#Yandere x You

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied noncon, break-up, toxic relationship, crazy ex-boyfriend, intrusive thoughts, anger issues

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about gamer boyfriend who doesn’t know what he has before it’s gone…

You told him you were leaving, but it didn’t dawn on him that’s what you’d meant. He was deep in-game—he couldn't pay attention to your whining. He figured you went out to the store or something, but later, after midnight, he realized he was hungry, and you were nowhere. Not in the kitchen making dinner, not in his bed sleeping, and not in the bathroom either. 

Did you go home? He wonders, standing alone in the dark, empty silence—feeling a little put off at the sight of his room—how even in the dim light, it’s a clear fucking mess. You usually tidy up a bit for him, but you hadn’t this time—no, there’s old underwear and socks everywhere, shirts and hoodies too, empty cans and pizza boxes. It’s a bit gross, actually, he admits while scratching his neck. 

The drawer he’d dedicated to you in his dresser is open and empty. Did you take everything to get it cleaned? You are a bit of a neat freak—unlike him. Suppose that would be something you’d do. Weird of you not to take any of his laundry as well, though.

Oh, well. He shoots you a “gn bby” on his phone, then collapses on his bed and falls asleep—smiles a bit as he does so—it’s nice not having you here to tell him to undress and go shower first. Yeah, you can be such a nag sometimes.

He wakes up late in the day. You’re not there. Usually, you come over to wake him with some breakfast. He checks his phone—you didn’t reply last night. It isn't that weird—you were probably already asleep at that point. But why didn’t you answer when you woke up? There’s no way you’re still asleep, right? 

Fuck, he’s hungry.

“gm,” he sends—contemplates asking you what’s up but doesn’t. You must be busy with something not to have checked your phone yet.

The entire day goes by, and you still don’t answer. He doesn’t take it too hard. But he won’t deny being a bit miffed.

It’s when three days go by that he’s well and truly confused. He’s sent you several texts at this point, even called you a few times, getting a little worried something had happened to you before he got the message that he’d been blocked. 

What the fuck’s going on with you?

He thinks back to the last time he saw you. What did you even say? He can’t remember. Something about being tired—something, something—I’m leaving.

He swallows thickly. No… No way, that’s what you meant, right? No, can’t be. You love him. You’re his pretty girlfriend. The one that comes with his food and later comes back for his bowl. The one that sucks his dick under his desk as he goes on a kill streak. The warm pillow he uses when he finally drags his bad posture to the bed and falls asleep.

No. Where the fuck are you? Are you sick or something? Yeah, must be, right? So delirious you’ve managed to block him somehow. You were probably only trying to call him back. You were never so tech-savvy—a fever must have worsened it. He should go to you. He can bring his pc. Or no, he can get you and bring you back here. Yeah, that would be easier.

He calls your roommate, tells her he’s coming, and asks her to let you know to get ready.

“What are you talking about?” she says through a piece of gum—her voice all dull as if bothered to have picked up the phone. Or, rather, she sounds a bit drunk. There’s music in the background. “Girl broke up with you, didn’t she?”

His blood runs cold at that. A lump forms in his throat—a thick, unmovable lump that makes him think he’s about to throw up. “N-no, she didn’t.”

“Hey!” she calls out, not to him, though—she’s covered the mic with her hand. He only hears the muted distortion of voices and bass through it before your roommate comes back to him. 

“Sorry—she’s telling me a different story,” she relays, popping her gum in his ear before sneering—or, at least, that’s what he pictures. “Honestly, how long did you think she was gonna put up with cleaning up after you anyway? I know I wouldn’t last half as long as she has.” The lump in his throat grows thicker, swelling up until it's choking him. “Anyway, good luck.”

She hangs up, and he drops his phone. There’s a crack as it hits the floor. And then something wet on his face. Something hot. Something searing as it tracks down his cheeks and drops off like acid onto the floor. 

What should he do? What do you want him to do? To tidy up? He can do that! He’s not some imbecile like your friend makes him out to be who can’t even do the basics of chores. Of course, he can! And so that’s what he does—hands shaking as he tidies. 

It feels foreign, and he’s not even sure where to start. And it quickly proves to be a lot worse than what he’d thought. Beyond stinky clothes and dirty dishes, there’s trash, rotten food, sticky surfaces, and other things he can’t even put a name to. It’s gross, actually. Downright disgusting. How long’s it been like this?

Even after everything’s put in order, there’s a smell that lingers and no end to the dust he has to clean—cringing at the little insects that come crawling out of their hiding spots. Geez—has it really been this bad?

He falls asleep on the floor at some point—having completely forgotten to eat—then wakes up feeling awful the next day. The kitchen is barren, and so he orders take-out. Eats and then goes back to cleaning. There’s still a lot left.

It’s barely recognizable once he’s done. Nice and bright and tidy and clean. There’s a sum of a dozen large black trash bags in the hallway he needs to take out, but other than that, everything’s perfect—perfectly presentable to have you come over again.

Still, he gives it a couple of days. He knows you. You’re going to change your mind. You’re too sweet to be breaking up with him. Too nice. You wouldn’t just leave him, not like this. Yeah, you’re only trying to teach him a lesson—after a while, you’ll come back on your own. You’ll be ecstatic over what he’s done with the place—apologetic even as you tell him you were wrong about him—and then everything will go back to normal. Make-up sex and everything. 

But you don’t. No. You’re nowhere to be seen or found—even after a week’s passed. You’re still gone. And he’s starting to believe you might just be gone for real.

No. He sees what this is. You’re waiting for the grand gesture, aren’t you? He never knew you could be so petty—but it’s actually kind of cute. Fine then. He’ll play along—come crawling to you on his hands and knees with the best apology you’ve ever heard. And then you can end this whole thing.

And so he finds himself at your place, pressing the buzzer, not knowing if he’s catching you at home—if not, he’ll just try again tomorrow, and so on until he does. He hears someone at the other side of the door—they must be looking at him through the peephole. It takes a while before the locks click and open.

“Hey…”

It’s you. 

“Hi,” he smiles in return, happy to see you. He’s been so nervous, but somehow, your face and voice are enough to calm him down.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

Oh, of course. You weren’t expecting him. Still, it feels weird of you not to gush happily over the surprise and rush him inside. It’s not every day he goes outside—you should be a little impressed.

But no, of course, you’re playing the part of fed-up girlfriend—acting hard-to-get. He’s got you—he’ll play his part, so don’t worry.

“I wanted to apologize,” he announces. “I haven’t been a good boyfriend—I see that now. But I’ll be better from now on, I promise—come over, and I’ll prove it to you.”

As far as apologies and promises go, he thinks that sounded pretty smooth—not too desperate, not too demanding. Pretty slick, if he can say so himself.

And so, why aren’t you smiling? He can understand being nervous—so is he—but why do you look guilty?

“That’s really nice. And… I’m really happy you’re looking better. But…” you start, and his gut’s already wrenching. “I think you need more time for yourself to just… enjoy what it’s like to be independent, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. What are you saying? And why are you holding onto the doorknob like that? Holding it steady as if you’re planning to shut it as soon as you can—why?

“Thanks for stopping by. It was nice seeing you—it really was. Take care of yourself, okay?”

It’s shutting—his plans—disappearing right before his face. He knows he isn’t owed a second shot, but this isn’t fair. You can’t be serious—are you?

“What? No, wait—” He stops you, weighing his own hand on the door, keeping it open. “Listen, I’m good now. I’ve pulled it together, you’ll see—I’ll come in, and we’ll talk about it.”

You resist, using both hands to almost push the door back on him. “I have company, so—”

“What’s up?” another voice announces himself—deep and presentful. He comes into view behind you—taller than you, taller than him—looking down his nose at him with a raised brow. “Who’s this?”

You look a bit panicked—no, embarrassed. “Oh, uhm—”

Why are you embarrassed? “Who’s that?” The bitterness in his voice surprises even himself—loaded with the same type of spite he seethes with when players use cheats to win.

“He’s an old friend, but he was just leaving,” you say, but you’re not speaking to him. No, you stroke a hand over the guy’s broad chest, looking up at him apologetically before turning back to him again, voice strict in a way he’s never heard, “Bye.”

“But—”

You shut the door. On him. In his face. 

His skin crawls—goosefleshed and chilled. Was that a date? No, right? You have a brother, don’t you? Yes, must be. No way you’re dating. There’s no way, right? It’s only been a week… no way you’ve moved on in only a week, right?

You looked really nice—wearing that sweet blouse with all the little bows and that cute little skirt you’d always wear out on dates. Damn, when was the last time the two of you went on a date? Must be months ago, if he can’t even remember. 

Come to think of it, the two of you would always have sex when you wore that skirt. Yeah, it’s your fuck-me-skirt. Are you going to fuck this guy too now? On the first date? Is it your first date? No, probably not—who has their first date at home? That’s more like a third or even fourth or fifth date, right? Were you dating him while the two of you were still together? Have you been cheating on him all this time? Laughing at him behind his back—talking shit with your bitch-roommate? About what a pathetic loser he is? About how he’s a slob who can’t take care of himself? How he needs you? Have you!?

He shouldn't be texting you all this from a random number. He knows that, but the full realization doesn’t dawn on him before it’s too late, and he’s sent you over a hundred messages, some small and others at such a length they take up more than what the screen allows. What the fuck’s he doing? He’d bought the new sim so that he could contact you in an emergency, not to spam you with accusations like some crazy ex. 

He starts deleting them—in some desperate wishful thinking, with the hope you wouldn’t see them, but then the dotted line starts beating, jumping in taunt. His eyes are wide as he stares at it, holding his breath. Ten seconds pass before it disappears—no message sent.

You blocked him again. And he can’t blame you.

And yet, he can’t let you go, either. 

He spends the first few weeks hauled up at home—his flat becoming as trashed as ever as he doomscrolls all your socials through a fake account. You’ve deleted all the pictures of him—even the ones of yourself when you’ve been with him. There’s no evidence the two of you were even dating.

How could you do this? How could you erase him like this?

He has questions, and he needs answers. You can’t just do this—the two of you haven’t even had the talk—he hasn’t even got to say his side yet!

He just wants to talk to you—why won’t you let him? He just wants you to hear him out. He deserves that much. But since you’re not giving him any option of contacting you, he’s had to resort to medieval methods—lurking outside your apartment like some creep, eyes peeled on your building’s entrance, waiting for you to show.

He’s there for hours, patiently—refusing to go home—thinking he’ll be there all night if he has to.

But then there you are—coming out of the complex, stepping down the alley, dressed all nice for the night. You seem to be in a hurry—are you on your way to another date? Well, wherever you’re going and whoever you’re meeting, they can wait.

“I need to talk—” he doesn’t get the words out.

You’d noticed him following you and tried to out-pace him—make him lose interest. But the area your flat’s situated in is a sketchy one—at least for girls, and you’d made the decision long ago that you’d never walk outside unprepared. And so, as soon as feeling the stranger's hand on your arm, you whip around to maze him right in the face.

“Argh!” he screeches and stumbles back, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck—ow-fuckin’dammit, shit—what the fuck did you do that for? Fuck—”

You were going to make a run for it, but the familiar voice has you halt—wait a minute…

You call his name, and sure enough, it’s him who looks up at you through the teary redness of your pepper spray assault. 

“Oh my god, shit—I’m so sorry—I thought you were a—” you stop yourself. “Fuck—never mind. Come—” You link his arm with yours and lead him back inside the apartment you just left. “I’ll help you rinse—I’m so sorry.”

You rush him to the bathroom, seating him atop the toilet lid as you wet a cloth and start soaking his face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it was you—” you apologize again. “Are your eyes okay?”

“Not really,” he hisses through clenched teeth, though steals himself soon after. “But they're getting better…”

His face unswells after a good thirty minutes, after which he’s able to keep his eyes open again—sore and no doubt bloodshot, yet fine, if not for that. You’ve moved him into the living room instead, having done what you could to rinse off your attack—having provided him with an apologetic glass of water. Now sitting with him, waiting for the effects to wear off.

It feels nice to be with you again despite the circumstances—but it’s awkward how you don’t speak.

“You look nice,” he says—trying to break the tension. It’s not as if the two of you are strangers, and so you shouldn’t act like it.

“Oh, I’m going to a party—roomie’s already there, so…” you say, sitting at the edge of your seat. “If you’re okay, I should probably head out… soon.”

A silence fills his head, as well as the room—a heavy stillness before a single word leaves him. “What?” His face sinks—part confusion, part offense, and something else—something that makes his voice come out accusatory and outraged, “You maze me in the face, and you’re just gonna fuck off to a party?”

Your eyes widen.“Well… it’s—”

“No—what the fuck?” He stands abruptly. His head’s so empty except for the blinding darkness slowly overtaking it—leaving him feeling boiling and all but nuclear. “That’s all I get? Are you fucking serious?” He’s shouting now—and then he’s on you, with one hand fisting your pretty dress and another around your throat. “First, you dump me without warning, assault me like some maniac, give me a lousy apology, and then tell me to fuck off? What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

You splutter his name and push, but it’s like fighting a wall.

“Where are you actually going dressed like that, huh? What’s so fucking important? Is it another date? What, with that same oaf I saw here last time? Or is it someone new already? I know how flighty you can be. I mean, fuck, I knew you were a little freaky, but I didn’t know I was dating a fucking slut!”

His strength comes as a complete and utter devastating shock. You’d think sitting in a chair all day would make any muscle obsolete—but the hands holding you don’t right now is more than anything you could hope to fight against.

“Stop! Get off me—” you cry, thrashing hopelessly as he lifts your dress and rips your lace panty down your thighs. 

A growl in his voice and nothing but rage on his face.

“If anyone can get it—I might as well help myself.”

♡ BNHA – Shigaraki, Dabi, Denki, Kirishima ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[heartfullofleeches]

Cutthroat Orca Lady Hybrid Yan who's the biggest pushover for her sweet innocent seal hybrid darling who probably has a longer criminal record than her-

"I want that piece of shit's head on my wall by tomorrow morning-"

"Ms. Orca? You got anymore shrimp chips for me? :D"

"Oh, baby- Did you run out already? Why don't you want just a little longer while I chat with my friends and we can get you something proper to eat."

"Okay! :D"

"Ma'am. I am aware of your attachment to that.... thing, but I feel it's best for me to inform you they tore off and are currently still chewing someone's face."

"So that's where all this red in your fur came from! Honey, I've told you about this, haven't I? You don't know what people put in their bodies these days."

"But... I was hungry.. :<"

"Aw, don't make that face. You know I can't stay mad at that face."

[acid-ixx]

〔00〕 — 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 : perfect perception

DIRECTORY: concept, chapter 00, chapter 01

it was always just you, and your family.

just you, your mother, twin brother, and grandfather. the puzzle is complete, there is no need for an extra couple of pieces to add on to your already satiated life. there is no need to work hard, or to endure painful endeavors to attain what you want; not when your family would complete it all for you.

it wasn't like you could, or should, complain, no? you have everything granted to you from when you were born. scarred hands, jagged figure, weary eyes; those aren't necessary for a person like you, who will always be sheltered, in both cozy blankets and loving arms. oblivious to the cruel world and pesting hands that claw on innocent beings like you.

a steady house life, a mother who shielded your innocence from all the bloodshed within the family's ordeals, who read to you fairytales, who had you sleep in her bed when you feared, when you foresaw what you thought were monsters under your bed. instead of inhibiting hatred for an heir who'd flinch at raising hands and the sound of clanging swords, she encouraged your meak demeanor and even spoiled tantrums. she runs her hands across your silky tresses, and kisses your forehead a thousand times if you'd even mention it in a passing moment. she dresses you in jewels, in velvety, silky clothes, and bathes you in toys and gifts you never seem to ask for. your little body sleeps on her chest, and listen the steady beat of her heart, calm and beating, all for you.

you teach her softness, and the joys of being a mother. a concept foreign in her eyes, raised opposite to you. she sees herself in you, and projects what should've been her childhood to her youngest twin child.

you have a twin brother, who, despite being born only a few minutes before you, was significantly older than you, both mentally and spiritually. from the moment he was taken into the world, his duty to take all your pain away and to become your very light was established. and like the warrior he is, he takes that daunting task and transforms it into motivation. he is your knight in shining armor, the prince who catches you when you fall, the one who braves your nightmares, the swordman to your royalty. he trains, all day and night, from such a young age to protect you from unnecessary dangers he understood even his mother fears you'd be subjected to. he does not complain, he does not find reasons to gripe; he takes the scars, the bruises, the punishments and missions all in stride. if it meant seeing you happy and unaware from all the cruelty of living; then so be it. as long as, by the end of the day, he comes back to your shared room to find your tiny form drawing a childish imagery of the little family you love and cherish.

you teach him compassion, vulnerability, and share with him the admiration for arts.

then there is your grandfather. a hardened leader, a monster to all those who serve, but an idol in the eyes of oblivious you. he justifies violence in the wake of achieving his goals, he doesn't tolerate mankind's treatment of nature and its animals, and takes the lives of those who dares oppose. but you are treated differently, like glass that shatters at the softest of hits. his words are sugarcoated and stripped down to the most infantine of comprehension, his eyes are soft every time he kneels to your level to gently request that you return to your room. ra's does not kneel, he does not plead, he does not stoop to those younger than him. but to you, naive and dewy-eyed, akin to a fawn hiding behind a mother's legs, he does. every week, he takes in various experts in the field of teaching to become your mentors in whatever passion you have. he is the foundation of your growth, and he prides himself in that regard.

from him, you learn your love of animals. from you, he learns of weakness, and defeat to such platonic desires.

with your little family, you are happy. you never have to find reasons to complain about food, clothes, or any luxuries their family, akin to royalty, could obtain. you have a family smothering you in affection, attention, to the point where all you have to do is smile at the slightest thing and notice how they melt to your whims.

you were never alone when you didn't want to, you were always guarded, safe, and constantly served.

as you should, as it always should be.

and it was a routine you were used to. you never complained, you never pondered beyond primitive knowledge, you had never desired for more, or wanted less. life was normal despite the strange arrangements with servants always being by your beck and call, or how your brother would always seem to come seeking you after another day of "hard work" your mother doesn't permit you to try, with gashes that litter his tan skin and usually sharp eyes, still fixed with a glare though softened once your arms come to coddle him as a reward.

he finds comfort in your hold. it never once registered within you his ever-growing strength and how his hold on you would always seem to to tighten whenever a potential friend would pass by.

yet you are loved either way, you are cared for. what more is there to ask when you have and always been the singular pearl dripping with grace, poise, and a softness beyond the brutish weapons swung within the training grounds your brother finds himself in.

you are loved by everybody: by your mother, by your brother, by your grandfather, and you're the necessary voice that calls out mercy for whenever a servant would be punished for maintaining a less than satisfactory performance when it comes to serving you. you're the light of reason beyond instictive swings of the sword and the impulsive raise of a voice demanding for battle to settle a deal; biting your lips in disappointment every time your mother attempts to punish a small mistake a servant would do right in front of you.

although certain voices in the hallways find your presence... unsavory, out of place, or they simply pity you; whispers filtering through the kind words everyone else never withdraws from you— nonetheless, they'd have no choice but to obey your childish whims, to smile at you, to be kind and diligent to your emotions.

everything is perfect.

yes, yes it is. an undeniable fact within the factions of your heart. you ignore the subtle strain within your chest, the way the emptiness becomes blatant, and the misunderstood desire for something else... something greater, far beyond the honor of your current family; and replace it with temporary joy.

a joy that softly smiles at the piling gifts, a joy that teaches itself to be good, to be grateful, and to dismiss the ever-changing spotlight you have for your family.

to ignore their hushed whispers whenever your small, eight-year old form with wide eyes, holding a toy between your chest, inquire about what they're discussing with that requires such... strained air and ridged poses.

to ignore their careful words, their gentle hands that pats your hair, that beckons you to come to a different room, and the irritation and bubbling tantrums paired with the heat that wraps your boiling thoughts and clenching hands.

you ignore, and try to neglect that growing ache that insurmountably never passes.

even if you lay in bed every night, unable to sleep, gaining consciousness slowly but surely after another day passes.

you ignore, and dismiss, and it all becomes a cycle that you ought to never break, to never rupture with childish curiosity and the thirst for wisdom.

... because everything is perfect.

everything is perfect. like the candlelight beams of the moon dancing through victorian styled windows, fluttering past the curtains to kiss your resting body every night you lay sleeping on a king-sized mattress, surrounded by soft, cotton plushies and silky, cool blankets as your brother coddles you; your head laying on his chest like routine.

it is perfect like the gardens of flowers all planted with your favorites, an array of colors harmoniously dancing to the sway of traversing winds and bumbling pollinators.

it is perfect like the daily hustle and bustle of your servants, buzzing through wide spans of hallways with their voices mingling through busy air and the wafting scent of a new delicacy your mother ornately chose for you to try.

everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

until the illusion of completeness, of unity and satisfaction were shattered like the bones of your brother's opponents, powderized to mere dust.

until you take notice of the hollow piece in your heart, until your servant mentions a father (a word so foreign, so similar to mother... but different all the same) in mere passing when you two had conversed whilst they were tying your shoes.

at first, you didn't pay a mind, proposing to yourself that you'd ask your mother instead after you've finished your daily assignments.

but then, unlike every other time where you dismissed, ignored and forgot— you began to ponder.

the word, the meaning, its possible etymology and every historical relationship it might've contained; a lesson your brilliant mentor taught you, one that served as a paveway for curious, little you, to investigate.

a trait you're sure nobody really tackled within your family.

if that is so, then where does your stubbornness, your drive to seek answers, come from?

you try to solve the puzzle pieces, ones you thought were never present in your life, your mind wracking through stored memories of a young, prying individual like you; until you came to a conclusion.

does it possibly come from a... father?

father...?

father?

father.

... your brother, too, said the same word.

when he was tired and beat from his training, when all he wanted was a singular hug, whose hands were stained with dripping ichor and knees bruised from hitting upon rocky ground. his emerald eyes were seeking your presence, and you find how his delirious state, itching for calm after another stormy trial of missions, was abnormal; unlike you who flinched at the dizzying scent of blood.

too mature, now you've noticed. a presence that exudes superiority, that takes the lives of those who rebel, that punishes anything less than perfect; that only softens, whose shoulders only sag when he takes in your presence within the same room as him— traits too foreign in the midst of a brother the same age as you.

so when you denied him of oasis, when your young brain was too scared, too worried and all the more wishing for answers on why he always comes back bleeding and injured, rejecting his offer for you to come closer— he all but seethes, and instead sighs; watching your quivering lips and the igniting fight in your eyes, a shaded mixture of your mother's and his.

"you're exactly like what mother told me. stubborn like our father when inconsolable... but i love you too much, akhi/akhti, to care for your lesser."

he muttered under his breath, emerald eyes gleaming under moonlit glow as he looks at you, emotions too miscellaneous beyond the swirling pools of green that always keeps a watch on you.

sometimes, he feels less like a brother and more of a knight. sometimes, you wish to rebel and instead dig deep into what's been happening to your brother these past few years, shaped by experience you never once caught yourself transpiring through. sometimes, you wish he doesn't treat you like a glass ornament.

sometimes, you wish you had a normal family.

as much as his words were sweet, as much as you would've felt warmth at the mere affection and exception he holds you in regard to his heart, even if he takes your body in his arms prior to your previous rejection, all but melting and rocking your body to sleep; a common method he utilizes to make you feel drowsy, and to eventually forget the blood on his sheathed sword and sinful hands once your eyes drift to a close—

you still reflect upon his words even if weeks had already passed by after that incident, even if he must've thought your somnolence was enough to dismiss whatever was the 'grammatical' mistake he'd mumbled that night was a product of fatigue after a long day of work.

... because despite being the perfect family, despite the love and care they foster within your heart; washing off the beating emptiness in your chest was harder than any injuries you've obtained after momentary clumsiness.

at least you knew when those scars were incurred, at least you had people to comfort you through the tears that escaped through your eyes.

but this immaterial emptiness has long since festered within the confines of your caged soul.

it beckons you to choose rebellion, it traps your thumping heart and tightens its hold on it, snaring it in a pit you couldn't crawl yourself out of.

desire drives you further away from delusion, from the foundations of weaved lies and rose-tinted picturesque perfection.

and you began to crave satiation to at least mend the missing puzzle piece in your heart; piece by piece, stitch by stitch.

who is your father? what is a father? why did dami told me i'm like... our father?

as you sit alone in your bed, toys long forgotten, alone with only the cool breeze fluttering by your window to accompany you. the questions begin to grate at your mind, yet all you do is bring your knees closer to your chest, lips dry at the forgone isolation you put yourself through after a cycle of endless thinking.

"momma will be here soon," you mutter to yourself. your voice, meek and highly pitched, young and cradling childish curiosity; it breaks at the seams when your fingers bring itself to touch and wipe away at wet cheeks and tender, aching eyes.

dami was right; you are stubborn like your father.

because even if they try all necessary means to shroud your life in seclusion from reality— you don't easily back out of a losing fight.

even if the tears you shed from the lack of progress were insurmountable, even if you knew you were at a physical disadvantage shall push come to shove where you'd have to fight your dearest brother, even if it means struggling against the invisible shackle your beloved family locked you in.

because your perfect perception of your fucked up family has long since dissipated from the moment your servant and your brother mentioned a foreign word.

a simple word, a small mistake, yet acting as a newer path of life that long since diverged from the only way you knew how to live.

and you still wish to solve the mystery of your forlorn emptiness.

will you give up just so easily? would the tears you shed all become mere depression?

no, not even as you sit in your too-huge bed, with no clue on where or how to start a hopeless journey; too young to plan, too little to fight, too tenderhearted in the views of your family.

even then, your red, rubbed raw eyes seek to look back on your first hint from within the room

a dictionary was sprawled across the opposite end of the bed, thrown haphazardly, opened to a certain page that highlights words closest to 'father'.

you crawl, with sore arms and wobbly legs, to retrieve the heavy, hard-bound and gold-encased dictionary, lounging on your bed with a damaged spine.

your fingers return to traverse multiple pages yet again—

stubborn, impatient and impulsive.

earlier, it came to you in the form of realization that the dictionary your mentor assigned you to read had a missing word cut precisely with a blade and replaced with an unintelligible one.

earlier, you realized just how much your perfect family was only perfect because they've hidden the truth from you.

earlier should've been years ago, earlier should've never been swept off the rug so easily. but what could an eight year old like you do? you've none of damian's talents to quickly learn, you're raised differently. it is only now you wish you weren't so gullible.

and as your fingers strum against pages, near to ripping out expensive paper, tears unceasing, lips bitten 'til bleeding— you learn, and you grow beyond simple comprehension.

motivation, and the drive to uncover all things unsaid, even if the end would result in something negative.

through them, you'll soon learn of spite, of anguish, and bitter contempt.

but for now, you're merely left alone, with only a mantra of words all circling back to dami's words; so many questions left unanswered.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: honestly don't know half of what i wrote + i don't like this as much as i wanted it to come out. this went through multiple revisions with an added fact of me trying to discern why my writing style keeps fluctuating 😭 guys please comment about what you think of this. if this flops, i'm gonna quit writing LMAO. this is a bit more formal than my usual style (re: again & again) because i wanted to capture the regality of the al ghul's family partly told through the perspective of a child.

taglist: @th0rn118, @obsessedwithromance @rogueofbullshit @ch1cky-093, @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd, @confused-they @biiibs01, @ghostdoodlen, @earlqurl, @chericia, @herebyaccident0, @ilovemyhusbandnanami, @mintynilla, @lilyalone, @anonymousdisco, @plsfckmedxddy, @maria-figueiredo, @143637-hrrm, @neerathebrightstar, @jsprien213, @realifezompire, @sammytheotakunerd, @sh4rk-k1d, @confused-they, @peptox, @lillian-morningstar.

[annoyance-for-u]

He's so fucking adorbs man

You've heard of a yandere having their plans foiled by a too-willing Reader. How about a yandere who is sabotaged by their own clumsiness? Hear me out pls. Content: gender neutral reader, male yandere, obsessive behavior, parody

Clumsy!Yandere who is obsessed with you but cannot properly show it due to his repeated failures. He does his best to stalk you, but he always ends up getting lost. Christ, you're a fast walker. Did you have to pick the busiest street? He's tried to counter it by hiding a tracker in your bag, but on multiple occasions he stumbled upon a dead end, staring at his phone map with a shameful grimace. Perhaps that wasn't the right turn, after all. How was he supposed to know where north is? Sigh.

Clumsy!Yandere who has tried many times to let you know about his unhinged feelings. Most recently, he sent you a long letter confessing his maddening love for you, how he wishes you wouldn't look at anyone else but him, how he's often considered just cutting up all those pesky acquaintances of yours. Then you'd have time just for him. You'd smile for him only. The next day, you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "You're my best friend, too", you exclaimed cheerfully. He demanded to see the envelope, then stared at the contents in disbelief. He forgot to include half the pages.

Clumsy!Yandere who is close to giving up on kidnapping you, because he always messes up somehow. He successfully managed to break into your apartment at night, determined to cuff you away. Your bed was empty. "Where the hell are you?", you texted him. "I thought we're having a sleepover at your place. I've been knocking for 10 minutes already." Ah. He gathered his tools, embarrassed, and scurried back home.

Clumsy!Yandere who had to call you in hiccups because he couldn't untie himself anymore. He wanted to practice his rope skills in case you'll end up rejecting him, but the knots refused to come undone. You found him tangled next to his bed. "Don't worry, your secret kink is safe with me", you told him reassuringly. He wanted to vanish in that instant.

Clumsy!Yandere who wanted to pull you in a possessive embrace, but instead tripped onto the floor. You helped him up and gave him a worried hug, asking if he's hurt anywhere. A win's a win, he thought to himself with a smug grin.

Clumsy!Yandere who will definitely make you his one day. Just wait. He's relentless in his pursuit. You may have to offer a helping hand, but he doesn't need to know that. Let a man chase his dreams.

[jay-joy113]

Yandere gentleman boyfriend who's an absolute softy for you.

This gigant teddy bear could snap you in two with his juicy biceps but chosses to use them to hold you tenderly.

He will not take you to bed untill you show thats what you want, instead he will do your self care routine with you then cuddle if you want (please do, hes touch starved).

Did anyone say boobie pillows? I certantly didn’t-

When you guys decide its time to do the deed for the first time hes constantly asking if you are alright and saying you can tap out anytime.

Doesn't matter if you are a virgin or not, he will be so loving it will feel like your first time (or better).

He's so cute kissing you and prasing any little noise or expression you do.

Afther care king, hugs, kisses and snacks.

As you fall asleep in his tits he carresses your hair and whisper sweet nothings.

(Im sorry for this shitty post, im absolutly cooked because i decided to spend all my money in books and Edgar Alan Poe will not pay the bills and all i want is to burry myself in some man tits and die)

[specialgradefckr]

thinking about satoru x reader cheating fic, but satoru is cheating on his partner with you. specifically... homewrecker!reader.

WALK WITH ME. WALK. with me. see the vision.

you're not a great person in a general sense. your type is hot guys, yes, but more specifically your type is taken guys. the more taken, the better.

and hey! you don't push men who say "sorry, i'm married" or "sorry, i have a girlfriend".

if they turn you down, that's fine! you're way too hot to chase after a guy, taken or otherwise.

in a way, it's a public service. you get some hot dude who's totally thrilled to be with you, and if you do get the opportunity, you rat them out to their partners without a second thought.

you're not the "affair" type, really. just a one-night stand. no man who'd cheat on his woman is worth anything more than being fucked and discarded, anyways, no matter how hot.

but you like them hot. oh, you do like them hot.

when you spy satoru gojo, the absolute vision that he is, with a ring on his finger, alone at a bar - well. your panties are already soaking.

you expected him to bring you home.

you didn't expect his equally hot husband to be waiting for both of you, stroking his dick and drinking his wine, smiling when you step through the door.

even less expected is the lock clicking behind you, the smiles that grow all too sinister.

the invisible - god, you don't know what to call it, a limb, or what - it pulls you in, stumbling.

when gojo wraps an arm around you from behind, it feels like a cage.

the dark eyes of the husband of the man you planned to fuck peer into you. unbothered. amused.

"you've brought home a nice one this time, darling."

you're starting to think you're a little out of your league.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Another Master List

Original Work:

Again & Again & Again (Time Loop)

🦇New Profile Pin🦇

Welcome to my Domain of Debauchery

Hi, I’m Momo. I am a writer for a fantasy yandere blog. My request blog is only open for original work now, it’s not longer for fandom (once in a blue moon I will dabble).

What you can request: anything. There are no rules because it’s all original work now. For Baki, my rules are simply no incest or Noncon.

This is a fantasy/ horror/ Yandere blog now so I now have creative freedom without worrying about keeping a character ‘in character.’ They can be as insane as anyone wants.

But I still will be writing Baki fanfics/ head canons. (Love my muscular men +Kozue)

If there is a specific original character you have in your head that you’d like to come to life, just let me know. I’ll do my best to make it 🖤

Please Buy Me a Coffee? 🖤

Master list:

Original Work:

Immortal

Insatiable 🌶️

The Sponser

Love Me More

Pinky Promise (Part 1)

Baki Short Stories (Not Yandere):

A Hug (Jack)

Eat (Retsu)

Don’t Push It (Jack)

A Piece of Me (Shiba Chiharu)

Oppai (Katsumi)

Yandere Baki Short Stories:

Mine (Hanayama and Kizaki) 🌶️

Family (Katsumi and Jack)

Him & Him (Katsumi and Retsu) 🌶️

Later (Yujiro)

Pet (Baki) 🌶️

Hold on (Baki)

Extra Eyes (Baki and Hanayama) 🌶️

I’m Here Now (Katsumi)

Promise (Part 1) (Katsumi and Katou)

Promise (Final Part) (Katsumi and Katou)

Katsumi Yandere fluff (Katsumi)

The Edge (Hanayama) 🌶️

Loco (Jun)

Fantasies (Katou)

Training (Katou) 🌶️

All Bark, No Bite (Katou) 🌶️

More (Katsumi)

A Miracle (Katsumi)

Wake Up (Jack)

Awake (Jack and Hanayama)

Three’s A Crowd But Four’s A Party (Pickle)

Belonging (Jack) 🌶️

Fate (Jun)

Baby With My Baby (Katsumi) 🌶️

The Spectator (Hector and Katsumi) 🌶️

Change of Fate (Retsu)

A Game of Cat and Mouse (Hanayama)

Rent-a-girlfriend (Harem)

Courtship (Pickle)

Saccharine Kisses (Matsumoto Kozue)

My Beloved Best Friend (Hector Doyle)

Paparazzi (Hanayama Kaoru)

Covet (Hanayama and Katsumi)

Longing (Part 1) (Katsumi) 🌶️

Longing (Final) (Katsumi) 🌶️

Delusion (Baki)

Destiny (Hanayama)

Genderbend Baki

Bambi, Jackie, and Kaori 🌶️

Head Canon

Suzuna (Sukune)

Jackie

Kaori

Bambi

Taste (Kaori)

Juliana and Oliva

Sonia and Gaia

Humdah Ali Jr

Pickle

Violet Kisses (Kasumi and Jackie)

Violet Kisses (2) (Kasumi, Jackie, & Kaori)

Violet Kisses (Final) (Jackie, Kasumi, & Kaori)

Monster Baki

Haunted (Retsu) 🌶️

Little Mate (Katsumi) 🌶️

The Dragon’s Bride (Hanayama and Jack)

The Corpse Husband (Katsumi)

Harpy Hanayama

Moth Man Pickle

Merman Pickle

Merman Pickle (Part 2)

Merman Baki

How Deep is Your Love (Jun and Katsumi)

Merman Hanayama

Werewolf Jack

Lamb to the Slaughter (Jack)

Lost and Found (Part 1) (Jun and Oliva)

Wonderland AU:

Down the Rabbit Hole (Harem)

Tea Party (Retsu)

The Red Knight (Hanayama)

Yandere Baki Book:

Heart Shaped Wound (novel)

Baki Kinktober 2023:

Day 1: Hector Doyle 🌶️

Day 2: Shinogi Kureha 🌶️

Day 3: Katsumi Orochi 🌶️

Day 4: Doppo Orochi 🌶️

Day 5: Gaia & Sikorsky 🌶️

Day 6: Jack Hanma 🌶️

Day 7: Baki Hanma 🌶️

Day 8: Kaioh Retsu 🌶️

Day 9: Biscuit Oliva 🌶️

Day 10: Katsumi Orochi (lime)

Day 11: Kiyosumi Katou 🌶️

Day 12: Biscuit Oliva 🌶️

Day 13: Hanayama Kaoru 🌶️

Day 14: Nomi no Sukune the 2nd 🌶️

Day 15: Yujiro Hanma 🌶️

Day 16: Pickle 🌶️

Day 17: Hanayama Kaoru 🌶️

Day 18: Izou Motobe 🌶️

Day 19: Pickle & Jack 🌶️🌶️

Day 20: Jun Guevara

[angelicsjn]

how would yanderes react if reader broke up with them? Like completely moved their stuff out and blocked them etc

YOUR SEVEN YANDERES.

A N: Hey, hey. I'm going through all my old requests first, so newer ones will be posted last. I want to hopefully get rid of all the old requests!

A B O U T: You leave the boys.

W A R N I N G S: Angst, the boys being their usual stalkerish and obsessive selves, Jae being Jae... the usual.

— ROMAN BEAUREGARD.

For a second, Roman feels at a loss. His entire life is perfect. Why would you ruin it? Your whole life was made just by being on his arm. Why sacrifice a life of comfort?

He expects you to come back for the first few days, keeping his usual tabs on you, and when he realises that you're happier without him; he's distraught.

How can you live as if you never met? Free and smiling? Why don't you feel how he does?

He keeps his cool. Of course, he does. He doesn't mind going back to square one. He's perfected the definition of patience, and he has it. He will use it.

He will leave you alone, create a false sense of freedom, and slowly come back into your life acting as if nothing ever happened, and since time has passed, you think, "maybe things can be different this time?" Because he seems different.

He's just a good actor. You should have remembered that.

— LATEN REED.

Laten is genuinely devastated. He doesn't understand why. Did you find his little box of memories? No way. He hid it too well.

Was he too much? Too touchy? Too talkative? Did his friends annoy you?

He questions everything in his head until it goes numb.

When he sees you on campus smiling and hanging out with your friends, like you didn't up and leave him, he feels like he's going to go insane.

"Why did you do it?" He asks you, his voice dead against the night sky as you hurry your way back to your place.

Honestly, it's kind of scary. Just you two, in the dark, his huge body and glittering eyes as he pins you down with just his words.

He won't let you leave until you speak. Actually, no. He won't let you leave at all.

— JAE 'NIKO' LEE.

"The fucking audacity." Is all he says before quite literally trashing the place.

He's pissed off, beyond pissed off. In that moment, he doesn't give a fuck about his idol image.

He will post indirects. Mask himself up and stalk the streets to find you.

He sees you at a club, reconnecting with your friends after months of nothing — thanks to him.

As your friends slink away to get more drinks, he slides into the booth, "what the fuck are you doing?"

You can run, but you can't hide. You can't tell anyone, even if you do, nobody will believe you.

He's NIKO. He can do no wrong.

— KAIDAN WOLFE.

Kaidan will wait for you until it the fans notice your absence. When he reads the comments of a potential breakup, it sinks in.

He messages your friends and family, they love him. He's the sweetest guy ever. They feel bad for him.

You're in the wrong. How dare you just... leave? He did everything for you. You were everywhere to him. You ARE everything to him.

He and your family pretty much guilt trip you into going back to him...

"Awh, y/n, I'm so glad you're with him, still. He's perfect for you." They don't even see the obsession behind his pretty eyes.

— HAYDEN WEST.

There's actually no logical reason to leave someone like Hayden. But he believes otherwise.

There's better looking, funnier, smarter, taller, and generally just better guys.

Of course you'd leave. He expected it at some point, no matter how hard he'd try. Fuck, he'd even start going to the gym for you.

This man doesn't eat. He doesn't sleep. Nothing. He's genuinely heartbroken.

Out of all of the yanderes, he's the most realistic and upset. He doesn't even want to see how you're doing without him.

Honestly, you'd go back to him on your own accord because you actually miss being around him.

— JOSHUA WHITE.

Joshua believes that God will reward him with your presence again — in fact, the man prays on it.

Maybe you need a break. A place to breathe. He understands. Life is hard and confusing.

He watches over you at all times, it's okay. He knows you'll come back.

He will leave 'signs' around for you, just little things to slightly drive you insane.

At first, it's, 'Oh. That's Joshua's favourite drink.' To, 'Okay. This is weird.'

When he sees your eyes lock onto his, he knows that his prayers have been answered.

He's calm in this situation. He knows that you are for him. Only him.

— BLAKE CROSS.

"What the.." He mumbles, looking around the villa. You're gone. Like. Gone.

And fuck, is this man angry.

"They took everything, dad! Fucking everything!" He shouts down the phone, his dad on the other end. "Tell Lawson to find their last whereabouts, send it right over."

This man will follow you to the ends of the literal earth, literally. He will not give up. He's relentless.

But he's so sweet with it. He's so convincing. A sweet smile with his dimples, his eyes big and adoring, "Come on. One chance. Let's go to Monaco, just us. You know how much I love you."

You ended up having the best weekend of your life. He made sure of it. You're never leaving him. <3

[2-dsimp]

Put pyrok in bag like how those blondes hold their chihuahua in hand bag-

An introverts lucky doll charm! Introducing Pyrok the People devourer repellent.

[yandere-romanticaa]

I really enjoy the idea of a man like Ayato going into a tea house for some fine entertainment. The entire event is primarily disguised as a business dinner, but the Yashiro Commissioner knows better. He has been rubbing shoulders with this type crowd ever since he was a tiny lad. Besides, the eagerness which his dignitaries display is far too obvious to hide. They cover their grins behind their long sleeves, eyes gleaming with excitement and thrill at the thought of tonight's prospects.

Truthfully, Ayato was just as much of a savage beast as the men around him.

The key difference was that he was better in concealing his more perverse nature.

With a serene smile Ayato enjoyed the show, his eyes never leaving your figure, not even once. It was obvious that you were new amongst the girls, their saccharine grins far too picture perfect to be natural. You swished and swayed your body to the soft drums, making extra sure to highlight the best parts of your body as the table filled with customers in front of you cheered each of you all on, happily tossing shiny Mora in the air.

It was so hard to focus under Ayato's gaze. You knew who he was, everyone knew who he was. After the dance the ladies from the establishment cornered you, asking you questions on what the nature of your relationship was with the handsome commissioner. They advised you to stay docile and sweet in his presence, that you should never make a fuss and by doing so, not only will you never go hungry ever again, all sorts of doors could open up as well.

As expected, Ayato had ended up summoning you for a private show.

It was a very hush hush affair, with him being the only person in the room. He greeted you with tea, cakes and all sorts of tiny gifts which he had prepared before hand. By the end of the evening, you were no better than honey in his hands, hanging onto his every single word and whim, catering to his every desire he could come up with, no matter how small or silly it may be.

Ayato found himself enjoying how free you were, how open you were with your heart and desires. It was refreshing, like sweet spring air after a dark storm and he soaked it up like a sponge. The entire nature of this relationship was also beyond thrilling as it allowed him to unwind after a long and hard day of work.

However, he knew better than anyone that most things in life don't last forever. He could continue to play coy only for so long and since Ayato was not in the mood for games, he decided the best course of action to take was to just buy you out. He had the money and you would surely enjoy the comfort he would provide for you.

It was an ideal situation, truly.

He sat you down and shared his plans, eager to see a happy grin on your face as you chant Thank you, Master Ayato! over and over, as you tripped on your feet in a rush to embrace him.

Ayato typically likes surprises. They keep things fun and interesting, but the one you told him was anything but.

With confidence, you told him that you had no desire to stop working in this place, shamelessly admitting that you enjoyed making the various clientele satisfied with your services, regardless of how dirty it could be. The freedom, the pleasure, it was too much to give up.

His lips formed into a wicked little grin as his felt his heart beat through his chest. In a way, he admired your attitude. It was dazzling just how bold you had become and how you were so unafraid of him.

After that night, you figured that you would never see the man ever again.

Days went on, customers came and went and there was no sign of your dazzling commissioner. That did not stop the whispers and rumors from spreading like wildfire, particularly from the more devious or jealous women which you worked with. Venom would coat their words as they would eagerly remind you of just how you had cost them one of, if not the best customer in the entire nation.

It was difficult to tell whether or not they were celebrating this fact of it they were legitimately upset with you. However, this storm would soon come to pass, or so you had hoped. You always found it a little odd how Master Ayato had just left you to your own devices, how he hadn't bothered to pull any strings or just flat out threaten you for disobeying him. Most men in his position could afford such a luxury because the fallout would be next to none.

It would cost him nothing to just toss you onto the cold, dark street like a wet dog. He would not even need to break a single sweat to make you fall apart.

But your pride was too strong. It burned deep in your belly, the desire to spread your wings and do as you wished. Mora was the key to solve all of your problems and in due time, more than enough was going to be saved for any possible endeavor of yours. On several different occasions you had confessed to Master Ayato that you had wished to buy better make up, prettier clothes and a better house than you had already owned. Not to mention your unyielding wish to explore the world, to see step foot into each nation and see their glory with your own two eyes. You wished to sip on fine Mondstatd wine, to see the bright lanterns in Liyue, to watch the night sky in Snezhnaya.

And he had listened patiently to you, soaking in each word. He would pat you across the head or pinch your cheek and mutter how one day he was sure that all of that would come true.

People always did say that a person ought to be careful for what they wished for. Why?

Because they might just get their wishes granted.

On a chilly autumn morning, shouts rang loudly from outside of your establishment. Confusion was written on everyone's faces as they stared at the main entrance, trying to figure out who was causing the commotion.

Suddenly, the door was kicked down with such brute force that you could not even gasp, the wood simply breaking away from the hinges. Soldiers in armour filled the room, weapons in hand as they shouted about some arrests being made.

It was hard to focus with the commotion around you.

The soldiers were brutes, kicking away and smashing everything in sight. Fine paintings and scrolls were all over the floor like trash, the dashing kimonos and dresses snatched from their stations by feebleminded men, none of which cared for your safety and security.

Cries filled the air the head of the establishment was dragged by two soldiers, their arms wrapped tightly around the woman as she begged and pleaded for mercy, forgiveness and everything in-between. The pristine makeup she had so tirelessly worked on was but a fleeting memory, leaving only large traces of inky black mascara falling down her pale cheeks and messy blood red lipstick strewn across her tiny lips.

It felt like a nightmare come to life.

Like a vicious snake, a handsome man in white garbs had slithered inside the room, his steps so quiet that not even the wind could sense him coming. He clapped a few times, the pristine glove on his hands shining underneath the morning sun as the Yashiro Commissioner stared down each person in the room, his sea blue eyes laced with mock pity.

His voice filled the air to a suffocating degree, so much so that it made you choke on your own breath. There he was, Kamisato Ayato in the flesh, standing proud and strong, like an untouchable arrow seeking its target. He was so charming, so convincing that if you hadn't known better, you too would have bought into his lies.

How could someone so handsome be so adept at spewing such filth? Even as he accused your boss of various crimes, his voice was nothing less than kind and concerned.

He felt less like a man and more like a god. A twisted blend of mercy and cruelty who had been brought down from the heavens to cast judgment on mere mortals such as yourself.

In a flash, his eyes locked in on yours and it was all too clear on what he was aiming for. His gaze was deceitfully sweet but underneath that handsome gaze was an ever growing desire to seek, trap and possibly even maim.

Ayato always thought of himself as at least somewhat of a civil man but not even he was immune to the most basic of human desires. Each man who walked the earth was a beast, it just took some longer to wake up and realize that truth.

Kamisato Ayato had bared his fangs and shot you a grin, not even shying away from his true motives. He never lied when he said that he thought that your dreams were going to come true one day.

He merely left out the part that he was going to be the one who would get you there.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, abuse of power, Christianity, blasphemy, medieval times, corrupt priest, torture devices, abuse, punishment, misogyny, public humiliation, execution of non-named characters

♡ FEM reader

A scold's bridle, sometimes called a witch's bridle, a gossip's bridle, a brank's bridle, or simply branks, is an instrument of mirror punishment utilized by the church to publicly humiliate women who speak out of turn.

And you’ve unfortunately been deemed one of them…

You can only regret it now—wish you’d kept your mouth shut—wish you’d just held your tongue and spared yourself the poetic justice. You’d even been warned—that’s the dumb part, the part that makes the regret even more bitter. You’d been told gossipping would only land you in a world of hurt, and you, brave-faced and foolish, had ignored the advice. And now you’re facing the consequences.

Branks, an awful contraption, act as a muzzle in an iron framework, caging the head—quite like a helmet—a heavy helmet. Tight and trapping, it’s enough to make your head ache after a mere minute of wear. But that’s not the worst part. No, the worst part is the bridle-bit—a metal wedge about two inches long and one inch wide in size, of which they slide into your mouth, pressing down on top of your tongue—silencing you entirely. 

But being unable to talk is only the first and least of many discomforts—as it also makes your jaw cramp up, and makes a humiliating amount of drool run wild down your chin—making you look like some or other rabid street mutt that’s ben muzzled for its own good.

The chunky metal collar you’re made to wear doesn’t help negate that imagery, nor does the bell attached to it—drawing in the crowds to the town square where you’ve been put on display, fastened to the tron for public judgment and ridicule.

Oh, and they are full of it today.

Standing there, an army of justice—warped faces and pointed fingers. The kids throw rotten fruit, and the elders fouler words—calling you a Jezebel. 

At least you’re not alone up there but sharing the burden with a handful of other miscreants. One’s bent over in the pillory beside you—another three stand next to him up on the gallows, shaking in their piss-soaked boots, noose loosely around their necks—soon-to-be hangmen. 

Thank God the worst things are thrown their way—at least they’ll be set free of it soon. 

The poor sinners hang there still as the sun starts to set and most of the crowd’s gone home for the day, crows picking at the jelly of their dead eyes while the town’s church officer leads you away by leash.

With your hands and arms bound behind your back, you stumble barefoot and gracelessly through the streets—yanked along all the way from the town square up the hill to the church at the top for your final ruling. 

You’re made to kneel on the cobblestone where the clergyman chains your iron collar to the wall.

You’d always pitied those put in the jougs, though you’d also thought them deserving—never knowing you’d be one of them someday. Now you know first-hand what being deserving means. In a town as small as this, where word travels as quickly as you can speak them, only a few ill thoughts will turn everyone against you.

Everything is in a state of discomfort, but at least you’ve finally escaped the town people’s heckling—now secluded in the peaceful quiet of God’s house to reflect in solitude. 

Or… at least, that’s the standard procedure for such offenses.

“Alright then, little magpie,” the church officer announces while unscrewing the cruel headpiece.

It’s surprising. You’d for sure thought he’d leave it on. It was your understanding that it’s common for the scold to wear the bridle until morning and only then be freed. 

But in any case, be it by pity or mercy, you’re ever grateful nevertheless and won’t complain. 

But then, promptly after freeing your mouth from the bit, the man takes hold of your exhausted jaw and gives you a grave warning in its replacement, “Speak out of turn again, and it will go back on for another day in the tron.”

Goosefleshed and ashen from the spoken threat, you do your best to abide by it and remain quiet like the other church mice.

To which the father hums pleasedly, “Nod your head for me if you understand now, magpie.”

You do, looking up at him obediently—hoping he’d see it as enough and deem your punishment fully served, maybe even remove your bonds and collar as well.

“Good.” 

He smiles knowingly, then drops your head. Scoffing loudly, “But of course… a bitch will always prefer being free from the muzzle… Don’t necessarily make ‘em well-behaved.”

You flinch at the words, eyes wide, looking up into his gaze, feeling small under the weight as he leers down his nose at you worse than that of the crowd earlier. 

But what really makes your stomach curl are his ringed hands and how they move to his robes.

“Let’s see if this newfound virtue of yours is true and not just another one of your brazen tricks, shall we?” he suggests, leisurely undoing the knots to his drapes.

“When I’m done, and if you have managed to hold your tongue, I’ll consider you disciplined enough to return home,” he explains, dropping his attire unceremoniously by his feet before taking hold of your chin again. “If not, the bridle will go back on, and we will continue the lesson in the morning and every day onward until your mouth is as honest as if in the confessional.”

Your eyes flicker between his and peaking forward, barely withstanding whimpering when laying your eyes on it—the thing below his belly nearing your face.

“Remember now, magpie, no making a sound—neither word nor moan. I want complete silence.” 

The grip on your chin tightens, and your eyes dart back up to his. 

“Now open that gossiping trap of yours and accept God’s judgment.” 

His other hand holds it in a gentler caress from your face, giving it a few languid rubs before knocking it against your sealed lips, ordering them to open. 

It shocks you—enough to have you swallow a gasp—almost making an illicit sound that would all but seal your fate with the scold’s bridle for another day of suffering.

“Did you not hear me, girl? I said–” Impatient and roughened by his anger, he lets go of your jaw and deals a sharp blow to your cheek next. “Open your no-good sinning mouth!” 

The hand goes to your hair next, tangling within the tousled locks to give your scalp a hard tug.

Again you’re in danger of making a sound but manage to stifle it by screwing your eyes shut—quickly baring your tongue for the priest and pliantly accepting the salty offering placed upon it soon after as if receiving communion on any other Sunday mass.

“That’s it, magpie—” he says then, softer now in praise. “No more tall tales, no more nagging.” His grip eases up but remains to hold you steady as he slowly and rightfully slides his length down to the very back of your throat. Groaning, “Just be a good girl, now. Close your lips around me and suck—and you’ll soon be forgiven.”

You obey, locking your lips around him, tasting the sweat and tang, withstanding gagging as you force yourself into suckling and swallowing the foreign flavors down. 

“Good. You see?” he sighs out in a groan, pleased while fucking your mouth. 

Tangling both hands in your disheveled hair, he sets a rhythm of pulling you away and reeling you back in close—a tempo more than fair for an amateur throat like yours—only just deep and fast enough to make his weighty balls swing and graze your chin on every thrust. 

“If all a woman does is run ‘er mouth—only using it to bitch and moan—they’ll never learn what it’s truly good for,” he gruffs, sinking deeper and settling there, holding your skull in place from pulling back. “But I’ll show yah—don’t worry.”

Your head soon heats up—bleeding red and thick with it—feeling tight and trapped and in dire desperate need to draw air—or at the very least, make some sort of discomforted sound in lack of it—yet under strict order to remain deadly silent. 

“Good god, girl—I’m going all the way down that tight, hot guzzle—” he drawls, bullying deeper—and deeper. Hissing as he bottoms out, “Just the way God intended!”

His hips stutter, wearing your throat like a holster—lips stretched around his fat shaft, kissing his pubes with your nose buried in his well-fed belly.

With eyes rolling back beneath tightly shut lids, seeing spots of light in the enclosing void, you can’t help but flinch when hit with the glob of spit that falls and splatters between your brows. But at least the laughter that echoes throughout the church hall drowns out the sound of your heaving for air once he finally pulls out and frees your throat.

Maintaining a fist in your hair, he keeps you close—your temple to his hip, nose-kissing his strung shaft—struggling to catch your breath while his chuckles die down into humored hums.

“I’ve never had a throat that deep before,” he scoffs with a cruel smile—yanking your hair once again, pulling it back to make you face up. “One might call it witchcraft.” 

Another hard slap is dealt in the same spot as earlier. 

“Are you a witch maybe, magpie?” 

And a third smack. 

“Do I haf’to tie you to the stake next—have ourselves a roast?

Feeling your cheek sting white-hot, you shake your head—fighting to keep your whimpers at bay as silent tears dampen your cheeks—puffing up and rushing with blood post-strike, dulling to a numb yet lingering ache.

He doesn’t show mercy. Instead, it seems the pitiful display only makes him more rowdy—shoving you down to the cold cobblestone with an evil gleam in his eyes.

“Then let’s see you praise the Father,” he barks. “Bow and kiss his holy floor. I’ll judge whether you're a witch or not.”

You’re leash only barely gives you enough leeway to lower yourself. Hands remaining bound up tight behind your back, balled up and shaking in their knots as you bend over until your lips brush the dusty church stone.

“No, not a witch… but—” he hums, though not entirely convinced yet. “A true Christian would savor the taste of God's house.”

Your brows cinch, but you still do as suggested—producing your tongue and dragging it across the filthy tile—collecting dry silt and larger grains of sand—leaving behind a darkened wet trail on the otherwise ashen rock.

“That’s it, magpie,” the clergyman croons with a sneer. “Put that gossipping little tongue of yours to better use.”

You obey, eyes closed, continuing to lick the floor like a dog—fearing worse things would come if you didn’t. Wanting it all to be over and figuring if you just listen, it’ll be done quicker and as pain-free as you could hope.

“But do you deserve it?” he asks then, after a pause of watching you with his cock in hand, tugging it with raspy breaths getting rustier—continuing with a gritty tone, “An unwed woman can only serve the lord if she’s pure.”

His other hand returns to your hair for a third time, pulling you up by the tresses in a stinging grip.

“Are you pure, magpie?”

Goosefleshed by his darkened tone, you cower under his pointed glare. Keenly nodding your head as much as his hand allows.

Still, he doesn’t seem convinced. Huffing, “We’ll see.” 

He drops you again. Now, with a new order, “Turn and bow with your tongue back on the floor.”

You do as he says, though shakily. Gut folding and churning within—throat tight, even under the metal collar, snaring—making your head pound with alarm as you shift on your knees until you’re facing the wall with your back to him, lowering your head down until your swollen cheek neatly squish against the cool stone—tongue splayed out on the earthy rock once again—with your rear raised for the priest’s inspection.

Your nails sink into your palms in the same painful crescents as before while the clergyman lifts your greyed and tattered frock like he’s unveiling a blushing bride—and, similarly to the groom, throws the skirt atop your sloped back, bunched up with the rest of your dirtied dress—leaving your legs and thighs and ass bare to his preying eyes.

He rumbles heavily, pleased by the sight of your pretty little virgin cunt—quivering in the crude and callous open air.

Crouched behind you in perfect level with it, you can all but feel his eager leer rake through you before his finger does—slicing through your pussy-lips and quickly disappearing inside your formerly untouched hole.

You flinch, squirming at the unfamiliar feeling—breaths damp against the ground as you await the verdict.

“It’s tight,” he grumbles, assessing you with a knuckle-deep digit, before scoffing, “But surely… no true virgin is this wet.”

Your eyes widen at the accusation, and he slips his finger out again and stands up with a sigh, “I can’t make sure with a finger alone.”

Then suddenly, he grabs onto of your hanches and lifts your hips higher until your thighs straighten up—and promptly lays his still-hard and hot-blooded member to rest between the cheeks. With his knees bent, a toppling tower over you, he slides through the crevice, rubbing upon your scrunched asshole as he does.

You stir for the first time, but his hold tightens in turn.

“Keep that tongue out, magpie. And don’t you dare make a single sound, y’hear? Or else the branks go back on.”

You fall still—scared in place—eyes screwed shut as his cock falls from the peak of your ass down to your glistened entrance, prodding the small opening with the tip, trying to force it inside, but kept at bay until the narrow ring of muscle finally gave and allowed him to tear through.

“Wheew—undoubtedly a virgin!” he whistles with his head gaining purchase. Groaning at the close fit. “Taut and tight and sensitive—and just perfect for taking seed.”

Meanwhile, you suck in a gasp—tongue still pinned to the floor—only barely managing to suppress the cry that had wanted to follow. 

Choking it down, you nurse yourself through it with a string of deep breaths instead—even as he starts prying further inside—letting your cunt hold the head as he gives it shallow digs, working you open to take his full length.

“That’s it—good magpie,” he moans, pulling you back on his cock by your hips, treading you on like a sleeve. “Take it deep.”

He starts thrusting, and your breath weakens into thin stutters—tongue hanging limply from your mouth all on its own. Eyes glazed, looking toward nothing—rocked steadily as the corrupt priest pounds you like a cheap whore—sore cheek scraping against the stone floor. 

And still, you’re silent—as if having taken a vow.

The only sounds echoing throughout the church are the clergyman’s grunts and the steady fwop fwop fwop of his balls clapping your sopping cunt—almost reminiscent of the church bell’s clangoring.

“Almost there now, magpie,” he chimes from above. “Milk my cock and take my seed in your womb, and you’re forgiven.”

It almost sounds too good to be true. Even as everything aches and you’ve become certain you might just remain mute forever onward, the thought of freedom is enough to bring new hopeful tears to your pitiful eyes. So, as the warmth of his release soils your inside, it’s also joined by overwhelming relief.

A moment or more passes. You don’t take your tongue off the floor, and he remains above you, pumping his load into your deep, dumping it all at depth as if burying some dirty secret. 

At some point, he pulls out—cock now sluggish and spent. You feel its spillage matte on the inside of your thighs—also hidden as he drapes your skirt back in place.

Unbothered with his own clothes, he stands there before your bowed body—now with an accent of full-bellied satisfaction as he pronounces you free of sin in bad Latin—crossing his chest and kissing his knuckle before looking up to the ceiling at the God you’d grown sure he didn’t even believe in.

“Rejoice, magpie,” he mocks while leaning over you to untie your hands. “You’re now free to go.”

But as you lift your head, he still holds out on removing your collar. 

Holding your chin instead, he looks down at you like before, saying, “But it would do you good to remember…” His free hand taps your cheek, softer now but hard enough to make you cringe. “You run that bitch mouth again, and in my church on your knees is where you’ll end up. Understand?”

And just like before, you nod your head for him—still as silent as a church mouse eager to escape the beast’s ugly jaws.

He seems pleased with that and gives you a crooked smile, purring, “Good.” 

He then fishes the keys to your collar from his heaped robes and, at long last, unlocks it from your throat.

And by God, it feels like being set free from hell.

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[heartfullofleeches]

Host + Groundskeeper Reader would be like that one episode of SpongeBob where the crowd cheers everytime he cleans the stage-

Host has an entire crew that'll clean up for them. Heck, they're more for decoration than anything since the stage can revert back to any form with the snap of Host's fingers, but as crazy as he is - you'd have to be a mad man to try and take Groundskeeper's supplies from them.

A contestant is brutally ripped apart by the physical manifestations of their worst fears right beside Groundskeeper, and all their mind has the ability to process is if they have anything on hand to get the stains out of the carpet.

This little cleaning freak drops to the floor and starts scrubbing at the spots of gore with the spare sponge they keep in their coat pocket for a rainy day-

"Well isn't this a nice surprise? Who doesn't fancy a contestant who's good on their knees? Come on over here so I can get a good look at you, Dear."

Humans. Like living, breathing water balloons with all that blood inside of them. Groundskeeper Reader spots speckles of blood staining the host's pearly whites as they draw near. They spit on their thumb, wiping at the smudges like those tricky blotches they see on windows sometimes. Host keeps a straight face, as if he had any other, but underneath that bold smile is a creature man at the end of his cord ready to give Groundskeeper another mess to take care of.

"For someone so obssessed with cleanliness, you have a filthy way of achieving that status. You - I like you. I think we'll get along just fine."

[starscabaret]

Omg, I love yandere cowboy!! I’ll call him David cause the name Lane reminds me of someoneDavid x a chubby reader? You said he’s careful with the reader but at the same time he’s really strong, right? So, he is kinda rough with her while they make love. Him thinking you being chubby you can take it better. At first it hurts a lot but reader gets used to it and even enjoys it

Cowboy Yandere! Lane  x Chubby Fem Reader  ✧.*

pairing :  yandere! lane x chubby fem reader

summary :  quick drabble to this ask, started this last night, edited the best I could. 

authors note : im still alive just busy with college but, im always happy to answer ask if I have time I am more motivated to write if I know itll bring someone joy, please give me feedback on this, it was a biggg task

warnings : nsfw, teasing, first-time having sex, fingering, slight argument, PIV sex, daddy kink, breeding, mating press, etc

You and Lane had been on a few dates ever since he saw you at your local honky tonk bar, on the county line. Since then you two had been almost inseparable, very much due to Lane’s unabashed obsession with you. He took you on dates very often and spent as much time with you as you allowed when he wasn’t working. He was courting you, yes, but you’d never had anyone lay it on so strong. It was bliss, having someone be all about you, especially your favorite cowboy. Lane insisted on you being his “ol lady” after your first date, but you wanted to give it time, and for you, he yielded… for now. 

With no date or plans with your cowboy arranged for the day, you set out downtown for a day of antique shopping and sweet treats. As you are leaving an ice cream shop, a man stops you.

“Hey Miss, where’d you get the ice cream, I can’t find the place?” the kind stranger asks.

And just as you begin to answer him, you hear an all too familiar roar and hum. 

“Y/N ! Get your little ass in this truck now.” Lane shouts from the window of his truck as pulls up beside you and the man. 

Embarrassed by his outburst you turn to the man, “Two shops down, sorry about that sir, have a good day!” you rush out, running over to the passenger side of Lane’s truck cone in hand. 

As you get in slamming the door, you glare at him before he can even speak, “Lane have you lost your damn mind? Screaming and cursing at me in public!?”

“No, I think YOU have lost your damn mind, you know I don’t like it when you curse little lady, and more importantly who the hell was that guy?” he shoots back at you as he darts off down the road to God knows where. 

“Are you serious right now? Just some fucking guy asking where I got the ice cream from.” you roll your eyes at his possessiveness.

“Serious as a heart attack, sweetheart. Now eat it before it melts,” he commands.

“I thought you had business to take care of today, Lane?” you ask accusingly.

“Did, it’s taken care of now. You are coming to my house; I’m making you supper.” he states.

“Ugh you Brute, didn’t ask, didn’t call or text, you’re lucky I walked downtown.” you sigh out irritated. 

The rest of the ride to Lane’s house was a quiet one as you both brewed in your thoughts and slight irritation with one another. You’d been to his home before, when he took you on a scenic walk and picnic around the property for a date and tried to convince you to move in. 

Once you had arrived and settled in Lane spoke up, “Go in the master bedroom and wash up so you can help me please doll face.”

Once you entered his bedroom, you breathed in deeply, it smelled completely of him, of his manly musky scent that drove you crazy. 

Making your way to his bathroom sink you begin washing your hands, it is not long after that Lane’s tall form is pressed against your plump backside. 

“Hi, honeybee,” he spoke as he wrapped his arms around your waist. 

“Hi Lane.” you purred as you leaned into him.

“Come sit with me on the bed, we have time.” he spoke as he took your hand guiding you back into his neat and rustic bedroom. 

Sitting you on his lap he begins to kiss all over your face and down to your neck. Your hands move to wrap around his neck and steady yourself.  

His lips meet yours as his hand presses at the back of your head, as you launch into a searing kiss. Tongues down one another’s throat, as you suck and caress each other’s tongue with urgency. 

The kiss creates a warmth in your core, like everything else about him. You could be embarrassed but it is impossible to not feel him hardening beneath your thighs, letting you know he feels the same. 

He reluctantly pulls away from the kiss to stare you in the eyes, as you both attempt to catch your breath. 

He moves his hands down your body to grope and fondle all of your curves with stars in his eyes. 

“Gorgeous girl,” he murmurs. 

He is so entranced by looking at and squeezing your body, that your moans sound like white noise to him. He also doesn’t notice the dampness caused by your pussy crying for him. Or the darkening spot on the zipper of his blue jeans where his tip began to leak precum. 

What he does notice is you, taking off your top. You’re not sure what urged you to do so. Perhaps it was wanting to show yourself off even more, to make him physically drool over you. 

“Aww sweet girl, getting undressed for me? You want me to see more of your pretty self?” he asks as he continues his hands-on exploration of your body.  

“Ugh yes.” you moan out at his teasing praise.  

“Well let me help,” he says as he stands you both up.  

Before you can move to unbutton your skirt, he is on his knees in front of you, face buried in your soft pudgy tummy, as his fingers knead at the fat. He pecks away the skin as he unbuttons and pulls your skirt down.  

The second your skirt is down, and you are left in your underwear and bra, you expect his eyes to fall on your pussy clad with embarrassingly wet panties, but they don’t, his eyes and hands launch to the fat of your thighs. 

“Pretty, thick thing huh? Just perfect for me, aren’t ya?” he asks as his hands run up and down your legs stopping to grope the fat of your ass cheeks and around your hips.

Dumbfounded, you don’t respond, you just continue to stare down at his handsome face in awe as you caress his short dirty blonde locks. 

He rises up from his knees to tower over you, while taking off his tailored t-shirt revealing his chest and torso that is paler than the rest of him due to hours of toiling in the sun. You eye the raised scar on his chest from what you recognize as a brand, the number 4. You recall he regarded it as his lucky number. 

Once his shirt is removed, he wraps his arms around your back, pulling you closer to him.

“May I?” he asks as he fiddles with the clasp of your bra. 

“Please.” you moan out. 

“Yes mam,” he flashes you his big bright white smile. He was elated at your trust and want for him. It created a feeling of fullness in his chest at having you this way, he hoped to have you fully in every way soon. If he had his way it would have been the day you two met.

Once your bra is removed and discarded somewhere in his room, he gently guides you to lie in the center of his bed. You reach your arms out and whimper, gesturing for him to join you. Missing the warmth of his body against yours, and of his large hands laying tender touches over your plump form. 

“I’m coming sweetheart, don’t rush me.” he breathes out teasingly, staring at you almost naked on his bed as he works on unbuckling his belt and pulling down his jeans. 

You try not to stare at the bulge in his boxers. Lane was a big guy, you weren’t shocked. Your eyes avoided his dick, to keep yourself from jumping his bones. 

Making his way onto his bed, straddling your plump flattened thighs, he continues your make-out session with even more fervor. 

Pulling away he brings your hand to his mouth after trailing his kisses from your mouth, to down your neck, and up your arm, finishing with a darling peck to the back of your hand. 

“You want me?” he asks against your hand.

You move your head to nod but stop yourself as you know Lane will only accept a verbal answer, “Please,” you breathe out, breathless from your arousal and activities.

“Atta girl, Lift up for me” he praises as he moves to slide your panties down your hips and thighs, eventually throwing them somewhere off to the side.

You draw your legs up, feet planted on his bed, spreading your legs, to make room for him between them.

Being naked in front of anyone is enough to give anyone anxiety, but since your first meeting, Lane has done nothing but praise your beauty. Just your smile brought him to his knees, practically begging to cater to your every need. By the time his eyes moved down the rest of your face and body, he was enchanted. He always ensured you had some point of physical contact when together, claiming he couldn’t get enough of his “gorgeous girl”.

Your anxiety was low, you were happy to share your body with him, as he had proved he could be trusted with it. Trusted with you, your heart, your every need. 

One of his big hands moves to spread your folds so he can have a peek, “Ahh look at that pretty flower, you been hiding it from me?” he teases. 

His thumb rubs your clit as his other hand holds you open, so he can see all of you. He refuses to have anything hidden from his view. His thumb gently makes its way down your puffy wet folds, to your hole which throbs at the sight and feel of him. 

As your greedy wet hole practically sucks his thumb in, he groans aloud, “God you’re so pretty Y/N, please say I can have you?”

He peers up at you as his hands continue their exploration of your pussy.

“Yes Lane, I want you,” you respond, throwing your head back into his fluffy white cotton pillows. 

“Daddy’ll take care of ya,” He replies moving up to peck your sweet lips. 

His words didn’t even catch you off guard, it was very clear that Lane was the kind of man to provide, lead, and care for you beyond your wildest dreams. Hence why your relationship was moving fast by your standards, of course still much too slow for him. 

With that promise, Lane began prepping you. He swiftly pulls you into his lap, setting his back against the headboard. You go to lay your legs flat in front of you, having no clue about his goal. He stops you immediately, pulling your back to his front, and splaying each of your legs over his muscular thighs, making you wide open to him. His head comes to rest with his chin on your shoulder, looking down so he can see the mess he is making between your legs. 

You feel two fingers enter you as his thumb prods at your clit again. You are beginning to drip all over his hands and soon his sheets, as he works you like some sort of familiar machine. As you feel your climax approaching, he swiftly removes his fingers. You whine out, wanting, no needing them back in you. 

“Don’t worry doll I’m not done,” he whispers in your ear kissing the side of your face and urging you to look at him. 

He plunges his two middle fingers back into you at an alarming rate. Your blush has spread down your chest at the feeling of him fucking you on his fingers. He continues his brutal pace even as he feels your wetness increase.

He doesn’t even come to a stop when you begin to go stiff in his arms, moaning his name loudly repeatedly as your orgasm forces your thighs to tremble and try to close around him. 

“Please Lane” you beg.

“Please what sweet girl?” he hums and asks as his fingers slow.

“You, want you.” you breathe out.

“You know I can’t say no to you” he winks as he takes you off his lap, laying you on the bed.

On his knees between your legs, he removes his boxers and you don’t know what to look at first. 

His large cock is hard and dripping between the deep v shape of his muscular hips, It’s covered in short almost blonde tufts of hair at the base. His balls swing beneath it like they’d been aching for you.

He comes in closer to you, leaning over you, centering himself between your thighs. He lays his dick on your soft fat tummy. Going past your belly button, and letting you feel the warmth, throb, and weight of him.

You both gaze down at the sight in awe, letting out moans and groans at the erotic image. You have to bite your finger to keep yourself from begging him to fuck you.

His hand wraps around it giving it a few strokes before he’s tapping the heavy tip at your clit. 

He groans and moves his other hand to grope one of your breasts as he continues to move his tip through your folds, coating himself in your arousal.

“Beautiful tits, beautiful pussy, beautiful tummy, could you be any more perfect for me?” he speaks up while looking into your eyes. 

“Glad you like it,” you breathe out biting your lip.

“Like it? No, I love it, I adore it, sweetheart. Matter of fact I’m more sure than ever of you being mine. My ol lady, my girlfriend, my boo, whatever you wanna call it. You’re mine. That means no more talking to random fuckers in the street, and no more cursing.” He states hand on the side of your neck rubbing his thumb over the column of your delicate throat. 

You truly didn’t realize how upset he was by earlier events until he slid his whole length into you at once. His hips meeting yours. His bush tickles your clit. Causing you to moan out and your hole to seize around him. He let out the deepest groan you had ever heard from him. 

You could only respond, “Yes Daddy” while sucking in a sharp breath. Even if his possessive almost controlling nature upset you, you did not care in the moment. You were the fullest, wettest, and warmest you’d ever been and it was because of him.

“That’s right darling, and you won’t be bad again. Ill make sure of it.” He responds with hearts in his eyes but sternness in his tone.

He really meant it, pulling his hips all the way out just to slam back into you in seconds. You were wet enough, and he felt your pussy wrapped around him begging for him to move. You knew that Lane was strong as an ox. All-American football player, horse rider, champion bull rider, and all-around farm boy, it wasn’t until now that you realized just how strong his hips, and legs were. He was absolutely plowing you, better than any field. 

He felt so good inside of you, as his dick kept stroking, and rubbing every spot inside you. His strong arms caged you underneath him, as he bent down to kiss your lips, never once slowing in the pace or strength of his thrust. 

You open your mouth to tell him to slow down, to pull out, to let up, but your brain short circuits with him inside of you fucking you so thoroughly. It is not long till his headboard is slamming against the wall with every thrust, which would drown out the sound of anything you had to say.

He continues his powerful thrust only slowing to move your positions a little bit. Now you can catch your breath to speak up, “ ’s too much Lane please, my pussy is gonna hurt.” you breathe out, not mentioning any pain. The pain that did come from the stretch and sheer force was not so much that it interfered with your pleasure at all. 

“Whaddya mean too much doll? I picked you for a reason, I know you’re strong, firm, plump, and beautiful. Perfect for me to use how we both want.” he coos at you as he moves your position into a mating press.

“Don’t tell me you can’t take a dick? A beautiful well-built woman like you?” He asks as he brings his hips up high and all the way back down into you in your new position. 

You give no answer at first too cock drunk, at the feel of him in this new position. You thought you were full before but by god, you thought you might die as his balls hit your tight ass hole, and his muscular thighs held down your own. You couldn’t see him entering you, he was so big and going so fast. All you could see was your tits bouncing over your chubby folded-over body, and his over yours holding your legs up. 

With his arms still wrapped around your legs he falls onto you bringing his chest down to yours, you smell his heady, manly scent, making you moan out at each thrust he gives you. 

His hips do all the work as he continues slamming into you with loud plaps, you hardly notice the drops of both your arousals squirting all over your tummy from the impact. 

“Huh? Making you feel good yeah?” he moans into your neck, his face pressed passionately against yours in an effort to prevent himself from spilling inside you.

Now that was a question you could answer, “Yes!” you scream out as you pulse around his cock. 

“See doll, Daddy knows what he’s doing.” He pulls away to smirk at you. You feel your stomach and your hole begin to quiver around him. With him on top there’s not much you can do to brace yourself except wrap your arms around his neck above you. 

Recognizing the feel of you around him, he keeps at the same pace, his tip hitting the same spot inside of you over and over again. 

You tighten your arms around his neck and hold him close to you as you cum all over his dick. 

“Atta girl” he groans pecking you on your pursed lips. With his hand on your jaw as his thumb lovely brushes over your face, he continues pushing and pulling out of your pussy at a slower pace. You watch as his eyes move down to watch the way he splits you open as your hole still breathes around him. 

It’s not long before he pushes into you with renewed strength. With one last harsh thrust, he buries himself inside of you cumming in his little flower. 

His groan is loud as he falls on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You were perfect, more than I ever could have imagined. Ya okay doll?” he asks turning to you breathing heavily. 

“Yes, lane felt so good” you mewl out, “It’ll hurt when you pull out.” you remark, still feeling him inside of you. 

“To be expected, ya took me so well.” He smirks. “Don’t worry your pretty head about it sweetheart, as soon as I pull out you’ll feel my cum dripping out, that’ll cool ya down.”

“Then I’ll take you to the bath, wash you up, bring you back to bed, and give er’ some kisses, how’s that sound?” he asks.

Caught up in your ethereal look of bliss, after your lovemaking and orgasm, he can’t stop admiring and kissing your hot blushing face. His smile can’t be contained, having you in that way made his heart beat faster than any strenuous activity. You let him have you fully. To take care of you stirred something in him, he could only compare to raising up animals, a good harvest, or a job well done.  

It was now, he realized you’d forever be his favorite thing to care for, his pride and joy. He’d stop at nothing to make you the most kept woman in the world. For the rest of his life, any of his success would be to impress and provide for you. 

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 21

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer.

summary: everyday was exactly the same but then satoru dropped a heavy truth onto you.

trigger warning: noncon in this chapter, approach with caution, it’s quite bleak. disclaimer, i don’t support these behaviours irl.

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • < previous chapter • next chapter >

21. Purgatory

Ignoring Satoru for a beat, you thought about where it all went wrong for you to have ended up in a place like this.

It was hard to imagine let alone comprehend due to the absurdity of the situation. As far as you understood, you were securely tucked away in a small pocket of space underground deep within the Gojo clan estate. Far from the prying glimpses of the residents who roamed the surface, with only passing flickers into the above stolen whenever he made his way down.

You didn’t know all that much about the estate he snuck you into, but given Satoru’s influence and power, you calculated that your chances of escape were slim.

Satoru very likely had you lodged somewhere within the confines of his personal chambers as a result; perhaps it was a space that had been custom-tailored to include a secure underground space for your impending arrival. Maybe those who worked on such a spot had just assumed that he wanted privacy in case people came looking for him, or at least, that’s where your mind drifted to when considering the location. Wherever you were, this place was a secret. You knew that much, especially evidenced so by your fits of desperation manifested as endless wails and screams and begging only for the cries to fall onto deaf ears (if any at all).

Such consideration of your circumstances however left you in a recurring grave predicament.

If you were perfectly contained in a place that nobody else knew about, then your initial fears were surely correct.

You were done for.

You glanced up at Satoru who had your head idly resting on his lap, talking about the traffic on the way back home. You tuned in and out of his words selectively, only picking up on the details you deemed to be important. He often drawled on about the little things, playing pretend with you as the doting lover, so ready to sit back and listen to his words that held onto a darker charged meaning. Maybe he knew that you weren’t truly listening, maybe also, he just didn’t care. Delusion was a powerful motivator, after all.

You considered the possibility of escape again.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried, it was just… that the odds were highly against you. The only way out was up and try as you might, you never once breached even a crack. The basement was impenetrable and your chances, as long as Satoru was around, were unfortunately slim. Besides, had there been such a route way out, then you would have known by now. You searched for it countless times, at least. Whatever work he put into the basement, whoever he had paid to design the damn thing had ensured to seal off every single exit, with the only way out seeming to be from the above.

So yes, to think that this was your reality was a devastating thought and you could never accept it. You could acknowledge it, sure, but you couldn’t accept it. You refused to and yet, he was always there for you when you didn’t want him to be, ready to not quite poison you as Suguru did, but latch onto the whittled-down aftermath of your broken-down psyche, holding onto whatever remained.

“It’s better this way for us both,” Satoru continued to say, combing his fingers through your hair, “you’ll learn to accept all of this one day.”

You closed your eyes briefly if only to imagine what the sky must have looked like; what the air must have felt like, what the warmth of the sun was like—you missed the outside a lot, strangely enough—you were always more indoorsy but now the opportunity was simply just stolen, with no such chance to even try.

Oh, how you missed the side of Satoru that you got to know before he turned… into this.

You’ve had time to process your anger, so it wasn’t like you could become any more resentful than you already were, but the time that had passed, the stagnant resolve of it all—left you depleted and depressed, making you lose your appetite for all things worthy of living. Of eating, of drinking, of moving and simply just… surviving. Living had become a chore and you were alive only out of necessity. It was to the point where you truly had come to believe that being dead must have been more exciting rather than remaining locked in a slowly aging purgatory like this.

And, due to all of the days blurring seamlessly together otherwise, your only break from the monotonous flow, was when you both had the chance to exist together. So all of those silent protests you took when you refused to move from the spot, when you refused to eat, or when you laid awake as he slept and the like—none of it ever had an impact, nor ever mattered at all—not when he continued to touch you the way that he did.

It wasn’t the fact that he repeated it that was the grounding part either, but rather that instead of shutting down all displays of hope, rather than immediately silencing all forms of attempted protest, he would simply… let the situation build. He would the tension rise and would simply just ignore, ignore, ignore. The delusional resolve would push through and it was back to you being simply just ‘stir-crazy’ as he put it, often joking (albeit not promising) to take you out, if even just for a bit when he later had some time spare and whenever you thought that just once, that there could be a break from the usual, you were always wrong. Satoru was dedicated to his schedule, towards his nightly habits; it was just different how he did it every time. Sometimes he would talk before and sometimes he would talk after, but he would always get with you. Always.

There was never a break and truth be told, you were going insane.

It felt surely insulting too, to listen to him prattle on and on about his job that was supposed to be your job, too.

Satoru, after all, like you were supposed to be, was a Jujutsu teacher and he seemed to be good at his job, which was such a difficult thing to grasp. He loved to tell you all about what was happening on a day-to-day basis, often with your head resting just above his knees or against his shoulder while his hands roamed around your body, no matter how much you resisted.

“Come on, [name],” he predictably said, sitting up as he pushed you back up to his level with his eyes pointed at the breakfast table (or that’s what he called it), “you need to eat to live, you know.”

You gulped dryly, watching as he rummaged through the bag he brought back with him, taking out something from way down at the bottom. Takeaway? Your memories recognised it as the very same type from the first time you had split that exact meal with him, Shoko, and Suguru. Your mind raced back to when he did something nice for you and made you feel included as a result, so you wondered what significance there was for today to be a reminder of such memories—or if there was any such resemblance at all—it wasn’t that likely that you were overthinking, especially given how limited your circumstances were.

“You have to take better care of yourself, you know,” he added, nudging forward a plastic container of food towards you, the food being exactly what you tried back then. There had to be something behind this action, surely. You weren’t reaching.

This wasn’t just a usual meal; he was planning something—but what?

“I can’t have you completely wasting away,” he added, reducing his voice to a concerned murmur as he propped the lid off, sliding the chopsticks across to where you sat, “not when we have so much time left together.”

You blinked at the meal and then glanced up at him, wondering what exactly he was planning on pulling. With a weary tone, you cleared your throat before bringing it up, “I’ll eat, but… what are you doing?”

Satoru, being as stubborn as he was, didn’t reply to you right away. He simply watched for you to get started, his intentions unwavering and pushed without pause; he would have you do as he wanted before informing you of anything at all, no matter what it was. Perhaps this was why you both collided so often; you were both equally stubborn against one another but for different reasons. He could maintain his gradually crumbling facade for as long as he claimed able to do so, but the surface he hid under was visibly cracked and it was obvious that, he too, was struggling. You’ve had plenty of time to learn how to read him, and his barely-contained impatience was far from subtle.

All of those smiles he would crack to convey a casual display of ease only to be clenched away by the grinding of his jaw or his fist squeezing as he struggled to hold onto the slipping semblance of control that drifted in and out of his reach. The way he would talk in strained bursts of barely contained anger, going as far as convulsing from the stress that dared to boil away from the stress bubbling within. His life wasn’t easy, that much you could emphasise, but he wasn’t being fair to you when you now had to take on the role of someone who unconditionally supported these parted bursts of lapsing sanity.

Sometimes, he would succumb to these moments of turmoil, letting out punches of barking laughter—something that unsettled you and at other times, he would break himself on purpose and cling to you, just because.

Satoru Gojo may have been the strongest, but you often got to see him at his weakest, so perhaps that’s why he had to hold onto you as tightly as he did.

“Eat,” he repeated, tearing you away from your troubling thoughts and replacing it with something even colder, the mask slipping back on. Satoru was seldom violent, rather more so just… forceful. Thankfully he had never raised a hand at you, even when you bit and kicked and clawed away at him, but his restraint seemed worse than usual today—as if he was at last, finally just as worn down as you were.

This was his own fault though, you thought. You wanted to tell him that lovers, particularly spouses or whatever he was forcing you to take on the role as, didn’t keep their feelings bottled up and locked away from each other. That much you did learn from Suguru, who at least told you the importance of learning to communicate, because sometimes, that was the only thing that could work when nothing else did.

How… peculiar was it that you learned something useful from him?

You sighed as you plucked the to-go chopsticks apart from one another, fitting them into your hand and digging into what he had gotten you. You ate slowly with your eyes flicking on and off at him, who watched you with unsettling focus.

“Good,” he clapped his hands together once, seemingly soothed by the sight, “I’m glad you are still capable of listening to me, because like I said, I’d hate for you to grow unhealthy down here. I can’t have you become sick.”

You nodded wearily, biting back the urge to tell him that you would be healthier if he at least you have even fifteen minutes of outside air a day, knowing that suddenly his careful demeanour would drop and you would be the hypochondriac instead.

Satoru led you back to the sofa when you were both done, helping you settle back against his shoulder. He offered you those crisps that you once, in passing, mentioned you liked, but you didn’t reciprocate his offer. Something was off about how much he was giving you—with how much he was paying attention to you—it was beyond the usual level of care, so you wondered what actually must have happened on the surface.

You didn’t get a fresh flow of news from him, anyway. He was selective with what he disclosed to you and you weren’t too trusting of the information he did reveal on the occasion that he did. Shoko? Suguru? Utahime? He would hold their names hostage to you, taunting you with the occasional slip of a promise that they weren’t completely lost from your life. He knew that you still cared about them, even the one who had hurt you, not quite understanding why didn’t say his own name with the same sort of chime, despite the pain that he inflicted upon you, in his mind, being equal.

He bit his tongue, refusing to find out why.

Instead, it was easier for him to punish you for having feelings that you couldn’t control.

For not making sense, for not existing in the same way that he built you up to be in his head.

“You’d like to see them all again, I’d bet,” he repeated, having already said something similar before tonight.

“Huh?” you blinked, barely catching on that he was addressing you directly that time.

“I said…” Satoru repeated himself, letting the reminder of his words hang in the air before continuing, “That you’d probably like to see them all again, huh? If you behave, that is.”

You sighed again, swallowing away the resentment once more. What even was ‘good behaviour’ anymore, anyway?

“If I behave…?” you half-scoffed, unable to resist a jab at his words, not caring for formalities anymore (yet another habit picked up from Suguru, maybe also Shoko, too), “maybe if you didn’t keep me locked up.”

“You—“ Satoru began before cutting himself short, prompting you to narrow your eyes at his barely contained composure, “—you don’t get it, you… you don’t understand,” he strained, laughing somewhat at what he believed to be a naive response on your end, “I had to do this for your own good, you’re safe down here, don’t you get that?” he asked, seeming to hint at something new, something that he hadn’t yet shared. “You think that I didn’t notice that little stunt that you and Su… that you both, pulled?”

“What are you talking about?” you sighed, trying to sink back into the sofa, finding that he didn’t let you.

Satoru snorted again, sounding amused, “That little stunt of yours back at your hometown,” he replied, keeping his voice eerily calm as he tucked a strand behind your ear, “did you really think you could continue to walk free after murdering a civilian? Even as a witness… you’d be an accomplice, an accessory to a crime,” he hinted, likely referencing Yui.

Remaining sceptical, you glanced up at him briefly before back at the wall. “So you know?” you asked him in an unsurprised tone. “Why bring it up now, though?”

Satoru scoffed before continuing again, “Because, you keep thinking that you have a right to a way out when all I’m doing is keeping you safe from the higher-ups,” he said, relaxing his voice for some reason, “they can be quite harsh, you know. I’m keeping you safe down here along with your little secret. Wouldn’t want that to get out, now would you?”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” you replied instead, “it’s been months since you brought me down here.”

He sighed, realising your point. For a moment, he relaxed but then his features creased into something serious again, as though having a revelation of some sort. “Because, I’ve been keeping something from you, to protect you even further.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, taking the bait.

“…Why do you think he did that for you?” he asked.

“Suguru?” you asked, watching something else glint in his icy blue eyes when you spoke out his friend’s name the way that you did. “He was helping me bury the past, or something like that.”

Satoru clicked his tongue and sucked at his teeth before leaning back, letting you readjust to him or not as you preferred. He unwrapped the bandages around his eyes, tossing them off to the side. “I thought as much too, but then I did some digging. I couldn’t let my once-good friend just commit something so rash without at least trying to understanding why, you know?” he asked you, building up to some sort of unspoken truth. “He used you, [name]. He used you to justify his own issues, because if he actually did so to help you, then he would have stopped at Yui.”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

Satoru let the silence between you build for a moment, letting the implications fester and rise. He brought you down to lay on his lap again with one hand holding rather firmly over your shoulder and the other against your skull. He then took a deep breath, as though he was about to share something heavy with you. “Yui wasn’t… the only casualty, [name]. He took care of your parents, too.”

“Say that again?” you asked, feeling your eyelids flutter as you couldn’t quite process what was said.

“Not long after,” Satoru continued after about half a minute of stagnant silence, “he did the same to his own parents, too. I suppose we should have all seen the signs, especially given what his attitude was like towards non-sorcerers, convincing himself that they were all part of a deeper issue, but…”

You tried to sit up again, finding that the position he kept you anchored down in was impossible to get out of. You wanted answers, but he kept continuing with more and more new information, not letting you process anything at all.

“Wait, though…” you struggled, “what did you say before?” you pressed again, still not having processed the first part of his claim.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Satoru continued instead, smoothing your hair with his palm in a soft, affectionate gesture, “but you still seem to holding onto something that shouldn’t be there with… him, when all he did was just use you to further his own selfish ideology. Don’t you get it, [name]? I’m just looking out for you down here, I’m keeping you safe. So why not… just…have a little trust in me?”

You stared straight ahead, feeling many things all at once. The words finally settled into your mind, not quite believing the extent of what he had claimed, and yet, accepting his words with violent clarity. He was your only source of what went on beyond the surface, after all, so your weakened state of mind accepted his words as truth, even if deep down, refused to believe it. You felt angry, upset, confused, and numb all at once—yet, Satoru still dared to ask for your trust—after everything that had transpired over the summer, after keeping you in the dark both literally and figuratively, he claimed to still be doing this for you.

You shuddered a breath down, letting your tears spill over his clothes. You didn’t argue with him, knowing that whatever he revealed wouldn’t change a thing. Deep down, you wanted to believe that Suguru wouldn’t go that far, but then you remembered the look in his eyes when he regarded Yui being the very same as when he met with your parents—so maybe, just maybe, Satoru’s claims weren’t too far from the truth.

Maybe he did do the unthinkable.

“But, this can’t last forever,” you finally whispered.

Satoru seemed to relax again, his voice growing calm once more, “You underestimate me,” he said, repositioning you once more so that you now laid your back over the sofa, the inevitable finally taking place.

You locked up as he inched towards you again like clockwork, hovering over your body in a way that was almost longing, caging you in between his arms as though you had somewhere to run off to. You blinked up at him, wondering just how he could be in the mood at a time like this, after such casual admission of a grave confession, that his friend, your former lover, abuser, whatever, had inflicted something potentially devastating as the right time to continue with touching you.

“Not today,” you tried to mumble out, unable to focus.

Satoru ignored you, leaning forward instead. His lips ghosted over your neck as he pressed coaxing little damp kisses along your collarbone, his voice growing low and heavy as he took advantage of your disoriented state, having you right where he wanted you.

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” he murmured, pushing his knee in between your legs so that you couldn’t close off his advances, “you don’t have to do anything,” he continued, “just let me take care of everything—of you—I’ll make sure you feel good, too.”

You sighed, feeling exhausted. Maybe he would let you drift off, or maybe if you zoned out with enough focus, you could quicker go back to blurring all of the days together again.

Satoru continued at usual, trying to ensure that the experience was as nice as he could make it (with all things considered), but otherwise repeating the staleness yet again. It was messed up, but you were bored of it—of him. You hated to admit it, that even right at this minute, you missed how Suguru… never mind, you couldn’t do this to yourself just yet. Not now. Instead, you gritted your teeth and screwed your eyes shut, pretending that you were somewhere else.

Satoru in the meantime moved down the sweatpants he had you wear, his hand fumbling to reach and pull at his own trousers. He was already hard; evidenced by his straining arousal that pitched against his underwear, tearing out from the second he let his clothes drop. He used to participate in foreplay, but since then grew lazier, which you supposed guiltily again, that Suguru at least never skipped. You grunted instead as Satoru pushed himself into your hilt, feeling the consequences of his impatience rub painfully within you.

“You’re so tight today, huh?” he commented, finding it difficult to push into you from your lack of arousal given the heavy moment. You struggled to take him in properly, feeling his girth stretch you out, but it was far from pleasant and likely not that nice for him either.

Pulling out of you briefly, Satoru spat down onto his tip, using his hand to rub the saliva and coat his shaft before driving himself back into you. He rocked his hips forward with strained fervour, keeping your knees pried far apart with his hands, wrangling them into all sorts of positions as he wrestled to keep your attention.

You winced as you felt him spear into you, feeling the entirety of his length kiss against what felt like your cervix, causing you to recoil in rhythmic pain. Ragged gasps rolled out of the slip of your tongue as you tried to keep up, finding that you couldn’t do so as fluidly with his gradually increasing momentum, finding that both the coiling pain, as well as his pressing tempo, left you sorely breathless.

Letting your legs fall, he hovered over you by keeping himself steady with his arms anchoring parallel over on the sofa cushioning. Satoru continued to rut his hips, sawing relentlessly into you as time went on, hoping for a better reaction but all that you could offer was strained whimpers and barely choked-out cries, growing frustrated at the result. A chorus of “come on, come on, come on,” could be heard in mumbled-out mutters, understanding that the only time he ever got a response from you was when he surrendered into being rougher than he was more comfortable with doing so.

Wanting desperately to feel wanted back, by the only person that he ever sought out with such intensity and then not hearing those pretty little sounds that he once heard coming from Suguru’s apartment was difficult for him. Such a recurring memory sent Satoru into a resentful stupor, almost, as he too, tried to replicate what he once heard, only for you to never give up in the same way.

His fingers clamped down against your hips, his fingernails bleeding scratched crescents into your soft skin as he grew closer to his release. At last, you whimpered, moaning in pain instead of pleasure, but it was enough to go on; enough to pretend with. His own words fell silent as he too, was brought to pain from pushing, kneading, straining himself into your cunt in a hurried attempt to de-stress, until finally—…

Satoru slowed down in a stuttered thrust, releasing at long last. He ground his hips into you with lazy, languid pumps before he slumped over you in an exhausted daze, feeling completely and utterly spent, barely pulling out of you.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he murmured into your neck, “but one day you’ll see and appreciate it,” he continued, just barely coherently muttering out words that blurred into one another, not quite making sense at all.

All the while you at long, long last, sighed. You were finally able to relax.

Another thing weighed heavily on your mind though.

Even with the heavy truth that Satoru dropped on you, you still found yourself missing… him.

Why?

(Was there something actually wrong with you, after all?)

[abbyfmc]

Yandere Fe/male bully headcanons:

TW: Mention of torture, stalking, physical abuse, psychological abuse, abuse of power and negligence of authorities, sadistic and yandere behaviors, kidnapping & harassment.

Bullies can come from different family backgrounds: Some live under domestic violence; others have absent parents; some have serious traumas that they take out on their victims; or they simply want to demonstrate the power and influence that they and their families have.

It doesn't matter if the bully is male or female, as both are equally dangerous.

A yandere bully would be quite jealous of his target.

I've seen that bullies rarely walk around alone, having at least two or three henchmen or lackeys with them. A yandere bully would be no exception.

You were a love interest who rejected him/her, and now she's/he's out to stalk you and make your school life a living hell.

A yandere bully would HATE to see you being happy with anyone but them.

A yandere bully would follow you everywhere, basically stalking you even possibly in the school/university bathrooms.

A yandere bully will follow you even to your house. First alone, and then with his lackeys.

A yandere bully will not tolerate you having friends, so he will do EVERYTHING to break your friendships.

For example: Making up gossip about you to manipulate your friends or classmates and turn them against you, so that you only focus your attention on your yandere bully.

Yes, a yandere bully will isolate you from the rest.

A yandere bully will love to harass you, because he would be a "sadistic and manipulative" yandere.

Your yandere bully would send his minions to spy on you.

Your yandere bully will publicly humiliate you when you are with friends because of his jealousy.

Your yandere bully would physically attack his love rivals, mostly out of jealousy.

A yandere bully will force you to watch while he physically tortures your friends or any other classmates who have spoken to you.

I think a yandere bully could also have narcissistic, psychopathic tendencies or something similar.

He likes to make you suffer constantly, in order to always be on your mind.

The yandere bully will want to physically mark you and will use anything to do so, such as: knives and razors; weird corrosive liquids; cigarettes; his bare hands (to scratch, hit, choke, slap, and even pinch you); paint; food and drink; and even a hair curler (which was even depicted in "The Glory"). This is fucking terrifying for the victims, as it will cause lifelong trauma and a yandere bully would know this.

After the physical torture, your yandere bully will act as if nothing happened and kiss you (probably by force).

Your yandere bully will have his/her lackeys find a place where neither you nor he/she can be interrupted, or rather, where you have no chance to escape or ask for help.

Your yandere bully will steal things from you and keep them secretly in his house, such as drawings, pencils or pens, or some small object that is precious to you. Like the classic yandere, he/she would make an altar with them in your honor.

A yandere bully wouldn't let anyone else make you suffer at school, other than him/her. This includes his/her lackeys, who he/she would forbid from touching you or talking to you too much without his/her permission.

Did I mention that your yandere bully would punish you in front of the other students? This was as a warning not to approach you again.

A yandere bully KNOWS the harm he does to you or your friends but he doesn't regret it; on the contrary, he justifies his actions by saying that it's "because he loves you"

A yandere bully will never sincerely apologize for their actions, whether towards you or others. As I said before, the yandere bully will always justify themselves in their love for you.

Scream, curse, and fight back if you want. Your yandere bully will always follow you wherever you go.

Did you accept another girl's feelings? Your yandere bully will burn her the next day with the hot curling iron, just because your yandere bully felt jealous for you and anger for that other girl.

-"Did you see what happened today? That happened because you accepted that bitch and not me. You are mine and no one else's!"-.

Did a classmate lend you books? Your yandere bully will tear, wet or burn them in front of the owner of said books (unless they are provided by the school/university); or hit the owner of the books out of jealousy.

Or maybe he'll take it out on you.

Your yandere bully will make your friends leave you, one by one.

As strange as it may seem, a yandere bully will leave love letters in your backpack or desk (lovely according to their twisted way of seeing things); roses (I think it would be more common if the yandere bully is a man); small chocolates and other gifts; demonstrating their, very rare, good mood.

Your yandere bully will force you to accept them.

For this very reason, if you reject him/her, he/she may come into your house and break your things or seriously hurt your family, pets or roommates.

Yes, a yandere bully would harass you even in your home. You wouldn't even be safe in your home. He/she would steal personal items, savings or simply enter your home (only if he breaks the doors or windows, or if he has a copy of your keys).

Yes, he/she will go that far.

Your yandere bully would see you entering and leaving your house, bathing, getting dressed, cooking, eating, cleaning, etc;…and your yandere bully would wish to be there with you so he/she could be with you, kiss you, hug you, touch every corner of your skin and make you his/hers.

I think he/she would use his minions, money, power and influence to keep you somewhere. Not necessarily to torture you, but it could be to torture your partner, a family member or a friend in front of you; or to go on dates with you (more awkward dates than romantic ones).

If he has certain racy photos of you (due to how much he stalks and spies on you), the yandere bully will use them to blackmail you with: -"If you agree to be my boyfriend/girlfriend, I won't tell anyone about your photos."- which the yandere bully would strangely do, since he would have already achieved his goal.

If you tell a teacher or the authorities, the yandere bully will simply use his family's money and power to get away with it, with only a "stern" warning.

In fact, a yandere bully would use his power against the teachers and principal to have you under his mercy and close to him.

-End of part One.

I will continue tomorrow with the rest.