#Yandere mr puzzles

[dollcherray]

✮⋆˙ DIGITAL SILENCE ୨୧

YANDERE MR.PUZZLES X READER WHOS IN SMG4'S CREW.

A/N:Yahoo! im back babeyyy,way better now and, btw ik smg4's fandom isnt that famous and this will probably only get 2/3 views, but im doing this anyways, this is NOT PROOFREAD edit: this aged like milk

Type: Headcanons, romantic, fluff/light angst.

Tw/Cw: Yandere topics, he hypnotizes you, obsessive behavior, paranoia, delusion, possessiveness, overprotection, suggestive(?), he literally worships you so much, emotional dependence .

Song recommendation: Creative control - Mr puzzles

୨୧ He got so hooked up on you, and he doesnt know how or why, but he just knew he needed you when he first landed his cameras on you, you were so captivating, he had to understand why.

୨୧ Before he hypnotized everyone, he kept a big eye on you, that were blissfully unaware of his obsession or existence, sometimes he got so excited of looking at you that he almost got to capture you to himself, but he had to control himself, he could do that later.

୨୧ When puzzles finally hypnotized everyone, he needed to see you first than EVERYBODY else and my god, you were so precious and beautiful in person, he couldnt get enough from looking at you, he was so glad he finally got to see your pretty face in person.

୨୧ During the shows, whenever you were on screen, he would display you always as the most perfect character in the story and sometimes he would even insert himself in them just to be more close to you or to be your love interest.

୨୧ He enjoys watching your performances so much, you were just made for the screens! you easily highlighted yourself in every show, even if you were just standing, or staying in the background, he would pay attention to you everytime, every single move you do or word you say, he is paying full attention.

୨୧ He would be extra touchy with you, since he was very lonely when a child, he would take all the years of him wishing there was someone to hug him and etc. On you, he would be soo touch starved.

୨୧ Puzzles would get a bit paranoid and feared when you get your conscience back, he tried to comfort himself with the "they'll never know" mindset, protected by the delusion that he did the right thing of hypnotizing you.

୨୧ Puzzles would panic when you got your conscience and memories back, but relieved that you wouldnt remember the stories where he inserted himself in so he could be creepily more close to you.

୨୧ But when he heard you also wanted to leave, he was furious, how could his own darling try and leave him?! hes the one who can make u a real star, the real deal, and the others are just... second characters, how can you want to stay with such pesky brats?! they were nothing compared to you!

୨୧ But he didnt blame you, you were with those weirdos since the beginning consequently making you not even know half of your potential since you were brainwashed by that pesky crew, so, he had to show you that your place was with him, on the big screens with only him, nobody else.

୨୧ If you wanted to stay with him or not didnt really matter, you were in his reality, he could make you his whenever, he just felt like giving you the illusion of a choice in hopes you would "choose" the right decision. (hes not insane at all! hes just silly!)

୨୧ You were his precious puppet, his puppet, his companion, he couldnt let you leave, no, he couldnt, he needs you and you will need him, he would show you your place, he eventually would.

୨୧ "When i saw you, i instantly knew that you were a natural star, so be good and stay with me, okay?"

[mrpuzzlessimp420]

Mario Simulator (Joke Fic)

Chapter 2

Warnings: Mention of Lobotomy, Blackmailing, Kidnapping, Plotting Murder (none of these are taken seriously)

Ships: Marware, SMG34, BatteryAcid (Mr Puzzles x Orange Juice)-Mentioned

An idea popped into Mario's head, quite surprising as he probably didn't have any braincells left.

A very... unique idea.

You see, there was something actually... unnormal about Mario.

He was what you would call...

A yandere.

Now Mario wasn't your Ayano Aishi "I've never felt ANY emotions before Senpai!" yandere, he was your "though emotionally stunted still had emotions" yandere.

His entire life he had never felt strong emotions before which wasn't questioned by literally anyone as they just thought it was just because he was you know Mario or because he had been implied to be lobotomized in that one episode.

It also wasn't questioned when he started acting coo-coo crazy over Mr Puzzles as they just cracked it up to just be Mario being Mario.

So hiding this fact about himself from others was as easy as forcing your friends to kiss for a tiktok trend.

But like any yandere (insert-literally-any-character) fanfic, Mario had some roadblocks that stopped him from being with his one and only true loves...

Rivals.

Now Mario was used to having rivals, love related or not but Orange Juice was a special case.

Unlike the others, Orange Juice was actually dating Mr Puzzles which meant that if he just straight up murdered him, Mr Puzzles would be depressed, wear grey/black hoodies all the time and be emo and Mario couldn't have that! Being emo was the greatest sin of humanity!

He'd had to think of a plan to get Orange Juice and Mr Puzzles to break up or for Orange Juice to be extremely toxic so when he goes to kill him, Puzzles wouldn't be a sad depressed babygirl!

Unluckily for him, Mario was a number 1 lazy boy and didn't want to go through all the effort of figuring something out so he thought of the next best option: get someone to figure it out for him!

Now how would be his unwilling victim?

Saiko?

No she has had to much character development that she would drop kick him into the sun if he asked her to revert back to the days she was crazily obsessing over Boopkins (really though, Boopkins??)

Luigi?

No he was weird in his own way that Mario didn't want to deal with.

SMG3?

Maybe.

He'd probably need some sort of blackmail though.

Luckily for Mario, he always kept a copy of SMG3's gay little diary on hand, just in case.

A loud rigging bell went that snapped Mario out of his thoughts, it was the end of break!

And he didn't get to eat his spaghetti-flavoured apple :(.

Moving on from that, Mario knew what his next move was. At lunch he would kidnap SMG3, blackmail him to make a plan that would get Orange Juice and Mr Puzzles to break up, force him to help in the actual plan himself and make him promise to never tell anyone about the situation ever.

Yeah that seemed like a solid plan, what could possibly go wrong?

The next two lessons went by like SMG4 and SMG3's will-they-won't-they relationship that will probably never be canonized because of half of the fandom's homophobicness and their insistence that their brothers.

Right as Mario was considering drowning a random girl in a bucket of full of acid because of how clingy she was being, the bell went signalling it was lunch.

He ran out of the classroom with no time to lose, not even caring that the teacher yelled at him that "the bell doesn't dismiss him, she does" or whatever that crap was.

After searching for what felt like weeks, he finally found SMG3 packing up his stuff in a classroom that was now empty. His face slightly smiling at a image on his emo skull phone.

It was now his chance!

Mario grabbed a black bag out of thin air and, without SMG3 noticing, put it on SMG3's head and tightened it.

Now all he needed to do was find a dark, empty room that no-one would dare walk near to.

The broom closet! (DID YOU GET THE BROOM CLOSET ENDING? THE BROOM CLOSET- The author is then choked to death because they referenced another piece of media)

Dragging SMG3's lifeless body that definitely was losing oxygen by the second and not at all trying to hide himself, waving to others whenever they passed who just chalked it up to be Mario being Mario. When he finally reached the broom closet, he dumped the poor man in it, locking himself and SMG3 inside.

After finding a chair that definitely looked out of place in a broom closet that only held brooms, he placed SMG3 on it and tied his hands behind the chair with some spare rope.

Realising he needed SMG3 to talk during this blackmailing, Mario finally took the black bag off of SMG3's head.

"What the hell Mario?" SMG3 shouted after panting for oxygen for 4 minutes straight, his voice not being heard from the outside as the closet was noise cancelling.

"Mario wants you do to something for him." Mario said sinisterly, which was hard to tell due to his voice only being voice clips.

"Hell no I'll do something for you! Last time I did so I was humiliated on the internet!" SMG3 argued, not wanting anything to do with Mario.

"Well.. Mario has your gay diary sooo.. :D" Mario said, grabbing the copy of SMG3's notebook out of his skirt that has pockets.

SMG3 immediately freezed up, a pink blush spreading around his checks.

"Y-you wouldn't leak that would you?" SMG3 asked, sounding extremely nervous. No one could see his deepest and darkest thoughts and know about his massive crush on SMG4.

"I won't if you do this for me.." Mario stated as menacingly as he could, leaning down to SMG3.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife...

"Fine... I'll do it..." He said, giving in to Mario's demands.

"Yippeee!!" Mario squeaked, though he was sad he didn't get to use his brand new cringe memes machine to torture SMG3 with but he could use it at another time.

"What do you want me to do then? Make spaghetti for you? Force me to a dumb challenge? Humiliate myself on camera?" SMG3 asked.

"Help me commit murder." Mario said blankly.

"Yeah sure why not." SMG3 stated, he selled bombs on the black market for a living, murder wasn't that extreme that he wouldn't do it. "Who is it and what's the plan?"

"Actually I wanted you to make a plan for me" Mario rubbed the back of his head, pulling a silly face while doing so.

"Of course you did.." He said, not surprised at all.

"Well to be honest, I need your help to get Orange Juice and Mr Puzzles to break up so I can go kill Orange Juice." Mario stated, extremely casually.

"Honestly wouldn't take you for a yandere type of guy"

"The author's friend thought it be funny."

"Well, I've already thought of some ideas so let's plan this!"

30 minutes later and they had already made a Plan A, a Plan B for if it goes wrong, a Plan C etc. Now all they needed to do was set it into motion...

(part 3 coming whenever I feel like it babieee-)

[bluestrawberrybunny]

may i present yandere marware? 👉👈

one-sided, mutual pining, take your pick! it's up for interpretation(mostly cause i can't decide lol)

Mutual pining in this situation is so crazy to me(/j) kinda like…

Mario: This crazy guy kidnapped me

Mario: But he kinda cute tho-

Mr. Puzzles becoming a yandere for Mario is so fun. I saw @originallymarysue (I forget the name of the blog you posted it on Originally sorry) make a jokefic where Mario was the yandere for Mr. Puzzles and it was something that kept me hooked and laughing.

But Mr. Puzzles becoming so obsessed with Mario is so canon tho. Man literally stalked Mario and stole his freaking mustache. I can see him getting to this point of obsession over him.

I love this idea so much. One-sided or mutual pining are awesome I can see why you’re indecisive about it! If this is a more serious AU? One-sided. If it’s more jokey, then mutual pining would be fantastic.

It’s up to you in the end man! I’d love this thing to death either way! :D

[danganronpaisbest]

Yandere quote ideas I was thinking of doing?

1. Mr Puzzles from Smg4

2. Dib Membrane from Invader Zim

3. Korekiyo Shinguji from Danganronpa V3

4. Dandy from Dandys World

5. Wally from Welcome Home

6. Bill Cipher from Gravity Falls (ALREADY DONE)

[on-leatheredwings]

Mr. Sandman (18+)

Yandere Jason Todd / AFAB Reader

> romantic  > tw/cw: non-con, somno. reader has a vagina, piv sex, creampie(s). > Jason just can't get enough of you when you're awake; why would that change when you're asleep? > a/n: my first jason solo!!! WE UP! im a sucker for simpering, weak, vulnerable jason sowwyyyy . he needs u spiritually what can i say . > word count: 1.1k

Jason knows he shouldn't be doing this.

But who could blame him? You’re just so gorgeous. And so smart, so funny, so generous and so– so perfect. You are his god. He is your faithful acolyte. And your cunt is his altar of choice.

Jason glances himself in the mirror across your bedroom. He’s a hulking mass of muscle on all fours, hovering above your gently sleeping body. It would be a shock you haven’t woken up yet, if not for his stealth. He padded onto your bed, knowing just where the mattress would give soundlessly under his solid weight. Underneath him, you’re none the wiser. Innocent. Ripe and for the taking.

He shouldn't be doing this, he reminds himself, despite his bare erection already weeping precum in anticipation. 

You took him into your embrace, like a savior to a wounded dog. You decided he was loveable, of all things. 

He shouldn't be doing this, he tells himself again, despite his hands starting to wander. Your nipples poke sinfully through his wifebeater, breasts nearly spilling out of it anyway. You’ve dictated it to be your new set of pajamas. It’s much too long for you, falling past the start of your thighs. He peels it up, slowly, carefully. He leaves it to bunch at your collarbone, revealing your naked breasts. He swallows an appreciative groan, leaning forward and suckling on a nipple.

It’ll just be some heavy petting. Just some kissing. Just some marks so people know you’re his – he knows what to say so you won’t mind that too much in the morning. Just– just a few touches.

But then Jason’s hand wanders downwards. And when he cups your cunt with his hand – his throat tightens; he bristles, stiffens; heady desire intoxicates him and fogs his mind – all restraint comes crashing down. 

He was a damn idiot to think he could resist.

“Okay– Just a little. Just a little, I swear,” Jason groans, little more than a whisper, betraying his attempts at being quiet.

Jason, with expert vigilante fluidity, hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. He lowers and shuffles back to an eye-level view of your cunt, waiting prettily just for him.

He draws circles around your clit with his fingers, using his abundant precum as lube. A man possessed, he could watch all day at how easily and nicely you let his fingers in.

Fuck, you were made just for him, he bets. It’s not only his cock your pussy remembers; your body accommodates, obeys, and wettens in response to every part of his own. He’s barely even trying, pumping his digits back and forth. You’re basically drawing him in. 

Your mouth drops open, a soft whine falling out, and he freezes. His fingers are still stuffed in your puffy cunt. After a few seconds, you continue dozing off, although your brows pinch together with pleasure.

If you can wake up at any second, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least go the full mile. He slips his fingers out. Another whine from you. I know, I know, baby, he thinks. You’ll be full again soon enough. Jason slides forward and makes you both fit together puzzle pieces, cock against your folds. “Just the tip, I promise,” Jason says again. And so he continues. 

He’s in. He lets out a relieved sigh, nearly moaning. He’s in.

… But it’s not enough.

Before Jason knows it, he’s pushing forward, entering you fully. And every inch is well-earned – your tightness has him choked, panting and gasping. Yeah, he reassures himself. He fucking belongs here.

It takes him no time at all to start fucking his precum into your cunt. A near-frothy ring of cream grows at the fat base of his cock, a product of his speed and fervor. If he had the mind to, he’d be embarrassed at his desperation. But then he grinds your clit down against the root of his cock, frotting against your walls, and he could not be at all fucked to care.

Jason could start laughing, fucking you with wild abandon. As soon as he climbed on this bed, this was out of his hands. How did he ever think he’d be able to stop? He can’t even try to quiet down anymore. There’s the sound of skin colliding bouncing through the room, your mattress creaking from the intensity of him pounding you, and of course, his own heavy breathing. Fuck, fuck. Despite the noise, he can’t help it – he needs this.

Finally, the hot coil in him snaps. He shudders violently, veins visible in his arms and temple, mouth falling open into a moan. Face-to-face with you at this point, his breaths tickle against your cheek.

On his third orgasm, he’s finally spent. He marvels at the mess he’s made – the inside of your thighs is slick with his own makings, pearly white smeared across the canvas that his your skin. Your abused cunt is swollen and so, so pretty. His cock is still firing ropes into your body. 

Jason can't bear to withdraw himself, mind drunk with pleasure. Suddenly drowsy, Jason has to stop himself from collapsing on top of you. He gently lowers himself to lie down facing you. Both of you are on your sides, his cock still buried in your warmth.

You start to wake up, blinking away the blearly tendrils of sleep. You glance black hair and a shock of white. Mm. Jason, your sleepy mind thinks. Good. Great, even. The allure of continuing your slumber calls, as he rocks you back and forth, the motion almost sedative. Hips meeting yours, cock rutting into you…

Wait–

Your eyes fully snap open, body on high alert. You gasp.

“Jay–?” you squeak. Now fully awake, you register the full presence of his length in you and the pleasurable throb in between your thighs. And the utter stickiness of your thighs. 

Startled, Jason wakes up with a jerk. He doesn’t normally fall into such deep sleep. He feels panic rise. He was supposed to wake up after just a few minutes…!

“Fuck–” he begins, fumbling to roll away and unsheathe himself. But you curl a fist around the collar of his shirt, like pulling on a leash. You two stare at one another, both bodies still sweaty and warm. Your cunt is still full with him, his seed. Leaking. 

Fear thunders through Jason at getting caught. 

But then you pout. So cute, his dumb animal brain instinctively thinks. Even though you’d argue to him that you’re nothing of the sort. You smile mischievously, sinking onto his cock an inch.

“Now, Jay,” you say, tutting. “You should’ve woken me up first.”

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere DILF! Headcanons

Warnings: Obsessive Behaviour, Non-Explicit Implications of Smut, Implications of Infidelity, Age Gap, Non-Consensual Surveillance, Mention of Assault, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

♡ Yandere DILF who has always had everything he could ever want handed to him on a silver platter: women, highly paid positions in some corporation or another, wealth – etc.

♡ Yandere DILF who, before today, never actually thought love existed. True love, that is.

♡ Yandere DILF who, even with a beautiful wife to his name, one he settled for before because he thought that was the normal thing to do – what was expected of him – has never felt his heart shutter or his cheeks set ablaze with the anxiety of first love, making the whole concept null. Void.

♡ Yandere DILF whose life changes the second he meets you – whose world begins turns upside down as he spots you sat on his sofa, his wife beside you, speaking with kind, smiling eyes.

♡ Yandere DILF whose interest, for the first time in his entire life, is piqued, and whose urge to pursue any information he can get his hands on is ignited.

♡ Yandere DILF who is convinced that it’s only to extinguish this newfound interest in the beautiful stranger in his home.

♡ Yandere DILF whose wife gives him the perfect guise to do so – to “get to know you,” just as she requested – seeing as you are their new babysitter, after all.

♡ Yandere DILF with the perfect house, a well-paying job, a loving family and good looks, feels as if he has nothing but his image of the ideal suburban father when he sees you, when he knows that, regardless of how wrong it is, he must have you.

♡ Yandere DILF whose resolve to remain loyal to his wife cracks every time he hears you call him “Sir” or “Mr. Laurier”.

♡ Yandere DILF whose thoughts become increasingly centric of you the longer he knows you, yet knows nothing of you save for whatever his wife tells him, a finite, human resource he can only mine so much before she becomes suspicious.

♡ Yandere DILF who, for the first time, feels as if he is the pursuer rather than the pursued.

♡ Yandere DILF who initially tries to fight this growing infatuation of who you could be – who you are – and tries to keep his dear, sweet wife in mind. One which he cares little for.

♡ Yandere DILF who finds himself having discovered loopholes in his own logic by, quite simply, for brief samples of memory, replacing his wife with you.

♡ Yandere DILF, whose mind has been buzzing with you for the last month, just before going out for the evening, considers “falling ill” to have an excuse to stay at the house with you, to talk to you, to touch you. To see what made you so special as to drive him up the wall.

♡ Yandere DILF whose idea crumbles as he realises such a plan would entail him spending time with (and potentially being caught by) his two children, for whom he held no particular affection.

♡ Yandere DILF who is drip-fed information in the time between you arriving and he and his wife leaving, from which he gleans only shards of a larger puzzle that paints no clearer a picture of the mysterious younger person who has so seamlessly captured both his heart and his attention.

♡ Yandere DILF whose mind doesn’t recoil as the first thought – image – of you doing something less than decent with him, born from you bending over to pick something up that fell from the kitchen counter, giving him a view he’d previously tried to avoid for his own sanity’s sake.

♡ Yandere DILF who has to try and look his wife in the eyes as that picture of you – and others which emerge from the cracks in his mind – remains with him for the entire evening.

♡ Yandere DILF who has to resist the urge to take you into his arms and bury you in his bedsheets, or drape you in his coat, on the rare occasion you’d fall asleep on the sofa, his children safely tucked away in bed and exhaustion having taken you somewhere far from here.

♡ Yandere DILF who can’t help the dangerous thought that you need a protector – him – to protect you from other boys your age who would gladly take advantage of your vulnerable state.

♡ Yandere DILF who unabashedly succumbs to those same fantasies of heroism and lust in an isolated private bathroom stall at work.

♡ Yandere DILF who can’t help but begin to wonder if he’d be your first; your first kiss, your first love, your first time, and if you’d take to him as strongly as he’d taken to you.

♡ Yandere DILF who, after many months, many yearning, daydreaming, dragging months, eventually receives the God-given opportunity to invite you into his house when you swing by for something other than your job – to pass on a message to his wife, or something or other – while she’s out shopping and his children are at school.

♡ Yandere DILF whose heart palpitates in ways it never did for his wife – or any partner, for that matter.

♡ Yandere DILF who actually felt as if what he said and did here mattered, that you would not be so quick to overlook any of his transgressions as his many conquests before you had.

♡ Yandere DILF who offers you a drink and, just for a second, has the nasty little thought to spike it, to whisk you away somewhere where it will only ever be the two of you. Then thinks better of it since he knows you will be missed.

♡ Yandere DILF who considers offering – insisting – a glass of whiskey, much like the one he’s poured for himself. ‘To be hospitable’, is what he’d tell himself. Though, he knows the true reason; that being to excuse anything unsavoury that may occur in your inebriated state, absolving both of you of guilt if the instigator was in his system, too. Despite his ability to hold it undoubtedly exceeding yours.

♡ Yandere DILF who, after you decline the beverage, claiming to be ‘in a hurry’, sits with you as if you were an idol, and finally comes to know your likes, dislikes, preferences for music and weather and everything outside and between purely by making you forget why you had to leave so soon to begin with.

♡ Yandere DILF who desperately draws your attention from the setting sun outside, or distracts you from checking your phone and seeing how long you’d been there, how long ago you were supposed to have left.

♡ Yandere DILF who only realises the age gap between the two of you when you tell him it was your birthday recently, and divulge your age and the gifts you’d received, making him feel, for a brief moment of true lucidity, wrong for all he has thought of and done in the name of you.

♡ Yandere DILF who is taken aback when you ask him about himself, and seem to show such a vested interest in his answers – his interests. Rather than his body count or his salary. Especially when all he’s been talking about is you.

♡ Yandere DILF who only falls deeper into this pit of obsession, feeling himself having to fight the urge to sit closer to you as each hour ticks by.

♡ Yandere DILF whose resolve dissolves, losing the battle as you look at him with nothing less than sheer enthusiasm for everything he’s saying, hanging on his every word in a way that his wife seemed to have forgotten. And, inching closer, his knee touches yours ever so gently, his arm sliding round the backrest of the sofa and encircling you like a snake.

♡ Yandere DILF who, for the first time, finds himself pining for even a morsel of accidental contact, of a misplaced brush of your hand against his side, to feel you touch him.

♡ Yandere DILF who, by the end of the afternoon, just as his wife returns, sees you notice the time and rush to hurry away, a cold aura gripping him as your glistening presence evacuates. His mood, inflated with what he could construe as no less than joy, deflates in a heartbeat.

♡ Yandere DILF who, as you urgently relay the message to his wife, stands nearby, hands in his pockets, waiting for something – anything – to happen.

♡ Yandere DILF who, as if being struck through the heart by Cupid’s arrow, feels his body go rigid as you rush to him and bestow upon him a small hug, no obvious intent behind it as you gift one to his wife, too, who, seemingly not so lovestruck, is much more receptive.

♡ Yandere DILF who, that night, chides himself for not having taken you into his arms, who makes love to his wife to forget his lapse in action. And he sees your face – your body – instead of hers, hears your voice in her stead, calling him by his name in a way he could only hope to make you one day.

♡ Yandere DILF who, finally, with the know-how, begins buying you small gifts; nothing too grandiose as to rouse the suspicion of you or his wife; just acts of implied selflessness you initially refuse as you tell him “Your kindness is reward enough !”

♡ Yandere DILF who knows you’re only being polite, seeing as he’d also begun to increase your wage (without his wife’s knowing), telling you that you’re “a hard worker,” “deserving of much more than this.”

♡ Yandere DILF who wants to give you so much more than the gift he holds behind his back for you – who wants to give you himself and all that he could provide for you.

♡ Yandere DILF who doesn’t take your modesty for an answer and gives you your late birthday present; a plush toy.

♡ Yandere DILF who relinquishes its purpose to you; “To keep you safe if ever you’re scared. Or even just alone or upset.”

♡ Yandere DILF whose heart almost explodes as your face lights up in a smile when you take the bear into your arms, your fingers brushing his, and hold it tightly to your chest. He can see your nostril twitch as the purposefully placed scent of his cologne reaches your senses.

♡ Yandere DILF who feels something South of his logic twitch in his pants as your mouth forms around his name.

♡ “Thank you, Mr. Laurier,”

♡ Yandere DILF whose lips curl into a smile, his eyes catching the camera within the bear’s.

♡ “Please,” he says, shedding his coat, having chosen a light-coloured shirt to reveal the physique he’s maintained just for you. ♡ “Call me Dominic.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [P1]

(Yandere × F!Reader)

[Series link]

[Warning: obssessive, workplace/academic discrimination, xenophobia, mention of SA, slowburn, dense plot, not even sure if its dark romance, not sure if its romance at all]

You were never crazy about spoiled rich men. They were nothing but troubles.

You knew his type. Rich, spoiled, and never told no. In college, you would see them flocking down walkways in goofy polos, or if there were events, in color-coded suits and ties as if going to their first communion. They were never alone, stuck in bubbles of laughters and champagnes and vape vapors. You were not there besides them. You sat rooted in the library chair, dropping in and out of kickbacks of other students who also never fit into their puzzle of oxfords and high heels. You didn't resent them. You had your own little life. You found comfort in turning it up in the weekend with your fierce eyeliner and fishnet when your bank balance was full, or sitting in your friends' living room greening out on Mexican weed when you were broke.

So when you graduated side by side with them, ordered by names, you didn't feel as if you missed the school spirit. Your ex was chatting up with his crowd a couple rows down, arms in arms with a known rapist. In a sea of them you treaded in your scuffed heels and walked the stadium to your fine, leather-bordered diploma and took a half-hearted photo with the dean before sneaking out early, never to see any of them again. Sure, you missed your friends, but you could always call and catch flights (when your bank balance so permits). The rest of them slipped off your mind easily like vapor.

You moved country. That was the right move. Sure, you could stay in the States and try out a desk job, but you didn't find it in you to belong. Plus, with the recent development of AI  technology coupled with the impending economic recession, you weren't too optimistic about finding a position that lasts. So you packed up and left, missing barely anything. 4 years of your life remained in the tissues your cried into in the dingy airport toilet. You called your family to let them know your ambition. They scoffed, trying to talk you out of it for the last time yet, before their persuasion became discouragement. Before they told you that the corporation needed an heir, and that you were stubborn just like your father was. You turned off your phone and boarded. Your 20s seemed wide open, soaring with you, louder than the plane engine that roared even in your sleep.

3 years later, in your little cubicle in a Japanese high school, you didn't feel like you were soaring anymore. Perhaps your wings got caught somewhere, shredded in the engine just before you landed. You buried your head into piles of notebooks, your red pen gliding. The power to decide who passed and who failed was in your hands, and the soft-hearted nature you carried with you squirmed as you had to mark down zeros and ones. You found yourself smiling at your students and encouraging them, as well as enduring the resistance from the rebellious ones. Little by little, the spark of hope in you matured into a quiet resolution. You learnt to be calmer, to hang your head more, and to speak less of your opinions. In the mirror, you saw a new face.

You pushed on, narrowing your shoulders in the subway, cooking your dinner in your modest kitchen, and packing your own lunch at five in the morning. Sometimes you went out with your coworkers, sometimes you remained indoor. Settling in a monotony as Tokyo raged on with its flourescent storm, you feel, in your quiet moments, as if you were half asleep.

Then one summer morning just before another school year ended, the head of the foreign teacher department walked in. Walking by her was a face you didn't recognize.

"This is Mr. Lukas."

As customary, you stood up and greeted with a polite smile.

"Yes, good morning Mrs. Tahara. Good morning Mr. Lukas."

"I know this is late into the school year", Tahara said, "but Mr. Lukas is the perfect fit for our school. He has plans to stick with us for the next 2 years, so I was hoping he would get the training he needs by trying out at our summer program."

"That seems like a lovely idea", you acknowledged.

"Since you have the most experience in our department so far, and also the only one left since the rest of the team has taken an early vacation as customary for them", Tahara continues, finally building up to her point, "I was wondering if it is not much trouble for you to mentor him this summer. I know that you have said that you would take the summer off this year, but there is nobody else we would trust quite as much!"

You felt a knot of frustration in your chest. After 3 years of dedicating yourself to the summer program, you did finally decide to take the summer off to have some time for yourself. Truth was, you had found yourself growing weary of the monotony in your life which had lulled you into a state of daydream. This summer was supposed to be for you to travel and visit your family. Plus, with the money your had accumulated by pinching your purse, you were hoping to finally fly to LA to meet with a long-term friend you had been dying to see.

But you knew this was not a request. It was an order. Though Tahara was smiling, she was not going to take "no" as an answer. The woman did not climb to her position in this expensive international high school in the heart of Tokyo by being softhearted like you.

"I see", you nodded, the blank smile yet to leave your face, "Very well, then. I will do my best."

Tahara also did not let hers falter when she tried to soothe you, "I heard the staff vacation is to Thailand this year. How exciting, right? It is the 10th year anniversary of our school after all. Tell you what, I will lobby for you the best room there is!"

The pang in your heart did not go away as you chuckled, "Oh, there is no need at all. Please, I am happy to do this job."

"Nonsense", Tahara insists, "Best room there is! Please leave that to me. All you need to worry about is Mr. Lukas."

You bowed your head.

"Thank you very much. I will do my best."

With that, Tahara turns to the newcomer: "Your cubicle is right here next to her. Please get settled in, and she will show you around. You have her full attention for today- I checked, there are no classes today, right, Miss?"

You nodded at the last part. Tahara briskly walked away, leaving Lukas standing in front of you.

You finally turned your attention to him, getting a good look for the first time yet. Lukas was tall, black haired, with a strong nose and freckles. His defined body was complemented by his white button-up and slack pants. The way his body opens up by his wide shoulders and his face held up high told you that he was a stranger not only to this work environment, but to the country as a whole. He still seemed alert, yet to be lulled into sleep like you.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lukas", you held your hand out for him to shake. His hand was soft, and his grip was gentle. You could tell clearly now... he hadn't been a working man.

"Hi", he smiled, "I'm so excited to be here. I'm all yours now, so... lay it all on me!"

American, you mused in your head, noticing his accent and the loud, overly friendly manner. He reminded you of the people you knew from college.

"Of course. Let me give you a quick tour of the school before we get started!"

"Great! It's a beautiful school. Can't wait!"

The moment you and him exited the teacher lounge, Lukas couldn't help but immediately make small talks.

"So... how long have you been working here?"

"Oh, for 3 years now", you replied absentmindedly.

"Woah, that's a long time. To be honest, I just graduated college last December, so this is all totally new to me."

You hummed and pointed out to him the nurse's office, letting him know that he could find assistance there in case of student injuries. Finding it difficult to simply ignore his attempt at a conversation and partially feeling sympathetic at the assumption that he may feel alone in a new country, you picked up the small talk.

"I understand it may feel intimidating at first. I was just like you... moving from an American college to work here is a big change."

"Oh, you were in the States, too? Where at?"

His head turned toward you. He seemed intrigued.

"Yes. I was studying in Texas. X Univerisity."

"So you are smart, then. I was in T University. Your rival school."

"That's a good school, too. What did you major in?"

He sheepishly grinned.

"I was in their business program. What about you?"

You didn't want to divulge more information about yourself, so you directed the focus back on him: "Business? Then what makes you decide to teach here in Japan?"

"Well, I wanted a change of pace... My family, they have a job lined up for me already, and I can come back for it whenever I want. So right now I guess I'm just, like, trying to live my life, you know? Figuring myself out. I thought Japan would be a nice start."

A part of you felt that you could relate to him. Indeed ... if you wanted, you could simply go back to your own family company and work toward inheriting it. But from the way he was talking, it seemed he had a better relationship with his folks.

"That's a great way to challenge yourself", you nodded, now leading him to visit the indoor gym. Your indifference toward him left you with a lukewarm response.

"What about you? You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"

It was your turn to look at him now, a bit bewildered. You didn't expect him to show interest in what you do. Most people usually got caught up in talking about themselves, especially with you who knew to ask more questions to evade the attention.

"Oh... well, I guess I've been interested in linguistics ever since high school. This place put me into curriculum development and researching, so I figured it would be a great addition to my CV."

He narrowed his eyes barely.

"So you have a plan?"

"I do."

"You wanna get a Master's?"

"Well, higher, if I can."

"Ahhh... so you are smart smart."

Uncomfortable now that the topic was you, you quickly looked away: "Not really. Tell me, what is the position your folks have lined up for you?"

He chuckled.

"Business consultant. It's nothing special, but it's steady."

"Where are they based?"

"New York."

Right. So they have money money.

"Are you perhaps a nepo baby?"

He laughed.

"Well, I guess you could say that. But I don't want to be defined by them. I want to create my own ... my values, you know?"

You almost felt yourself sympathizing with him, but the feeling of seperation came back. You remembered the looks you received and the empty seat next to you in classes filled with his type. You remembered being talked over and put aside when you wanted to speak on team projects. You remembered the blatantly perverted things you were told, the arms that linked with rapists, the lack of protection that you and your friends got from anyone when one of them had laid his hands onto a girl you knew.

"Anyway... would you be free for dinner sometimes this week? I'm totally new and alone here, and I could use someone to show me around, you know?"

You held back a sigh as you looked at him who had stopped in his track. He still was younger and, as he said, new and alone in Tokyo. When you were just like him, your coworkers indeed did you the same favor he was asking of you.

"Yes, I can arrange that."

"Does tonight work? If you don't mind, of course."

Against the strange aftertaste that lingered on your tongue, you agreed: "I can do that."

You knew that it wasn't in your nature to ignore someone who felt lost. But you decided that you would not be too close a friend with him. After all, you knew his type.

[ooo-yeah-baby]

Arranged

Yandere Gilbert Blythe x reader

I only write sfw, feel free to make requests. Forced relationship. Kinda Yan if you squinting idk.

"Gilbert Blythe." You could taste the sourness of his name on your tongue as you spit it out. 

"Y/N L/N." He mocked. His usual smirk plastered his face. 

He was one of the top kids in your class at school and one of the most popular boys. Your friends, Ruby and Anne, were obsessed with him. Ruby was more open about it than Anne, but Anne's feelings were obvious.  

If it weren't for them you might have caught something for him too. Of course it'd be difficult to feel anything but guilt if you were to. That doesn't mean you avoided him though. You often talked and joked with him. You weren't best buds but you weren't strangers(it'd be next to impossible to be in a town like Avonlea).

Besides, you were sure your parents would find a partner for you. Your parents have always wanted you to focus on your studies so they had always reassured you that they'd handle your marriage. You didn't mind it that much. You don't think they'll choose someone small minded, or far away, and you know they wouldn't choose someone who'd interfere with you going to college and living your life the way you want to. 

But this bothered you. This made your stomach turn. 

There he was. Standing on your front porch, with a bouquet of random flowers. 

"Oh, Y/N, let the boy in!" Your mother chattered. She pushed you to the side and opened the door wider for him. "Welcome, Gilbert." She chirped. 

"Thank you, Mrs. L/N." Gilbert stepped inside of your home. He removed his coat and hat and started towards you. "These are for you, Y/N." He handed you the flowers. You could see your mother's glare from behind Gilbert's curly head, urging you to be polite. 

"Thank you, Gilbert." You accepted the flowers and moved to the kitchen to find something to put them in, rolling your eyes when you turn away from him. 

When you came back your mother, father, older brother, and Gilbert were all sitting in the foyer. 

"Y/N, stop standing around." Your mother smiled slyly. "Have a seat next to Gilbert." You looked over to the seat next to Gilbert. There were open seats next to both your mother, and brother. She was clearly up to something. 

Of course it'd be rude to not take the seat after being told to do so, so you sat down next to him. 

As you were fixing your dress to free it of small wrinkles in the skirt your father cleared his throat. 

"Ahem, uh-" he awkwardly sat up. "We have something to tell you." He had a weird but proud smile on his face as he looked at your mother, brother, and then finally, you. His hand gestures over to Gilbert. "Would you like to tell her, Gilbert?" He asked. 

Gilbert's face became flushed. He laughed shyly. He looked down at his hands in his lap then turned to you. 

"Well, Y/N." He grabbed your hands, his thumb rubbing the back of your right hand gently. "Recently, I had asked your parents for your hand in marriage." 

Gilbert was looking in your eyes but yours had gone blank. You were puzzled. Perplexed. You knew your parents were looking for someone, and you knew Gilbert would get an automatic yes from them, but why was Gilbert asking you? Why not Ruby? Or Anne? Or literally anyone else. You couldn't marry him. That'd only be a betrayal against your friends. You had only thought that your mother invited him so he might consider you, but you didn't imagine he would. 

You realized you had been silent for too long when Gilbert was waving his hand in front of your face. Before you could properly think you blurted out;

"No!" Slapping his hand out of your face. Gilbert pulled his hand to his chest. You hadnt hurt him but it was a surprise. You turn to your mother. "You didn't tell him I would marry him, did you?" 

Your mother was shocked, mouth agape and all. 

"Well, of course we did." Your father said, still wide eyed from your reaction. 

You could see your brother trying to hold back his laughter. 

"Oh bite your tongue." Your mother spouted at him. 

Without saying anything, you rose from your seat and began walking up to your room. Closing the door behind you, and falling to the ground. 

You can hear your family in the living room. 

"She's just being dramatic, Gilbert." You heard your brother reassure him. 

"We're terribly sorry Gilbert." Your mother continued after. 

"It's no problem." Gilbert said. "We can try again another day." 

"Yes, I'm sure she'll come around." Your dad chimed in. 

Clearly, they had not gotten the hint that you were unhappy with this situation. Each of them took turns throughout the night knocking on your door and trying to get even an ounce of a reaction. Each try was futile. 

The next day you remained silent. You didn't even eat breakfast. You just walked past your family and out the door. 

When you got to school the message board was surrounded. Diana ran to you as you got to the door. 

"Hello, Diana." You said, exasperatedly. 

"Y/N. What's this about? Are you really marrying Gilbert?" She said. She seemed more concerned than upset. She'd support you no matter what but that doesn't mean she could hold back Ruby or Anne from reacting poorly. Luckily they hadn't gotten to school yet. 

"What?" You dropped your books and ran to the message board. 

After pushing past a group of people you reached the board. There it was. The only note on the board. 

"Gilbert and Y/N are engaged to be married." 

You were fuming! You knew exactly who did this. You tore the note from the board and pushed back out of the group of people as you stormed inside. 

"I'm not marrying you!" You threw the crumpled up note at the back of Gilbert's head. The class members inside turned and watched. 

Gilbert's hands shot up in defense as he turned to face you. 

"Who said I wrote the note?" He smirked. Your face turned red with fury.

"You are so smug and inconsiderate!" You scoffed. 

"And you're beautiful when you're angry." Gilbert nodded at you teasingly.

You couldn't even think of a response besides storming away. The rest of class you could feel Gilbert's eyes shooting at you, along with every other girls, besides Rubys, who still had zero idea of the event that occurred before she got to school.

You were thankful that everyone, including Billy and Josie Pye, were quiet about the incident during lunch. You were also thankful to have a peaceful, Gilbert free lunch in the girls corner. 

But of course your peace could not last forever. 

You had hoped to stick close to Diana and Anne on their walks home but the second Gilbert came up it was like they handed you to him on a silver platter. Anne letting him take you was the most confusing part. 

Gilbert made it painfully obvious that he wanted you to hook arms with him as you walked, making a small triangle that stuck out of his side with his arm. Of course you ignored it and stormed ahead. 

"Would you slow down?" Gilbert piped, chasing after you like a lost puppy. 

"Why should I? You've got long legs. You should certainly be able to keep up." You tried to pick up your pace but honestly it was getting tiring and you could feel your own breath getting ragged.

Gilbert's hand reached up and caught yours, clasping his fingers around yours, stopping you in your tracks. 

"Because chasing you makes me seem like some kind of monster and walking together is far more enjoyable." He pulled your hand up and kissed your knuckles. 

"Perhaps it's enjoyable for you, Mr. Blythe, but currently, I do see you as a monster." You pulled your hand from his face but did not break free from the hand hold.

"And what makes me a monster?" He began walking again, at a very slow pace as you followed alongside him. 

"This whole marriage business for one;" You began. "I didn't think you were the type to force a girl to marry you, Mr. Blythe." 

"Would you have said yes if I had asked?" He was nervous for your answer. His jaw clenched and his left brow quirked up.

"No, but I am not saying yes now either." Gilbert looked a little disappointed but shook it off before you could notice. "I think I've made it clear that I don't wish to marry you, Mr. Blythe." 

"You know when we get married you won't be able to call me Mr. Blythe anymore, right?" He teased, trying to change the topic. You just gave him a sour look and no reply. Gilbert cleared his throat then tried again. "I was thinking we could have the ceremony in spring. Would you like that?" 

"Hypothetically, I'd prefer an early fall wedding." You replied, half heartedly. 

"Then that's what we'll have. A nice, fall wedding." Gilbert gently squeezed your hand and stepped closer. 

As the weeks passed you slowly noticed changes in your friends, especially Ruby. Her already dwindling gaze towards Gilbert had shifted in full throttle towards Moody and she repeatedly made small hints at giving you her blessing with the engagement. You tried to tell her that there was nothing between you and Gilbert but she just kept giving you little thumbs up as you would leave with him each day. 

Anne also began acting strangely. Despite your persistent denial she insisted that she supported you. 

It was like all of Avonlea was on Gilbert's side; rooting for him; rooting against you. 

Sure, the guilt would be gone now, seeing as your friends no longer hold feelings for him, but now there was a whole new reason. 

You didn't have a choice. You couldn't oppose the marriage and you couldn't consent. Gilbert was nice but he wasn't nice enough to break off the engagement.

After a while of begging you got an idea. It was a horrible and inconvenient idea. Even the thought of it made you feel like a vixen. But it had to be done. The engagement had been finalized and this was the only way to break it off. 

Your plan wasn't that hard to come up with either. Tell the girls you have feelings for one of the other boys, don't say who, and ruin your own reputation. If you were known to be someone who wishes to be with other while already "taken" then there would be no reason to continue with the marriage. 

Then, during college, once everything blows over and you're free again, you can find someone you truly love. 

When lunch came around you made your grand confession and all of the girls looked at you as if you had just told them the most shocking news ever. By the end of the day most of the girls had told their parents, friends, siblings, etc. 

By the time word had gotten back to Gilbert he was bewildered and, though he would hate to admit it, angry. 

You felt proud walking out of your house the next morning after having been chewed out by your whole family. 

"Now it'll be impossible to find a good Avonlea boy for you."

"You really screwed that one up." 

"Why won't you just accept Gilbert?" 

If gossip was good somewhere, it was Avonlea. 

You felt proud, that is, until you made it down the steps of your porch, seeing Gilbert smelling the flowers that lined the railing. When we noticed you he stood up and snaked his arm around yours. 

"Good morning dear." He's greeted as he started walking. 

"Good morning Mr. Blythe." Why was he here. He should be at school for his morning classes or anywhere but in front of your home. 

"Gilbert." He said. "It's been a while since you called me Gilbert." 

You rolled your eyes at that, although you were still quite nervous. 

"Gilbert, why are you here so early?" You asked. 

"I have no plans of canceling the engagement." This stopped you in your tracks, stopping Gilbert along with you.

"Why not?" 

"I know you made it up." His free hand went to your face, cupping your cheek. "I love you Y/N. I don't care how many people tell me to cancel it. I need you." 

This wouldve been a sweet confession if it all hadn't been forced upon you. Instead, it felt like you had only dug yourself further into the ground. Of course Gilbert would know you lied, he's the smartest in the class, and of course he wouldn't care what others thought of you, that's how he is. 

You felt stupid. 

Stupid and trapped. 

[yanderes-galore]

Hiii! Absolutely in love with your writing! Never thought you'd ever write for Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel. Out of your top fandoms, may I propose that the reader is immune to Vox's hypnosis? Having this rare ability, they try escaping the V tower but it ends up being the biggest mistake. This TV seems to be possessive and canonically a control freak like a lot of TV based characters (looking at you Mr. Puzzles) lol! I know you're a busy person with their own life in the end of the day so I won't be mad if you refuse to write this. I love the content you provide us with already <3

Sure! I wasn't sure if you wanted a concept or a one shot, so I just focused on rambling out my thoughts on it. It could work either way though so maybe I'll follow this up sometime.

Yandere! Vox with Darling immune to hypnosis

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Anger issues, Kidnapping/Post-Kidnapping, Stalking, Possessive behavior, Mentions of Val's smoke/Drugging, Forced relationship.

It's hard to say who, at this time, has immunity to Vox's hypnotism.

It's currently only known to grab the attention of people who are... paying attention.

So, maybe you're oblivious or just never paying attention to his hypnotism.

Which in itself is incredibly frustrating to Vox.

However, another method is natural immunity.

I'm thinking maybe you're also an Overlord that has to, unfortunately, have meetings with The Vees due to a partnership.

Vox probably still outranks you, yet you're strong enough to resist his powers.

Another option is simply having a specific type of gear or tech you created that blocks his hypnotism.

Regardless... One way or another Vox can't use one of his most powerful tools on you...

Which naturally makes him pissy.

He can't do his usual subtle charms against you, carefully manipulating you into listening and being his.

Even when he captures you, you never seem to listen.

Normally it's easy for Vox to make other demons listen to him.

Unless they're Valentino or Alastor.

But now he has yet another demon who can just... ignore it.

He has so many fits when he tries to trick you into something, only for you to shut him down.

It's humbling and he hates it.

So, if Vox wants to keep you in the V Tower, he has to expect more resistance.

In fact, normally escape attempts would be amusing as he can just charm you again.

But now he can't do that.

I feel your immunity would stress Vox out at times.

Even if he manages to manipulate you into V Tower, keeping you there is difficult.

Vox is naturally charming, so you may agree with what he says at first.

Hell, maybe you two were dating before things went wrong or at the very least on friendly terms.

Then he goes crazy and locks you in your own personal room with high security and everything.

Vox was once drawn to (and frustrated with) you due to your immunity.

That was what got him obsessed in the first place before he started having all these... feelings.

Sinful feelings.

You're distracting, even more so when he can't charm you to give him attention.

So what better way to force your attention than manipulate you into the tower.

Maybe you were meant to be another V, but once you had enough of Vox and his obsessive behavior, you tried to leave.

Only for Vox to lock you away.

As he can't charm his way into making you listen, now he has to keep you by other means.

Such as cameras, screens, electronic locks, all sorts of security.

Fine... You may be able to bypass his hypnosis...

But he has other means to keep you his.

The issue he ends up finding though is a lack of affection.

He can't charm you into giving it to him.

You ignore him and no matter how hard he tries... You never pay attention.

Considering how Vox thrives on attention...

This is devastating and leaves him screaming in frustration.

One way I can see him forcing you to be more... attentive is using Val.

Vox would probably somehow get Val to give him some of his smoke/spit.

Disgusting and disturbing? Yes... but that's the point.

Vox seems like the type of person to control you in other ways, since he loves control.

If you tried to escape your high security prison, or withheld affection from Vox, you're essentially getting gassed/drugged.

He most likely would test it with just a bit.

Then afterwards, depending on his mood, would up the dosage.

(This makes my skin crawl-)

Of course, escape was never going to end well for you.

Vox will find some way to break you.

Be that showing you his security, using Val, or isolating you...

Vox is going to force your attention to make you rely on him.

There's no genuine love with him.

Only ownership.

Escaping is near impossible with his coworkers, employees, and security.

At some point, you'll break and only have him to greet you...

Leaving Vox to embrace you with eager arms, his claws digging into your skin once you're finally his.

[ohburgee]

Your Father's debt

tw: attempt threat, stalking (he is stalking you, you just didn't know)

(yandere oc-criminal x reader)

You were replacing some cereal boxes on the shelving and also some bottles of noncold juice, you are hard-working right now since the time when a visitor came to your house and your father was the one looking for and you listened to their talking and you were shocked to hear that your father had debt from those people.

What makes you even more shocked is that your father owns them, 2 million and you realize that the payment for your uncle's operation and his room were paid too.

So that's where the money was from...

And you feel bad since your father doesn't have a better job his boss didn't pay him enough salary and you are also still in college you asked him to let you work but he disagreed because he doesn't want you to get involved and focus on your school.

But you try to tell and understand your father and after pleasing him he finally says yes but tells you to not let too much work on yourself and you promised him.

And now you're here working as you are done putting the products you stay at your counter waiting for some kind of customer that's what you want, you don't like those who just barge in and are rude to you when you say good day and are they just roll their eyes or even just get their product and left.

After an hour the bell rang and you looked up and saw a man, he was tall wearing a long black coat and dark grey shirt and pants and his buzz cut and a well-cut beard also he was wearing black lens shades he is quite handsome though looks like a man who owns everything.

He walks towards the drink center and you look back to your phone scrolling not minding the customer, after a minute you hear footsteps coming closer and you look up to see him carrying a bottle of energy drink and a chocolate bar, what a combination I thought he brought a beer.

You took the energy bottle and punched it with the price scanner and then the chocolate bar, when you were about to say the overall price suddenly a bell rang and a man went in, he looked tired no. He is drunk, in the morning for real!?

Then he approached the cashier counter "Hey can I have one bottle of beer" he said and you immediately looked at him "Sir you need to leave you are drunk" "No I'm not" you said with a tsk, "No sir you need to leave" you said loud and he groans and trying to balance himself "I said no!" he said fighting back at you "Sir yo-" he cut you off "I said I'M NOT DRUNK!" he shout and immediately trying to grabbed you.

Before he could do that a tall man stopped him grabbed his shirt and brought his face closer to him, "The lady said you need to leave" he said in a deep voice that sounded like threatened you to death, "Before I make this place a mess" he added and the drunk man just stare at him with fear and he immediately let go of his shirt and he ran out the convenience store.

"Thanks for that," you said and he smiled "It's $5.35," you told him the overall price and he took out a wallet and stopped and looked at you "Do you accept cards?" he asked and you looked at him puzzled "No we don't accept card only cash," you said made a small laugh and you saw him pulling back a black card inside, jeez this person is rich...

"Sorry," he said and pulled 6 dollars "I was kinda used to cards actually," he said chuckling about it "I see" You accepted the money and gave him the exchange. "No need to pack it up," he said and you nodded and gave him the bottle and the bar.

"You should be careful" he said and you looked at him "Thanks for your worries I know and I will," you said and smiled, he chuckled "Might someone point a gun at you," he said jokingly and I laughed at it.

"I will and I won't be stupid if that happens Mr rich," you said joking with him and he put his wallet in his pocket before he got out of the store, "See ya around Miss Lady," he said and got out and you made small wave.

What a nice person, you said in your mind and he also worries about your position after an hour of serving, scanning, and being kind to every customer you encountered it was going to be night and your shift was going to end this day and you saw your co-worker went in and you both exchange and now you are out the store.

You blow a breath and hug yourself in the wintered snow of Chicago well it's time to head home might your father waiting for you. As you walk through the street you feel your stomach getting empty and you don't mind you don't want to spend money you just work hard, you need this for your father's debt.

As you walk you get bumped into a person and he looked irritated "Watch your step bitch" he said and you look at him "What did you just call me!?" you said "I said watch where you're going. Bitch" he said that curse word made you boiled and he saw that you try to fight and he immediately pull something on his pocket but someone stopped him a hand grabbed on his arm.

You look up seeing the man in the store, Mr rich. The guy looked at him and immediately pulled out his hand from his pocket apologizing and walked away, dang who is this rich person why those everyone scared of him?

"Thanks again for that," you said exhaling yourself from anger, you have anger issues so. "I told you to be careful" "I am!" you said crossing your both arms "That guy almost pointed a gun at you," he said, and you shrugged "I know and I know how to defend myself," you told him "I need to get home my father is waiting for me," you said before you could walk away he grabbed your arm and you turn to look at him.

"Where's my payback for that?" he asked "Uh..." You think something yes he has saved you twice now and that think of him too much of saving you, "How about a discount in the store" "No, not interested" "I know you're rich but how about dollars," you said not your work's money for your father, your own money.

"I don't need money dear," he said and you heard your stomach make a small sound really right now, "You didn't eat?" he asked "No but I'll just eat at home," you told him "Where is your address I can take you there safety" "At West Town but thanks for the ride I'll just call taxi," you said "That's too far from here in River North since your hungry I'll buy you food my treat" he said and you look annoyed a bit "No need to-" "I insist"

.....

You both now eating inside a restaurant in River West, you didn't get to fight back and he brought you here, "Why are you working in River North when your home is far from there" he asked sipping his wine well he brought you to an expensive luxury restaurant "I studied in Columbia College with a Audio Arts degree".

"You do music?" you nodded your head and looked at his face he was impressed "I'll always encounter people with art, medicine, and engineer degrees and that's too common, and hearing yours is quite rare," he said and you nodded your head continue eating your food.

After a minute of eating and talking about your life and his small topic about his too. You both got out of the restaurant and you looked at him "Well thanks for the treat I appreciate it" you said and he chuckled and smiled "No worries" "How can I repay you for that?" before he opened his mouth a car went in front of you both and he walks towards and a man got out and opened a door for him. He is really rich.

You turn to look at him when he gets in "I forgot to introduce I just brought you there in a weird way" he said more like asking your name yeah it's weird since you both started to talk about both of your lives without knowing both of your names, you told him your name and he smiled. "Keiran," he said before he rolled up his window.

"Hey about my repay?"

"You can pay me next time dear"

So this story has 'Part Two' Don't worry I won't just leave the ending without knowing how You gonna repay my oc Keiran. Spoiler alert. He is Yandere in part two just you know why my tag is Yandere and the story is not.

Well, a long one again i don't like doing short stories (sometimes) I want my readers to read a lot haha jk, but it's entertaining to read a long short story with a bit of detail. :)

credits to the dividers: https://www.tumblr.com/cafekitsune

[ryo-kaikura]

Yan! Male Teachers + Male Yandere x male reader

*this is based on a dream I had this morning*

(Reader is on his last year so he's 18 (he's not held back I just try to make it okay with an adult partner) (my dream is PG-13(the yandere is made up), I just like spice)

My life is normal I guess, the difference with normal people at my age is my current school. This is takes "school feels like a prison" seriously with how we sleep at school eat at school and etc.

For our class, it's literally right next to the teacher's room. And each grade has a different section. Because it's a prestigious school the student is a lot more than the teacher by 50% of the teachers population.

Anyway, you might be asking, do you always have class? The answer is no, cause our right door is a building for gym and gymnasium. The door in front of us is where usually all the supplies comes in.

Today there is a monthly test. it's usually for additional points and support for our future. Example: last year it was making a sentence that's in correlation with a word and we can't use that word. There lots more but every time we were paired.

Look at that I'm also paired up again weirdly enough it's the "prince of the school" the one that's said to be the best for our grade, though his grade is in the top two, guess who's grade is higher? That right me. Since we're better than everyone, we get hallway to ourselves

It's so fun being better at him, when he gets a 100% me too, when he gets a 99% Boohoo I got a 100%. His body is also quite fit, but it's obvious with my height and body that I'm still better than him, with his being shorter than me. It's quite fun toying with him, his expression of flustered and anger add a smidge of pink on his face, neck and tip of his ears.

We're getting carried away. This year's test is a box of puzzles? With a textured flooring? Whatever. We saw the first test, summarizing a foreign language book, and there's our names on it. It seems like something from our teacher Mr. David. Then he shows up, "hello Mr. David" "Hello, (m/n)~" He was always flirty with me "hi Mr. David" "Hello to you too, mark".then he told us about it in detail "As you can see it's summarizing a book and because I prefer (m/n) than you, mark, (m/n) gets a 50 page and you get a 250 page it's sounds quite fair don't you think (m/n)" "Sure 😀"

Anyway, we're done with that, the next are some simple mathematics and that's from our other teachers. Wow it looks like we have to build a Miniature real life-like humanoid chess pieces. Now it seems like we're done but there's no announcement, then I realized the flooring is a bit whacky so I try to pick one up. It works. I open one and inside it is extra pieces for the sculpture and that's from Mr. Sears, the science teacher that likes to use science to hide a lot of things

It's similar with how some sounds lie it has a lot but there is none and then one of then sounds like it doesn't have any but when we opened it there was a lot of extra sculpture pieces. Then I saw one of the boxes has a piece of paper. I was about to read it out loud then I feel a finger right next to my stomach, and I couldn't help but feel ticklish and jerk away from the finger. Turns out it the said teacher, Mr. Sears, and he kept tickling me every time I try to say it out loud. In the end he made me stand up and go to a corner and read it in my head. Most of it was clues until the last number on the price of paper that said 'I will be going to *city name* in a few days' "I don't care" "What!" " We're not that close teach~, Well not as close as me and Mr. David~."

Then he stormes off, don't know what happened but in the end me and Mark Finished first.

*A few days later*

It seems like Mr. Sears didn't go and one of our teacher was suddenly sent to the hospital

*A few month later*

I finally graduated, best of the year as well because of that I get a lot of money lie a billion I think. But right when I was going head home, I felt someone covering my head, then two people try to grab me and they're quite strong, but not strong enough. Suddenly I feel something injected to my neck. And I grew weak and dizzy not long after I passed out. While why kidnappers was smiling over me.

It's been a while since I woke up but I still don't know where I am. There a window that just over my head so I'm able to get hold of it and pulled my self up and saw... A beach?

Then after looking around and the sun almost overhead meaning it's currently 11.30 ish o'clock. Three people come in and guess who? It the weirdos. Mr. David feels shy, Mr. Sears a bit nervous and Mark quite happy.

And the brought their own dish a I must say the best is Mr. David, with the other two being barely palatable. In the end we slept right next to each other.

*A year later* (I'm lazy)

My self-made company worked well, but my "wives" seems quite jealous of everything I do even though we haven't gotten married yet and Mark and Sears are working as my two secretary and David being at home. I must say David's body got more chubby and soft, I like it. Mark kept trying to be better at me at everything and kept losing, example: who can cum the last, I won, who's stronger, I won, and much more. And Sears gotten smarter at where he's hiding my stuff, like my underwear, sweaty gym clothes, a pen I chewed.

I'm happy there entertaining because I just remembered I'm a side character in a book and they're male leads, all three of them, and who's the female lead you ask? The new rising employee in my own company, Janice.

[mrpuzzlessimp420]

Mario Simulator (Joke Fic)

Chapter 1

Ships: Marware, BatteryAcid (Mr Puzzles x Orange Juice), SMG34 (minor)

Mushroom Akademi was your normal pseudo-japanese highschool and Mario was a normal student.

He had... awful as shit grades because he didn't concentrate in class (god I wish I was that carefree ) and had a decent enough reputation, expect for that one incident where he was caught... you don't want to know what he was caught doing.

Anyway, Mario was normal.

He awoke to his loud two trucks alarm and started to get ready for the day. Putting on his highschool girl uniform that definitely did not look like the sailor scout uniform, not brushing his teeth and grabbing a plate of spaghetti to eat.

He quickly checked his phone to see that it was... 8 a'clock??? He was going to be late and get told of by SMG4 because of it!

Spaghetti plate still in hand, he rushed out the door, trying his best not to trip and be a clutz like he always is.

He eventually arrived at the school, only 2 minutes late and ran to his class, before realising he had no clue where he was going and had to check his timetable, which he also realised he lost like 5 months ago.

After 10 minutes of searching for his class, he finally found it and sat down in his seat, absolutely exhausted, spaghetti plate still in hand.

"Mario? You're late again? This is the 20th time this week! You know what I don't care, just don't be a nuisance like yesterday." Karen stated, not giving a crap about Mario because she is a girlboss, a legend and the moment.

The lesson went surprisingly quickly as the entire time Mario was finishing of his spaghetti or talking to SMG4 about memes or some cringey shit like that.

When the lesson and 2nd period was over, it was finally break.

Mario ran to say hello to his friends before a figure caught his eye.

The figure was a tall, handsome TV head giving out audition leaflets for a school play, rather dramatically you could say... and pathetically as he was literally on his hands and knees begging one student to join, a crying baby face replacing his normal emotes on his TV head.

Mario's heart skipped a beat. Oh how he had fallen for this TV head for the past couple of months. Yeah he tried to mind-control his friends to force them to preform in a everlasting play but that was ages ago. Honestly, Mario was down bad for him, his patheticness, his passion for the arts, his dramatic nature. I mean he was even good to look at, I mean look at those cables and wires (bro 😭) .

"Mario? MARIO!"

Mario finally snapped out of his god damn solioquy and lovestruck pinning just to be faced with a very annoyed SMG4.

"Where you even listening to anything I said?" SMG4 asked, pissed that Mario hadn't been listening for the 100th time this week.

"Uhhhh..." Mario said before saying the most, disgusting, revolting thing you ever have seen that had to be censored for the sake of EVERYONE'S sanity.

"What? No??? I was explaining the entire FNAF lore." SMG4 explained like the cringe pathetic loser he is.

"I honestly still don't get it." Meggy stated

"I do." SMG3 stated, with lovestruck eyes that told everyone in the room that he did not understand anything SMG4 just said and just liked to hear SMG4's voice

"Ha ha Gayyyyyy!" Mario shouted before being punched in the face by SMG3

"Shut Up! You like Mr Puzzles!!!" SMG3 declared, deflecting Mario's accusation back onto Mario.

"That's because he's-" Mario was once again censored by the Great Fanfic Writer in the sky who didn't want to write out the disgusting thing Mario just said about Mr Puzzles

"We.. didn't need to know that but anyway what was I on about again?" SMG4 asked, forgetting his entire lore dump he just did a few minutes before hand.

"You were on about the lore of FNAF?" SMG3 stated, looking back at SMG4 with eyes that were screaming with 'I love you so much, I want to hear your voice all the time, we are friends, we are literally soulmates made for each other, I would literally die and kill for you.'

"Oh yeah!" SMG4 was a oblivious idiot and didn't notice SMG3's obvious pinning "Anyway Foxy Bro killed his own brother or some shit and got really depressed ig, couldn't be me"

SMG4 went on to ramble about FNAF again but Mario got bored immediately. Why would anyone care about a Purple Guy and some dead children? The lore was way to complex for Mario's stupid little brain anyway, he couldn't even count to 10 let alone remember all of that.

Mario's focus went back to the pathetic Vox look-alike and sighed lovely.

He was perfect to Mario. Absolutely perfect. Though he was a bumbling idiot and still not fully redeemed, he was harmless and Mario knew he could fix him.

Mr Puzzles was now acting like that desperate clinging to a student to get them to join didn't happen and was still handing out leaflets for the audition.

Maybe Mario could audition? It's not like he had anything better to do with his life other than eat spaghetti and annoy SMG4 24/7. And it gave him the excuse to hang out with the handsome TV head.

Before Mario could think any longer, a new character appeared on screen and jokely spooked Mr Puzzles, which caused Mr Puzzles to jump and move his hands dramatically like a primary schooler trying way to hard in a poorly done school play.

Mario immediately didn't like this new figure. How dare they spook their one and only true love? And be friendly with him? (Damn Mario just let him have friends, he needs them desperately)

The figure was tall, taller than Mr Puzzles in fact which was a surprise, and extremely buff, looking like that one yaoi art base (you know the one). His head was replaced with a glass of orange juice which for some reasons had eyes on it, like working eyes. Mario didn't question it though as the canonical SMG4 universe was already lacking of lore on how the fuck Mr Puzzles is alive after he cut his head off.

"Awww, did I scare you pookie bear? I'm sorry~!" the figure said, kissing his lover on the check loving.

"I-It's okay OJ-Kun! You just scared me a little that's all." Mr Puzzles said, extremely flustered and shy now out of no where, acting like a uwu soft twink.

Mario was seething with anger. Mr Puzzles had a lover? A boyfriend? This was not okay. Only Mario could be his boyfriend and if he couldn't, then no one could.

An idea popped into Mario's head, quite surprising as he probably didn't have any braincells left.

A very... unique idea.

You see, there was something actually... unnormal about Mario.

He was what you would call...

A yandere.

(part 2 when??? Lol)

[cupida91]

Ok, so, I watched "Mr. Puzzles Clubhouse" and I NEED to talk about it... (mostly silly)

In these scenes we can see that canonically Mr. Puzzles' ""blush"" (in disgust or actually in love with something) is like a heart rate.

This one shows that Mr. Puzzles can turn into ANY tv, even if it isn't an old one like his head. And, somethig obvious that I would still like to say is, when he turns into one, that same TV just fcking disappears. I mean, he turns it into his head and then doesn't reappear or something, now it's just his head.

And nothing important but these new scary faces are actually very cool (would add more, but Tumblr won't let me add the 100 images I want to put...)

Also, I LOVE this face, he's just so "💅"

In this one nothing important happens neither, I just wanted to say that I actually expected a song😭😭

And this scene... GOD THIS SCENE-

Maybe it didn't happen something TOO gruesome, but I like to think that he dismembered her (won't elaborate).

Mr. Puzzles be getting yandere bc he literally harmed Meggy for Leggy and just murdered Mickey💀

[j-eryewrites]

The Great Game (III)

Part 21 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: ~10.8k

Author's Note: Tensions rise, and the threat of M continues to loom over their heads. When pulled too tight, things are bound to break.

It's almost the end. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I finished it around midnight, so forgive any typos and whatnot. Without further ado, I present the second-to-last chapter of Arbitrary Lives.

Warnings: Supreme angst, canon typical violence, Sherlock is Sherlock (but in the worst way), mentions of death, character death, mentions of gore, firearms, language, yandere relation themes, drugging (Let me know if I missed anything)

Case after case was how it seemed to go when Sherlock, John, and Y/N were racing against the mysterious M. Every time Sherlock would solve a puzzle given to him, the pink phone would ring moments later, presenting a new one. With each chime of the telephone, Y/N found herself getting more and more anxious. M was bigger than anything they'd ever seen; worst of all, they had no clue who they were. M seemed to operate from afar, offering their advice on cases of the illegal type, allowing M the anonymity to be anyone and be anywhere. For all Y/N knew, M could be some sick person stuck in their parent's basement on the other side of the world. Even so, M seemed one step ahead and knew every step they had taken. 

Sitting upon a plush, gray, white striped couch beneath her served more comfort than she'd like to admit. Sherlock had sent her and John on another goose chase after, yet again, another call from their tormentor. While Y/N was lost in thought, petting the hairless cat on her lap, John took the lead in questioning Kenny, the brother of Connie Prince. 

The two had done as much research as they could, which turned out to be a few newspaper articles, the bizarre gossip and facts they had gathered from Mrs. Hudson, and, of course, the Wikipedia pages on Connie. Once they put all their research together, they discovered they found a plethora of ways to tell which colors suited oneself and which ones brought out the sick in one's skin tone, but not much about Connie and her brother. 

A loud and content purr vibrated from the naked cat as Y/N's hands caressed its head and neck. Upon hearing the meow, John raised his brow, trying to hide his concern. The creature sitting on Y/N's lap was not a cat. John had seen Bjørn, and Bjørn was a cat. Y/N's pet had fur and a bush-brown tail. If anything, the Prince's cat was an abomination in his mind. 

"We're devastated," Kenny Prince sighed as he carefully placed his arm on the mantle behind him, leaning ever so slightly. As John withdrew his eyes from the fur-less animal, he found his brows pinching together as Kenny Price posed. "Of course we are." Kenny waved his hand and dramatically looked to the side with a somber expression. 

To say the least, John was confused. First, there was the cat. He didn't want to give that thing another thought. Secondly was Kenny's posing. Why was Kenny posing unless he was trying to...His finger brushed against something hard, and John scolded himself. The camera. They had brought a camera. Y/N had proposed they be reporters to gain an interview with Kenny. John would be the reporter and Y/N the photographer. Kenny was posing for candid photos for their article. 

"Can I get you anything, sir?" a voice spoke from behind John. It was Raoul, Kenny's staff member.

He whirled around and replied, shaking his head. "Er, no. No, thanks."

"And what about you, miss?" Raoul asked Y/N, who absently shook her head. Her fingers were still petting the cat. 

"Raoul is my rock," Kenny admitted, still holding his position. "I don't think I could have managed. We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."

A light pressure pushed down on John's thighs. Glancing down, he noticed the cat was no longer on Y/N's lap but his. A wave of disgust trembled through his body. With stiff fingers, he picked it up and dropped it on the other side of the couch where Y/N sat. The cat meowed in discontent, stepping back over to John. John shivered at the cat's relentless attempts and held out his arm as a barrier. 

"And–," John said, trying to continue Kenny's conversation and retain the purity of his own lap as it was reserved for Bjørn. "-and to the public, Mr. Prince."

"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses," Kenny continued. Meanwhile, his cat pounced over John's barrier and clung onto his lap. With a wince, John placed a hand on the cat's back. It happily purred.  "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears."

"Absolutely," John muttered, hiding his grimace. He flashed Y/N a look, but she found gazing at Kenny Prince's coffee table intriguing. He frowned as concern for his friend bubbled to the surface. He could only imagine how exhausted she was. Not just physically from all the running around they have been doing lately but also as exhaustion of the emotional sort. John was not blind to Sherlock's actions, and it didn't take a fool to see that Sherlock was cold. His mind was solely occupied with M and the puzzles that he was given, which meant he didn't have much concern for others. It was not that he usually did, but with Y/N, it was different. She meant something to Sherlock.

John opened his mouth to whisper something to Y/N when he noticed Kenny's voice was absent. Right, John corrected himself. He was here about the case. The sooner he was done with this, the faster he could help both of his friends. 

"It's more common than people think," John began. "The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un...,"  Kenny Prince plopped down between Y/N and John. The sudden jolt of the couch awoke Y/N from her daze. Her shoulder was pressed tightly against Kenny's as he leaned into John, invading his space even more than hers. "...treated..." John finished, scooting as far away from Kenny as he could. 

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Kenny confessed, leaning even closer to John. 

"Right," John said, biting the inside of his cheek. He peered over Kenny's shoulder and saw Y/N. They shared a look that screamed discomfort, but they could do nothing as Kenny pushed them into the sides of the sofa. As Kenny continued speaking, John and Y/N's eyes held a secret conversation, mainly curses and discontent with the situation. 

"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely....," Kenny's voice trailed off as his eyes never left John. "...but it's not the same without her." 

Before replying, John took a deep breath and stared down at his notes. "Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?"

"No," Kenny said.  

"Right," John gulped. 

"You fire away," Kenny uttered. His longing gaze not once left John. The longer the conversation continued, the more uncomfortable Y/N felt; she could only imagine how John felt. Here was Kenny Prince, after his sister's death, flirting with John. Y/N observed Kenny staring at John, making her feel like a forgotten third wheel to a nonconsensual flirting session. She had to come to his rescue. She'd done it before with lots of her friends back home. It would be easy, so long as she could get off the couch, which's cushions were sucking her in deeper. 

Before John could ask any of his questions and Y/N could rescue him from unwanted attention, a buzzing echoed from her back pocket. Kenny turned over his shoulder to look at her as if she had interrupted a vital moment. She smiled awkwardly, shoved herself off the sofa, and answered her phone. 

"Y/N," Sherlock's voice rang over the phone.

"You know, one usually starts a call with hello," Y/N muttered. 

"Right, hello," Sherlock's voice oozed with sarcasm. 

Sherlock didn't speak for a moment. Y/N furrowed her brows. "Is there a reason you called Sherlock?"

On the other end, Sherlock struggled to find a response. He had practiced his excuse beforehand. Well, it wasn't much of an excuse, more of a warning. Even so, after hearing her voice, Sherlock had forgotten everything. He mentally reprimanded himself for falling back into his sentiment so quickly. Y/N needed to be safe, so he had to push her away. A task that only seemed to grow more impossible with each breath she took. 

John's eyes widened upon hearing Sherlock's name, and his escape was revealed to him. Shooting out of his seat, he snatched the phone from Y/N, quickly apologized, and began speaking to Sherlock. "Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something," John breathed. Sherlock found himself missing Y/N's sweet voice. "You'll ne-" John was cut off by the loud footsteps barging into the room.  

Confusion plastered onto his face, and he hung up the phone. After all, there was no need to speak through a phone when Sherlock stood in the same room as him. 

"That'll be him," John said, pointing at Sherlock. Kenny Prince looked even more shaken than the consulting detective's friends were at his sudden appearance. However, the longer they pondered his arrival, the more John and Y/N realized this was normal for the great Sherlock Holmes. 

"What?" Kenny asked, looking at the unwelcome guest in his home. 

There was a calculated look on Sherlock's face before any trace of the consulting detective was washed away and replaced with a new persona. Y/N sighed as her legs lowered her body into an armchair nearby. 

"Ah, Mr. Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock took out his hand for Kenny to shake. 

"Yes," Kenny nodded, standing up to take Sherlock's hand. 

"Very good to meet you," Sherlock smiled. 

"Yes, thank you," Kenny said, still trying to figure out the situation.  

"So sorry to hear about...," Sherlock continued, but Kenny cut him off. 

Mr. Prince waved his hand, stopping Sherlock from offering false condolences about the situation. "Yes, yes, very kind."

"Shall we, er..." John cleared his throat, stepping over to Sherlock. He motioned for Sherlock to lean down before whispering in Sherlock's ear, "You were right. The bacteria got into her another way."

Sherlock couldn't help but notice the smirk that appeared on his face. "Oh yes?"

"Yes," John nodded. 

"Right. We all set?" Kenny asked, bringing his hands together. 

John, Sherlock, and Y/N frowned and watched as Kenny pointed to the camera on the sofa. Y/N grabbed it and removed the protective lens, turning it on. "Um, yes. Can you...?" she said, twirling her finger in the air, pretending to be a journalistic photographer. 

"Not too close," Kenny warned as he returned to his original stance by the mantle. "I'm raw from crying." Then he lifted his head and posed for the camera, letting Y/N take a few pictures. 

Beneath Sherlock's feet, Kenny's cat meowed. It butted its head against his dark trousers causing Sherlock to frown. He tilted his head as he peered at the cat. He wasn't sure if that's what he should call it. 

"Oh, who's this?" Sherlock wondered as he motioned to the feline. 

"Sekhmet," Kenny answered, finding a new pose for Y/N to capture. "Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"How nice! Was she Connie's?" Sherlock asked. 

"Yes," Kenny nodded, taking pride in his response. Little present from yours truly." Then John smelled it as Kenny picked up Sekhmet, and the ominous smell of disinfectant seeped from the hairless cat. John smiled as the piece clicked into place.

"Actually," John turned to Kenny, tapping Y/N on the shoulder. "I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us." 

"What?" Kenny gasped as saw Y/N place the camera strap over her shoulders and return the protective lens to its place. 

"Sherlock," John sternly stated, raising his brows to say he'd solved it. 

"What?" Sherlock frowned, trying to interpret John's signal.  

"We've got deadlines," John said, pushing his two closest friends out of Kenny Prince's living room. This left behind a puddle of confusion for Mr. Prince and his sister's cat. 

_____

Once Raoul had closed the door behind them, John erupted in cheers. Triumphantly, John raised his fist in the air and then brought it down, doing a little happy dance. Y/N smiled and giggled at the sight. 

“Yes! Ooh, yes!” John laughed. He turned to Sherlock and froze. 

One look from Sherlock swiftly ended John's parade. “You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat,” Sherlock corrected. 

John shook his head in disbelief. “What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.” John whirled around to face Y/N, seeking backup, but found none. 

“Honestly, I have no clue what’s going on,” Y/N admitted. “I just took pictures.”

A knowing smirk crept onto Sherlock’s face. “Lovely idea, John.”

“No,” John adamantly said. “He coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have...”

“I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm,” Sherlock announced, “but it's too random and too clever for the brother.”

“He murdered his sister for her money,” John said as his smile was wiped from his face.

“Did he?” Sherlock raised a brow.

“Didn't he?” John wondered.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. It was revenge.”

“Wait,” Y/N interjected. “Revenge? Who wanted revenge? I know his sister wasn’t the nicest to him, but even so, Kenny seemed…genuine?” 

“Raoul, the houseboy,” Sherlock began explaining the case. He straightened his coat collar and stood taller, glancing down at his friends. “Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough and fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so...”

John shook his head, still in denial. “No, wait, wait. Wait a second. What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?”

“Raoul keeps a very clean house,” Sherlock noted. “You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's Internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here.” 

Sherlock peered up and down the street. There wasn’t a cab in sight. 

“Well, we could always walk back to the station or hop on a bus-“ Y/N suggested. Then, as if by divine intervention, a cab pulled onto the street. The trio hastily hailed the cab and jumped inside.

It did not take them long to arrive at the station. Traffic was horrible on the streets, but with a hefty bribe to the cab driver, they were bursting through the door of Lestrade’s office faster than Mrs. Hudson could flick on the latest episode of her favorite soap opera. 

A wave of black trickled majestically after Sherlock as he entered the office. “Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince. It was botulinum toxin.” 

Lestrade sat up in his seat and sifted through the numerous papers on his desk. Finding the second autopsy report, his eyes scanned the results. His eyes widened. Sherlock was right.

“We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself,” Sherlock said.

“So how'd he do it?” Lestrade asked.

“Botox injection,” Sherlock answered.

“Botox?” Lestrade questioned, raising his brows. After all, it was not every day that someone was murdered with Botox.

“Botox is a diluted form of botulinum,” Sherlock explained. “Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's Internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months.” Sitting across Lestrade, Sherlock swiftly crossed his legs and dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.”

“You sure about this?” Lestrade asked in confirmation.

Instead of Sherlock’s voice answering, Y/N spoke up. “He is,” Sherlock peered up at her and felt his cheeks heat up. “Connie was an avid Botox user. It was all on the blogs and magazines. No one would bat an eye at the injection sights or if Botox turned up in the autopsies.” 

Lestrade nodded his head, “All right.”

“Sherlock,” John slowly said. “How long?”

“What?” Sherlock questioned as he snapped out of his daze. 

“How long have you known?” There was hurt evident in John’s voice. 

Y/N looked between the two of them. “Wait, you’re saying you sent John and I on a goose chase?” 

Sherlock shrugged, letting John and Y/N’s confusion and hurt fly over his head. “Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.”

“No, but Sherl... The hostage... the old woman,” John uttered. “She's been there all this time.”

“I knew I could save her,” Sherlock replied as he began to type on the small pink phone.

. “I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!“ Sherlock cheered. 

Like clockwork, the phone rang, and Sherlock answered. “Hello?”

“Help me,” the old woman whispered.

“Tell us where you are. Address,” Sherlock looked over to Lestrade, who had his team on standby. 

“He was so... His voice...,” the woman began to describe.

Sherlock’s pale blue eyes widened, and he grew pale. “No, no, no, no,” Sherlock yelled. “Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.” There was a desperation in his voice that Y/N had only heard a few times. 

Sherlock was rarely desperate unless something dangerous was happening. She recalled the terror that trembled from his chest during the night in the museum-the night Sulin died. It was the very voice he had when he clung to her after Hilton Cubitt was killed. 

Panic coursed through Y/N’s body, constricting her lungs. Sherlock was scared, and so was she. 

“He sounded so... soft-“ the caller was cut off and the horrifying sound of the dial tone screeched in Sherlock’s ear. 

Lestrade furrowed his brow and approached the stunned consulting detective. “Sherlock?” he asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“What's happened?” John questioned. 

However, Sherlock couldn’t hear any of them. The pink phone was still glued to his ear, and his blue eyes began to fill with a salty ocean. Even in the blur, he found Y/N. She stood with her hands clutching her heart, her face in pain and shock. As he sought comfort in her presence, his fears were confirmed. 

This was a game for monsters and freaks. M had made that clear. The woman over the phone was human. She cared enough to speak up. In turn, she died. She was a chess piece in a game ruled by freaks like him. M had made his move. The botulinum that killed Connie Prince wasn’t a mistake. It was a threat. M was going to take his queen. His most important player. It wasn’t a mistake that Carl Powers' shoes were found in her flat. It wasn’t a mistake. He was also killed by botulinum. Through his cloudy eyes, Sherlock saw clearly now. 

Sherlock had to remove his queen from the chessboard before M could steal her from him forever.

______

Y/N should have found comfort in the worn leather of the sofa and the creaking of the floor beneath her feet. Steam rose from her cup as the cold air of Sherlock’s flat cooled her tea. 

Mrs. Hudson had made it for her, John, and Sherlock. The brown liquid swirled in her cup, with small herbs dancing around. Mrs. Hudson always made tea for them with the secret ingredient of love. Love was precisely what Y/N needed as the television echoed the horrific news. 

“The explosion,” the reporter announced, “which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people. It is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company...”

“He certainly gets about,” John sighed, stirring the tiny spoon in his tea. 

“Well,” Sherlock began. “Obviously, I lost that round.” 

Y/N bit her tongue. Twelve people had died, and Sherlock was still playing the game. She fought back tears as anger boiled to the surface. Sherlock had a heart, but the more he spoke, the more she thought she’d been wrong. 

“Although technically I did solve the case. He killed the old lady because she started to describe him,” Sherlock explained. “Just once, he put himself in the firing line.”

“What d'you mean?” John asked. 

“Well, usually, he must stay above it all,” Sherlock said, thinking back to all the cases M had given him so far. “He organizes these things, but no one ever has direct contact.”

“What... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that?” John’s voice wavered. “So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?”

“Novel,” Sherlock muttered.

Y/N scoffed. “Sounds like a demented version of what you do.” Sherlock cocked his brow. “I mean, you’re a consulting detective. People come to you wanting their cases solved. Maybe he’s a consulting criminal?”

Sherlock nodded, feigning interest. “Taking his time this time,” Sherlock said as he checked the pink phone.

John cleared his throat. “Anything on the Carl Powers case?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock replied. “Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection.”

“ Have you checked outside of his class?“ Y/N proposed. John and Sherlock looked at her with confusion.

“I doubt anyone outside of Carl Powers’ class would-“ Sherlock replied.

“But what if he was a bully? I know that victims of bullying will sometimes fight back and m-“ Y/N explained.

“Bully?” John repeated.

“Yeah, I just…,” Y/N said. “I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. There was a reason Carl died, and M brought it to our attention.”  

“Hmmm,” Sherlock hummed before asking Lestrade to expand his search on Carl Powers' schoolmates.

“So why's he doing this, then –” John asked Sherlock. “Why is he playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?”

“I think he wants to be distracted,” Sherlock replied, shaking his head.

“I hope you'll be very happy together,” John murmured.

Sherlock frowned and stepped towards John. “Sorry, what?”

“What I think John is trying to say is that there are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives...” Y/N softly spoke. “What if that was John. What if it was me?” 

Sherlock clenched his jaw and winced at her comment. He wasn’t going to let it be her. He didn’t care how many pawns he lost. So long as his queen was safe and away from the game, he’d be alright. 

“Just so I know,” John asked. “Do you care about that at all?”

“Will caring about them help save them?” Sherlock spat. 

“No, but…,” Y/N replied.

“Then I'll continue not to make that mistake,” his voice rose, startling Y/N, and his heart broke. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he had to. This was the first step: convincing her he had no heart.

“And you find that easy, do you?” John growled, stepping up to Sherlock. Their chests puffed as they glared at each other. 

“John, Sherlock,” Y/N pleaded. “Let’s not fight, please-“

“Yes, very,” Sherlock scowled. “Is that news to you?”

“No. No,” John shook his head and stepped back, pinching his brow.”

“I've disappointed you,” Sherlock observed.

“That's good,” John mumbled, “that's a good deduction, yeah.”

“Don't make people into heroes, John,” Sherlock coldly stated. “Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.” 

John sighed. All hope he had for Sherlock fled his mind. John scolded himself for thinking Sherlock had some semblance of empathy. He was sure his and Y/N’s presence had some sort of effect on the consulting detective. Sherlock had begun to care. He’d seen it with his eyes as he rescued them from the tunnel during the Blind Banker case. There was no mistaking it. Sherlock cared for them, but his game with M made John even more concerned. With each task M gave them, John drew more and more connections. Sherlock and M were too similar, and John feared losing his best friend to the monster. 

“Excellent!” Sherlock exclaimed the moment the pink phone buzzed with their newest case.  

Despite their flaming frustration with the detective, John and Y/N crowded around the phone, peering down at the photo.

“View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo,” Sherlock noted before turning to his friends. “You check the papers,” he instructed John. “I'll look online...”

“Oh, you're angry with me,” Sherlock paused, looking at John. “…so you won't help.” 

John only sighed. Of course, he was going to help. People's lives were on the line, and he was a doctor. There was no way John wouldn’t do his best to save anyone he could. Sitting on the sofa, he picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Y/N before taking a newsletter.

“Archway suicide,” Y/N read. 

Sherlock shrugged. “Ten a penny.” 

Y/N bit her lip at Sherlock’s nonchalance.

“Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington,” John repeated as he scanned the pages. “Ah. Man found on the train line, Andrew West.”

Sherlock shook his head, then slammed his computer shut. “Nothing,” he grumbled. 

Y/N and John jolted at the sound, and within an instant, Sherlock had retrieved his phone and dialed Greg’s number.

“Gary, It's me,” Sherlock announced. “Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?”

A smile crept onto Sherlock’s face upon hearing Lestrade’s words. John and Y/N needed no warning. They reluctantly got to their feet and reached for their coats. 

_____

“D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?” Lestrade asked, staring down at the drenched body on the ground.

“Must be. Odd, though...” Sherlock pulled out the pink phone. “He hasn't been in touch.”

Lestrade frowned. “But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. He tried not to notice the way Y/N shivered under her coat. He was tempted to hand her his scarf. 

“Any ideas?” Lestrade wondered. 

Sherlock tilted his head and bit his lip, counting all the ideas. “Seven... so far.”

Lestrade’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Seven?!”

Standing up from his crouch on the ground by the body, John relayed the information he had gathered. “He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?” He asked Lestrade.

Greg shrugged. “Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.”

John nodded at Lestrade’s answer. “Yes, I'd agree.” Then, stepping over to Sherlock and Y/N, John continued. “There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.”

Sherlock’s eyes followed where John had pointed out the injuries. Leaning down towards the body, he began to make his observations. “Fingertips,” Sherlock muttered quietly. Then Sherlock stood up and pulled out his phone. His feet swiftly began to trek away from the body. Greg, John, and Y/N followed along in confusion. 

“In his late thirties, I'd say, not in the best condition. He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data. But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake,” Sherlock stated. 

“What?” Lestrade asked. 

Sherlock turned towards Lestrade, with instructions readied. “We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates...”

Lestrade shook his hands and head at the same time. Quickly, he jumped in front of Sherlock, interrupting his path to the cab awaiting them. “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?”

Blue eyes rolled in annoyance, and Sherlock pocketed his phone. “It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.”

“Okay,” Lestrade calmly said. His hands returned to his side. “So what has that got to do with the stiff?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as a grin flashed across his face. “Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?” He asked his companions.

“Golem?” Y/N repeated. “You mean the magical creature that-“

“No,” Sherlock said, shutting down her idea.

“It's a horror story, isn't it?” John guessed. Sherlock nodded. 

“A horror story?” Y/N wondered. “What are you saying?”

“Jewish folk story,” Sherlock explained. “A gigantic man made of clay.” 

“So I was right. Sort of…” Y/N interjected. 

“It's also the name of an assassin,” Sherlock continued. “Real name: Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style.”

“So this is a hit?” Lestrade questioned.

“Definitely,” Sherlock confidently said. “The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.”

Lestrade grimaced. “But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see...”

“You do see,” Sherlock hissed. “You just don't observe.”

“All right, all right, girls, calm down,” John began, but Y/N shot him a look. “Sorry, Sherlock calm down,” John corrected. “Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?”

Y/N placed her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and peered up at him. With a soft smile, she reassured him. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock began. “What do we know about this corpse?” He raised a brow and looked at the three of them. “The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal; maybe he was going out for the night. The trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap. They're both too big for him. So, some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt... for a walkie-talkie.”

“Tube driver?” Lestrade guessed.

“Construction worker?” Y/N wondered.

“Security guard?” John said, throwing his guess into the air.

“More likely,” Sherlock agreed. “That'll be borne out by his backside.”

“Backside?!” Lestrade’s mouth gaped open.

“Flabby,” Sherlock noted. “You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.”

“Why regular?” Lestrade questioned. “Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died?”

“No, no, no,” Sherlock shook his head. “The buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted; otherwise, he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution.” 

Sticking his hand into the man’s pant pocket, Sherlock pulled out a wad of small papers. “Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognizably...” Sherlock’s voice trailed off, awaiting a response from anyone.

“Tickets?” Y/N said after glancing at the papers. 

“Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check. The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing.” Sherlock pointed to the dead man on the ground. “Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake.”

“Fantastic,” John complimented.

“Meretricious,” Sherlock mused.

“And a Happy New Year!” Greg blurted. 

Y/N raised a brow as she looked between the three men, uncertain of what inside joke was going on between them. 

“Poor sod,” John muttered, looking down at the deceased.

“I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character,” Greg said as the group picked up their pace back to where the cab awaited.

“Pointless,” Sherlock warned Greg. “You'll never find him. But I know a man who can.”

“Who?” Greg asked.

Sherlock whirled around and extended his arms out. “Me,” he proudly said before gracefully disappearing into the back of the cab. “Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?” He muttered to himself. Once John and Y/N were safely seated, Sherlock instructed the cab driver on their next destination. “Waterloo Bridge.”

“Where now? The Gallery?” John wondered.

“In a bit,” Sherlock replied.

“The Hickman's contemporary art,” Y/N questioned. “Why have they got hold of an old master?” 

“Dunno,” Sherlock admitted. “Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data...” Sherlock’s eyes gazed out the window. The car had slowed underneath a bridge. Beside the car sat a homeless woman collecting change. “Stop!” Sherlock hollered. He leaned close to the driver's ear. “You wait here. I won't be a moment.”

“Sherlock?” John called after his friend, who walked up to the woman. They exchanged words, and Sherlock deposited a hefty sum into her cup.

“What are you doing?” John asked Sherlock once he got back into the cab. 

“Investing,” Sherlock mysteriously replied. “Now we go to the Gallery.” 

As luck would have it, the gallery was only a few minutes drive away from their detour. “Have you got any cash?” Sherlock asked John. 

John sighed and paid the driver before stepping out after Sherlock. However, Sherlock pushed John back into the car, toppling into Y/N’s lap. 

“No. I need you two to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address,” Sherlock said before closing the door in John’s face.

“Okay,” John grumbled. He quickly apologized to Y/N and then the two of them departed to Alex Woodbridge’s flat. 

______

It was surprisingly easy to get into Alex Woodbridge’s apartment compared to Kenny Prince’s home. There was no need for a camera and fake personas. 

Woodbridge’s apartment was a simplistic sight. The living space gave hardly any room for John, Y/N, and Julie, Alex’s roommate, to comfortably stand without brushing shoulders with one another. 

Julie appeared to be a sweet woman with her gentle expression. She wrapped her black and white flannel around her body and led them deeper into the flat. 

“We'd been sharing about a year,” Julie explained. She turned around to look back at John and Y/N. Her frizzy, short, brown hair stuck out oddly. “Just sharing.”

“Mmm,” John hummed to reassure Julie he didn’t assume otherwise. 

Stepping into Alex’s room, Y/N peered around, John close behind. In the left corner sat the bed, still unmade. Besides, a small table held a lamp, a few empty wrappers, and books. A cloaked object sat underneath a skylight on the far right side of the room. Y/N stepped closer, her brows knitting together as she guessed what it could be. 

“Is this a telescope?” Y/N asked, looking back at Julie, who nodded. 

John raised his brows, a bit impressed. It was not every day you came across someone who owned their own telescope. Gently pulling off the sheet, John felt a soft smile growing on his lips. His mind began to recall a time when he was a boy. He had learned about the solar system and was fascinated by it, so much so that he wrote to Santa to bring him a telescope for Christmas. It never happened, but still, it was a wish from childhood, and John couldn’t help but be fond. 

“May I?” He asked, motioning to the cloth covering the telescope.

“Yeah,” Julie nodded with a sadness in her voice. 

“Sorry,” John and Y/N consoled. 

“Stargazer, was he?” John questioned, and Julie’s face lit up with a caring light. 

“God, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time,” she chuckled. “He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him. He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.” Then Julie quickly looked away to conceal the tears that bubbled up to the surface. 

Y/N wanted to hug the woman but chose not to. Instead, she opted for her words: “Sorry for your loss.” Julie nodded in thanks. 

“What about art? Did he know anything about that?” John asked. 

“It was just a job,” Julie shrugged, “you know?” 

“Hmm. Has anyone else been around asking about Alex?” John pursed his lips in thought, bringing his hands behind his back to fiddle with his fingers. It was a habit that helped him think. 

Julie shook her head. “No…” Her voice trailed off as she realized something. “We had a break-in, though.”

“Hmm? When was that?” Y/N wondered as she peeked at the books on Alex’s bedside table. They were astronomy books of all sorts. 

“Last night. There was nothing taken,” Julie assured them. “Oh, there was a message left for Alex on the landline,” she said, trying to note anything of importance to the two of them. 

John raised his brows and strolled over to the phone beside Julie. “Who was it from?” 

“Well, I can play it for you if you like,” Julie said before turning around to enter the message box. She typed a few buttons and the phone began to whirr to life. 

Y/N and John stepped closer to hear. 

“Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when…,” the message repeated.  

“Professor Cairns?” John mumbled, glancing up at Julie. 

Shaking her head, Julie replied. “No, no idea, sorry.”

“Mmm,” Y/N bit her lip. “Can we try and ring back?”

“Well, that's no good,” Julie replied. “I mean, I've had other calls since—sympathy ones, you know.”

John and Y/N nodded, remembering Julie’s roommate’s death. Turning to each other, they nodded. 

“Thanks again, Julie, for helping us,” Y/N thanked as the woman led John and her out of the flat. 

Julie sniffled before replying. “Anything I can do to help you catch Alex’s murderer.”

The two friends waved goodbye as the door shut. Once the click and lock of the door were heard, Y/N turned to John. 

“So,” she began. “Shall we go find Sherlock?” 

For some odd reason, John felt a slight twinge in the back of his head appear. His frustration with Sherlock was still fresh, and John was not looking to reopen the wound any time soon. Sighing, he responded, “I’m sure Sherlock will find us when he needs us.” 

Y/N chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, you’re not wrong about that. Should we go to the gallery then? Do some snooping of our own?” She wiggled her brows, which made John snicker. 

Before he could answer, the phone in his back pocket buzzed. Pulling it out, John frowned upon seeing the name, and his headache worsened. He bit back another sigh as the case Sherlock put on the back burner began to burn too hot. Mycroft was growing impatient and started to bother John about it. 

“Actually,” John said. “We’ve got another job we can work on.” 

Y/N’s face contorted with confusion. “What other-” she cut herself short. “Mycroft.” She linked her arm with John’s. “If Sherlock can have his little side-quests and detours, so can we.”

______

“He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.” The woman on the couch was inconsolable. It was not in the sense that her tears and sobs made questioning her difficult. In fact, she wasn’t crying at all. She solemnly sat on her sofa with her hands clenching tightly together. The tiny shard of sunlight peeked through her closed curtains, dimly lighting the room. While John and Y/N tried their best to sympathize and speak with her, Lucy refused to believe her boyfriend had anything to do with their case despite all the evidence against him. 

“Well, stranger things have happened,” John tried to say. 

“Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say!” She glared at John as her hands turned white. 

“I'm sorry, but you must understand that's…” 

“That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?” Lucy questioned. If someone else had watched the scene, they would have thought Lucy was interrogating John and Y/N. 

“He was a young man about to get married. He had debts…,” John softly listed off possible reasons, but Lucy was not having them. 

She defended, “Everyone's got debts, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country.” 

“John, can you, erm...?” Y/N sent him a look to let her give it a go. He raised his hands and let Y/N take the reins. “Lucy, we're not here to accuse Westie. We’re here for answers, and you have them. Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?”

Lucy nodded. Her shoulders relaxed, and the color returned to her hands. “We were having a night in. Just... watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.”

“Do you know who?” Y/N asked. Lucy just shook her head and began to sob. Y/N peered over at John and whispered that it was time for them to leave. Any more questions and Y/N was afraid they’d leave Lucy in an even bigger puddle of tears and sorrow than she had been in before.

“I think it’s time we should go,” Y/N began to stand up. Lucy stood up and led John and Y/N back to the entrance. The cool light of the day momentarily blinded them, but their eyes quickly adjusted.   

“Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?” A man rolling in a bike asked. He stared at John and Y/N as they stepped out of his way. 

“Yeah,” Lucy nodded. 

“Who's this?” the biker asked. 

“John Watson. Hi,” John greeted. 

“Y/N L/N,” Y/N replied, taking the man’s hand. 

“This is my brother, Joe.” Lucy explained, “John and Y/N are trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.”

Joe raised his brows. “You two with the police?” 

“Uh…” John trailed off, looking over at Y/N, who hesitantly nodded. “...sort of, yeah.”

“Well,” Joe began, “tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous.”

John nodded. “I'll do my best. Well, er, thanks very much for your help. Again, I'm very, very sorry.”

“He didn't steal those things, Mr. Watson,” Lucy called out once John and Y/N stepped onto the street. “I knew Westie. He was a good man. He was my good man.”

Y/N waved goodbye before turning her back to Lucy. She shivered and whispered to John. “It’d be nice if she was right.”

“Yeah…” John absently agreed. “It would be.”

______

Sherlock’s scowl grew the longer he stood outside 221 B Baker Street. Soon, his left foot was tapping on the stone steps. He was growing impatient. John and Y/N sure seemed to be taking their time to arrive. 

Suddenly, a black cab rolled up to the street. It didn’t take a genius to spot the two figures inside. Sherlock jumped down the front steps and greeted the cab’s passengers. 

John stepped out first and then helped Y/N out afterward. “Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art,” John told Sherlock. 

“And?” Sherlock questioned. John furrowed his brow in response.”Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?”

“Sherlock, breathe. Give us a second,” Y/N blurted. Sherlock’s wide blue eyes locked onto Y/N and he felt his heart stutter, giving John ample time to appropriately respond. 

“He was an amateur astronomer.”

A light went off in Sherlock’s mind. “Hold that cab,” he instructed them before running off to a homeless woman leaning against an iron fence. 

“Spare change, sir?” She asked Sherlock. 

“Don't mind if I do,” Sherlock stuck out his hand and retrieved the small slip of paper from the woman’s hands. 

Y/N watched the interaction with curiosity. Her eyes trailed after Sherlock as he hopped into the cab. Soon, the three of them were tucked in the back seat once again. 

It wasn’t long before they walked alongside industrial buildings and inside dark alleyways. Y/N found herself stepping closer to Sherlock as they passed from the light of the street lamps into the dark. Her hand brushed against his ever so softly. For a moment, her hand was all Sherlock could think about. 

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Sherlock whispered. His eyes trailing up to the twinkling stars above. 

Y/N’s eyes followed Sherlock’s. She paused before speaking. “I thought you didn’t care about stuff like that? Useless bits of information.”

Sherlock smirked, but his eyes moved down to hers, and his smile became a loving smile. “Doesn't mean I can't appreciate their beauty.” Time seemed to stand still as he gazed at Y/N under the starlight. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes trickled to her lips.  

John spoke, breaking Sherlock’s trance. “Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat. A Professor Cairns?”

“This way,” Sherlock said, leading John and Y/N deeper into the dark tunnels. 

“Nice! Nice part of town,” John sarcastically noted. “Er, any time you wanna explain.”

“Homeless network – really is indispensable,” Sherlock replied.

“Homeless network?” John questioned. 

“My eyes and ears all over the city,” Sherlock elaborated. 

“Ah, that's... clever. So you scratch their backs and...?” 

“Yes, then I disinfect myself,” Sherlock finished before taking out three lights for them and handing them out. 

“Flashlights?” Y/N wondered, turning hers on. 

John and Sherlock shared an odd expression. “What did you just call it?” John asked.

“A flashlight.”

John shook his head. “It’s a torch.”

Y/N fought back a sigh. “Yeah, torch, whatever. You know, sometimes I think you two forget I’m from America.”

Sherlock chuckled at the interaction. “Let’s go,” he said, flicking on his torch. 

The three of them entered the tunnel together. Small fires scattered between erected tents and cardboard boxes were the only light besides their own. As they whirled their lights around, Y/N stuck close to Sherlock. She felt as if she were more than three steps away from him; her lungs would constrict. 

“Sherlock! Y/N!” John’s voice hissed. The three of them spotted the tall shadow casting onto a nearby wall. 

Sherlock’s leather-gloved hand grasped Y/N’s arm.  “Come on!” Sherlock whispered as he quickly pulled her by his side, pushed her against the brick wall, and placed his hands beside her head. Sherlock leaned in close, using his body as a shield. Y/N’s nose was filled with his scent. She closed her eyes and bit her lip at the sudden intrusion in her personal space. 

“What's he doing sleeping rough?” John questioned. 

Y/N shuddered as Sherlock’s warm breath brushed against her cheeks. “Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag – much.” Sherlock removed one of his hands from beside Y/N and reached into his pocket. 

“Oh shi…” John muttered to himself as he felt up his coat. “I wish I'd…” 

 Sherlock revealed John’s gun and handed it to him. John gratefully took the weapon and readied it. 

“Don't mention it,” Sherlock said, pushing off the wall to chase after the Golem. The three of them darted down the hallway after the giant man’s figure. By the time they reached the end, they caught sight of their killer entering a small black car. The door shut, and the car revved. Then Golem was gone. 

“ No! No! No! No!” Sherlock cried, waving his fist in the air. “It'll take us weeks to find him again.” 

Beside him, Y/N and John panted, looking at the exhaust the car had left behind. 

“Actually…” Y/N interjected. “I think I know where he’s going—or at least who he’s going after.” 

John’s eyes lit up with the same thought that occupied Y/N’s. “The Professor,” he muttered. 

“What?” Sherlock asked. 

“I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message,” John recalled. “There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.”

______

A bright light crept out from underneath two large metal doors. Beyond the doors, Y/N could hear the voiceover of a film. She furrowed her brows and peered at her friends as they quietly and stealthily approached the doors. 

“Is that a–” Y/N began to ask when Sherlock cut her off. 

“Y/N, you’re staying out here.” 

Shock washed over Y/N’s face. “No, I am not staying behind.”

“No!” Sherlock hissed. “John and I will handle it. We’ll handle Golem, just stay here and-”

“And what? Look pretty? It’s just as dangerous staying out here in the dark than it is in the planetarium,” Y/N argued. She looked to John for assistance but was met with concerned eyes. “John?”

In an instant, Y/N was yanked away from the door. Sherlock’s firm hands grasped her shoulder and pulled her in close. “The Golem is dangerous and-” 

“Oh my God!” A shrill cry echoed from inside the planetarium. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he removed his hands from Y/N. Motioning to John, he pushed open the door. “Stay here,” he commanded Y/N before the door slammed in her face. 

Muttering an array of curses under her breath, Y/N charged in after them. Immediately, her eyes burned from the flashing lights. In the flickers of light, Y/N saw John and Sherlock dance around for any sight of Golem. The longer Y/N looked, the dizzier she felt. Her feet stumbled, and she toppled off the stage. 

“Golem!”She heard Sherlock cry. 

Y/N groaned and came to a crouch position. In the distance, she spotted a woman lying on the ground. The lights continued to flash as she crawled over to who she believed to be Professor Cairns. Behind her, John and Sherlock struggled to spot Golem. 

“..many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas,” the film's narrator announced before the tape began to whir. 

“I can't see him. I'll go round. I'll go!” John yelled. 

Finger dug into the carpet as Y/N pulled herself closer to the professor. Her body was trembling, and her stomach began to churn. The light blared at her, and the volume of the film increased with each second. Y/N was sure that by the end, she’d come out blind and deaf. 

“Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” She heard Sherlock taunt the assassin.

Finally, Y/N reached Professor Cairns. Suddenly, Y/N felt very cold. Sick climbed up her throat, and sweat clung to her forehead. Images of those dead, Hilton, the woman over the phone, and Soo Lin sparked in her mind. Feeling a sudden wave of determination, Y/N sat up and placed her hands on the professor’s chest. She wasn’t about to let someone else die, not if she could help it. Then she pushed down. Her shoulders pumped up and down, holding a steady pace. Up and down. Up and down. 

“Golem!” John hollered, followed by the sound of a gun cocking. “Let him go... or I will kill you.” 

Then, muffled grunts and cries reached Y/N’s ears. Her pace halted. Frightened eyes whirled around in a desperate search for John and Sherlock. The lights flickered on, and there they were. Under the spotlight, Sherlock swiftly twirled around Golem. The horror of a man towered over Sherlock, making him appear as miniscule as an ant. Nearby lay John, who struggled to get off the ground. 

“Sherlock!” Y/N screamed as Golem’s giant hand swung at Sherlock. The force of the blow dragged Sherlock to the floor. Instantly, Golem jumped on him, placing his hands over Sherlock’s nose and mouth. 

Jumping to her feet, Y/N ran as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. With each step, her mind went blank. She had to save Sherlock, but how? If Sherlock seemed tiny compared to the Golem, she was microscopic. Launching herself onto the stage, she slammed her body into the Golem. The sheer force momentarily knocked the Golem to the ground. However, he soon found himself back on his feet. A sickening grin inched onto Golem’s face as he stepped to Sherlock and Y/N. Y/N felt herself freeze over, unable to move, breathe, or blink. Golem stalked closer. Y/N shuddered before laying herself over Sherlock. She knew she didn’t stand a chance against a trained killer, but at the very least, she could give Sherlock time. 

Sherlock’s eyes blew wide as Y/N placed herself in front of him. “No, run away,” he wanted to croak but found his voice gone. It had been choked from him, instantly stunning him. With a breathless gaze, he gazed up at her. The stars and planets zoomed overhead in a taunting manner.

Clenching her eyes shut, Y/N braced herself for Golem’s hand, but it never came. John had pounced on him, locking the assassin in a chokehold. Golem struggled to pull John off, but when he did, he disappeared–jumping off the stage and running out the door. 

Y/N didn’t open her eyes until she felt Sherlock’s gentle touch on her cheek. It took her a moment to realize they were now sitting up. The film was playing overhead. With tears, she looked at him, and her voice was stolen. She wanted to say so many things but couldn’t find the words. Sherlock’s free arm wrapped around her body, pulling her close. Carefully, Y/N tucked her head into Sherlock’s neck. She breathed him in, feeling his heartbeat on her cheek. He was alive. She was alive. 

While Y/N clung to Sherlock, he found his mind in torment. He’d almost lost her. Sherlock tried so hard to keep her safe and close because, to him, Sherlock was the safest place around. However, it was a lie. Sherlock was dangerous, and being close to him was unsafe for her. 

He knew that now. If he hadn’t dragged her from case to case, she’d be safe in her flat with her cat. If he hadn’t brought her on, she wouldn’t have seen so much death. She would be safe. She would be free to live an everyday life away from Sherlock. But Sherlock was selfish. Her presence was more potent than any drug he’d ever taken. Her lips were sweeter than any victory had been. Sherlock was greedy and wanted her to stay, to be close, and never leave. Most of all, he wanted to love her. He did love her. Sherlock loved Y/N more than anything. 

A single tear fell from the pool in Sherlock’s eyes. He loved Y/N, so he had to keep safe, even if it meant he’d never see her again. She would be safe away from him, and so she had to go. Sherlock took one last moment to be selfish as they sat holding each other. His trembling lips met the crown of her head. His nose inhaled her scent one last time. His hands enveloped her body before tearing himself away. 

_____

Moriarty. The name was whispered in Sherlock’s mind as he and John opened the door to 221B Baker Street. A bittersweet triumph latched onto their shoulders, dragging them up the stairs. They had solved the case and saved that little boy, but now they had more questions. 

Warm light wrapped around Sherlock and John as they stepped into their flat. Their eyes fell onto Y/N’s sleeping figure. Sherlock had sent her home after their fight with Golem. Despite her protests, Sherlock and John’s insistence won. Both men’s eyes softened at the sight of Y/N.Her hair cascaded over her features, vaguely concealing the red skin around her eyes. 

Sherlock took a step further into the room. The floorboard creaked beneath his feet, alerting the woman from her sleep. She shot up but then relaxed at the sight. 

“You’re back,” she whispered. “What happened? Did you-”

“We solved the case,” Sherlock coldly said. He removed his coat and scarf and tossed them onto John’s armchair. 

“Sherlock,” Y/N gently muttered. “Are you alright?”

“Just stop!” Sherlock hissed. Y/N froze, and her eyes widened with shock as Sherlock appeared in front of her. “Don’t you see nothing you do helps? You’re a liability, Y/N. I’ve known it from the moment I laid eyes on you. From the moment I found you in that cab with a gun to your head, you’ve been a liability to me.” 

A new set of tears began to pour from Y/N’s eyes, too stunned to fight back.  

“If it weren’t for your emotions getting in the way—your caring…oh, your caring. You care too much.  Just as I said before, what good does caring do when people are going to die anyway? Soo Lin,  Hilton Cubitt: They all died despite your cares. Sentiment is a weakness found on the losing side. You, Y/N, are on the losing side. The only reason you haven’t realized it was because I was there. My mind free from the poison of it all,” Sherlock took in a shaky breath. His voice grew quiet. “...or so I thought.”

Stifling a sob, Y/N pleaded with Sherlock. “So why bother keeping me around?

“I had to,” he uttered. “You are my liability! Your sentiment is contagious, and its effects are leaking onto me. You make me weak. You make me lose my mind when I am not near you. And when I am, all concepts of cunning and intelligence evade me. I become human. I fear. I feel things I have never felt before. You…you have ruined me!”

Silence filled the air. John stood against the wall and clenched his fist in fury. He had never wanted to hit Sherlock more than he did now. However, Y/N’s saddened scoff drew his attention. It was her turn to say her piece. 

“I…” Y/N took in a quick breath to steady herself. “…I think I finally understand what’s going on in that mind. You say sentiment is on the losing side, that it’s weak, that I’m weak. Well, Sherlock, you’re wrong.” 

Y/N stepped closer to Sherlock—a determined gleam reflected in her eyes. “Yes, I care about others, maybe too much, but that makes me stronger. I have people to love and who love me back. Can you say the same?” 

Sherlock stared back at her, all thoughts and words fled in her presence. 

“I doubt you can,” Y/N continued. Her words commanded the room and Sherlock’s attention. He could not ignore her. “You push everyone away and blame it all on your intellectual mind. Your brother has to pay others to ensure you’re okay because he cares about you, and you couldn't care less. John buys you milk even when he knows it’ll disappear within a day due to your insane experiments, yet you never say thank you or offer to buy it yourself. Auntie M makes you tea and occasionally helps tidy up even though she’s just your landlady, and you shoot holes into her walls. Greg brings you cases and lets you get away with many things, yet you can never get his name right. Molly lets you take body parts from Bart’s, something that could cost her her job. However, you shred her apart every chance you get.  I stand up for you when others try to break you down, and here you are, breaking me. All because I care too much. Because I care too much for you. I get it. I’m just your neighbor and assistant. That’s all I’ll ever be, even though you kissed me that night. Even though I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so long.” 

“But your intelligence? That’s not the real reason you push everyone away.” Y/N’s grew low. “You treat the people around you like shit because you’re afraid they’ll leave just like everyone else and it’ll be easier to unattach yourself from them if they were never really there in the first place. So I quit. I quit being your assistant. I quit being your neighbor. You win Sherlock. You want me gone? I’ll leave. I’ll find the first flight out of London. I’ll go back home. I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again because I understand now…”

A sob broke out from Y/N. John gasped, staring between his two friends. Wiping her tears away, Y/N raised her chin up high. Her feet trekked to the open door of John and Sherlock’s flat and paused before leaving. “Goodbye, John,” she said to her friend with melancholy eyes. “Goodbye…Sherlock.” It was barely a whisper, and by the time Sherlock realized what Y/N had said, she was gone. 

____

The sound of the lock on her front door was the consolation Y/N found once she entered her apartment. Tears poured from her eyes as she collapsed against the door. She couldn’t see anything and couldn’t hear anything past her sobs, so when a warm hand pressed against her shoulder, she jumped out of her skin. 

Following the hand to its owner, she saw Jim standing above her. His eyes were soft and gentle as he lifted her to her feet and hugged her. 

Mumbling into her boyfriend’s shoulder, she asked, “How’d you get here?”

“Your aunt let me in,” he replied. “But that’s not important. What’s wrong, love?”

Y/N was too caught up in her emotions to recall her aunt was out with a friend for the evening. Instead, she caved into her boyfriend's touch and sweet words. 

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she admitted, leaning deeper into his comfort. 

Jim nodded and raised his hand to rub circles on her back. “How ‘bout after tea? I find that tea always helps soothe the mind.” He pulled back and smiled at her. 

Y/N quickly agreed, and before she knew it, she’d drunk two cups of the steaming hot liquid. Upon noticing her cup was empty again, Jim poured her another cup and urged her to drink up. Y/N swallowed it down, finding the herbs to numb her senses. After a moment's silence, Y/N found her strength returning. 

Taking a deep breath, she peered over at her boyfriend, ready to speak. “It was Sherlock. He…” Tears bubbled back up to the surface. “He…he” Y/N furrowed her brow. Her tongue seemed to stop working, and her mind was growing blank. “Sherlock,” she whispered with much difficulty.

Jim groaned. “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” Each time he said the detective's name, a chilling animosity grew.

“Huh?” Y/N said through the fog of her mind. She knocked her hand against something hard. The teacup fell to the floor and shattered. The deafening sound provided Y/N with some momentary clarity. When Y/N tried to stand from her seat, she discovered her legs had failed her. Instead of standing upright, she was on the floor beside the shattered cup. A groan escaped her mouth. 

“I was wondering when it’d take effect,” Jim said. Y/N dragged her head to look up at him. Confusion covered her features as she saw the grin on her boyfriend’s face. As if he sensed her gaze, Jim’s eyes turned empty. “ Oh! I love that look on your face. Utter confusion. It’s adorable. I could just…muaw!” He placed a wet kiss on her lips. The force pushed her to the ground, and the hard surface welcomed her. She felt herself growing weaker. Her breath slowed, and her eyes grew heavy. 

“You made my job a whole lot easier, and I’m very grateful for that, my dear. But I’ll have to reward you later when you wake up. I’m going to take you far away from here—away from Sherlock, John…I’m taking you away from it all.” 

With the last of her strength, her mind screamed at her. Terror filled her veins as the walls caved in on her. She whimpered.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Jim said, crouching down. His fingers brushed through her hair, luring her to sleep. “Just rest. Everything will be alright. I promise.”

_____

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[throwaway-yandere]

The Owner Who Broke The Leash (Yandere!Kamisato Ayato/Reader)

a/n: this is a chainsaw man au but I tried writing it so that you don't need to be an anime/manga reader (suffer with me.) I'm not 100% following the source material, so Beidou and Kazuha are platonic & no mother-child themes the orig has people debate over. I won't be explaining the latter to those who did not understand lmao. (Y/n)'s 20 years old. This is just a yandere fic, relax hehe. also, huge shoutout to @navxry for beta reading, their insights were helpfull!!! and also shoutout because honestly nothing is more fulfulling like seeing a live commentary of roasting the yanderes and for some reason, my husband too sorry dain-

cw: yandere themes and degrading nicknames ("dog"), and dont read while eating ig?

unreliable synopsis: "Thank you, Mr. Kamisato," (Y/n) mumbled. "It's just... I'm still pretty pissed by what happened. I had an absolute shit first kiss–"

Kamisato Ayato questioned whether he had a heart in his head because, on occasion, it beats louder than the one cradled by his ribs. Or perhaps he's just grown incredibly susceptible to human emotions– or in this scenario: "headaches." Then again, in a world where 7 out of every 20 Inazuman citizens are killed by Devils in a concerningly short duration, is it really surprising that Ayato would experience such distress?

The Public Safety Devil Hunters have often questioned their limits throughout the years. Many of them have hardened themselves into pawns who seek glorified kinds of justice and retribution with the limited and declining manpower they have. As a result, they needed people like Kamisato Ayato, a mystifying man who presented himself as a gregarious yet reticent individual regarded either with respect or distaste. 

Only a few people have gone insane, which he and the captain of Division 4, Dainsleif, considered to be regrettable. They both had a strong conviction that complete sanity was inappropriate for a devil hunter. The rational and sensible are not in demand in this profession. Only those who have lost their sense of humanity can remain alive with their limbs intact. Many disputed Dainsleif's claims, questioning how could they be true. And to this, he answered:

"What does sanity truly mean when demanded of you by a Devil?"

Unfortunately, not many people understood the significance of that puzzling question, and even if they did, they rejected this way of thinking. Losing one's sanity is equivalent to losing what kept many alive–

And then…

There's (Y/n).

"Holy shiiiiiit!!!" (Y/n) spat out with their mouth full as they gouged the poor leftover traces of udon from the bowl, fully savoring what drops can be salvaged. They tilted their wrist and licked the remaining noodles, which made Mr. Kamisato's associates raise an eyebrow. Their unbrushed hair would sometimes cover their eyes, making them appear more monstrous and feral.

That was enough to know that in an instant, (Y/n) was endowed with a life that was blessed— at least, in physiological matters.

Despite their disheveled clothes and messy hair, anyone would've mistaken them for a somewhat functional human being. Ayato was quite pleased to dress them up after finding them bloodied and dazed. Not that the zombie devil was ever considered a formidable foe, but seeing the Chainsaw Devil in action is enough grounds for fascination, yes?

The Chainsaw Devil… What name does his "family" go by nowadays? What does the "Fixer of Hell" do around this era?

And why did he form a contract with this… mess of a human being? Why did the Chainsaw Devil agree to become this person's heart replacement?

Why didn't the devil let them perish?

Kamisato Ayato has been dying to know–

"Is this what you devil hunters eat every day?" (Y/n) gawked at him, who was snapped back to reality by their childlike antics. "Seems pretty fucking worth it to me. Those jackasses must be ripping me off if I did the same work for less than, what, two eighty percent? I don't know jack-shit about math, though. Unless it's about calculating debt."

"Is that right?"

When (Y/n) eliminated the Zombie Devil, the public safety officer was able to locate the "dog" in person. Fortunately, he just so happened to know that there was a devil in the vicinity and saw (Y/n) covered in blood. Surely, finding out that the Chainsaw Devil became (Y/n)'s heart via a contract was a mere coincidence in Mr. Kamisato's perspective. He's a cunning being, but not omnipotent, yes?

"Duh," their nose scrunched. "Gotta pay my dead dad's debt somehow. The sins of the Father are the sins of the... I forgot the rest of the line."

"Hmm."

To say (Y/n) is the… most entertaining person is the understatement of the decade. They exude none of the dignity of an ordinary civilian when bringing up their lack of rudimentary mathematical abilities and literary knowledge. Like a child who was isolated in their room for so long, (Y/n) was the type of clumsily put-together person you wouldn't expect to pique Ayato's interest. 

Yet here he is, answering them with something far from a business smile.

Ayato was entertained by their awkwardly talkative behavior and flushed cheeks.

(Y/n) has a crush on him. He's certain.

He can make use of that.

"We take care of our workers, yes," Ayato smoothly replied. His gaze did not falter away from the more-than-exploited hybrid. Hidden behind his stare was an obsession he had yet to add a label to. There's a strangely human urge for him to wipe the stray noodle off their chin.

They failed to see his soft gaze and continued to mindlessly ask nonsensical questions.

"P-Peanut butter and jelly too?"

"If they so desired it. I do not see why they cannot afford to buy some with their paycheck."

"Woah."

They looked incredibly amazed, if not, pathetically deprived. It made Ayato even more curious– just what life was this poor dog living if they craved incredibly simple joys?

And… peanut butter? Was that ever considered peak luxury? What a miserable life. Dead mother, murdered father– and a poor heart condition to match. He'll never consider their living conditions humane.

"Dog," Ayato thought to himself. "Positively a dog."

So faithful. So easily handled. 

Just as the Public Safety Devil Hunter had hoped for.

Humans are strange creatures and even more challenging to please. Ayato noticed that people attract others when they're unfortunate yet not far enough where they're "beyond saving". Balancing that fine line is a hindrance. Humans strive for authenticity but retreat when it causes discomfort— running away from the empty or broken bits that reflect their innermost selfish beliefs. These people will probe for trauma and unfavorable emotions to relate to, but won't exert control to change or challenge the speaker. 

They want a "palatable" story– a "marketable" person.

Kamisato Ayato didn't enjoy how hypocritical humanity is. Perhaps that's why he connected with (Y/n) instantaneously. 

Because (Y/n) was no longer human.

They're a devil-human hybrid. There's nothing for (Y/n) to mask, and most importantly, they're so damn easy to please.

Ayato glanced at his wristwatch. 

It's nearly time for tea with his fellow commissioners.

He closed his eyes and sighed softly. There was no latent vitriolic expression on his face, but that did not mean Ayato cared for his colleagues deeply.

They're all dogs in his eyes.

"Let us depart, (Y/n)."

And (Y/n) might be the best one yet.

Mr. Kamisato stood up and ruffled their hair.

"Come. Be a good dog and perhaps I'll spoil you with as many treats as you desire."

—-------------------

"Holy shit…" (Y/n) muttered to themselves.

"Today, I'm going to experience my first kiss ever…"

"Oh, a kiss you say?"

"M-Mister Kamisato?!"

It's been a while since Mr. Kamisato saw (Y/n), and they exude a brighter aura than before.

He's not pretentious enough to say (Y/n) had grown so much since he last saw them. There are qualities to them (he wouldn't say redeemable) that Ayato was certain weren't there in the past. After assigning them as Kaedehara Kazuha's subordinate and roommate, (Y/n) rehabilitated to the norms of public safety devil hunters. There were some setbacks, including the time they refused to kill a devil because they were naive enough to consider them as friends. But here they were, inside a busy restaurant after a month of dispatching (Y/n) to their new job– new life.

And won't you look at that?

Ayato's gaze softened as it sank in how much his influence had changed them over the months.

They… look radiant, don't they?

(Y/n) stood up, shocked that the refined public safety officer would be joining them. No one told them that he was invited. The rest of Division 4 followed suit, extending their pleasantries to their superior. The only exception was Beidou, who spoke nothing as she continued chugging her beer. Ayato greeted them and gracefully slipped away from his black cloak and placed it on the chair.

They remained standing until Ayato reached out and ruffled their hair.

"Sit."

And so they did.

Mr. Kamisato's grin widened.

"Good dog." He said.

…

Good dog…?

For a moment, the world was on mute for Mr. Kamisato.

And in that personal silence, he pondered to himself:

Why does he care so much about a dog?

It matters not since they will always remain a dog in his eyes. The day he stops calling them a dog and treating them as one is the day he'll forget about the "Fixer of Hell."

"(Y/n)..."

Ayato turned to look at the woman who moaned.

Beidou was one of his favorite dog's new coworkers alongside Kazuha, Kaveh, Al Haitham, the blood-fiend Arataki "Numero Uno" Itto, and the rest. Unlike the aforementioned four, Beidou often regarded Ayato as a "manipulative bastard" while her long-time partner, Kazuha, felt that there is a certain level of melancholy about him that they repeatedly failed to comprehend. Kazuha had a better sense of the world than his dear old eye-patched friend, but even he finds Ayato unpredictable.

Ayato doesn't mind her hostility and their wariness, not when they took great care of his pet on their latest mission. 

Yet, he's holding back a glare.

"(Y/nnnnnn)..."

He doesn't appreciate the way her hand repeatedly traveled down his dog's thigh.

"H-Hey, you're d-drunk–" (Y/n) kept "discreetly" glancing at Ayato, worried. "Q-Quit it! Y-You're making me uncomfortable, man–"

"Shhhhh!" Beidou hushed in a low and seductive tone. 

"Just wait, (Y/n), I give better kisses when I'm far from sober."

Ayato's eye twitched.

How intriguing.

"W-WH-WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!!!–"

"Your reward for killing the Eternity Devil, you scallywag~" She hiccupped, red-faced. "Kiss, with tongue, re-mem-ber?"

Mr. Kamisato closed his eyes, clenching his fists beneath the table as his colleagues drank and ate to their hearts' content. She's drunk. She'll likely regret those words tomorrow.

For a moment, he wished he could drown himself in Kaveh's talks about wearing his father's hand-me-downs or staying in Public Safety for the paycheck. Or maybe hone in on how Itto kept adding zeros to his IQ when asked. 

But his whole being was focused on this peculiar conversation.

Suppose a lonesome dog will latch on to any attention it will get.

"K-Kiss…" (Y/n) squeaked.

Don't be so overjoyed.

Ayato desperately wanted to say.

Can't you tell that between the two of us, it's me who you would choose in a heartbeat?

"Who's kissing who now?" Ayato raised his hand, calling for the waiter while staring at the morally conflicted (Y/n). "A glass, please."

(Y/n) paused, not looking at both Ayato and Beidou. They were deep in thought, assessing the situation as though it was their most life-threatening moment. 

Good.

They perked up again, somewhat sweating.

"U-Uh, Mr. Kamisato! H-Have you heard? I found an important metal-piece thing and grabbed it!"

Ayato no longer held back a defeated sigh and clenched his fists under the table.

… Disappointing. 

So they have chosen to ignore his confrontation instead of turning down Beidou's advances. Shame. Ayato's face contorted, but no one noticed his dismay other than Kaveh, who did not know what to make of it at the time.

"Yes, I have, and what fine news it was indeed. Excellent work. Oh, to have been a fly in the wall..."

Seeing as that "piques" his interest, Kazuha leaned his elbows on the table.

"While we're on the topic, Mister Kamisato…" 

Kazuha proceeded to add more to the subject, calmly stating all the information and inferences the group had acquired after the last mission. The "metal-piece" thing (Y/n) found was a portion of the Gun Devil, and Kazuha blabbered about how it appeared that (Y/n) had been targeted by many devils.

"–somehow (Y/n) is at the crux of everything. You know something that we do not, right Mister Kamisato?"

It's only natural for Kazuha to act this way. (Y/n) had no formal training yet fought the Eternity Devil for three days without rest. They had even utilized the Chainsaw Devil's ("Thoma" was its new name) power to torture them nonstop. Devils regenerate by drinking blood so they grained the Eternity devil regularly, yelling and taunting it like a maniac. So in Kazuha's conclusion, (Y/n) was not only stranger than they suppose; they are stranger than they can suppose.

Division 4's and Ayato's main objective is to hunt this "Gun Devil", but there's no need to mind such trifles. At least Makoto is dead. That's one battle won.

Ayato gazed at Kazuha, then his drink.

"What an interesting notion. How about a game?" Ayato placed a finger on his lip. "What do they call this… was it called hot pot? Hmm… No matter." 

"The mechanics of the game is to outdrink your opponent," Ayato smiled. "Will you accept this duel?"

As if on time, Beidou placed her empty glass down, making Kazuha just a bit more confident to take the risk. Kazuha nodded.

"Excuse me! Two sakes, please!"

Beidou, who would've normally banned Kazuha from drinking because of his height and not his adult age, yelled on top of her tops.

"HE-HE-HEYYY!!! MAKE IT THREEEE!!! I'LL PLAY THE DAMN GAME TOO!!!"

"MORE SASHIMI!!! THERE BETTER NOT BE A BEAN MIXED IN THERE!!!" Itto demanded soon after.

"I-I'd take a plate of sweet potatoes and cheese, please!" Kaveh humbly requested, fixing his red hairclips.

"HEY WAIT, ME TOO!!! MORE TEMPURA TOO!!!" (Y/n) followed, causing Al Haitham to cover his ears. 

Ayato smirked, drinking his mug. He already knows how this will end.

—--------------

Just a few drinks in, Kazuha proved his humanity by slowly fluttering his eyes to sleep.

Both Kazuha and Beidou failed to defeat Ayato in his game, albeit the latter wasn't trying their best. The others lost focus on the match when they knew Ayato had secured victory the moment he gave the mechanics. It's hopeless. Even a newbie such as the salt-and-pepper haired man knew it was a battle whose result had long been decided. 

"Excuse me, sir," Ayato smiled, smug. "May I have another drink, please?"

Mr. Kamisato retrieved his umpteenth beer, eager to take a sip but as soon as he had it in his hands, that woman chimed in again. 

She kissed them.

…

"... Goodness," Ayato muttered emptily.

That bold woman kissed what's his.

Ayato shook his head slightly, drinking his glass with a malicious glint in his eyes. As that woman aggressively thrust her tongue inside (Y/n)'s mouth, his dog shook, peering over the unimpressed Mr. Kamisato. He made it known to them that he was not pleased by this front-row display of "affection", but (Y/n) made little effort to stop it. He heard her moan and scrutinized the way she yanked their collar to deepen the "kiss", closing all distance between them.

He could've sworn the mug cracked a bit so he loosened his hold. Mr. Kamisato had felt another "headache" settling in as he watched that filth violate his pet with perverse pleasure. He snarled quietly.

What a low-quality "treat".

"Is this what you call a reward?" Ayato muttered. 

She must taste horrible. 

His (Y/n) must feel horrible.

Surely they wouldn't enjoy being taken by another person? 

Yet they're melting in her arms. 

Ayato scoffed.

What an unpleasant sight.

He felt... unsettled and restless.

Suddenly, they pulled away. Ayato was almost impressed (relieved) until he saw the reason behind (Y/n)'s distress. That kiss was disgusting, and everyone at that table will reasonably agree on that after seeing what had happened to (Y/n).

"HAHAHAHAHA!" The blood fiend laughed heartily. "IT'S IN THEIR MOUTH!!! IT'S IN THEIR MOUTH!!!"

That disgusting acidic liquid…

Itto elbowed Al Haitham beside him.

"AND YA BOYS KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ANYTHING NUTRITIOUS GETS INSIDE (Y/N)'S MOUTH?!?"

Mr. Kamisato stood up and immediately pulled (Y/n) away from Beidou, pampering their lips with tissues and scrubbing the remains of that wench. His eyes sharpened as (Y/n) leaned into his touch, trembling while grabbing his white dress shirt. Ayato ignored how he would've normally felt a twinge of disgust over the stains they left on his clothes and gently cradled them; his focus now aimed at Beidou– disregarding how the other members laughed or visibly shivered at the sight.

… it's puke.

"THEY SWALLOW IT!!!"

Ayato's eyelids lowered as he heard (Y/n) gulped Beidou's vomit involuntarily, cringing while sobbing– gagging. Itto's laughter drowns out any sounds of concern. (Y/n) hands flew to their throat, clawing to spit everything out as the others watched. 

Is this… what people call "headaches"?

How dare she.

She dared not only steal his dog's first kiss but also dared to vomit inside them. Beidou had publicly disrespected what was under his control.

His eyes were emptier than before.

Unacceptable.

He did not fail to notice the others in the room as well. Kazuha jolted up awake at the commotion and searched for a tissue immediately. Some watched out of morbid curiosity like Al Haitham, while there’s people who nervously laughed without knowing what to do like Kaveh, and the rest hollered with the blood fiend. 

The last category was filled with employees who had been in the department long enough to know Beidou’s antics. As one of them had told (Y/n) before the party started, Beidou had kissed nearly everyone in the room they’re in already when drunk. Couple that fact with how these colleagues have most of their sanity stripped away and live their lives unhinged, and you got yourself a group of people who no longer processes traumatic events as it is. To them, this is comedy.

The superior Public Safety Devil Hunter shifted his glare to them, effectively halting their laughter.

Mr. Kamisato will be keeping an eye on them.

He knows their names and their faces.

“Tch.”

Ayato roughly dabbed their mouth, cooing at his traumatized (Y/n) as the others looked out for Beidou. (Y/n)'s hands remained locked on their esophagus as if pushing out the last remaining toothpaste from the tube. Pitiable. And somehow, for ones with a sadistic inclination as he does, charming–

No.

Get it out.

Get it all out without hurting what's his.

Scrub every last trace of that woman out of them.

Mr. Kamisato let go of the tissue and brought his thumb against (Y/n)'s lips. Their breath hitched as his ministrations differed greatly from before. Instead of something so intense and near degrading, the way Ayato wiped the stains was warm. Intimate.

Yet Ayato's permanent polite smile betrayed his thoughts.

Blindfolds. Hands. Kneel. Blindfolds. Hands. Kneel.

Squish.

He closed his eyes.

Ayato did not care for whatever happens to Beidou next– she can get killed by a devil next week for all he cares– but he will not allow anything of this sort to occur ever again.

"Oh, my dearest (Y/n)," this time, he smiled not to seem normal but to comfort. And such a genuine gesture scared Ayato deep down. "Allow me to help you get it off your system, okay?"

Finally, their coworkers fully acknowledged (Y/n)'s plight. Kazuha was the first to lend his handkerchief, something Ayato made a mental note of. Kaveh turned around instead. The hairs in the blonde's arms certainly stood the straightest. In response, Al Haitham rolled his eyes over how squirmish his fellow recruit was.

"I have a grandmother who often vomits, perhaps–" 

Kaveh immediately cut off Al Haitham, "Wait, you're actually volunteering to help?"

He shrugged. "No, I was merely offering advice on how to–"

Ayato snapped.

"I'll take care of this. Alone."

Ayato's grip on (Y/n) tightened, pulling them close to his chest protectively. He can sense them eager to cough out the vile shoved down their throat but sweetly, he will not give a damn if they released all that in his chest. Ayato led their head on his shoulder. His hand ran through their scalp, soothing them.

Every decision Kamisato Ayato makes is final.

He needn't hear more of their so-called input.

They don't need you.

His (Y/n) does not need ANY of you.

Slowly, Ayato tilted the nauseous (Y/n)'s chin.

"You'll let me take control, won't you, love?"

They nodded, tears in the corner of their eyes. Charmingly weak. A reflection of their humanity. The humanity Ayato did not care about for so long.

"Good do–" Ayato stopped himself.

"Good," he chuckled. "Just good. Now, follow me to the restroom."

He didn't let (Y/n) interact with anyone else that night.

—----------

That incident occurred yesterday, and it was still fresh in their memory. 

(Y/n) had been especially gloomy as of late and had been ordered to never talk to Beidou until permitted by Mr. Kamisato. Instead of staying at Kazuha's apartment with Itto, Ayato made arrangements so that they'll have a room in his government-owned apartment. The man from then on refuses to let them out unless a mission requires them. It rattled (Y/n). In a sense, they were like a dog caged for a vase they did not break. 

Like most mistreated dogs, they whined silently. Which were sounds that never go unnoticed by caring owners. 

And all caring owners will prioritize their pets more than their phone ringing.

Ayato immediately muted his phone.

42 missed calls from Mr. Kaedehara, 36 from Ms. Beidou, and 11 from Kaveh.

He swiped their text notifications all away and faced it down on the table.

"(Y/n), my dear," Ayato began in a soft voice as he set down his boba tea and the take-out for tonight's meal. "Something troubles you. Though you may not wish to share at the moment, know that I am here for you should you ever need an ear."

(Y/n) looked up with gratitude in their eyes. Although they were not vocal about it like they usually are, they did not expect Mr. Kamisato to be perceptive and kind enough to acknowledge their demeanor.

"Thank you, Mr. Kamisato," (Y/n) mumbled. "It's just... I'm still pretty pissed by what happened. I had an absolute shit first kiss–"

They sobbed, voice cracking.

"–and even if I kiss a bunch of other women or guys in the future, I'll probably never get that taste of vomit off my mind, won't I?"

The room went quiet, and Ayato's shoulders dropped at their pitiful sounds.

He retrieved his cup of boba milk tea on the table again and silently placed it in front of (Y/n), aligning the straw in the direction of their lips.

"I understand," Ayato replied. "Sometimes, wounds of the heart take time to heal. But remember, there is a chance to create beautiful memories within every setback. Now open your mouth."

With a sigh, they took a sip of the boba milk tea, the taste of blueberry cheesecake tantalizing their tastebuds. (Y/n) relaxed, the tension in their body dissipating. However, as if urged to see their discomfort yet again out of perverse pleasure, Ayato spoke once more.

"You will likely never erase the taste of vomit in your mind for all eternity."

(Y/n)'s eyebrows furrowed.

"However," Ayato cupped their cheek, forcing them to share his gaze.

"Now that you will forever live with me, you will have the chance to taste a wide variety of new flavors to the point you will never have to recall that unpleasant taste again." 

As they savored the comforting flavor, Ayato's eyes twinkled mischievously, and a small smile tugged at his lips. He chuckled. 

"And I would like you to take notice, (Y/n)," he began playfully, "that this delightful boba tea we're sharing is the taste of your first indirect kiss."

Surprised, (Y/n) messily choked on their drink, spluttering the content in their white shirt as embarrassment colored their cheeks red. Ayato chuckled softly, reaching out to pat (Y/n)'s back gently as they recovered.

That adorable expression. It beats that of a dog.

Their blush is human.

(Y/n) is human.

As (Y/n) wiped the sweet taste on their lips, they couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of hope, knowing that Mr. Kamisato will be there for them. Their lingering disappointment remains, that much is certain, but it will disappear in time. (Y/n) drank until the cup was emptied. It was a symbol of Mr. Kamisato's promise to make the taste of puke a distant memory and that–

In the end, everything will be alright.

He likes them. He's certain.

(Y/n) can make use of him.

Give Mr. Kamisato a chance, dearest (Y/n).

He'll add Ms. Beidou's death to his list of things to check off in your next assignment. 

Not only that, of course. She won’t be the only one that’ll keep him busy. He has not forgotten the faces of those who laughed at you during your dilemma. 

Maybe once the officer reassigns them all to a more… enthralling location, he’ll get a more satisfactory answer to the question:

"What does sanity truly mean when demanded of you by a Devil?"

[honey-flustered]

Kinktober Day 12: Coulrophilia + DDLG

Joker!Ghoul-ish!Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Harley Quinn!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, dark!cooper & dark!reader, tame ddlg, coulrophilia (attraction to clowns), Freaky crazy clowns, toxic af relationship, age gap, yandere x yandere, 60s Gotham-like AU, Reader was Cooper’s TV Daughter, Cooper has a joker-like backstory, joker and harley references. Reader has Harley Quinn-like backstory, violence, blood kink, fingering, squirting, kissing, lots of pet names (sugar, princess, sweetheart, etc.), they are very bad people, curvy/short!reader

Summary: You are the partner in crime of a dangerous man known as “The Ghoul”; a half-monstrous, half-human clown prince of crime. He also happens to be your “Daddy” too.

A/N: I’m keeping up with the ghoul-ish theme for Cooper for kinktober to go with idea I have of him where he kinda looks like dabi from bnha where like he’s half-radiation burned and other half- human. Hope yall see the vision cause I’ve thought about how cool that would be for a while.

Cooper was once a good man. A simple family man. In fact, he was on the screens of every family in America—regarded as one of the greatest movie stars of all time.

But then…he had a bad day and all it takes is one bad day to bring the most sanest man alive to the brink of insanity. Just one fateful decision that would eventually lead to one long comically bad day.

Picture this: Cooper is at the point in which he’s tired of being lied to and kept in the dark from his wife’s work with Vault-Tec. Unable to keep away, He sneaks into the private and heavily secured facility, gathering damning intel along with the sinister truth. In a slip-up during a security round of a particular unit, Cooper found himself trapped in and ended up falling into a vat of chems that injured him beyond recognition.

He was sure to die. He thought he would. But when he woke up in the hospital not only did this confirm otherwise but it also confirmed that he’d been caught. And from there a series of losses began in just the spiral of a day. His wife was leaving him, taking their only daughter, his last credited role was from a now canceled TV series; and he’d even lost his dazzling looks.

He was now a ghost of himself. A ghoul. Parts of his human form were overshadowed by the singed flesh that encased large parts of him. Like a Frankenstein’s monster of sorts.

He’d tried being a good man. A simple family man. But look where that path has led him. This world wasn’t built for men like him. And so he gave in to the dark parts of himself.

It’s funny how the world knows just who to send into your life to completely flip it upside down because you thought you’d never see Cooper again. In a way, you could say that you were right. Because sitting right across from you—that isn’t the wholesome TV Dad you’ve had the pleasure to work with…oh no, he is ‘The Ghoul’.

There he is before you; red stained lips painted into a wicked smile, green-dyed hair slicked back in a suave style, smoking a cigar and looking like the mafia boss that he is despite wearing the all white clothing associated with the asylum. The bottom half of his face from his bottom lip and jaw down to neck and shoulders are web-like flesh stapled together like he’d been built up like a puzzle. Somehow, he’s still so very handsome.

“Look ‘atcha,” He smirks, ogling you up and down. “My, my…you’ve grown. Even got yourself that psychology degree you’ve been tellin’ me you wan’ed to go back to school for. Proud of ya, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Howard,” You say before adjusting your glasses and leaning forward. “I was rather intrigued when I heard that I’d get to meet the new you. Colleagues told me it’d be a bad idea taking you as my patient considering how much I’ve once looked up to you.“

He chuckles. “Ya know, the universe can be quite the prankster. You remember that lil’ joke I made about bein’ a patient of yours someday…” The chains from the metal cuffs around his wrists rattle when gestures to himself. “I reckon I shoulda specify what kind of patient I’d be.“

“It’s a shame we have to meet under these circumstances. But I’m glad we’ve crossed paths.” You say.

“Oh?” He asks, leaning in as well. “Why’s that, sugar?”

“Because I want to help you.” You simply say.

“I already know I’m fuckin’ crazy, sweetheart. I don’t need a shrink to talk my ear off ‘bout it.”

“No, Mr. Ghoul, I want to help you…burn Vault-Tec to the fucking ground,” You clarify. “And when there’s nothing left, I want to dance on its ashes. I want to reveal the evil truth to the people and start a fucking revolution. I want chaos. Anarchy. And I want…I want to be with you.”

You slip your fingers into one of your thigh-high stockings and pull out a key you retrieved from an unsuspecting prison guard. Cooper watches on as you remove his cuffs with a pleased yet astonished expression. You tenderly rub the indented marks on his wrist. “I’ve always loved you. Even before we’d ever met—I was your biggest fan.”

He stands with an aura of intimidation and raw assertion, an intense gaze in his eyes as he saunters closer to you. You quickly rise to your feet, anticipating his embrace.

Cooper’s large hands shoot up around your neck, squeezing. Not hard enough to cut off any air circulation but just enough to drag your body against his.

He plants a messy kiss onto your lips. There’s teeth nipping at the soft, plush of your lips and his thick tongue lick the surface and the inside of your mouth. It’s so sloppy and purposefully so and you don’t care how freaky it is.

You are sure by now that his white face paint and the crimson shade of his lips have now transferred to your lips. Or could it be blood from the little nick he’d given you on your lips. You aren’t sure but it only added on to your arousal.

He pulls away, blood staining lips and just beneath his nose. “Well, I’m sure glad you chose to come home to daddy because if you weren’t by my side—why I’d just have to kill ya,” He laughs, removing a hand from your neck to cradle the back of your head. “Thatta girl. Now let’s get outta this shithole.”

“I know a secret exit we can—”

“Sorry, sugar, but I’d rather leave with a bang,” He winks suggestively, taking you by the arms to face you away from him and bend you over the table; the side of your face is pressed against the cold metal. You feel his erection weighing hot and heavy against your ass as he lays himself over you for a moment, lips against your ears to growl a command. “Don’t hold back yer screams for me, princess. Let ‘em all hear what I’m doin’ to ya.”

Just as you feel your lace panties being pulled to the side, four guards come barging into the room and shout for his compliance.

“Get the fuck off of her.” One guard shouts, laying a heavy hand on the Ghoul’s shoulder. Ghoul’s military training comes into play as he uses the very key that set him free to repeatedly jab into the accessible and vulnerable armpit of the guard.

He cries out in pain nursing the wound that now bleeds profusely and too distracted by this he fails to protect his gun, allowing Cooper to lift it from his belt and shoot into the shoulder of another guard who’d drawn his gun at him. In a shocking twist, you witness one prison guard turn on his last fellow guard, shooting him right in the knees.

“What about the girl?” The traitor prison guard questions, pointing a weapon against your head as you remain trembling against the table. You’ve never seen anything like this!

The ghoul steals a handkerchief from a prison guard who’d been struggling to reach his radio strewn across the room. Cooper nonchalantly wipes away the excess blood on his hands before picking up his cuban cigar from the ashtray. You awaited in nervous anticipation as he decided to take a draw from it instead of answering him, bellowing out the smoke in your direction and clouding your view of him for a few seconds.

His hard gaze begins to soften, charming you with his famous smile. “She’s just dandy to me.”

He holds a hand out to you and you squeal with glee, standing up on wobbly knees to jump into his arms.

“Come on, sugar. We’ve got some catchin’ up to do,” He holds you tight against him before indiscreetly whispering to his minion. “Finish the job, will ya? But do it only after we leave the room. Wouldn’t want to traumatize my princess ‘less it’s done by my hand.”

“You got it, boss.” The minion says. And withthat the Ghoul carries you over the threshold of what was once your own prison in a metaphorical sense.

The Ghoul makes do with his promise and causes a huge debacle within the asylum. By the time you’d both leave the building, it was like a circus. There were patients everywhere running amuck with doctors and nurses failing to control them, alarms going off, and you think there might have even been a fire started. It was perfect.

Outside a limo awaits the two of you, it looks like he’d been planning his escape all along. Whether that included you, you didn’t care. He may not be the same Cooper you fell for, the one whom you once saw as a father figure—Hell, he’s batshit fucking insane but somehow it makes your heart beat a mile a minute and the attraction only triples but his new appearance.

You pull him for yet another kiss, flames in the background are like fireworks. You could get lost in it if it weren’t for the damn police and fire truck sirens going off.

“Looks like that’s our cue to scram.” He opens the door for you which is interesting that he can still be so chivalrous. You smile just like the princess he names you to be and you enter and never look back.

Now you are a part of that darkness, feeding each other’s wickedness. The two of you have shed your clothes and in turn shed those identities. No longer did he don the all white clothing of an asylum patient. When he looks into the mirror —past the charred half of his flesh- he sees that of a crime-lord with weapons hung close to his body as if it were an accessory to his pin-striped suits. And you’d shed your past life, burning your white lab coat. You were now his and he, yours. And of course as a daddy’s girl, you’d do anything to mirror his image, adapting his twisted clown aesthetic.

Newspapers had a field-day writing about your descent to madness from America’s sweetheart to the other-half of a crazy crime duo. They call it a match made in hell, you call it the greatest love story ever.

But sometimes it does get exhausting when you want to spend time with your lover when there’s so many factors that prevents you from spending time with him! Vault-Tec, Vigilantes, Betrayers, and Barb! Just thinking about her makes you angry.

Why can’t they all just let you enjoy your chaotic lives in peace?!

Currently, The Ghoul is handling a business transaction with an informant from Vault-Tec who made claims of a nuclear war in the making with a plan to make the middle class pay for it. You’re more than happy to set your plan in motion to create a threatening video message to the company using the informant as a hostage, hoping you’ll finally get some time with Coop but he wants to take things slow.

“It’s chess not checkers, darlin’.” He’d comment and you’d just have to accept it. But today was meant to be your anniversary and he’d decided to take time out of your day to do business!

You claw your acrylics through the newspaper you’d been reading with an old picture of Cooper and Barb on the front page with a headline about their once fiery romance. That was the last straw.

Your sharp cat-like acrylics claw into the flimsy newspaper material you held in your hands, poking through the page from back to front and straight through the eyes of your lover and his ex-wife. The headline of their past fiery romance pushes you over the edge.

You shred the paper into bits, flinging it into the air like confetti. The tears are blinding, mascara running down your cheeks as you rise to your feet and go over to retrieve something from his ‘secret’ drawer from his office.

In the highest heels you own, you’re strutting angrily and briskly up the long-winded stairs and through the spacious halls of his large penthouse. His staff know better than to get in your way, jumping out of your path with terrified looks the moment they lay eyes on you.

You may be a curvier girl but you were a lot shorter in height than most people you knew. And most people you knew usually wouldn’t be intimidated by such a woman of your stature, not of course, if said woman happened to be wielding a .45 caliber pistol in hand.

If hell hath no fury than a woman scorned then it is in everyone’s best interest to mind their goddamn business.

You see red. Tunnel vision. Nothing else existed in this moment other than the man you hope to kill.

“Cooper!” You shout, pounding hard against the double ivory doors of his conference room before throwing them open.

The audience in the room turns their heads in your direction, expressions of confusion morphing into horror. You could hear the faint murmurs of his patrons murmuring about knowing you from TV.

The Ghoul is the last to raise his eyes at you, expelling air from his nostrils in frustration. He’s yet to speak up, watching the scene unfold from his big boss chair.

“Ya’ll better skedaddle or little blue’s gonna sing,” You threaten causing the crowd to quickly flee, some clutching their grand-theft stolen pearls as they do so. Once you're satisfied with the emptied room, you close the doors behind you and lock them for safe measures. You raise the gun at him, hands shaking. “You still love her, don’t you? The day you decided to leave the facility…to take me as yours…that was on your anniversary date, wasn’t it? I thought this day was special for us. But you used me. You just want her attention.”

He’s neither terrified nor angry. He just seems…inconvenienced. Bored with it all, he rolls his eyes as he begins fixing up his paperwork. “Couldn’t this have waited until after my meeting? I’ve got a job to do. I don’t need any of your distractions.”

“You think I’m a distraction,” You squeak, hurt by his suggestion. A rage consumes you so violently that you think of the first thing that'll quench your fire. In one fell swoop, you swipe your arm on the table and throw his paperwork and office supplies onto the ground scattering them everywhere. Now he’s furious, jaw clenching as he stares daggers at you. You can tell he’s deciding a punishment for you. “You said we belonged together! We were supposed to forge the world side by side. How could you say that I’m just a distraction?”

“I said, ‘your distractions’. As in, all the bullshit you do on a daily basis. Now be quiet.” He hisses through gritted teeth.

“No.” You stand your ground, adjusting your posture so that you appear even taller than you already are in your heels. You know he hates it when people tower over him.

He slams his hands on the table before rising to his feet slowly. He makes it a point to stand as close to you as possible so that he’s the one towering over you now. “You’re being a fucking brat.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” You snarl. “Maybe…I should find her, hmm? I should find her and kill her. I’ll do it. You think I wouldn’t?”

“Sweet pea, I know you would and I don’t care if you do,” He laughs, cupping your face in his large hands. “She took my Janey from me. I ain’t seen her in years. Barb is my lightning rod, all my aggression is accredited to her. If she were gone, sure it’d make things really boring for me but that’s just it. And as for you, princess, well…yer a pretty young thing—real cute—but I’m one making the commands here.”

“But we’ve done so much together. We made them lose profits. We pushed forward a smear campaign for one of the senior executives that made him disappear off the grid. That was a team effort!”

“And I appreciate your support, lil’ angel. You really do make yo papa proud,” His thumb traces your lips before he roughly grips your jaw, making you look him in the eye. His rings bite into the skin of your cheeks. “Now why don’t you give me a pretty smile? If yer good for it, I might let you sit on my lap.”

You yank away from his grasp, cocking the gun. “I’ll fucking kill you. I thought when you came into my life to silence my demons. But you’ve only danced with them. I’m so screwed up in the head because I loved you. But if you die, I’ll be free.”

For a moment, he looks genuinely scared but then he gives you a wicked smirk.

“You wouldn’t. You could never kill me. How do you think you’ll be able to go on livin’ after it’s done? The second I’m gone, you wouldn’t last not even a millisecond without me,” He steps forward, closing the gap between you once again. “That’s how pathetic you are. You need somethin’ in your life to cling on and that’s me. I’m your lifeline. Whether you like it or not, your heart knows you're bound to me. A year of fleetin’ kisses and light touches; I’ve not fucked you once and still yer this weak for me. I could only imagine how obedient you’ll be when I pop your precious cherry.”

“Fuck you,” Hot tears and mucus continue to run down your face as you unrelentingly held the pistol up to his chest. “Fuck you, Cooper. Maybe I won’t live long after I kill you, but I’ll be seeing you in hell.”

You pull the trigger only instead of a lead bullet, a foam-like bullet with a suction end sticks to his chest. It appears to be a strange child’s toy. You examine it with confusion before looking up at his fuming expression.

You begin to laugh nervously, dropping the toy on the ground to give a quirky shrug of your shoulders. “Oopsies.”

“I didn’t think I’d hide actual guns anywhere near the likes you, did you?” He sneers. “You fucking shot me.”

“But you didn’t die.”

“Anything you’ve got to say for yourself?”

You swallow the hard lump in your throat. “S-sorry…daddy.”

He raises his hand and you flinch, fearing that this’ll be the day he finally raises a hand on you. Instead, he places it on your head, petting it softly.

“My good girl,” He praises, much to your confusion. “What am I going to do with you?”

Your eyes sparkle with love and admiration, throwing yourself into his arms. “You still love me?”

“Of course, I still love you,” He coos, soothing a hand down your back that’s exposed by the style of your mini blue satin dress. “I’ve never had a woman love me this intensely. You almost killed me, woman. That makes me so hard.”

He guides your dainty hand over his hardening clothed cock. “Do you feel that, sugar?” He rasps. “You’ve done this to me simply for being crazy as shit. No woman’s ever made me feel this way, not even Barb..”

“Y-you mean that, daddy-o?”

“From the bottom of my heart,” He brushes his nose against yours. “Do you see how passionately in love we are for each other? You never have to question my devotion for you even if Barb’s around, no one could replace you. There’s just so many things you do that she could never do as good as you.”

“Like what?” You blink up innocently.

“You always know just the right thing to make me feel good.” He hints, sitting back on his executive chair with his legs spread.

You sink to your knees, sitting in between his legs. Cooper loves oral sex, both giving and receiving. He’s been so busy with work that rarely had time for either but you’ll gladly keep giving it up whenever you can. And maybe eventually, he’ll officially claim you in bed.

Your hands reach for his zipper when he halts your movements. He stares intensely into your eyes while wrapping one pigtail around his scarred hand. “You don’t deserve to taste me. You’ve maxed out your strikes for the day,” He begins to recount. “Strike one, you interrupted my meeting. Strike two, you were a rude pest. Strike three, you tried to kill me. For these reasons, I want you to sit beside me like a good little girl for the rest of my meeting. I shall have a punishment ready for you by then.”

“But—“

“Silence,” He tugs hard, forcing you to rise slightly. “I don’t want to hear a word out of you. I want you as silent as the ground I walk on. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You whine.

He places a kiss on your forehead before releasing you. With a push of a button, he makes an announcement on the intercom for his staff to lead his patrons back into the conference room.

“Remember, my dove: not a peep out of you.” He orders.

You watch on the rest of the meeting with awe, head in your hands as you dreamily sigh up at him as plotted away. After sometime, the members of his team exit the room after the Ghoul approves their dismissal.

Alone again at last, you hop into his lap, making the two of you spin in his upholstered chair. He humors you, forehead against yours and a reserved smile on his face.

“You were so amazing, daddy-o! I bet they’ll never think to underestimate you again. The plan is just diabolical!” You exclaim. “How are you real?”

“I ask myself this at times.” He replies smugly, rubbing circles in your back. If you continued to praise him like this, he just might disregard punishing you.

“I know I’ve been a bad girl and I don’t deserve it but may I please kiss you?” You ask, playing with his tie.

“You may.” He approves.

You squeal giddily before planting your lips onto his with a hungry desire that has you both moaning into the kiss. Your hands find comfort in his hair, ruining its assembly. Most days, Cooper would curse you for this but today he’s in such good spirits because everything is going his way. He slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

The telephone rings and he breaks away with a groan reaching for it on the table while his other hand continues to trace his fingers lightly up and down your back. While he’s occupied in conversation, you kiss all over his neck, leaving lipstick kisses behind.

“Excellent, I’ll be sure to watch.” He says with a smile.

“Daddy-o’?” You question.

He simply takes a remote off his desk and presses a button that mechanically parts the large velvet curtains to the side, revealing the big clear window behind it. Different colors burst into the sky of reds, greens, blues and yellow and you recognize them as actual fireworks.

You stand from his lap, walking over to the large window to gaze in at its glory. He’d successfully executed a plan you’d been telling him about for months; setting off an explosion at one of the milk factories that an ex owned. A factory far in the distance that you could see from the penthouse’s height, cursing it every day because it ruined your view of the city. And now Cooper has taken it out…for you. God, you love this man.

“Happy Anniversary, princess.” He says from behind, kissing you on your neck.

“This is the best thing anyone’s ever done for me,”Your eyes sparkle in the light, clapping and laughing with pure glee at the spectacle. “Oh, I could only imagine how funny it would have been to see the look on his face.”

Cooper presses another button and sure enough your ex is on the news, having a fit about it while you and Cooper laughed as if it were the funniest thing on earth.

Swept up by the moment, you kissed him passionately, messing up his makeup and your own as blended into an odd mix of colors.

His thick fingers find their way between your legs, moving past your damp panties to plunge into your hot, wet core. You gasp against his lips, nails sinking into his dress shirt for support as you grind down on them.

“I love you, Daddy.” You cry out happily, breathing quicken with the pumping of his fingers. If it weren’t for your back against the window, your buckling knees would have taken you down.

“I love you, too, sugar. You’re so good for me.” He praises, thrusting so particularly deep into you that your eyes cross and you gush your honeyed slick into his palm. “Always been daddy’s little monster.”

That name is enough to tip you over the edge, tightening your hand around his wrist when your orgasm finally hits you like a freight train. You whine and tremble when he continues his ministrations inside of you curling is finger perfectly while his meaty palm added friction to your throbbing clit. You’re sobbing at the overstimulation, soaking his hand, down your legs and his pants. He laughs at your catatonic state; the babbling and drool down your chin makes you look about as mad as an asylum patient. The aftershocks flow through you like a tidal wave as you shake against his hard body.

He’s only merciful to stop when you begin to clamp his hand between your thighs to keep him from moving any further.

When you come down, you give him a dopey smile and say, “Boy, seeing a building blow up like that makes me want to ‘blow’ something else?”