother’s smiling face as she held both her and Mark in her arms.

She didn’t know how long she was standing there just staring and stuck reminiscing in nostalgia, but she’d been there long enough to hear the door open and for the setting sun to paint the living room in orange hues. His shadow somewhat blocked her view of the picture frame, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into his chest was what blocked it entirely. He smelled of smoke and iron – she tried not to dwell on the implications of it either. His arms, which she remembered used to be barely long enough to reach the top of the counter, now held her in a vice-like grip as if she were still a flight risk. He rested his chin on top of her head and exhaled a shaky breath, a smile apparent in his voice as he said,

“I knew you’d come back,”

She wanted to curse at him, to refute his statement and defend her reasons for ever stepping foot in this place again. But Mark had become someone beyond reason – he only listened to what he wanted to hear. That day when she’d left, he claimed that she’d come to regret her decision. But Mark was wrong, she didn’t regret leaving, she regretted staying for as long as she had.

\\\

Mark never let her leave the house, claiming that she’d become all skin and bones compared to the last time he saw her, and that as a human she was more susceptible to disease given her prolonged lack of nutrients. She wanted to argue back with, “And who’s fault is that?” but bit her tongue, opting to give him the silent treatment instead. He’d tut, claiming her to be the childish one now whenever he didn’t get a response, and then he would leave her be as she remained cooped up in her old room. And like everything else in the house, nothing had changed. A few pictures of her as a kid enjoying her old hobbies had been moved around, some flipped upside down and others remained standing.

She had a guess on who had messed with her things, but she didn’t have plans to call him out on it anytime soon.

\\\

“Seriously? You haven’t touched a single thing on your plate!” Mark exclaimed, walking over to her untouched food with a scowl. “Wasn’t it you who used to scold me for skipping out on meals?”

She was bundled up in her blankets, her knees pulled to her chest as she faced away from him. She saw the irony in his words and remembered back when their mother had first died how difficult it was for Mark to finish meals if she weren’t around. It took their father reprimanding him and promising a more sure method to motivate him to eat again for Mark to change his bad habits.

She hopes Mark doesn’t resort to the same methods.

“Y/n… I even got your favorite, can’t you at least be a little bit grateful?”

She ignored him, like usual. Today it would seem that Mark wasn’t in the mood for her defiant nature. She heard the bed creak beside her, her entire body tensing at the proximity before she felt a hand grip onto her shoulder, just tight enough for the pressure to sting faintly.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to eat by yourself.”

Fingers were suddenly wrapped around her jaw, forcing her to turn in his direction. Mark was unmasked, his eyes set into a glare as his eyes followed his other hand which came up with a pinch of her discarded dinner. Her eyes widened when she realized what he was about to do, she tried to squirm out of his grasp but given their difference in strength it was futile. His fingers were forced down her throat, she gagged and tried to spit the foot back out but everything he was giving her was forcefully swallowed. He made sure it was.

By the time the food on her plate was gone, she was a mess, snot running down her nose and tears pouring out from her eyes and dripping down her chin. Mark let out a sigh and finally released his grip on her in favor of grabbing a tissue to wipe his hands clean. Y/n backed up on the bed until her back hit the wall, not letting him leave her line of sight.

“Next time, don’t make me do that, please.”

She made sure to finish her meals after that before Mark would come to visit her.

\\\

“Please… just say something!” He yelled, the bags under his eyes had been gradually becoming more prominent with the passing week. She was curious about what had been causing his recent bout of exhaustion and partly blamed herself for contributing to it if her current situation was anything to go by.

“You haven’t spoken a word since coming home! Did you lose your voice? Did… did someone do something to you?” He was pacing back and forth in front of her, a hand over his mouth as he began to mutter to himself at a speed that was incomprehensible to her. She could just barely make out, “I’ll kill them” before he stopped altogether, both of his hands covering his face now before he knelt in front of her… and wrapped his arms around her waist. She had been sitting on the edge of her bed, having just finished her meal, when Mark had entered and decided to spiral right before her.

He pressed his head against her stomach, the sounds of his breathing beginning to settle and then quiet sniffles breaking the silence between them. “Y/n… Y/n…” He whimpered, his body beginning to shake as the last of his resolve crumpled and he began to sob unapologetically. “I thought you had died… I thought you were gone forever!”

“I missed you so much, why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Do you hate me that much? Please don’t ignore me, I don’t know what to do without you.”

“I was so lost without you, please never leave again!”

“No… no you won’t– you can’t leave, I’ll make sure of it…”

His rambling didn’t take long to escalate, his fraying sanity on full display as he sobbed into her shirt and soaked the fabric. If she shut her eyes and pretended she was elsewhere, then she could pretend that Mark was still that same boy that held onto her in the hospital that one night and not the murderer who he’d later become with delusions that his actions were necessary – that keeping her locked inside the house was something he had to do, and that if he didn’t she would die out there because she was human.

“I love you, Y/n… never abandon me again…” She imagined it was her little brother from before confessing this, and in her delusions, she decided to comfort that same boy by gently stroking his hair until his sobs had settled down.

“Everything will be okay, I’m here.” She rasped, her voice not coming out right due to weeks of disuse. “I got you, you’re okay.” Mark had settled in her lap, his breathing finally evening out as he fell into a peaceful slumber.

“Your big sisters got you…”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Four Walls, Two Windows, No Doors.

Pairing: Yan!Wolverine|Logan Howlett x Reader (X-Men).

Word Count: 2.6k.

TW: Dub/Con, Fem!Reader, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Mentions of Human Experimentation, Logan Gets Hurt (He's Fine), Mentions of Pregnancy, and Controlling Behavior.

This Was Supposed To Be A Warm-Up. It Got Out Of Hand.

The cabin was about an hour’s drive from the mansion.

An hour and a half if he took his time, less than thirty minutes if he rushed it. He brought back supplies once a week, maybe twice if he knew he had a mission coming up, but your constant reminders that you’d rather burn down the cabin with you inside than starve to death because of the man you hated most in the world were usually enough to keep the pantry stocked. There weren’t many things Logan was willing to go out of his way for, but you were an exception. You were special, you guessed, as sick as the idea of being special to someone like him made you feel.

He arrived a few minutes past sunset, while there was still light in the sky. You heard the low rumble of his bike, the hollow weight of his footsteps as he made his way across the raised porch. You were able to count out the seconds it took him to undo each of the shining, silver deadbolts mounted above the rusted-out doorknob. It was more than excessive, but you knew how he justified his security measures, how he rationalized your continued isolation. From his warped perspective, you were a problem child – the type to make bad decisions when left to your own devices. Since hiring a babysitter wasn’t on the table (an idea you’d not-so-playfully suggested more than once), limiting how much trouble you could get yourself into was the next best option.

The last deadbolt was slid out of place, then stillness. You could picture him on the other side – waiting for you to move, to yell, to throw yourself against the door as soon as it was unlocked. Fine. If he wanted to play, you’d play.

With a shoulder braced against the wood, he pushed open the cabin door and crossed the threshold. There was a flash of silver in the dull light, the weight of his body against yours as you barreled into him, then your knife buried in his stomach.

The strain was sharp, familiar. It took more effort than it should’ve to pierce the skin, to break the tension, to stab into whatever felt the most vital and twist. You didn’t wait to see his reaction – pulling the knife out and spinning on your heel, throwing yourself towards the open door. His fist was wrapped around the collar of your dress before you could make it so much as a full step, your body hauled back into the entryway without the slightest hint of strain. You swung for his throat, and he let you. It wasn’t until your knife was half-buried in his jugular that he grunted, catching your wrist. He didn’t squeeze, but he didn’t have to. Your meager weapon was already clattering to the floor, forgotten in the same time it took for the skin and muscle of his neck to knit itself back together.

His voice was raspy when he finally spoke – whether from whatever damage you’d managed to inflict or a long day of barking orders to super-powered brats, you couldn’t be sure. You’d like to think it was the former, if only to give yourself the satisfaction of having left some kind of mark on him. “Get it out of your system, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” You thrashed against his hold, kicking and clawing where you couldn’t stab. Of course, you were about as dangerous as a kitten might’ve been to a lion, and of course, his only reaction was a breath of a laugh, an arm wrapped around your waist as he carried you back into the cabin proper.

He claimed it was a gift – on lease from some vaguely wealthy, vaguely telepathic employer. In another context, you might’ve enjoyed a rustic getaway to a one-room cabin small enough to feel intimate but large enough to dampen the all-consuming sense of claustrophobia slowly mounting inside you, and yet having your world confined to four walls and a handful of bullet-proof windows had lost its charm quickly. Logan dropped you onto the fleece-drowned mattress and crossed to the kitchenette, rummaging through the well-stocked liquor cabinet. “Most wives greet their husbands with a kiss, y’know.”

“I’m not your wife.” Denial came first, the dread second. “If you ever try to marry me, I’ll hang myself with the veil.”

“Do what you want– I’m still getting a ring on that finger.” When he resurfaced, it was with a glass of wine in one hand and a highball of whiskey in the other. The latter was for him, obviously, and the former was slid into your hand as you dragged yourself to the edge of the mattress, a knot of ache quickly forming in your neck, your wrist. It was embarrassing, honestly. You could drive a knife into his lungs and he wouldn’t even flinch, but a few seconds of mistreatment was enough to leave you sore for hours.

Thankfully, physical exertion wasn’t exactly at the top of your list of concerns, not with Logan. While you pretended to nurse your drink, letting the wine wash numbly over your pursed lips, Logan downed his in a single shot and, with a bark a laughter, pulled your body back into his arms. This time, you were deposited in his lap as he collapsed onto a broken-in sofa. There was an darkened fireplace a few paces away, a century-old radio on the mantle above it, but his attention was already elsewhere, his eyes already wandering. With both hands planted on your waist, he hauled your hips against his, forcing you to straddle him. You rolled your eyes and moved to get up, but there was a row of fingers drummed against your side by way of warning, a sudden sharpness to his lazy smirk, and you fell into place.

Satisfied with your lack of resistance, he let his touch slip under the skirt of your dress. Logan didn’t have the patience to pick out your outfits by hand, but he decided what made it into your closet, how much skin you were able to cover day-to-day. His preferences skewed pastoral – all sundresses and frocks, occasionally one of his patched-up flannels or a pair of jeans too tattered to make you feel any more secure. While you couldn’t be sure if it was an intention or a happy coincidence, easy access was a reoccurring theme. His thumb slipped under the seat of your panties, dragging the thin fabric aside. Two fingers traced the shape of your cunt, pausing to rub circles into your clit.

Logan leaned back, his head settling against the armrest, his body spread out underneath yours. “Keep talking.” There was a slight drawl to his voice, a lull in his tone. You bristled on instinct, memories of bourbon-tinged kisses and metal claws pressing into tender skin bubbling up from the deepest recesses of your mind, but you pushed them back down quickly. He wasn’t drunk, just relaxed. You only had his normal brand of unbearable to deal with, tonight. “Tell me what you did today.”

“Fuck all.” His touch dipped lower, heel of his palm grinding into your clit. “You were gone when I woke up. Again.”

“Left you a present, though.”

He must’ve meant the new hickey on your collarbone. You’d found it while you were brushing your teeth and spent the next forty-five minutes sobbing into your pillow.

“’s just boring. The closest thing I’ve seen to a person all day was a herd of deer, and your cameras scared them off.” Dampness staining the inside of your thighs, his ring finger slipping into your pussy. You shut your eyes, biting into the inside of your cheek. The stretch was far from alien, but no less painful for its familiarity. Every part of him was too big – from his shoulders to the corded muscle laid over his back to the unnaturally pointed canines you sometimes caught a sliver of when his lips curled back. It spoke to the universe’s boundless cruelty that fingers weren’t the largest thing he could force inside of you. “You know I don’t like being alone.”

Your voice was cold, but it was true. You’d been alone when he found you – all curled up in the darkest corner of that prison cell, little more than wild terror and waking nightmares. It’d been a mutant testing facility, set on crafting living weapons out of whatever specimen they could get their hands on. Your mutation wasn’t dangerous, but there’d always been something new to learn, another needle to force into your veins. It’d been torture, but your captors hadn’t seen it like that. Your isolation, broken up only for the application of a new drug, a new pill, a new injectable, was a means to end. You weren’t a person inside the concrete walls of their laboratory, and they hadn’t thought of you as one.

And, when Logan’s lips split apart into an unabashed grin, it was clear that he didn’t, either. “I know, darlin’. Still remember the way you held onto me, how long it took you to let go.” His middle finger, next. You clenched your eyes shut as his palm rocked against you, encouraging your body to sway, your pussy to clench around his digits. “Thought you might’ve actually liked me, back then. But you were always gonna latch onto whoever let you out of that cage, right?”

“I was—” He curled his fingers inside of you, and you cut yourself off, swearing softly under your breath. His affection was slow and heavy-handed, no harsh thrusting or unnecessary spontaneity, just steady grinding and his fingers splitting apart inside of you. You crossed your arms over your chest, digging your nails into your bicep. “I was scared.”

You were still scared. It was just that, now, your kidnapper wanted you to pretend you weren’t.

“Exactly. Scott eats that shit up. Ororo, too.” You could feel his cock pressing into your ass, rough denim against flimsy cotton. He was hard. Obviously, he was hard. Blood loss was probably the only reason he hadn’t fucked you as soon as he stepped through the door. “You’re lucky you ended up with me. Either of them would have you on a leash, by now.”

A leash would’ve been better than a cage. Being a pet was better than being locked inside of a box, left to gather dust until he wanted something warm to dig his teeth into. You bucked your hips into his hand, fisting at the fabric of your dress, doing your best to block out Logan’s chuckle, to ignore his free hand kneading at your thigh. Like everything else he did to you, your climax was slow, humiliating, and terrible. You managed to swallow back any sounds that would’ve furthered your embarrassment, but tears leaked from the corner of your eyes, a pitchy whimper rising from the back of your that. Logan picked himself up, cupping your cheek as he pressed what, if you were feeling more generous, might’ve been called a kiss into your forehead. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he was trying to comfort you.

He nursed you through your orgasm, only drawing back after the last of the aftershocks had faded. Sniffling, you were lowered onto the floor – your back pressing into the bear-skin rug in front of the unlit hearth. You kept your eyes on the ceiling as he positioned himself in the space between your legs, as he eased himself into you. There was no pretense of a condom, and you weren’t on birth control. You’d lie awake that night wondering if he’d finally managed to knock you up, but it wouldn’t do any good to voice that anxiety in front of him. You could still remember the way his eyes lit up the first time you begged him not to finish inside, the strain as he pushed your knees into your chest, the tremor in his voice as he muttered something about swollen tits and ‘tying you down for good’. Now, you just tried to keep your mouth shut.

His hips pressed into yours, the veined shaft of his cock filling your cunt to its breaking point. Like his foreplay, sex with Logan was vicious, unrushed. It was worse when he was mad, unendurable when he was drunk, but most nights, you could melt into the faux tenderness of it all, let yourself drown in the colorless, shapeless, stomach-turning pleasure. You tried to let your head lull to the side, to drift, but Logan was quick to drag you back down to Earth – catching you by the chin and pulling you into a tragically undeniable kiss. Only half-consciously, you wrapped your arms around his neck, let your thighs clench around his waist. When he drew back, more to leer at you from a better vantage point than for air, you managed to spit something out.

“I want to go outside.”

His smile lulled into something more sympathetic. “That eager to run back to the mansion, darlin’?”

“N—not the mansion, just outside.” You dug your nails into his shoulders, breaking the skin, and Logan groaned. You guess it made sense. Pain was bad because it meant injury, and injuries were bad because they meant you were that much closer to death. He couldn’t die, and he never stayed hurt for very long. After a while, the pain would have the pain would have to turn into something else, something less unpleasant. “Just into the city, or town, or wherever. I’d settle for a walk, I just—”

Your voice broke as he pulsed inside of you, his pace growing more erratic. “Tough luck,” he muttered, all gruff and edge and acid. Still, his expression softened, his eyes taking on that half-lidded, lovesick look. He liked it when you needed him, when you were dependent on his help. Maybe if you’d been more aware of that during your recovery, been more proactive about asking him to open jars or help you shower, none of this would’ve had to happen.

“Logan.” His hips pressed into yours. You couldn’t remember the last time you said his name aloud. “Just a walk. Please?”

It was awful, the way he looked at you. No shame, no decency, just his stare burning into your skin as he spilled into your cunt. Cursing under his breath, he buried his face in the crook of your shoulder, lapping and sucking at the curve of your throat – the very same spot you’d driven a knife into less than hour ago.

His body pressed into yours, radiating searing heat. Cum dripped around his shaft, down the inside of your thighs, and you forced yourself not to think of cradles and bloating and pain, so much pain. Minutes later, he resurfaced, pulling back with a rasp of an exhale. You laid still – weary, but not quite catatonic – as he positioned himself on his knees in front of you, guiding your legs over his shoulders.

“Five minutes.” His lips against your skin, teeth against flesh. “Tomorrow morning. No farther than what you can see from the porch.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but you smiled, nodded, played as eager and as doe-eyed as you could. Logan only chuckled, burying his head between your thighs. You’d gotten what you wanted, if a bit less. That was good – or, a good start, at least.

It might’ve been less bittersweet if you didn’t have to wonder how much he’d take, in return.

[ryuucam]

MY SAVIOR, BEAUTIFUL SOUL

⋆｡𖦹°‧ the oak family head has always intrigued you, but your sworn loyalty to the nameless led you to raise your sword against him in battle. but now that it’s all over, and he’s repented his sins, will you let him get closer to your heart?

contains friends to lovers but it’s more like love at first sight, slight aventurine x reader, purity-corruption talk, slight yan!sunday, gopher wood and sunday backstory, religious imagery, character study?, very very slight gore but as a rhetorical device, pov changes (reader -> sunday), scent kink, virgin!reader (implied) and virgin!sunday, he’s an asshole about virginity, cunningulus, pussy referred to as “she”, dubcon-noncon creampie

notes this was supposed to be a drabble idk what went wrong, take this as a thank u for all the support <33 feel free to send in requests

sunday, dominicus, the oak family head. ever since you arrived in penacony, you’ve heard these names countless times - but you can’t blame the citizens, because, as the ipc gambler said, he is the most famous man in the whole planet of festivities (well, he said handsome, but thinking about how attractive he is will just make you even more distracted). you can’t deny that you feel intrigued by the halovian, but, with all that happened, it is very unlikely that you’d ever interact with him again. well, that’s the harsh reality of the trailblaze - as march told you in one of your “girl talks” in your room in the reverie. and as soon as you start coming to terms that your little crush on sunday is destined to be inconclusive, you suddenly receive a text from mr. yang: the man you’ve been infatuated with is joining the express.

you’re a bit ashamed of your lack of hesitation when it’s time to vote in favor of the new member of the astral express - at least caelus and the others agree with you in looking past all the ena chaos. well, it’s not like you went against your better judgment: it’s clear that sunday has had a change of heart, and all his actions are a product of years of grooming and abuse by another member of the family. as he came to terms with this knowledge, though, sunday changed. the meticulous oak family head is no more, and all that’s left behind is a bird with no wings, no freedom, nothing. but, despite being just a shadow of his former self, the halovian is not a stranger to humanity, to feelings. he saw your behavior on penacony (your courage, your strength, your desire for freedom), and he saw how you stood up for him for his addition to the nameless. and he admires you.

as weeks go by on the express, sunday slowly starts getting closer to you: first, it’s offering you some insight on books he’s read, that are most certainly in your interest, miss y/n, then, it’s joining you for breakfast. and when you two are close enough - closer than he is to any other member on the express - he starts being more physical. resting his knee against yours (unknowingly making your heart skip a beat, or two), lying his hand on your shoulder, and slowly inching his face closer and closer to yours. even if he’s long abandoned the manipulative powers of ena, you still feel trapped by his gaze. however, it’s not controlling - far from it - but the sheer sensibility and vulnerability that pool in his irises are enough to make you go weak in the knees.

one night, you’re both sprawled out on your bed, staring at the stars in the ceiling. while you’re seemingly relaxed, sunday feels like his brain is about to short circuit any second now: his nose is filled with your perfume, his fingers are less than an inch apart from yours, and his eyes are stuck on your face. have you always looked this good? yes, he’s sure of it: your hair frames your face so well, your complexion looks exceptionally dreamy, and the way your eyes melt into his is enough to make him feel lightheaded. and your body - god, your body. sunday has lived a life of chastity, of strict rules and limited, if not any, freedom. even so, he can’t help but feel guilty when he feels his cock inevitably strain against his pants when you unintentionally get closer to him. his breath hitches, and he hopes, prays even, that you don’t notice the twitching. sunday feels like the guilt could eat him alive: you’re so sweet, so willing to accept him for who he is - and he’s doing nothing but tainting the sweet image has of you.

who is he kidding? the second he met you, you were corrupted by him. since your first introduction in the reverie, when he wasn’t an outcast, a fugitive yet, but the most respectable man in penacony, he had his mind set on you. he was disgusted with himself when he felt his stomach churn at every interaction you had with the stoneheart. sunday knew he had no business involving himself with your affairs with aventurine, but he went against his better judgment and spent just a tiny bit more time torturing the avgin man. of course, he feels like a monster now. and he felt like one when you were on the battlefield, fighting against the harmonious choir, against him. but, sunday is now a new man. so, deep in his heart, he hopes that you’ll forgive him for lusting over you.

“sunday? are you okay?”

oh. your voice, your sweet, honey-like voice. it’s enough for him to be stripped away from his thoughts, a saint arriving at a land of sin and evil. he coughs - a lousy way to mask his thinking. “i…yes. don’t concern yourself, miss y/n”. your eyes soften. “sunday… you can tell me what’s wrong. you’re not alone anymore.”

right - he’s not alone. he has you, mr. yang, caelus… he is no longer trapped in a cage, and his newfound freedom is hard to process. the world sunday has known for years has collapsed, but rebuilding a new one is easy if you’re with him. and he knows you won’t leave. right? how could you leave? an angel like you is above all cruelty he’s known, and you’ll take care of him. so he smiles, and closes his eyes, denying himself to stare at you any further.

you just sigh: after all that’s happened, you can’t bring yourself to pry further in his mind. you don’t know what you’ll find. so, unconsciously, you reach out to him, hand sneaking over his face, caressing his cheek. you don’t miss the hitching of his breath, or how his eyebrows form a slight frown. sunday, on the other hand, is feeling everything all at once: he feels like he’s crash landing in a groundless void. the more he sits there, helpless, the more he feels disgusted with himself. how can he not do anything in this situation?

but he knows, deep down, that you won’t blame him for being weak: you’re worshipping him as much as he does you, and for just a second, sunday feels the robbed divinity rush in his veins again.

and with this newfound confidence, sunday open his eyes and almost closes the gap between you two. it’s bold, irrational, and so unlike him, but he sees no trace of malevolence in your eyes - just genuine surprise. he thinks you look so cute like this, so surprised. so he’ll keep going, so long as he gets to see you like this. he inches closer, and everything around him stops. his heart and mind are racing with questions, unresolved reasonings, but sunday thinks it’s time to let this all go. maybe he’s trying to cope with the lustful, sinful, but oh so addicting thoughts he has of you, but maybe, just maybe, he’s a tired man seeking solace.

and maybe he can be both, he concludes. his lips press against yours, clumsy and inexperienced, and his eyes flutter shut. sunday feels the oxygen flowing back into his lungs when you mimic his actions. the hand that was resting on his cheek now serves as a way to pull you both closer to each other, both unknowingly afraid to break the kiss. it’s fragile, raw, but so is sunday. you’re the first to pull away, reluctantly, but the halovian knocked all air out of your lungs. your hand doesn’t move, though, and a line of spit that connects your lips serves as a testimony to what just happened. you’re breathless, wordless, but sunday sees your dilated pupils and reddened cheeks - maybe you need him in the same way he needs you. that must be it.

“miss y/n…” sunday speaks first. your expression softens. he sees it, and suddenly every word that comes to his mind seems meaningless, unworthy of being uttered in your presence. you deserve more, much more, and sunday fears he’ll never be able to communicate with you - not even by ripping out his heart and handing it to you. you sense this (and sunday wonders how: surely you have not been blessed by xipe?), and rest your forehead against his. you smile, and he feels powerless. experimentally, you rest your lips on top of his. “is this okay?”, you murmur, lips not leaving his.

god, yes. sunday feels no hesitation as he crashes into the kiss, breaking the soft and gentle balance you tried to build. he knows he’s never done this before, but he doesn’t worry about self consciousness, insecurities or whatnot. he forgets about lust, maybe because he’s already been taken over by it, or maybe because what he’s feeling is love. either answer is foreign to sunday, who keeps following his instinct. he gently moves on top of you, one hand holding yours, while your other hand lowered itself on the nape of his neck. he kisses you again, and again, until you’re both panting, lips swollen and wet with spit. and the he feels it - how could he have forgotten it? the strain in his pants is more evident than ever, nudging at your soft thigh. he whimpers at the friction, feeling his clothed sensitive tip nudge against your skin. sunday feels his stomach churn: what now? he’s never done this before - he has never touched his cock, let alone have it done by someone else.

then, he hears it. and he feels like he could listen to that angelic sound for the rest of his life.

you whimpered - or is that a stifled moan? sunday does not know, but it doesn’t matter as he’s now painfully aware of your presence. he feels lightheaded, his mouth is inexplicably dry: he swallows, then closes his eyes. he gets closer to you, nose prodding at your cheek, taking in your scent - it’s sweet, just like you, but it’s just so human, so raw. is this what arousal smells like? sunday’s head is spinning, and he feels like all the blood his poor heart is pumping out is going straight to his pants. his free hands goes from your cheek, your neck, your collarbones. then, he hesitates: he needs to tell you something, he can’t just take you. “miss y/n… will you let me?” your eyes are watery, your face is burning. you can just nod, not being able to let out any word but a sweet, sweet whimper. sunday smiles: you’re just so cute. “you have to tell me… can’t do anything otherwise. can you do that for me, miss?”

embarrassment pools over you. when did he get so bold? but his erection feels so good on your skin, and you need more: so, you do as he commands. “please, sunday… t-touch me? please-ah!…” sunday rolls his hips into your crotch as you speak, tip hitting your poor cunt. he smiles, and kisses you again. he keeps on kissing you, trying his best to keep you quiet - and him. his hands sneak down to your chest, feeling the soft, supple flesh sink into his cold, trembling fingers: your breasts are even better than what he imagined (countless nights spent stifling his noises as he pumped his cock, thinking about you), and he feels his dick twitch when he feels your nipples hardening. as he unbuttons your shirt, he wonders how he could’ve lived without this, without you, for so long. you’re left in your bra - it’s nothing elaborated or fancy, just a white, lacy bra that cups your boobs so well. sunday breaks the kiss to press pecks all the way down to your neck, pressing his lips on your soft mounds and nose on your cleavy. aeons, you smell so good. “pl-please… help me take this off.” you don’t question his inexperience, and slowly unhook your bra. sunday’s the one that takes it off, and he swears his briefs are drenched in precum. he latches his mouth on your nipple, hand playing with the other, first sucking gently - and as you moan and cry louder, he gets harsher. he’s unaware of the hickeys tainting your smooth skin: even if he wasn’t, he’s too busy playing with your tits. his cock is subconsciously prodding at your crotch, and you can’t take it anymore: “sund-ah! sunday!… ngh, n-need you to-hm!… do m-more…”

oh. how can he deny you? he leaves a goodbye kiss on your nipple, so lewd but so him, and moves his hands to your waist, slowly tugging down your skirt. once it’s off, sunday focuses on your panties - oh, they’re matching with your bra. did you do this for him?, he wonders. you minx, you knew that he’s infatuated with you. well, now’s not the time to dwell on this, he concludes, and strips you of your panties. now he’s left stunned: your puffy cunny is staring right back at him. “y-y/n… you’re gonna let me touch this? this pretty pussy? please?…” you nod - the praise making your head spin and eyes roll back into your skull. sunday smiles, relieved: he didn’t know what he’d do if you denied him of your sweet hole any longer. his face hovers over your crotch, lips kissing your labia, your clit, your hole.

his nose is pressed against your clit, bumping on it as he makes out with your cunt - and you cry, thrashing desperately because this is so lewd, so perverted! how’s sunday supposed to know all this? your thoughts are interrupted when he sighs, and reluctantly leaves your pussy alone. you gulp as he raises his body, undoing his belt and letting his pants fall. he’s in his briefs, and you can clearly see the fat outline of his cock. it’s hard, thick, and there’s a wet spot right where the tip is: sunday lets out a deep breath, and tugs down his pants. your mouth is watering, and you feel your neglected cunt leak as his cock springs free, hard and angry, so different from its owner. sunday is delicate, pure, and his length is swollen, veins leading to the oh so delicious mushroom tip.

sunday’s embarrassed: why are you staring at him? is his cock so horrid? why- oh.

he lets out a moan when your hand engulfs his dick, soft skin wrapped around his aching flesh, and sunday thinks lust has really taken over him. “please, let me-ah, lemme put this inside. need y-you!” and how can you say no?

you lean back, and sunday’s on you like a starved man - he knows he should lick your hole a bit more, maybe stick a finger or two in it, but he has long forgotten all the knowledge he got from some blooodhounds years ago. his tip prods at your small hole, and he worries about breaking you. can you take it? his sweet angel, you’re so perfect for him and he’s about to defile you - oh, he feels like he could cum just like this. tip pressed against your clit, both of your juices mixing together in a candied mix. he lowers his cock a bit, enough to be face to face with your entrance. the world stops when he slips it in: your pained moans, your walls fluttering shut around him, your tears staining your white sheets. sunday has ruined you, corrupted you with his lust, but now that he’s known how your cunt feels, he can’t get enough.

he moves, and his thrusts are messy, sloppy, inexperienced, his balls slapping and bruising your soft skin. sunday feels like he’s reached heaven, and he won’t stop. he can’t - you’re sucking him in so hard, so desperate to be fucked by your halovian companion. oh, you must be a pervert too, sunday realizes, letting a defiled angel like him taint you. but now you’re his, forever robbed of your purity and pride, and you’re not going anywhere.

“‘m gonna c-cum, ‘kay a-ah, angel? let me cu-uhm! in you, please? y’re g-gonna be ngh! a sweetheart, yeah? lemme claim your cunny, ‘kay?” sunday’s voice is slurred, words flowing out of his lips without his control. you nod, maybe even say something back, but sunday can’t hear you - you’re pussy’s the one he’s listening to right now. and she’s pleading so sweetly for sunday to cum in her. so, maybe you’re telling him no, that it’s risky, it’s wrong - but he’s not listening.

sunday empties his load deep in your pussy, kissing your cervix and womb with it, and he’s happy. he kisses you, poor you who’s all fucked out on your bed. don’t worry though, sunday will take care of you. it’s only natural - you’re bound together now, and maybe this realization is the reason you creamed so sweetly around his cock. he kisses you again, and you succumb yourself to him.

he’s happy, and he feels his cock twitch at the thought of doing this again. then, he’ll take his time tasting and ruining you again, and again, until he’s sure you won’t leave him: not for the avgin, not for the trailblazer, not for dan heng. you’re his, and he’s yours. forever.

[apppletea]

i read a lot of fanfics with platonic yan batfamily x neglect!reader butt, i just got a idea, a reader who loves GUNS, every type of guns, even the smallest ones, even shotguns and etc.

inspo Nancy wheeler and Caitlyn Kiramman bc i love women ><

You, the forgotten and least loved daughter, or so you suppose.

You never received love or affection, maybe from Alfred but that man was too busy with family movie nights to think about you and your feelings but you didn't mind, your mother had told you about this, They all only cared about their own world, their own family, and clearly you don't belong there.

That was fine, you learned to vent your sadness, your anger in the pistol practices you had, every day you improved more and more, obviously you didn't say anything to anyone because really you no longer cared about the approval of your father, or your brothers, or anyone else. Your mother taught you to be strong and always stand up for yourself, and that's what you did.

Years passed and you dedicated yourself to training to be an officer, but an officer in the armed forces, the FBI or simply some organization. Your knowledge of weapons helped you reach higher levels, and perhaps clearly your last name, both last names, from your mother and Bruce.

From one day to the next you were the child prodigy, a prodigy in weapons and basic boxing.

You finally turned 18 and without hesitation you left to return to the old mansion where you lived with your mother. Once you moved from that place, you continued with your classes and training until you finally arrived, received your commission as an officer and soon joined an organization, And curiously, they supported every move made by Batman and the vigilantes, how absurd they were.

You didn't pay attention to either of them, no one had noticed their absence and it was better you wouldn't have to deal with them in your life but obviously fate doesn't seem to be on our side.

One of the many days that Batman was fighting crime, he had put himself in a very difficult situation and unexpectedly you appeared, with your aim and eagle eye you simply shot until finally the criminal fell. You knew who Batman was, you knew who the former and current Robins were, you knew everything about that family because once upon a time, you belonged to that mansion far from everything.

How cliché.

At the end of it all, Batman or Bruce had been impressed to see you in an officer's uniform and how big you looked, you were no longer the little girl who had arrived and was too shy even to speak to him, who was your father. You knew everything, but he thought you didn't, that you were still an innocent woman unaware of the secret identities.

‘u okay?’ You broke the silence as you looked around carefully. ‘You should be more careful, Batman.’

‘—ugh... yeah, thanks.’

You nodded and focused on putting the safety on the gun to help get the old man up.

Bruce really didn't know how to act, what tone of voice to use or how to treat her, after all she was his daughter, the little girl who ignored her entire childhood to find her again in her adulthood and— wait.

You left the mansion? When?

The sudden reality check had left him stunned, you just looked at him trying to decipher what was on his mind, you sighed tiredly and started to walk away, leaving the alley. ‘Well, have a good night. I have to keep working.’

Did the others know? Did they know you'd left the nest so long ago? And— since when did you know how to use guns?

[z4rph1m]

Platonic Yan!batfam X dazai!reader X yandere dc

Tw: implication of sex (between reader & Chuuya), past mentions of self harm,

Forgotten child

Pro. Ch.1 Ch.2 (you are here) Ch.3

Nakahara Chuuya

Your former lover of the dark.

Why did the two of you broke up? He forgot, or maybe he just doesn’t want to remember.

He knew that the moment the two of you were in a relationship, it was unhealthy and toxic.

Maybe it’s the way you would ignore him the whole day but the moment you’re within his arms you’re a touch starve, hopelessly in love mess.

Or maybe the way he would be angry at you and try to guilt trip you into doing whatever he wants or the way you would purposely annoy him so that he would try and hurt you (he tried ask you to stop doing that)

But why exactly did the two of you stay together?

It’s simple, you two completed eachother perfectly.

Especially how fitting your abilities names are to describe the two of you.

You made him act like a human, he gave you a reason to live on.

“Are you the most beautiful human to me or to me, you’re the most beautiful human”

You stare at the empty space of your bed in longing, feeling as if there was something missing in your life.

The love marks surrounding your body, the lipstick mark on your bandages and the soft touches lingers around you.

Oh how you miss him.

You knew well that being with him was a terrible idea, especially with how aware you are to how much of a terrible person you are.

You know well you’re only using him to have the willingness to live yet the more you are with him, the more you crave for his touch.

That’s the reason why you broke up with him.

You hated how it felt, how it didn’t felt real to you. You wanted to save him the tears and pain, breaking off was maybe your only choice.

You remember well on how soft his kisses are on your scars, lips and all over your body.

Or how beautiful yours and his voice sounded together.

Maybe, just maybe under different circumstances the two of you could be together.

As much as you two stayed friends, the benefits can’t really be pass on.

“If you can’t feel love, I will give you the love that you lack your whole life”

The more time Bruce walk through the hallway to your room, the more sense of guilt cover him.

Wilting flowers, spiders in cobwebs, empty vases and dust covering the paintings.

The side of the mansion that’s long been abandoned.

God how long did he let you live like this?

How long did he left you to live within the chilly and ghostly halls of the manor?

On the way to your room, the two passed by Dick and Tim, who seemingly curious on where they’re going.

“Hey Alfred, Bruce, where you’re going?” Dick in all his glory, having his usual smile while Tim with his eye bags and energy drink in his hand.

“We’re on our way to Master [N] room, which is just at the corner of this hallway”

There was a deafening silence, but at the same time it was accompanied by a presence of a lonely child.

The presence of a child that was useless to the family.

The silence kept on going until Tim voice spoke out.

“Are you sure you’re in the right way Alfred? The corner of the hallway looks as if it’s haunted”

“Yes Master Tim, they’ve been assign to that room after all”

Damian stare at the picture that’s laying at your table.

A picture of you and your mother.

Maybe it’s the only picture of you and her but it explains everything about your relationship with her.

You malnourished, eyes hold emptiness yet smiled so awkwardly at the camera, having just an oversized t-shirt and a shorts on, bandages free, happily in your mother arms.

Thats probably the only picture of you smiling.

Out of all the pictures that he sees in the album, the one where you’re under the care of Alfred, not his father.

You’re smiling with your mother, where you live a miserable and pitiful life.

What was it that was different or missing from this family that made you never smiled at least once?

In the past, he use to sneak into your room whenever it’s one of those days where you don’t come home.

Interested on why you look so….. depressing and On deathbed-like.

Yet as time goes by, he was interested in you by you’re nature.

Seeing your photos, art and diary (or at least what’s left of it).

He wanted to know more about you yet his pride and jealousy got in the way.

He wanted your attention yet he rejected the idea of even having a conversation with you.

Everything was fine until one day he sees the room clean and smell of fresheners.

That’s when he realized what he did.

He was too late- no, he can fix it.

He will get his older sibling back, he must.

God whoever this “Q” is will be the top of his list for taking what’s his.

He hold onto your childhood doll before tensing his body when the sound of creaking fills the room.

“Father, Alfred, Tim, Dick, what are you doing here?”

Inspired by @-acid-ixx Again & again series and @-marcyvamp1re-blog silly little bat

[coralearei]

Yandere MBTI: Mydei

Notes:

Based on the Yan!MBTI system made by @/ddarker-dreams

MDNI -- NSFW mentioned (nothing too explicit)

Word Count: 1,032

GN! Reader

Cruel - Aware - Honest - Lenient

Cruel vs. Reverent

Mydei’s cruelty sometimes comes in the form of verbal threats candidly describing what he has planned for you if you don’t acquiesce to his demands. These menacing remarks are clear, concise, and typically quite graphic— often he’ll threaten to fracture your ribs in the composed, casual manner he uses to comment on anything else. Many times, these threats will also accompany a smirk that doesn’t try to hide his exhilaration at the thought of pushing your limits.

That isn’t to say that he isn’t all bark and no bite… Mydei tends to enact physical affliction unexpectedly, without any sort of warning. He revels in your startled movements as he wills scarlet crystals to poke their keen vertices out of the ground, watching you skittishly flinch away just for another to take shape barely centimeters in front of you. He doesn’t particularly like letting the crystals impale you— a jolt or so is reasonable—  but Mydei prefers to do anything more severe with his own two hands. His touch isn’t much worse; his gauntlets feel just as solid against your skin as the crystallized blood you’re subject to on a regular basis.

Unlike the jagged gems, however, Mydei himself is far more rough with you, sadistically poking and prodding your pleading, shaking body. You can’t do much more than beg him to have mercy, to stop, and promise that you won’t make the same mistake twice. Whether or not you learn from situations like this doesn’t matter— whenever Mydei puts his hands on you, it’s not only punishment— you become a rather fine source of entertainment.

Aware vs. Delusional

Mydei doesn’t pay much attention to your own love for him— that isn’t what he wants out of you in this relationship. He also happens to be someone who harbors feelings of hatred deep within himself, and he can’t blame you for doing the same. Nevertheless, Mydei will tear down any sort of defiance on the surface level that you direct at him— that sort of behavior can be quite inconvenient and untoward to deal with. What really matters to him is your ability to follow orders and your willingness to obey.

Not unlike a lot of other people, you’re quite terrified of Mydei. This is something he not only knows, but uses against you. But he doesn’t only rely on intimidation, he’s also prone to enjoying the threats he gives you in order to force you to submit. You always do. That’s Mydei’s favorite part of your personality, or so he claims. The way you never defy him in the end might make him less of a lover and more of a predator— which he indifferently accepts. Mydei is all but used to hatred and strife anyways.

Manipulative vs. Honest

Mydei approaches you head-on, with no hesitation whatsoever. When you first catch his eye, he decides you'll be a pretty thing to keep around-- and he wants to have you. Your willingness to cooperate with Mydei is won over as a result of his adroitness, which you know better as his ability to humiliate you. He isn’t afraid to threaten you in public, and when he does, you never turn down his demands in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. When Mydei does win you over, he makes sure to treat you accordingly, like the good little trophy you ought to be.

Regardless of the torment his behavior causes you, Mydei isn’t guilty in the slightest about what he does to you. Verbally, he isn’t quite upfront with you about it, but Mydei’s actions speak louder than his words. He was born to rule a city-state that glorified battle and bloodshed, which is what led him to brutally murder the former king of Castrum Kremnos. Mydei doesn’t justify the way he treats you, unlike the case in which he killed his father— but he doesn’t need a reason to. His hands have already been stained with so much blood, both literal and figurative, so what’s one more instance of the suffering of another that he causes?

Ultimately, Mydei feels utterly indifferent towards your happiness, though he does tend to take a great amount of pride when your suffering is caused by his own hands. When he’s done with you, he’ll admires the wounds and welts that decorate your pretty skin, knowing that your every imperfection is the product of his handiwork.

Strict vs. Lenient

Though Mydei gives you some semblance of freedom while he’s away, you know that there’s so much more on the line if you do anything that might ignite the spark of his fury’s flames. And although Mydei is easily annoyed, there isn’t a lot you can do to truly anger him.

For the most part, he doesn’t have a problem with leaving you to your own devices. You aren’t plucked apart from your own life when Mydei decides he’s going to make you his; he inconveniently inserts himself into yours instead. In the early stages of your abruptly-begun ‘relationship’ with him, he’s around you as much as possible, which is quite often for someone who spends so much time on the battlefield. Even so, in many cases you don’t exactly see Mydei, but he’s sure to constantly make his presence known. It’s almost like you can almost feel him near you, though you can’t quite place exactly where.

Soon enough, he has to go to war again. You almost feel a sense of relief knowing that you really all alone now— assuming you are, of course. However, it’s not as if you’re completely let off the hook during Mydei’s campaigns, which can span up to several months at a time. He’ll find time to visit you more than a few times, much to your disappointed surprise. Mydei’s sporadic visits do not only serve as a method to keep you in check. They’re also for his benefit; brashly fucking you helps him release some of his pent-up anger. If you happen to be out and about when Mydei returns, he’ll find you regardless— you’re never able to get far. And when he does find you and return to his residence with you in tow, you always know to expect much worse.

[misstycloud]

Hello! What if yan! Playboy saw reader again but with another guy and they are acting lovey dovey how would he react?

Not proofread!

-----------

He would freak out. He'd think about all those nights he laid awake in bed, wondering where you were or if you were even alive. Yandere playboy couldn't bear it if something has happened to you.

However, he didn't expect to receive the answer to his questions by seeing you being all snuggly with someone who's not him.

His first thought would be that he's happy you're safe, then the rage would come. It would take over his entire mind and be the only thing he could think of.

How could you just leave him like that? especially after he poured his heart out to you; and you acted like it didn't matter. Despite the deep feelings he held for you, he couldn't pretend like what you put him through was okay.

"(Y/n)." he said in a stern voice after marching up to you and your date.

You froze and slowly turned to see your love-victim looking furiously at you. You had been careful to not actually divulge any details about your personal life-nothing that could give him a tip on where to find you. Yet, here he was in the flesh.

"who are you? cant you see we're on a date?" your new partner voices, irritated at the interruption.

"I wasn't talking to you." the playboy hissed. He absolutely hated the other mans existence. Of course, he was mad at you too but his presence reminded him that you could leave him for someone else; that there was a chance he wasn't enough to please you.

You sighed and said, "Go away. I'm busy." you also swatted in his direction, making your opinion clear.

"where were you? why did you stop responding to me? you have no idea how worried I was."

"I think being ghosted should send a pretty clear message, dude. I DON'T like you and I'm not interested in you anymore so leave me alone." you combed your fingers through your date's hair. "I have someone else now."

The playboy clenched his fists. He gritted his teeth. "You're coming with me." his tone indicated you had no day in the matter.

You couldn't believe it. Who did this guy think he was. Sure, you knew he fell for you(hard), which was the purpose, but that did not mean he could think he owned you.

"No, like hell i'm going anywhere with you."

"Yes. You are."

"Dude, she said no. Back the fuck up.'' your date tried to defend you. Too bad he wasn't someone of importance, otherwise he might;ve had a real chance of taking you from him.

He glanced him up and down, clearly unimpressed. He couldn't fathom how you left him for someone like...this. Seriously? Was this truly what you desired in a partner or was it possible I was all a test? Did you do this in hope of him proving his dedication to your relationship?

Well, if that was the case then he would gladly prove his loyalty to you. You were the one he wanted to make his life partner and there was nothing else that could measure up to the emotions YOU made him feel.

You saw your former fling walk up to your date and lean in close. He whispered something in his ear that you couldn't hear. Your date's eyes widened and he went pale. The longer the playboy spoke, the more fearful he became. You did have a clue what was said but it clearly freaked him out- enough for him to bail.

He quickly excused himself and ended it with, "Don't bother calling anymore, I'm not interested in some triangle bullshit." before rushing off in a random direction.

"Looks like he wasn't as interested as he claimed to be, no need to feel sad though, you have me now." he grinned and wrapped an arm around your waist.

You pried it off you. "What did you say to him?"

"nothing that would have bothered him if he was actually serious about you."

"Stay away from me. I left you and I will never go back to you- I never even liked you, it was all fake. Don't you get it. I just wanted to get back at you for all the shit you've put people through."

He went quiet at your words. You scoffed and decided to walk away. However, before you could get more than two meters from him, he gripped your arm. You winced as his nails dug into your skin.

"ow! what the-"

"Don't be so rude , (Y/n). I don't think you realise whose feelings you've played with. I love you and I don't plan on going home without you." he hugged you close to his body, ignoring your struggles. "I understand how all this is simply karma for how I used to behave and I accept that, but I won't let you carry out your punishment. You will let me marry you, is that understood? Don't forget who I am- what position I have in society."

You felt your blood run cold.

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "You started a game you have no way of finishing."

[miifu666]

Yan! Sun Wukong AU

⋆˙⟡ —CW: Yandere Wukong, dead dove, Forced pregnancy, Non-con, implied infantilizing

"You've tied my antennas like some sort of livestock, bed me without my knowledge and took my body from the underworld just to imprison me within the mountains... have you no shame?"

"I gave you reasons to live, you planned your own death. No regards for yourself or those around you. I saved you"

"No No.....YOU. You. Were my reason of death, Sun Wukong."

Wukong stared at his wife, a hollow version of the woman who loved him. Often emotionless and apathetic, now full of anger, years of resentment bubbling up. An effect of Wukong's impatience, his clumsy powers that altered her once witty and flirtatious personality. Rendering her to an apathetic shell of her former self.

Now she's staring at him, years of glazing over his actions, his suffocating love and affection. Just moments after laying their children. She's burning holes into his face, eyes full of hostility, showing nothing more than defiance.

Her hands, once dirtied with fluid and eggshells, now clean. Rid of the crime she committed, no remorse painted in her face. Her attempts to destroy all of her hatchling and make a run for it was a successful plan. one that shows how willing she would do to escape this confined walls, to escape him. For once, She felt relieved, even if she only managed destroyed half of her hatchling.

"... you're stressed" "of course i am! From being with you! From laying those things i have no care for!" "... you need to lay down, my heart. You're experiencing a temporary feeling-" "I've had enough"

The larger monkey gripped his fist tight, his shoes digging to the ground as he prepped himself of her unpredictable action. Just one leap and it'll all be over soon.

"Come with me, My heart. You're stressed, its time for you to rest"

"Maybe you would find another consort..."

Midway through the sentence, Suklha found herself being tightly gripped by a larger form. One that's warmth rivals the sun, a familiar scent engulfing her whole. Yet, instead of sinking into such familiarity, she chose to defy it. Digging her sharp nails around the meat of his hands, the flesh of his face.

"—Off of me!"

"Lets go home. You're not supposed to walk around, that is why you're like this"

"Get away!"

"Shh... i vowed to take care of you, ill make an exception on letting you shower. How about that?"

"I dont care! You dense monkey!!"

"I'll let you bathe yourself, not without the supervision of the auntie's"

"ARGH! KILL ME NOW!! I HATE YOU I HATE—"

Artwork ©️ Miifu666

Writings ©️ Miifu666

[heliosunny]

tysm for filling in the void for yan mydei im so full just by reading through ur works ugh

more yan is always welcomed but like the plot twist is that it's reader that's the yan and mydei knows and likes it like some guy warns him about ur misdeeds and he's like 'yeah i know, got a problem with that?' listen im just deep into mutual toxic lovers okay thank u for coming to my ted talk keep writing stay hydrated mwap

Mydei x Yandere!Reader

At first, Mydei was just another face in the crowd, one more person who basked in the admiration of others, soaking up attention like it was his birthright.

And you? You acted like you couldn't care less.

When he flashed that charming smile, you barely glanced his way. When he teased, when he toyed, when he played his little games with those around him, you only met him with flat indifference, as if he were nothing special. As if he didn’t matter.

But inside, deep down, where no one could see, you were watching.

You noticed everything. The way he moved, the way his presence filled a room, the way he always seemed so confident, so untouchable. The way others chased him like desperate moths to a flame. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. You wanted to be the only one who saw him, the only one who truly understood him.

But you couldn’t show that.

So instead, you let him think you were unaffected. You played the part of the one who simply tolerated his presence, the one who didn’t crumble under his charm. And, strangely enough, that was what caught his interest.

Because Mydei had seen admiration before. He had seen obsession, longing, love. But he had never seen someone like you—someone who met him without worship, without expectation.

That was when he started watching you.

At first, it was subtle—lingering glances, idle curiosity. Then it grew. He found himself searching for you in every room, noting the way you reacted (or didn’t) when he spoke. He tested your patience, pushed at your boundaries, just to see what you would do.

And when he finally realized the truth—when he caught that single moment where your mask cracked, when he saw the way your eyes lingered a little too long, the way your fingers twitched when someone else got too close—he smiled.

Because you were different. And that was why he loved you.

The confession came suddenly, without warning.

“I want you” Mydei had said one evening, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one who’s ever really seen me.”

You had scoffed, played it off like it meant nothing. "So? What do you expect me to do about it?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "Stay with me."

And that was how it started.

Your relationship was complicated, tangled in sharp edges and unspoken truths. Mydei was possessive, but he never needed to be—because you weren’t going anywhere. You watched him, he watched you, a game of quiet obsession played in the shadows.

So when some fool approached Mydei one day, warning him about you, he only chuckled.

"Obsessed?" he echoed, amusement dancing in his voice. "You act like that’s a bad thing."

After all, love meant never having to let go.

It started with whispers.

A nervous glance here, a hushed murmur there. People had always gossiped, always speculated about your relationship with Mydei, but lately, the tension had shifted. It was no longer just idle curiosity or petty jealousy. No, this was something else.

Fear.

The first warning came from a former admirer of Mydei’s, a trembling voice layered with concern.

"Mydei, I know you might not believe me, but they’re dangerous" she said, wringing her hands together. "They don’t just push people away—they get rid of them. Anyone who gets too close to you just… disappears."

Mydei tilted his head, fingers resting against his chin. "Is that so?"

She nodded quickly, relieved that he was listening. "Yes! I—I don’t think you realize just how deep this goes. I even heard that—"

He cut her off with a lazy smile. "And?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Why did that concern you?"

Her mouth opened and closed, as if struggling to process his response. "They’re obsessed with you! Aren’t you—aren’t you scared?"

"Should I be?" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, if someone was willing to burn the world down for you… wouldn’t that be just a little bit romantic?"

The girl paled, taking a shaky step back. Mydei only laughed as she hurried away.

The second warning came from someone bolder.

"Mydei, listen to me," a man muttered, grabbing his wrist firmly. "That person you’re with? They’re unhinged. They have people watching you. I—I overheard them threatening someone just for looking at you the wrong way."

Mydei arched a brow. "And?"

The man’s grip tightened. "Don’t you get it? They’re dangerous."

A slow smirk spread across Mydei’s lips. "Good."

The man flinched, his expression shifting from urgency to something wary. "You… you knew?"

Mydei sighed, shaking his head. "Of course I knew. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?" His fingers pried the man’s hand off his wrist, his grip just a little too firm. "Tell me, do you think I look like someone who lets things slip past me?"

The man swallowed hard, but before he could say anything else, Mydei turned away, waving him off as if he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.

The warnings kept coming. People muttering in corridors, exchanging uneasy glances when they thought Mydei wasn’t looking.

They all seemed to think they were telling him some grand secret. That he was blind.

But Mydei had never been blind.

He knew exactly what kind of person you were.

And that was exactly why he stayed.

Mydei was no stranger to being watched. Admired, even. He knew the weight of lingering stares, the way people’s eyes followed him with thinly veiled longing. It was expected, predictable.

But your gaze? That was something else entirely.

He felt it before he even saw you.

It was late afternoon when he paused in the palace gardens, ignoring the meaningless chatter of nobles flitting around him. A faint rustle overhead had his lips curving into a smirk. Subtle to most—but not to him.

Ah. There you were.

Perched on a tree branch like a shadow, watching him with that same unreadable intensity you always had.

The noblewoman beside him prattled on about something inconsequential, but Mydei wasn’t listening. His focus had already shifted. He barely spared the woman a glance before turning on his heel and striding toward the tree, cutting through the manicured hedges without hesitation.

"Ah—Your highness?" The woman’s voice wavered, confused by his abrupt disinterest.

But he was already gone.

You didn’t move as he approached, still as a predator in waiting. Mydei took his time, tilting his head as he peered up at you.

"You know," he mused, amusement lacing his tone, "if you’re going to stalk me, at least put in a little more effort. This is hardly a challenge."

You didn’t dignify that with a response, though your fingers twitched ever so slightly against the bark. Mydei chuckled, stepping closer.

"Are you going to keep watching from up there, or do I have to come and get you myself?"

There was the briefest flicker of movement before you leapt down, landing soundlessly a few feet away. You dusted off your sleeves, leveling him with a blank stare.

"Busy?" you asked, voice flat.

"Not anymore" he said breezily, as if he hadn’t just walked away from an entire crowd to chase after you.

A scoff. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re predictable." His smirk widened as he leaned in slightly. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

"You were taking too long."

Mydei let out a delighted laugh. "Impatient, are we?"

You rolled your eyes, but the way you lingered just a little too close, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to grab him—it was enough to make his blood hum with satisfaction.

"Let’s go somewhere less… public."

You hesitated for only a moment before following.

The nobles and servants who had been watching from afar exchanged looks, whispers passing between them. Some admired the way Mydei always gravitated toward you, the way he smiled so easily in your presence. Others found it unnerving, the intensity between you both—something electric, something dangerous.

But none of them dared to interfere.

Mydei led you through the palace gardens, away from prying eyes. He didn’t need to look back to know you were following. You always did.

That was the fun part.

You never admitted it, never said it outright, but he knew. You were obsessed with him. And, he loved that.

As you walked, his pace slowed until he was just beside you. "You know," he mused, voice light, "most people try to get my attention by speaking to me. But I suppose lurking in trees works too."

"Maybe if you weren’t surrounded by idiots all the time, I wouldn’t have to."

Mydei let out a delighted hum. "Jealous?"

You didn’t answer.

Which meant yes.

He grinned, shifting closer, until his shoulder nearly brushed against yours. "you could always just say you want me to yourself."

"I don’t care what you do"

"You're bad at lying" Mydei sing-songed, clearly entertained.

You huffed, but Mydei only smirked, pleased. He knew how to push, how to tug at the threads of your carefully composed exterior until they frayed just enough to amuse him.

After a few moments of silence, Mydei spoke again, this time more thoughtful. "You know, someone tried to warn me about you again today."

"Is that so?"

He turned to face you fully, walking backward without a care. "Apparently, you’re dangerous."

"Are you scared?"

Mydei chuckled, stepping even closer. "You tell me."

"You really don’t care, do you?"

Mydei’s grin widened. "Would I still be here if I did?"

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second, Mydei thought you might actually say something real. But instead, you scoffed and looked away.

"Tch. Idiot."

"Possessive" Mydei countered smoothly.

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, unbothered as always.

It started with small things like a glance that lingered too long, a conversation cut too short. People who used to approach Mydei freely now hesitated, their smiles more forced, their words more cautious.

At first, he found it amusing. You were possessive—he had always known that.

But then, things began to shift.

The first real incident was at a banquet.

A noblewoman, a foreign dignitary, all fluttering lashes and saccharine words had taken an interest in him. Nothing unusual. Mydei had entertained her with easy conversation, just enough to be polite.

And then he saw you.

Standing at the edge of the room, watching.

When he met your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, as if waiting. He excused himself from the noblewoman’s company without thinking. His feet carried him toward you before he could question why.

“You’re being ridiculous..” he murmured when he reached you.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The way your gaze flicked over his shoulder, where the noblewoman still lingered, was enough.

The next morning, the woman abruptly cut her stay short and left the palace without explanation.

People murmuring about how she had seemed shaken, about how she had refused to speak of why she was leaving.

He didn’t ask you about it.

But that wasn’t the last time.

More people began avoiding him. Conversations ended when he entered a room. Some courtiers wouldn’t even meet his gaze anymore.

And every time, when he turned to look at you, he found you already watching.

“You’re being too much.” he finally told you one evening.

You didn’t flinch. “Too much for what?”

“For them.” Mydei gestured vaguely. “You’re scaring people off.”

“Good.”

He frowned. “That’s not—”

“Do you want them?”

The question was quiet, but it made his breath catch.

You were standing too close now, eyes dark, expression unreadable. The air felt heavier, like a trap he hadn’t realized he’d stepped into.

You weren’t touching him, but he felt caged all the same.

“…No” he admitted.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He let out a slow breath, forcing a smirk onto his lips. “You’re suffocating, you know that?”

“You like it.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

And maybe that was the worst part.

---

Mydei woke to darkness.

His mind was sluggish, limbs heavy. The faint scent of something cloying still lingered at the back of his throat—something sweet.His wrists ached when he moved, the telltale tightness of silk restraints biting into his skin. He was sitting, legs spread, posture relaxed but utterly bound.

A chuckle bubbled up from his throat. “Really?” His voice was hoarse, still thick with the aftereffects of whatever you had given him.

“You went too far.”

Your voice was steady, but he could hear it—the irritation laced beneath. The anger you rarely let slip.

He should be wary. Should be unsettled by the cold metal dragging along his collarbone, the warning pressure of something sharp just barely pressing into his skin.

But he wasn’t.

Because this? This was new.

And Mydei never could resist a good game.

A sharp pain flared across his cheek—a slap, hard enough to make his head turn. The sting bloomed into heat, skin tingling.

Mydei exhaled slowly. “Ah… so that’s how it is?”

You didn’t respond. He could feel you there, hovering close, your presence a weight against his senses.

Then another hit. His lip split, a sharp copper tang filling his mouth.

His tongue darted out, tasting it.

“You don’t like it when I talk to others, do you?” His voice was almost teasing, but lower, rougher.

Your fingers curled around his throat, tightening just enough to make him swallow.

“Shut up.”

He hummed, not quite a laugh, but close. “Make me.”

Your grip tightened, cutting off his breath for just a moment before releasing.

His pulse thrummed with something heady, something dangerous. He shifted slightly, testing his restraints—not out of a desire to escape, but just to feel the silk dig deeper.

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You think this will make me stop?”

You leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “No” you murmured.

You knew him too well.

Knew that no matter how tight you held him, no matter how hard you tried to break him—

He would always let you.

Because in the end, neither of you wanted to let go.

[ddarker-dreams]

yan anaxa, mydei & phainon — handling jealousy.

It doesn’t take much to rouse Anaxa’s possessiveness. 

As a rational man, you’d expect him to operate on cold logic, but he’s prone to bouts of passion. Bizarrely, a person flirting with you is a pardonable transgression. He can’t fault people for succumbing to biological urges. What he can (and does) find fault with, however, is when others monopolize your time. He’s devised a simple system for issuing judgment. By his estimate, no one aside from him should take more than five minutes of your time. Anything beyond that is excessive. After all, he fulfills every role. Colleague, teacher, lover; he’s the complete package! So why would you need anyone else? 

Anaxa considers it a personal insult if you indulge others past their allotted time. This is made worse if you’re enjoying yourself. Why not tell him to leap into the black tide if you think so little of him? Despite the creative ideas swirling in his head, he won’t enact revenge on the guilty party. Instead, he hunts you down afterward. You’re then lectured on your ‘unbecoming conduct.’ He acts like people who seek your company are contagions you must avoid, lest you catch their stupidity. It’s best to let him finish his diatribe. Interrupting him will not go over well for you. 

Comparatively, Mydei is the most forgiving. 

People know to leave you alone. They assume their life would be forfeit if they so much as glance at you the wrong way. Mydei might not be the monster others assume him to be, but that doesn’t stop him from utilizing this misconception. Contrary to public perception, he won’t extinguish bloodlines over some youth trying to win your favor. No, stuff like that doesn’t get under his skin. It’s your former attachments he struggles with. The fact others hold a special space in your heart that’s permanently closed to him hurts more than a knife through the chest. 

He can protect you physically from threats, but he lacks what it takes to truly put you at ease. Try as he might to make himself less intimidating, you’ll always fear him. While this has its merits — such as discouraging subterfuge — he dislikes the terror in your eyes. In an ideal world, he’d prefer to see you smile or hear your laughter. Whoever brought you joy before earns his silent loathing. Mentioning them in passing guarantees putting him in a pensive mood. Mydei’s difficult to read, but with enough observation, you’ll come to recognize the correlation. 

If Phainon could, he’d handcuff your wrists together so you’d never be apart. 

Fortunately for you, the tricky logistics have dissuaded him from this plan. Your luck ends there. He always finds ways to hover around you, absorbing your attention like a sponge. Phainon’s reputation precedes him — in public, others are remiss to interrupt your outings when you’re together. They’d feel bad intruding on what little free time the Deliverer has. You’ll feel alone while surrounded by swaths of people who think they’re doing you a favor. Owing to this, there are rarely situations that could lead to him experiencing jealousy. 

The same can’t be said for inanimate objects. He’s gifted you an assortment of items in line with your interests, so that when he’s away, you can entertain yourself. When he returns and you don’t put them down, he can get a bit prickly. He’s been counting the days until he can see you again, only to lose to a book. Why read epics, when he can regale you with his equally thrilling adventures? It’d be obvious and reflect poorly on him as a man if he tossed out these belongings. This leaves him to compete with your hobbies for your attention, to varying success.