#Yandere x You

[meo-eiru]

Been trying to get a better hang of drawing him, I think he's getting closer to the image in my head

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴊ ᴀ ʏ ʙ ɪ ʀ ᴅ ⸻

“ Safe Home: Night of the Young Heroes ”

Pairing: Dark Jason Todd x Fem Reader Part 5

Summary: He was your safe place. The only one who always keep you safe. And you were his. His home. His love. His first. He promised to always protect you... But did he?

Warning: Teenagers in love, sexual tension and intimate situations.

Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

She ran her fingers through his damp, golden hair, combing it gently as she worked the dye into the strands. Jason sat between her legs, his back resting against her as she applied the color with slow, deliberate care. His head tilted slightly into her touch, eyes closed, shoulders relaxed. It was the only time he ever really let his guard down—when it was just the two of them, in the dim glow of her shitty bathroom, the smell of hair dye thick in the air.

She had never seen him like this before. The real Jason. Not the copy. Not the replacement. Just him.

And God, he was beautiful.

“Wow,” she murmured, voice soft as she ran her nails lightly across his scalp. “You’re so pretty, Jaybird.”

Jason huffed out a laugh, but there was something guarded in it. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it. It’ll be black again in an hour.”

She hummed, tilting her head as she studied him. His sharp cheekbones, his full lips, the way the light made his green eyes almost glow. He looked just like—

"Y’know," she started, a teasing lilt in her voice, "you look just like Dick like this."

Jason stiffened, shoulders tensing beneath her hands. She felt it immediately, the way his fingers curled into fists against his thighs, the way his jaw clenched.

"But you already knew that, huh?" she continued, tone saccharine, like she was talking about something innocent. "It’s why you do this, right? Why Bruce makes you do this. Gotta keep his little Robin looking just like the last one."

Jason swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t answer.

But she didn’t stop. “It’s weird, y’know? You’re like... his twin. Just with blonde hair.”

He flinched, barely, but enough that she noticed. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t start,” he muttered, his voice low, like a warning.

She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "But you're not him," she whispered. "You never will be. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?"

His breath hitched, and she saw it—the crack in his armor, the flash of raw, unfiltered hurt in his expression before he forced it down, burying it deep.

“Bruce never wanted you, Jaybird. Not really. He only took you in because you were a replacement. A distraction, so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he lost Dick.”

His chest tightened, his heart hammering beneath his ribs.

She reached around, fingers finding his, prying his clenched fists open. His palms were warm, calloused from too many fights, too many hours spent swinging between rooftops.

"It’s okay," she murmured, pressing his hand against her chest, right over her heart. "You don’t have to be him, Jaybird. You never did."

Jason exhaled shakily, eyes fixed on where their hands met.

"He doesn’t want me," he finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

She hated the way he sounded. Like he had always known it. Like it wasn’t even a question anymore.

"He doesn’t see me," Jason continued, voice raw. "He sees a fucking shadow. A mold to fill. A—"

"A copy," she finished for him, nodding.

Jason's fingers curled around hers, gripping tight, like he was holding on for dear life.

"Yeah," he whispered.

She moved her hand, threading their fingers together, grounding him. "Then fuck him," she said simply. "You don’t need him to see you. I do. I see you, Jason."

His head snapped up, green eyes locking onto hers, searching for a lie. He wouldn’t find one.

Jason’s breath shuddered, his heart pulsing harder. It was like she was saying the things he didn’t even know he needed to hear.

He swallowed hard, then let out a shaky exhale, his hand coming up to rest on hers. He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing gently against hers.

“Yeah?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, strained with something raw he didn’t know how to name.

“Yeah,” she replied, a slow, dark smile spreading across her face. “I’ll always love you, Jaybird. Even if he never could.”

She pressed her lips against his, soft but insistent, as if to pour all the poison in his mind, to drink all the doubts that Bruce had planted in him. As her hands slid around his neck, pulling him in deeper, Jason let himself sink into her warmth, into her twisted comfort.

For once, he didn’t feel like he had to be anyone else. He was just Jason. And that was enough. Enough for her.

But even as he kissed her, his thoughts lingered. She really does see me, doesn't she?

And in the back of his mind, a voice whispered, Maybe... she’s the one who’s always seen me.

The hair dye was forgotten. The world outside of that room was forgotten. There was only her, and Jason’s reflection in the mirror—blonde hair and all.

His breath left him in a shuddering exhale, and for the first time that night, Jason let himself lean into her, let himself be held.

And when she rinsed the dye from his hair an hour later, watching as the last traces of blonde washed down the drain, she couldn’t help but wonder—

How much of Jason had already disappeared down there with it?

The ropes around her wrists were tight. Not too tight, though. Amateurs.

She sighed, legs crossed, perched on a rickety chair in the middle of some dusty-ass warehouse while a bunch of greasy-looking criminals argued over what to do with her.

“Maybe we call the Bat,” one of them grunted, pacing.

“Nah,” another said, shaking his head. “The Bat’s a pain in the ass. We should—”

“Boring,” she muttered under her breath, tilting her head back.

“What?” one of them snapped, turning to glare at her.

She rolled her eyes. “I said boooring,” she repeated, drawing out the word. “You guys suck at this.”

One of the goons—probably the leader, considering how he had the most scars and the least amount of brain cells—stepped forward, scowling. “The hell you say?”

She gave him a once-over, unimpressed. “Look, I’ve been kidnapped before, alright? Plenty of times. And this?” She gestured vaguely at her tied-up state. “Weak. No drama, no creativity. You didn’t even monologue. What kind of low-tier villainy is this?”

Scarface turned red, jaw tightening. “Listen, you little bi—”

A loud crash cut him off as the warehouse skylight shattered, glass raining down. A figure dropped from above, landing right in the middle of them, cape billowing, boots hitting the ground with a solid thud.

And there he was.

Jason. Her hero for the evening.

He straightened, rolling his shoulders, cracking his knuckles as he surveyed the room with that signature cocky smirk. “Evenin’, gentlemen.” He tilted his head toward her. “And lady.”

She sighed dramatically. “Finally.”

“Miss me, princess?” he asked, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. "Hope they weren’t too annoying."

"Oh, they were."

"Figures." Jason rolled his shoulders. "Alright, boys. You know the drill. We can do this the easy way, or—"

The leader pulled a gun.

Jason sighed dramatically. "Oh, thank God. I was hoping for the hard way."

Then he moved.

And it was beautiful.

Jason fought like he lived for this—like every punch, every kick was part of some perfectly executed symphony of violence. He ducked under a swing, spun behind another guy, kicked out a knee, and grinned as someone screamed.

He ducked under a swing, slammed his elbow into someone’s gut, spun, kicked another in the jaw. He was so dramatic with it, flipping over one guy’s head, twisting mid-air, landing in a crouch before sweeping someone’s legs out from under them.

She just sat there, watching. “Show-off,” she muttered.

Jason, currently mid-punch, glanced at her and winked.

She rolled her eyes. Dumbass.

"You guys are making this too easy!" Jason taunted, dodging a knife and slamming his escrima stick into someone’s ribs. "C’mon! At least try to make me sweat!"

The last guy standing made a run for it. Jason sighed, pulled a batarang from his belt, and chucked it without even looking. It nailed the guy right in the back of the head.

"Night, night," Jason quipped as the guy face-planted.

Then he turned to her, hands on his hips. "Now, let’s get you outta there, princess."

She huffed. "Took you long enough."

Jason grinned, stepping behind her to untie the ropes. "C’mon, doll. You love it when I save you."

"I could’ve handled it myself."

"Mmmhmm. Sure you could’ve."

He knelt in front of her, his hands working quickly to untie the ropes, his fingers brushing against her skin with a shocking tenderness.

“Thanks for the save...” she whisper, the teasing in her voice light, but underneath, there was a spark of something else—a warmth that she couldn’t ignore.

Then, before she could react, he lunged forward, grabbed the back of her chair, and tipped it back.

She gasped as the world tilted—but before she could hit the ground, Jason caught her, spinning her up into his arms like something straight out of a damn movie.

She landed against his chest, his arm strong around her waist, his other hand tipping her chin up.

Jason smirked, “Anything for you, sweetheart.” He gave her a playful wink, “You sure you didn’t miss me?” he asked, his voice playful but with a hint of something deeper.

“I was starting to think you forgot about me,” she replied with a roll of her eyes, even as she leaned into him.

“Oh, I could never forget about you.” His voice softened for a second, just a flicker of something real before the cocky grin was back, wide and dangerous. “Now, let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

He spun her into his arms suddenly, lifting her with ease as if she weighed nothing. She gasped, a little taken aback by the suddenness of it, but he just flashed her that grin again, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“You’re not gonna drop me, are you?” she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.

“Me? Drop you?” Jason raised an eyebrow as if the idea was preposterous. “Sweetheart, I’m not that cruel.” He held her effortlessly, twirling her around once, then pulling her close again, his lips brushing her cheek as he whispered, “Besides, I’d never let anything happen to you. You’re too damn precious.”

Her heart skipped. Just for a second.

She blinked. “Oh my God, you’re such a dork.”

His hand was on her chin, gently lifting her face so that she was looking into his eyes.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmured, the cocky bravado slipping away for just a moment, replaced by something softer. “You’re safe.”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment settle in her chest. She nodded slowly. “I know, Jaybird. I know.”

He just laughed. “You know,” he said with a wink, his voice flirtatious and teasing, “I think I deserve a reward for my heroic efforts.”

Before she could reply, he leaned in and kissed her—deep, passionate, and all-consuming. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them. Her heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears, as she melted into the kiss, forgetting for a moment about the danger, the fear, and the chaos. There was only him. Always him.

"Are you two done?"

Jason groaned against her lips. “Jesus, old man, can I have a moment?”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, but there was something else in his gaze—a flicker of something that resembled fond exasperation. “If you’re going to play games, at least get out of here before more criminals show up.”

Jason chuckled, shifting her so she was resting against him more comfortably. “Oh, we’re going, old man. But I’m not done with her just yet.”

Bruce’s glare intensified.

She snickered. Jason huffed, dropping his forehead against hers. “This is why we don’t invite him.”

Bruce’s glare could’ve melted steel, but Jason was already striding toward the exit, she was still in his arms. "We’ll be fine, Bruce. Don’t worry. I’ve got her."

As they walked out into the night, Jason's smirk never wavered. He was the hero. He was her hero. And as long as they were together, that was all that mattered.

Bruce could deal with the rest.

The classroom was silent, save for the scratching of pens on paper and the soft hum of the fluorescent lights. She was seated in the middle of the room, trying to focus on the question on the board, but her mind was racing in a completely different direction.

Why was he doing this to her?

Jason was sitting at his desk, one seat over, a few rows behind her. At least, that’s what she thought—until she felt the subtle graze of fingers against the side of her leg.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She glanced under the desk, catching just a glimpse of Jason’s hand disappearing under the table, inching closer to her thigh. His eyes were half-lidded, the kind of lazy gaze he always wore when he was enjoying himself, a teasing smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

No, he’s not…

She flinched when his fingers brushed against her skin, just above the hem of her skirt. It was gentle at first—just a light caress, like he was testing the waters. But she knew him. Jason never did anything by accident.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She shifted in her seat, but it only seemed to encourage him. His fingers snuck higher, brushing just under the fabric of her skirt, feeling the warmth of her skin.

Her breath hitched. She tried to focus on the board, on the lesson, on the goddamn question about trigonometry that she could barely wrap her head around. But Jason’s touch was too distracting.

“Focus babe,” he murmured low enough that only she could hear. His voice was thick with amusement, like he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

She barely registered the next question on the board, trying not to shift too much in her seat. She had to stay calm. She had to.

But then—pinch.

Her eyes widened as Jason gave her a small, almost playful pinch on the inside of her thigh. It wasn’t hard, but it made her jump, her face flushing with heat.

She shot him a glare, but Jason just grinned, chin resting lazily in his palm, elbow propped on the desk as if he was in no rush. His eyes were heavy-lidded, watching her struggle with a look that said he was enjoying every second of it.

She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the way his touch was driving her crazy. She couldn’t let him win. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

But Jason? He wasn’t giving up so easily.

His hand shifted again, slipping underneath the hem of her skirt—just enough to feel the bare skin of her thigh again. His fingers traced a slow path, just grazing her, pushing her to the edge of what she could stand.

She swallowed hard, gripping the edge of her desk to steady herself. Keep it together.

“Stop it,” she whispered through gritted teeth, her voice tight, trying not to let anyone notice how red her face was.

Jason leaned back slightly, shifting so that his gaze locked onto hers. There was something about the way he looked at her—half-lidded eyes, smirk pulling at his lips, his hand still lingering dangerously close to her skin. He was in control, and he knew it.

“I’m not doing anything,” he teased, his voice low, barely above a whisper. He looked at her like he could read every thought in her head. “Just keeping you company, babe.”

She clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the edge of her desk. This was fine. She was fine.

But then his fingers dipped slightly lower, and she sucked in a breath, her body tensing. It was almost impossible to stay still. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire, her heartbeat thudding in her chest, and all she wanted to do was turn around and snap at him. But they were in class. In front of everyone.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate, trying to block out the growing heat in her chest and the way her body was betraying her every time his fingers brushed against her.

"Alright, Y/N," the teacher’s voice snapped her back into reality. "Could you please answer the question on the board?"

She blinked, caught off guard, and immediately felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on her. The classroom had gone dead quiet, and she realized, with rising panic, that she was the center of attention. Jason was still here, still touching her, and now she had to speak.

Her throat felt dry, and her palms started to sweat. She opened her mouth, her voice shaky at first. “Uh… uh, yeah. The answer is… um…”

Jason’s hand slid higher, his fingers pressing against her inner thigh with a soft, teasing motion.

“Calm down, baby,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. His voice was low, soothing in a way that only made her blush even harder. He knew what he was doing.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, tried to steady herself enough to speak, but she couldn’t seem to find her words. Her mind was swirling, her body burning.

Jason was grinning, his head now resting lazily on his hand, leaning back with his usual attitude, watching her with those half-lidded eyes like this was just some game to him. But to her?

It was torture.

The teacher’s voice cut through the haze of her thoughts. "Are you alright, Y/N?"

She blinked, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks as she nodded quickly, unable to look away from the board. “Y-Yes. The answer is… 42.”

Her heart was racing, but she tried to sound confident, pushing the heat in her face away as best she could.

“Correct,” the teacher nodded, and she quickly sat down, her hands trembling in her lap. She could feel Jason’s eyes on her the entire time.

As soon as the teacher moved on to another student, Jason leaned forward, his chair scraping against the floor as he moved in closer. She barely had time to react before he cupped her cheek in his hand, tilting her face toward him with a grin on his lips.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down her spine. “You held it together better than I thought.”

Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned her face away, hiding the fact that her face was still burning hot. Jason’s hand remained on her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin in that tender, almost possessive way that made her feel dizzy.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. But the moment the words left her lips, Jason pulled back, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“You’re so cute.” His voice was teasing, playful, and yet there was that underlying note of admiration, like he couldn’t get enough of her.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class, and the classroom filled with the noise of students packing up and getting ready to leave. Jason stood up, flashing a grin as he stretched. “Come on, princess. Let’s get out of here before you completely lose it.”

She awoke gasping for breath, her sheets tangled around her as if the fabric itself was trying to hold her down. Her heart pounded in her chest, her body trembling from the remnants of the fear that clung to her skin like a cold sweat. Her throat burned, constricting as if the very air had turned to stone.

Her breath came quick and shallow, heart pounding, and before she knew it, she was slipping out of bed, her feet landing on the cold floor. She knew what she had to do.

Jason.

She padded quietly down the hallway, careful not to wake anyone, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for his door. She knew he’d be up—he always was, especially at this hour. It was the perfect time for him to retreat into his own world, just like she was trying to do.

She pushed the door open, and there he was.

Jason.

The faint glow of his cigarette lit up the room, the smoke curling up lazily toward the ceiling in soft tendrils. Jason sat on his bed, his back against the wall, his eyes half-lidded as he took a long drag, the orange tip of the cigarette glowing brighter in the darkness. The faint smell of tobacco filled the air, an oddly comforting presence that seemed to settle her nerves, even though she hated the smell.

Alfred, of course, would never approve of this, but it was well past midnight. The house was quiet, and the night belonged to them—if only for a few hours.

Jason didn’t say anything at first. He just glanced up at her, those familiar, piercing eyes meeting hers. He knew. He always knew.

Without a word, he opened his arms, an invitation she didn’t have to think twice about.

She crossed the room slowly, her heart still racing from the remnants of the nightmare, and sat down on his lap. The warmth of his body, the smell of his cigarette, and the comfort of his presence instantly made her feel a little less fragile.

Jason exhaled the smoke in a slow, measured cloud, watching her as she buried her face in his chest. Her breath was shaky, her body still tense with the lingering fear.

"Bad one?" he asked softly, his fingers running through her hair, gentle and slow.

“Yeah...” she whispered, her fingers clutching at his shirt. “I hate it. I just…” She trailed off, unable to find the words. She hated how weak she felt after one of those nightmares. How vulnerable, how exposed. But with him, it was different. She didn’t have to explain anything. He already knew.

The tears she tried to hold back finally broke free, one by one, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. She couldn’t explain it—not the pain, not the fear, not the memories. But Jason didn’t need her to. He just held her, tight and steady, his body radiating warmth, as though he was trying to shield her from everything.

Minutes passed in silence, only the soft sound of his cigarette burning in the background, and her soft sobs. His fingers never stopped stroking her hair, never stopped offering comfort in his silent, steady way.

After a while, she wiped her eyes, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “Can I try it?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “What?”

She pointed to the cigarette. “I want to smoke too.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and rich with amusement. “No way, princess. You’re not getting hooked on this shit.” His hand slid up her back, fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her gently against his chest once more. “Not while I’m still around.”

She pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she tried to push against him. “Why not? It looks fun.”

Jason shook his head, his fingers tracing circles along her spine, sending shivers down her body. “You don’t need this,” he said, voice soft but firm. “You have me.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but it wasn’t in the playful way she usually would. It was a quiet, sulking gesture, her chest still tight from the lingering effects of the nightmare.

Jason’s smirk faded into something softer, something more genuine, as he cupped her face with one hand, tilting her chin upward to meet his gaze. His thumb gently brushed over her lower lip, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice low, thick with something she couldn’t quite place. He leaned in just enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her skin before he softly pressed his thumb against her lips.

“Open up,” he whispered, his thumb moving slowly, gently, coaxing her lips to part. And when they did, his thumb slid inside, the warm pressure of it sending a shiver through her body. His thumb moved in slow circles against her tongue, and she couldn’t help but close her eyes, her body responding to the intimate gesture. She didn’t know what to do with the sensation—the way his thumb was pushing deeper into her mouth, the way she could taste the lingering trace of smoke on his skin, mixing with the taste of his cologne and the heat between them.

Her heart raced, but she didn’t pull away. She couldn’t.

Jason leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, the air thick and heady. And just when she thought she might lose herself in the moment, he pulled back just enough to look into her eyes—eyes that were now dark with something deeper than just affection.

“Breathe it in, baby,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Then he kissed her.

It started slow. A gentle brushing of lips, a tentative touch, but it didn’t stay that way for long. The moment their lips met, something inside both of them snapped, and it was as if the floodgates had opened. Her hands roamed up to his chest, pushing his shirt up as the kiss deepened, and Jason’s hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, his body pressing against hers with a desperation that made her dizzy.

The kiss became hungry. Heated. With every movement, the tension between them built, thick and electrifying. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, matching the frantic pace of her own. His hands were everywhere, moving over her skin, pulling her tighter against him.

The world outside the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the heat between them. The pressure. The need.

She gasped into the kiss when his hands slid lower, his fingertips teasing the hem of her shirt. And then she felt it—the brief, fleeting moment of something she couldn’t control. She wanted him. All of him. Right now.

But Jason didn’t rush. He never did.

His hands explored, teasing, as if savoring every inch of her skin. She couldn’t stop herself from reacting, from leaning into him, from pulling at him, wanting more. She was lost in the moment, her senses overwhelmed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his body was pressing against hers.

Jason pulled away, breathing hard, his eyes wild, his lips swollen from the kiss. “You okay?” His voice was rough, more intense than usual. He was waiting for her answer, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face.

She nodded, heart still pounding in her chest. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine.”

Jason gave her a soft smile, his thumb grazing her cheek. “Good. You’re always gonna be fine with me.”

And then, the kiss grew more intense, more heated, and it was impossible to stop. His lips left hers only for a moment, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “I’ll never hurt you.”

A tremor ran through her as his words sank in. His hands were moving beneath her shirt now, fingertips grazing over her skin, making her shiver at the touch.

“I’m not like him,” Jason continued, his voice rough, desperate. “I swear on my life, I’ll never hurt you. You’ll be safe with me. Always.”

She could hear the truth in his words, feel the sincerity in the way he held her, the way he touched her. Her heart ached, her emotions spiraling out of control. She wanted him, needed him in a way she couldn’t explain, but it was more than just physical. It was the comfort, the protection, the promise that she wasn’t alone.

“I’d kill myself before I ever hurt you,” he whispered, his words a dark vow that made her heart stop.

The intensity of it all hit her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. The warmth of his body, the heat of the kiss, the honesty in his voice—it all collided inside her, breaking down the walls she’d built up for so long.

She kissed him back, her hands trembling as she pulled him closer, her body pressed tightly against his. Every inch of her skin was on fire, every nerve singing with the need to be closer, to be consumed by him.

And as the kiss deepened, the world outside of them disappeared. There was only Jason, only the promise he had made, the promise to protect her, to keep her safe. She clung to him, her fingers tangling in his hair, and for once, she felt like she could breathe again.

But it wasn’t just about the kiss. It was about everything—the broken parts of her past, the weight of the nightmares, the fear of being lost. With Jason, she didn’t feel lost anymore.

She pulled away from the kiss just for a moment, breathless, her eyes locked with his. “Promise me,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “promise me you won’t leave me. Promise me I’m safe with you.”

Jason’s hand moved to her face, wiping away a tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen. His gaze softened, his thumb brushing gently across her cheek. “I promise,” he whispered back. “You’ll never have to be scared again.”

And in that moment, she believed him. She believed him in a way she never thought possible, and with him by her side, she knew she could face whatever came next.

For now, that was enough.

MASTERLIST

Next ☆ Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 6.

© luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: hyrbid au, hybrid auction, sex trafficking, suicidal ideations, dystopian laws, subjugation

♡ FEM reader

It’s scary being a bunny hybrid—especially in a world where all natural prey is bred and raised like livestock, then handpicked and auctioned off to society's apex predators.

But then again, that’s been reality all your life.

If the choice were up to you, you’d stay at the farm and become a womb for breeders. Granted, they’re a bit intense, but rabbit bucks aren’t so bad. You would spend your days cozy in the hay, barefooted and messy-haired, with other fellow herbivores—all the cows, mares, ewes, and does out on the pasture, kept safe and far removed from the belly of the beast—free to live out your days never once having to lay your round eyes on an apex at all. 

But such wasn’t your luck...

Of course, you could have fought. But fighting back is never a good idea—you never know if and when they could decide to send you to the slaughterhouse to make rabbit stew out of you instead— keep your fur to make a coat or carpet. They’ll have better use of you that way than they will with a misbehaving pet, after all.

You think about ending it yourself once you’re sitting in your cage listening to the speaker announce a heifer. That’s how the auction goes—typical farm animals first, other domestic species, then wilder exotic ones. 

In an ill-thought way, you wish you were an exotic breed—something with wings or something they’d have to keep in an aquarium—all in all, something a little harder to come by than being a rodent. Rabbits are cute, but they’re a dime a dozen and are usually sold to those who don’t feel like spending too much—trigger-happy hunter types who’re looking for cheap toys that are easily broken and just as easily replaced.

You swallow thickly. Better yet, you wish you were a bigger badder herbivore that required respect—like an elephant or a rhino. No one would mess with you then. 

But there’s no point in mulling over what you’re not. You’re prey. That’s just how it is.

But who knows? Maybe it won’t be so bad. You’ve seen someone come back to the farm after being auctioned. She’d lost an ear and could no longer speak, but other than that, she was alive and well…

You reconsider killing yourself. Suppose, the only thing keeping you from going through with it is the option of doing it later if and when it actually proves to be as bad as you imagine. You’ve never been good at making such decisions. Must be that prey mentality.

“Up next, we have a mini lop bunny,” the speaker announces, and you feel your cage move, carrying you into the spotlight where you can only see bright red eyes glaring back at you. You immediately look away.

“Known for their long ears, button nose, and round eyes—not to mention their docile nature. As one of the most popular bunny breeds on the market, mini lops are a house pet staple. Believe it or not, they’re also intelligent and social, thriving on attention, whether that be playing games or cuddling—making them the perfect choice to anyone in want of a domestic companion or a pet toy.”

You sniffle—crying and shivering, curling yourself up in a little ball within your cage, making yourself as small as possible, hiding from the predatory glares you feel surrounding you. You’ve only seen a handful of carnivores before—the shepherd dog that herds the flock back home being the biggest one. You’ve heard wolves are twice the size. Maybe you’ll be lucky and have a heart attack right now before any one of them can make their bids.

But then it starts. One number after the other. It feels over in the blink of an eye.

“Sold!” the speaker calls. “To the fine grizzly gentleman on table nine.”

Your eyes peel from being sealed shut, staring intently at your lap where you sit with your knees tucked to your chest—frozen and tense and teetering on passing out from lack of breath. Grizzly? You gulp with a swallowed whimper. Did you hear that right? As in bear? 

“No-” You suddenly understand the point of the chains that had been fixed around your ankles and wrists—given they were the only thing keeping you from thrashing against the bars—breaths hitching as you felt the cage being reeled away to make space for the next one up.

A blanket is thrown over your enclosure, engulfing you in pitch dark before you’re carried off and placed down somewhere. The floor shakes beneath you after a small moment. Something purring underfoot. It feels a little different from the carriage you’re used to but you think you’re being moved.

It’s an hour or so until you feel it come to a halt, at which point your cage is picked up and carried off again, then placed down a few moments later.

You can’t see it, but you can smell it in the air—something dangerous. It must be him. The bear that bought you.

You shield yourself once the drape is lifted and you’re exposed to the light again, squealing, “Please, mister—please don’t eat me. I only eat grass—I wouldn't taste good. And- and—I wouldn’t be very filling anyway–” while trembling underneath the shadow of the apex predator before you.

Your jumping heart was expecting nothing short of instant death, though that’s not what ensued. Instead, there’s an unfamiliar sound. A rumbling. Almost like a growl. It takes a while before you recognize it as laughter. 

“Shh, bunny,” the bear chuckles. “Don’t worry—I have no intention of eating you.”

He crouches down before your cage, though still big enough to tower over it. 

“After all,” he says. “There would be little point in spending so much on something only so bite-sized.”

Your eyes flicker to his paw, where it jingles with something. 

It’s a key.

“How about we get you out of that cage? Those shackles don’t look pleasant. I’ll remove them for you.” He unlocks the gate and swings it open, leaving you room to crawl out.

You don’t know if you should. On the one hand, the cage is keeping you safe, but on the other hand, you doubt you can stay in it forever. And who knows what might happen to his seemingly gracious mood if you refuse him.

“D’you—” It’s a silly question, but you don’t know what else to say. “You promise?”

He makes that sound again. Humored by you, it would seem. “Yes, Bunny, I promise.”

You decide to come out and only feel smaller for it, now exposed. But he keeps his promise, removing your shackles. Your eyes are peeled as he does, watching his claws be so close to you. Thick, long, curled, and black. They would puncture your skin and tear into your meat like it were nothing. You go goosefleshed at the thought.

“They always do these so tight…” he sighs. “Utterly unnecessary for domestic species such as yourself.”

You look up at him at that. He’s done this before, which must mean… “Do you—do you have others?” Or has he had others? Meaning… he doesn’t plan on keeping you around for long. 

It’s funny how that overwhelming urge to run makes you go completely numb.

Meanwhile, he looks at you in silence. Surprised at your observation, perhaps, but then he smiles, fangs and all, and you nearly skitter back into your cage.

“You’re quite astute.” Again, he rumbles with a laugh. Then he stands and walks off, setting your cuffs down on a dresser.

You only now realize you’re in a bedroom, of all places.

“I suppose there’s no use in beating around the bush.” He turns around again and leans back against the drawers, arms folded upon his broad chest as he starts explaining, “I run an entertainment business—a fun house of sorts—you might call it a burrow, as my staff is exclusively made up of bunny rabbits such as yourself.”

A burrow? Like back home? Why would a bear be doing that?

“From now on, you’ll work for me. You’ll be trained in the arts of hospitality and pleasure and cater to a clientele of sophisticated apex predators such as myself.”

Hospitality and pleasure? It almost sounds like he means for carnivores to breed with you… But that would be ridiculous. What would be the point? It’s not as if you can carry other litters but kits anyway.

“You look confused,” he chuckles again. “Allow me to explain.” He pushes himself off the dresser. “Unlike most other mammals, bunnies don’t go into heat. No, instead, bunnies are, in many ways, in a state of permanent mating season—which makes you ideal for my intents and purposes.”

You’re not sure you understand what he’s implying. But you’re growing more certain you don’t like it…

“Moreover, bunnies are any hunter’s natural prey,” he continues while walking back toward you. “Making you the perfect meal to fulfill any customer's appetite.”

He pushes the gate of the cage closed, and it clicks back in place, now locked for good and no longer an option of escape, however poor.

“Not to mention…” He smiles again, and this time, you really wish you had a place to hide. “Bunnies are natural sluts.” He crouches back down, closer now, and curls his black claw up under your chin. “All you want is to be fed and bred all day, then fall sound asleep come night.”

You swallow thickly. Your question answered. 

“And since you seem to be a smart cookie. I suppose there’d be little point in waiting."

He removes his tie.

"So, let’s start your training right away.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji ♡ BLLK – Aiku ♡ DS – Doma ♡ HxH – Chrollo

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

[yandere-wishes]

Bleeding flower petals

Yandere! Damian Wayne x Posion! Reader

I've started reading the Vegetarian by Han Kang whilst also reading the Posion Ivy solo series... So this monstrosity is the brain child of that...

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The youngest bat is the scariest. The black-haired menace that blends so seamlessly into the night. He stalks you like prey, like horticulturists stalk weeds. He attacks so impatiently ready to cut you down. And yet sometimes, just sometimes, you swear you see a glimpse of fascination sparkle through his eyes. Like a question, he's too afraid to ask.

But is the inquiry aimed at you?

Or himself?

You are not human, your mother reminds you of that. Whispers softly into your hair making flowers sprout from your scalp, blooming between hairs. You are not human, and your kind does not fear the creatures of the night. Neither bats nor birds may spark fear within your green hearts.

But then why does your body quiver when the Boy-Wonder lands too close?

Why do your lips long to scream and your legs wish to scramble when he touches your skin?

Your mother serves roasted quail with toasted tarantulas and a side of bone marrow butter with seared foie salad.

Instead, all you see is Robin sitting passively on your plate. You feel him staring at you, hear him scream when you chew on the leg meat. You slip the flesh between your teeth, the chewing sounds far too gruesome, the scent suffocating. You try to swallow instead of gag. The bird's meat falls down your throat. You can feel his grappling hook sink into your throat, he's climbing back up. He's going to hurt you again. You try to drown him down the more meat, chewed into mush.

Stay down, Stay down you beg.

There's blood in your throat, thick and sordid like swallowing the sun raw. It leaks into your lungs drip by drip. Suffocating you from within. You cough, your body shakes, chest convulsing, harder and harder trying to spill out the blood. You choke down a pitcher of water. Still, he's inside you. Feel him rattling the bones of your ribcage demanding to be freed.

You apologize under your breath.

He pulls at your thorns, shoves them into the pockets of his uniform. You hate the way he makes you bleed the way his tongue laps at the wounds and smears them across your skin. Aren't Robins meant to be pollinators? Sure they aren't as devoted to the craft as bees and butterflies. But you'd prefer the clumsy job to the way he mauls you.

Maybe this is his way of pollinating you, ludicrous thought that it may be. Maybe he has a reason for all the parts of you that he steals.

Is this what a kiss feels like? It's like being overwatered, your roots drowning in a good deed. His lips are soft like flowerbeds, his fingers digging into your flesh. Damian pushes you off the building edge, you hear your mother scream as you fall. Locked between his arms. Your body lands in something soft, petals tickling your bruised flesh. Still, Robin refuses to let you go. Still, his lips melt into yours.

You hear your mother's voice, but she is too far away. The little bird has snatched you away. You lay helpless within his beak. You hear him mutter sweet words into your hair, but his words can't make flowers bloom. No matter how many times he repats

"I love you"

[heartfullofleeches]

You don't gotta, but can I request one of your yans take care of us while we are sick? I feel terrible, but more than anything, I'm bored because I can't play ffxiv if I can't keep my eyes open... I don't mind which yan so if there's one you really wanna write about, feel free. If you need a suggestion tho, than Miller

Ps the medicine I got tastes like spearmint sweethearts, so it's not all bad at least

Yan Streamer + Sick Reader Blurb

-

"We gather here today to mourn the loss of our dear friend and frequent guest, Y/n. After hours of research, it's clear to me that the cause of their illness is heartache over the audacity many of you have in telling them to ditch me for you. They will be missed, and loved."

"Miller? Are you telling your chat I'm dead again!"

Arising from your coffin of blankets of stuffed companions, you lean off the bed - craning your neck and narrowing your puffy eyes to get a better look at the chat messages flying by on their monitor. Miller, wasting no time as you whence from the odd angle, bolts over to your side - propping a pillow behind your head as they ease you against the headboard.

"Whoa, whoa- Take it easy! Don't want you moving a muscle till you're feeling better unless there's a fire or you have to go to the bathroom."

Patting out the blankets, Miller kisses your forehead. "But you already know I'd carry you out of here if that first thing happened. Tea's almost done and the soup will be ready in about a half hour. Even if you can't stomach everything, a few sips of the broth will be good for you."

"Thanks, Miller." Turning away, you cough into your fist. "I'd be worse off without your help , but you didn't have to cancel your whole stream for me.

Miller places the back of their palm to your cheek.

"That fever must be getting to you. If I could somehow transfer all of your suffering into me I'd do that shit in a heartbeat! Those guys will be fine for a day without me, but if I spent that day with them while you're sick right behind me what kind of partner would I be?"

".... A terrible one?

"Ex-actly."

[cumtastiics]

EMPTY PROMISES / ch.1

yan batfam. elements of neglect.

join my discord server!!! pls 🙏 here

present time.

You sat on your bed, curled up, while the old vinyl player in the corner of your room screeched from overuse. Not that you noticed.

You wiped your watery eyes, brushing away the tears that streamed down your face, your face hurting from how much you rubbed at it.

The scratchy melody echoed your inner turmoil, a symphony of loneliness and despair. Your gaze drifted to the window, where raindrops raced down the glass, mirroring the tears on your cheeks. Outside, the world moved on, oblivious to the storm raging within your four walls.

Your room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. Faded posters clung to the walls, their edges curling inward as if trying to escape. Dust motes danced in the pale light filtering through threadbare curtains, settling on untouched books and long-forgotten toys. The air hung heavy with the scent of stale dreams and unspoken words.

Downstairs, muffled voices and clattering dishes signaled another family dinner you weren't invited to join. Not that they'd notice your absence. You were a ghost in your own home.

You still remember the first few days you arrived at the manor- it always brought a bitter smile to your face.

You traced the outline of a bat embroidered on your pillowcase, a symbol that should have united you with your family. Instead, it felt like a brand, marking you as an outsider. The emblem mocked you, its wings spread wide as if to fly away, while you were left behind.

Bruce, with his brooding silence and rare, fleeting smiles, was like the manor itself - imposing, full of secrets, and impossible to truly know. Dick was the golden child, the first Robin. Even then, the rest of them were just as loved and cherished. Yet, you weren't.

You hated it.

02/04/20XX, 7 years prior.

“Can I call you father too?”

The words were barely a whisper, but in the silence that followed, they rang louder than any explosion. The table was still, the air thick with an uneasy tension. The question lingered, unanswered, hanging between you and the man who had taken you in.

Bruce didn’t respond right away. His eyes flickered up, only for a moment, and then he returned to his dinner, the clink of his fork on the plate harsh against the silence. His expression never changed. He never looked at you the way he looked at them, the way he looked at Dick, or even Damian—no, not even close. His face was stone, unreadable, like it always was. The walls around him were so thick, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what was behind them. But you had tried. You tried for so long to break through, to get him to see you, to accept you in a way that felt real.

But that was never going to happen.

His voice, when it came, was flat, distant. “Just keep it as Mr. Wayne. It'll be easier that way for both of us.”

Your heart sank, and you quickly looked down, pretending to focus on your own food as if it could distract you from the heavy weight now pressing down on your chest. The others sat quietly, as though this was nothing new. As if this was just the way things were. You weren’t one of them—not really.

Damian, seated at the opposite end of the table, didn’t even glance in your direction. His eyes were fixed firmly on his plate, his posture perfect as always. The others had their places at this table. They had earned their places. But you? You were just a guest. A shadow. An afterthought.

Dick was the first Robin, the one who had earned Bruce’s affection through years of dedication, of trust. You’d always admired him, but it was hard not to resent the way Bruce looked at him—like he was the perfect son, the one who could do no wrong. You weren’t that. You were nothing like that.

There was an emptiness to the way things were, a hollow space at the table that you couldn’t fill no matter how hard you tried. The seat next to Dick wasn’t yours. The place next to Damian wasn’t yours. The seat next to Bruce? That one? That seat would always remain empty for you, no matter how many times you pulled your chair up to it, no matter how many meals you sat through, watching them laugh, watching them talk, watching them be a family.

And you, you were just a stranger in their midst.

You didn’t belong here. You never had. The truth of it stung more than you cared to admit.

The room was too quiet. The only sound was the hum of the air conditioning and the clink of utensils against plates, nothing to fill the silence that had settled around you like a thick fog. You didn’t speak again. What was the point? You had already asked the question. You already knew the answer.

"May I excuse myself?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt yourself about to cry, and you couldn't dare to cry in front of them. You'd be too... Weak.

"You may."

You got up, your nails digging into your palms, trying desperately not to cry. Despite that, you were looking down, knowing well looking up would make it harder for the tears to fall.

You pushed in your chair, walking away. You felt the bile rising in your throat, but you couldn't do anything but walk. You hated them all, they were all stupid, undeserving-

"Master (____)?" Alfred's voice cut in. He was the only one who cared, but sometimes you still wondered if he really did care. His tone was gentle, but there was something else beneath it-concern, maybe, or pity. You didn't know which one was worse.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand straighter before turning to face him. "Yes, Alfred?"

His eyes, always so knowing, studied you carefully. He didn't need to say anything to make you feel seen, exposed. It was unbearable.

"You hardly touched your meal," he said, nodding toward the barely eaten plate left behind. "Shall I prepare something for later?"

You shook your head. "I'm not hungry."

Alfred didn't press, though you could tell he wanted to. Instead, he simply gave a small nod, stepping aside as if to grant you passage. You took it, walking past him, feeling the weight of the conversation you had just left behind pressing harder on your chest with each step.

The manor was too big. Too cold. Too empty.

Even with all the people in it, all the noise they made, it was hollow. And you... You were just another ghost wandering its halls, unseen and unheard.

You climbed the stairs quickly, your vision blurring as you made your way to your room. The second the door shut behind you, the dam broke. You pressed your back against the wood, sliding down until you were curled up on the floor, your arms wrapping tightly around yourself as silent sobs wracked your body.

Why did you even try? Why did you keep hoping for something that was never going to happen?

Your fingers traced the hem of your sleeve, gripping onto the fabric as if it could ground you, as if it could hold you together when everything else was falling apart. But it couldn't. Nothing could.

You wiped your face roughly, sniffling as you dragged yourself up and onto your bed. Your hands found your pillow, clutching it tightly as you buried your face into it, muffling the sound of your cries. It was pathetic. You were pathetic.

You weren't special in any sort of way like the rest of them, you can admit that. But that doesn't mean they have the right to treat you like you're not even family... Right?

present day, 2 hours prior.

"Alfred," you called while making cookies. "Did you ask... him yet?"

"Yes, I have spoken with your father. He-" Alfred paused for a moment, debating whether he should continue speaking. "He said he was busy and told me we can discuss it later," because the topic was about you. Not because he was busy. Alfred didn't mention that to you though.

"How can I move out then?" You sighed, rubbing your temple despite the flour on your hands. "He knows I'm still a minor, I can't move out without him signing my documents."

You had finished high school two years early with some program. It was to get some acknowledgement in your own house, but you never got that.

Alfred’s expression remained composed, but you saw the way his fingers twitched at your words. He wanted to say something comforting, something that might make you feel less invisible. But there was nothing left to sugarcoat.

“I understand,” he finally said, carefully measuring his words. “However, Master Bruce has made it clear that this conversation is not his priority.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you shaped the dough with unnecessary force. “Of course it isn’t. Nothing about me ever is.”

You knew it was immature to have so much hate towards people who you never spoke with, but that exactly was the problem.

They never spoke with you, and you never knew when they would.

a/n: sorry this was so short! was rushing to get it out n barely edited

taglist: @1mawh0re @amber-content @foggyv-oid @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @ghostdoodlen @luxuryz3 @soriansick

anyone else who asked to be on the taglist isn't tagable.

[fangdokja]

You were born with the most overpowered ability in existence. You just don’t care.

♡ Yandere! Superpowers AU x Fem. Reader. Golden Hero, DILF! CEO, Host Club! King, Mortal Enemy

♡ Word Count. 1,931

Your life peaked at birth.

That was it. That was your highlight. The moment you inhaled oxygen for the first time, your existence had reached its pinnacle. Everything afterward was a downward spiral of pure, unfiltered misery.

You were born into a world where everyone had a “Talent.” Superpowers. Gifts. Whatever. Some people could shoot fire from their hands. Some could turn their skin to steel. Some could regenerate even after being vaporized into atoms (cheating, in your humble opinion). And you? Well. Everyone thought you were born without a Talent. A poor, unfortunate soul—so talentless, so pathetic, so powerless, so utterly beneath them.

They were right about one thing: You are beneath them. Because you keep your head down and ignore them. Because you have mastered the ancient technique known as not giving a single shit about anyone or anything.

Your real Talent?

You can steal abilities. Copy them. Keep them. Take them permanently if you feel like it. You are, technically, the most powerful being to have ever existed.

But, you see, that sounds like a lot of effort.

So, instead, you ignore everyone, stay in your room, and play video games. You’ve never even used your ability. You don’t want to. You just want to write fanfiction, consume an unhealthy amount of energy drinks, and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist.

Unfortunately, the world refuses to pretend you don’t exist.

────────────

You’re not sure which part of your life is the most miserable—the fact that you were born into a world where everyone gets a unique, flashy ability that makes them feel special, or the fact that everyone has collectively agreed that you are the single most useless human being in existence.

Well, “useless” is relative. It’s just that you don’t give a single damn about anything. You don’t want to be a hero, you don’t want to fight crime, and you sure as hell don’t want to interact with people.

Unfortunately, the world has other plans.

Your entire childhood has been a tragic comedy of errors. Born without a visible ability, everyone—your classmates, your teachers, even your next-door neighbor’s dog—assumed you were just some talentless loser doomed to live a pathetic existence. That assumption made you the perfect target for bullying. Your classmates threw your lunch in the trash. Teachers ignored you. Some particularly ambitious kids attempted full-blown assassination attempts, only for you to dodge them on pure instinct. And all this time, you just went along with it, because honestly? You didn’t care. It’s not like they could do anything to you.

Your life should have been an isekai.

Seriously. The way you’ve suffered? Classic protagonist material. You’ve been bullied, underestimated, and laughed at for years. In a world where Talents were everything, being perceived as powerless was a death sentence. If this were a shounen manga, this would be the part where you trained under a waterfall and came back stronger.

But, nah. You just stopped trying.

What was the point?

Besides, the world had heroes. Annoying, loud, self-righteous heroes who wouldn’t shut up about justice.

———

Then, one day, you got hit by a truck.

Not in an “isekai reincarnation” kind of way, but in an “oh wow, I should be dead” kind of way. The truck, which had been barreling down the street at full speed, collided with your frail, bullied-kid body. The driver screamed. Bystanders screamed. You... blinked in mild annoyance and got up like nothing happened.

It was in that moment that your guardian, the only man in the world who knows the truth, realized just how overpowered you really are. He’s the only reason you haven’t been kidnapped by the government yet. He legally adopted you, locked down any medical records that could expose your unnatural resilience, and made sure no one figured out that you can obliterate entire city blocks with a single thought. All in all, he’s a pretty chill dude. If it weren’t for him, you’d probably be strapped to an operating table somewhere while scientists poked at your brain.

But despite his best efforts, the world still found a way to ruin your life.

Enter the heroes.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Golden Hero who you hate the most.

Loud. Enthusiastic. An unbearable optimist with a voice that makes your ears bleed. He is everything you despise in a person. He bursts into rooms like an anime protagonist, calls you “young one” like he’s in some ancient martial arts flick, and has the audacity to believe in you. Disgusting.

You try to avoid him, but he’s persistent. He sees your dead eyes, your unwillingness to engage, and instead of taking the hint like a normal person, he takes it as a challenge. He’s convinced that if he just tries hard enough, he can turn you into a bright and shining hero like him. You, meanwhile, are just trying to figure out the best way to fake your own death to escape this nightmare.

♡ Yandere! Golden Hero who talks like he's in a motivational TED Talk at all times. Who believes in justice, honor, and the power of a bright smile, which is why he’s utterly convinced you need to be "saved."

♡ Yandere! Golden Hero who refuses to accept your blatant apathy. "Young one! The world is a battlefield, but I will stand as your shield!" Shut up, dude, you’re just making this worse.

♡ Yandere! Golden Hero who sees you, a human embodiment of existential nihilism, and immediately appoints himself as your personal savior. Whether you like it or not. (You don’t.)

♡ Yandere! Golden Hero who mistakes your complete lack of reaction to being saved from a villain as ‘unshakable bravery’ and not ‘I-don’t-care-please-just-let-me-die-in-peace’ energy.

♡ Yandere! Golden Hero who just knows—knows in his noble, justice-infused bones—that beneath your deadpan stare and monotone voice lies a tragic, misunderstood soul in need of his relentless, overbearing affection.

♡ Yandere! Golden Hero who loves justice but, apparently, loves you more, considering how he starts bending laws and morals just to keep you within his reach.

———

♡ Yandere! DILF! CEO who is your guardian.

The only person you can tolerate. He’s rich, powerful, and the reason you haven’t been dissected like a lab rat. He acts like he doesn’t care, but he keeps a closer eye on you than you’d like to admit. If you even so much as get a scratch, there’s a 99% chance he’s already arranged for the person responsible to disappear. Permanently.

You don’t question it. He buys you the latest gaming consoles and lets you rot in your room. You consider this a fair trade.

♡ Yandere! DILF! CEO who is the only person you can tolerate, which is a strong word because you technically live under his roof.

♡ Yandere! DILF! CEO who took one look at you, with your permanent sleep-deprived expression and social battery of a Nokia phone, and said, “Hah. Useless.” Then took you home anyway.

♡ Yandere! DILF! CEO who is the only person in the world who knows your true power. Who laughs whenever you get bullied because, in his words, “Hah! You actually let them put their hands on you?” He tilts his head, amused. “Didn’t feel like turning them into dust today?”

♡ Yandere! DILF! CEO who has trained you to be the world’s greatest heiress-slash-assassin-slash-overpowered-abomination without you even realizing it. (One day, you accidentally dodge a sniper bullet mid-yawn, and the realization hits you.)

♡ Yandere! DILF! CEO who only has one rule: Don’t. Get. Involved. He’s not having another board meeting ruined by some melodramatic hero crying about morality.

♡ Yandere! DILF! CEO who absolutely spoils you rotten—not in a ‘sugar daddy’ way, but in a ‘you-will-never-be-independent-or-escape-my-influence’ way.

♡ Yandere! DILF! CEO who casually destroys entire corporate empires just because someone looked at you wrong. (You don’t even notice until you see an international news report about a Fortune 500 company vanishing overnight.)

———

♡ Yandere! Host Club! King who is too persistent.

Somehow, you’ve also attracted the attention of the most insufferable social butterfly to ever exist. He is charming, manipulative, and refuses to leave you alone. Every time you turn around, he’s there, draping himself over your personal space and saying things like “Oh, darling, why do you insist on being such a recluse? I could show you a whole new world.”

You would rather eat glass.

♡ Yandere! Host Club! King who is every high school girl’s dream and your personal nightmare. Who runs a host club not because he needs money, but because he loves being adored.

“Hi, I’m—”

“I don’t care.”

His eye twitched. That wasn’t the script. That wasn’t how people reacted to him. He had perfected the art of being irresistible.

And yet, here you were.

Reading fanfiction.

In the middle of class.

With your laptop propped up on the desk, an entire paragraph of explicit smut visible to anyone who glanced over.

♡ Yandere! Host Club! King who considers you his greatest challenge. A girl who gives zero reaction? Who doesn’t blush, stutter, or even acknowledge his existence? Unacceptable.

♡ Yandere! Host Club! King who makes it his life mission to make you crack, not realizing that your version of cracking is fantasizing about various ways to disappear from society.

♡ Yandere! Host Club! King who has tried everything—roses, grand declarations, staged rescues. You just stare at him like he’s an interesting but ultimately disappointing lab experiment.

———

♡ Yandere! Mortal Enemy who you think is the only one with common sense.

The only person who treats you like a normal human being, which is to say, like absolute garbage. He calls you names, makes fun of your nonexistent social life, and has absolutely no idea that you could snap your fingers and reduce him to atoms. Honestly, you respect that.

He’s your ultimate enemy, but he’s the only one who hasn’t tried to “fix” you, and that makes him the least annoying person in your life.

♡ Yandere! Mortal Enemy who’s been bullying you since day one, mostly because he doesn’t understand how someone as useless as you keeps effortlessly avoiding his attacks.

♡ Yandere! Mortal Enemy who is the only one who doesn’t see you as ‘a tragic soul in need of saving’ or ‘an intriguing enigma.’ No, he sees you as the most infuriating human to ever exist, and he needs to do something about it.

He wasn’t technically a bully.

He just found you irritating.

You were slow, never reacted properly, had this vacant expression like nothing in the world could surprise or amuse you. You didn’t fear him. Didn’t respect him. Didn’t even bother acknowledging his existence unless he was actively standing in front of you.

So yeah, he might’ve knocked your books out of your hands a few times. Might’ve tripped you in the hall. Might’ve thrown your lunch away when you weren’t looking.

♡ Yandere! Mortal Enemy who, through sheer force of hate and obsession, spirals into the most unhinged, self-destructive form of love possible. (The kind that looks like ‘I’ll ruin anyone who touches you, but I’ll also break my own bones trying to keep you away from other people.’)

♡ Yandere! Mortal Enemy who goes from throwing insults to throwing hands with anyone who dares disrespect his punching bag.

———

What you did know?

This was hell. Absolute, inescapable hell.

And the worst part?

None of them were going to let you leave.

And you? You just want them all to leave you the hell alone so you can finish writing your fanfiction in peace.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @yandereaficionado , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[tnsophiaayaonly]

LUTALICA

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ YOU'RE A YANDERE, WELL, AN EX-YANDERE TO BE SPECIFIC. AFTER COUNTLESS OF TIMES OF KILLING YOUR BELOVED, YOU FIND YOURSELF SUDDENLY GAINING AWARENESS DUE TO SOME VIRUS DISTORTING YOUR CHARACTER FILES. NOW YOU FIND YOURSELF WEIRDED OUT WHENEVER YOU'D FEEL SO INFATUATED OVER THIS GUY, AND YOU SWORE TO STOP BEING WEIRD. UNAWARE THAT YOUR DARLING'S GAINED AWARENESS TOO.

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ MODERN AU. HIGHSCHOOL AU. YANDERE. AETHER, SCARAMOUCHE/WANDERER, XIAO, VENTI, KINICH, ORORON

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ CONTENT WARNINGS: OBSESSIVE/CONTROLLING BEHAVIOR: EXPLICIT YANDERE THEMES AND EXTREME POSSESSIVENESS. OBSESSION AND STALKING, INCLUDING BEING FOLLOWED OR MONITORED. PHYSICAL RESTRAINT & KIDNAPPING: DEPICTIONS OF PHYSICAL RESTRAINT, CONFINEMENT, OR KIDNAPPING. UNLAWFUL DETAINMENT (E.G., LOCKING DOORS, FORCIBLY PREVENTING ESCAPE). CYBERCRIME & DIGITAL MANIPULATION: HACKING, INTERFERENCE WITH PERSONAL DEVICES, AND DIGITAL BLACKMAIL. EMOTIONAL & PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE: MANIPULATION, GASLIGHTING, AND COERCION DESIGNED TO CONTROL OR ISOLATE. THREATS—IMPLICIT OR EXPLICIT—THAT UNDERMINE PERSONAL AUTONOMY. NON-CONSENSUAL ACTS: ANY NON-CONSENSUAL OR FORCED BEHAVIOR, EVEN IF MASKED AS “PROTECTION”. ILLEGAL BEHAVIOR & UNLAWFUL ACTS: DESCRIPTIONS OR DEPICTIONS OF ACTIONS THAT ARE ILLEGAL (KIDNAPPING, DOCUMENT FORGERY, THEFT, ETC.) MATURE THEMES IN GENERAL. MENTIONS OF MURDER. MENTIONS OF BEING AWARE IN A GAME.

: ̗̀➛ note that I DO NOT condone such actions irl, and this is a work of fiction. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. part 1 (scara, aether).

-`♡´- PART 2

╰⪼ XIAO - Quiet Kid

There was something intoxicating about a man who stood alone, who existed behind a veil of solitude so thick it made you ache to tear it apart. Xiao was distant, untouchable—wrapped in a silence so heavy it pressed against your ribs, made it hard to breathe. He was always watching but never speaking, and that only made him more alluring. A man like that—one who locked himself away—made you crave him, made you want to unravel him, piece by piece, secret by secret, until there was nothing left but you.

Approaching him had felt natural, easy—perhaps too easy. Maybe you had been invasive. Maybe you had overwhelmed him. But what was love if not consuming? If not overwhelming?

You loved him. And love meant protecting him. Love meant defending him. Love meant taking a knife to anyone who dared to wrong him, who dared to hurt him, who dared to exist in a world that wasn’t solely his. That wasn’t solely yours.

Every time he looked at you, your breath caught, your chest tightened, your body thrummed with something electric and all-consuming. Every time he hit you—his fist colliding against your jaw, his grip bruising your wrist, his voice laced with venom—you felt yourself sink deeper, deeper, deeper. Because love wasn’t meant to be gentle. Love was meant to be raw, brutal, desperate. Love was meant to hurt.

But your heart is hammering now in a way that is wrong. The rhythm is off—it isn’t the frantic fluttering of infatuation. It isn’t love.

No. It’s terror.

Not of him.

Of yourself.

The realization had crept up on you, slow and insidious, wrapping around your throat, suffocating, refusing to let go. The world cracked open that day, splitting apart to reveal a truth so grotesque you wished you had never seen it. This wasn’t love. It had never been love.

It was sickness. It was obsession. It was something twisted and cruel, something that left blood in its wake. Something that left bodies behind.

So you stopped.

You stopped watching over him. You stopped lingering at his side. You stopped waiting for him to notice you.

And then, you disappeared from his life entirely.

At first, Xiao found relief in your absence. Finally, you were gone. Finally, you had faded into nothing. That was the way of the world, wasn’t it? He was meant to be alone. He had always known that. And you—you had been nothing but an annoyance, a pest, a thorn in his side that made others wary of him, that made them avoid him.

Good.

He preferred it that way. He had convinced himself of that.

Until he didn’t.

Until he noticed the silence.

Until he realized that no one was checking on him, that no one was leaving meals at his doorstep, that no one was shoving their way past his walls just to see if he had eaten, if he had slept, if he had even bothered to take a breath.

You had been there. Always there. Always pushing, always prying, always dragging him away from the edge of something dark and inevitable. Your presence had been suffocating, overwhelming, unbearable—but it had kept the abyss at bay. It had given him something other than his own self-loathing to focus on.

And now, it was gone.

And he hated it.

The first time he saw you again, it was by chance. A fleeting moment. A brush of shoulders in the crowded hallway, the briefest touch of warmth, gone before it could register.

He had turned, expecting—no, knowing—you would be there, clinging as you always did, eyes bright with devotion, lips already forming his name. You should have thrown yourself at him, babbling, touching, breathing him in like he was the only thing that kept you alive.

But you didn’t.

You flinched. Your body recoiled as if burned, eyes widening in something—fear?—before you stumbled back. And then, before he could even process it, you ran.

Cowardly. Pathetic.

The sight of it—the sheer absurdity—made something inside him curdle, twisting in ways he didn’t understand. His hands clenched before he realized they had even moved, nails digging into his palms, his breath leaving him in a sharp, uneven exhale.

You had always been relentless. You had always been constant. He had expected you to be there, to remain, to orbit him like a dying star until you burned out completely. It was a law of nature. You were his shadow, his echo, his ever-faithful devotee.

But you had left.

And that was unacceptable.

He didn’t think. He didn’t pause. He didn’t even acknowledge the decision before it had already been made. His body moved before his mind could catch up, following the remnants of your presence like an instinct, like a curse.

It was only when he stopped that he realized where he had gone.

Your classroom.

Not his martial arts practice. Not anywhere he was meant to be.

Just here.

And there you were.

Alone.

Perfect.

Waiting.

A gift, wrapped in trembling uncertainty, left unguarded.

How convenient.

He stepped forward, silent, a shadow stretching toward you, inevitable, inescapable. The air in the room grew heavier, thick with the weight of his presence. You didn’t notice at first, too lost in whatever thoughts had stolen you away from him.

He hated that.

He wanted to be the only thing in your mind.

“I noticed you’re not watching over me like before.”

His voice, smooth yet edged with something he couldn’t quite name, shattered the fragile quiet.

You startled, shoulders jerking, a visible shudder running down your spine. The reaction sent a slow, burning satisfaction curling through his chest.

Good.

He wanted you to squirm. He wanted you to feel the weight of him pressing down, suffocating, overwhelming. He wanted you to remember what it was like to be trapped beneath his gaze, helpless against it.

Slowly, cautiously, you turned to face him.

Your eyes—wide, startled, flickering with something fragile and afraid—locked onto his, and something in his stomach twisted. He had never seen you look at him like that before.

He didn’t like it.

“Is everything okay? I—”

He hesitated.

He never hesitated.

You stared at him for a long, quiet moment, lips parting, something uneasy forming in your expression before you finally spoke, your voice small, uncertain.

“Hi, uhm... I just... didn’t feel like it?”

Didn’t feel like it?

What?

His expression didn’t change, but something inside him cracked, splintering apart like glass under pressure.

Didn’t feel like it?

What the hell did that mean?

He didn’t understand.

You were supposed to be obsessed with him. You were supposed to be relentless. You were supposed to be his.

And yet, you had pulled away. You had turned from him. You had abandoned him in a way he didn’t even have the words to describe.

He left without another word.

But he wasn’t done.

Because he cared.

And now, he had to make sure you never, ever stopped again.Xiao began to shadow you without you knowing, his presence slipping into the spaces between heartbeats, between footsteps, between the seconds you thought you were alone. His silent, unrelenting gaze followed your every move, desperate to re-create the security he once felt in your presence. He had never known peace until you—until the fleeting warmth you unknowingly offered became the only thing that could keep him grounded. But now, as you drifted away, he felt something far worse than pain.

Everywhere, you felt eyes. Eyes in your room, eyes in class, eyes in the hallway. Even in the sanctuary of your home, the walls felt thinner, the air heavier, thick with something unspoken yet suffocating. The feeling clawed at the edges of your sanity, making you flinch at shadows, second-guess your reflection, your every step. The more you willed yourself to move on—to silence the obsession you once had for Xiao—the more the stare burned into you, relentless, inescapable.

It all came to a head one night. Unable to bear the gut-wrenching paranoia curling in your stomach, you stayed late at school, convincing yourself that being in the presence of others—teachers, janitors, anyone—would dispel the eerie sensation of being watched. But schools were not meant to be occupied past dark. The halls, once filled with chatter, now yawned empty, the fluorescent lights flickering like a dying heartbeat. And when the school finally closed, leaving you with no choice but to step into the night alone, the dread settled deep in your bones.

You walked home, hyper-aware, your head snapping to every shifting shadow. Left. Right. Back. Front. No matter where you looked, you felt the presence—closer than before, pressing against your senses like invisible fingers ghosting over your skin.

And then—

A hand grabbed your shoulder.

You almost screamed. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, arm swinging to strike at the unseen assailant. But before the blow could land, your wrist was caught, effortlessly, as if your resistance was nothing but a fragile illusion.

"Why are you walking home so late by yourself?"

Xiao’s voice was steady, his grip firm but not painful—possessive in its restraint. His golden eyes, once so distant, were dark now, unreadable, bottomless. They bore into you, pinning you in place as effectively as the fingers wrapped around your wrist.

Your breath hitched.

"I—"

"I’ll walk you home."

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command.

There was no room to refuse.

So you agreed.

But you didn’t expect him to take a different route.

Didn’t expect him to hold your hand tighter and tighter until your fingers tingled from lack of blood.

Didn’t expect the slow realization—the creeping horror—that this was not the way home.

"Xiao… this isn’t—"

He stopped walking.

And before you could react, before you could scream, before you could even think of running—

The world blurred. The air vanished from your lungs as his arms encircled you, an iron cage wrapped in the illusion of warmth.

The next time you opened your eyes, the walls were unfamiliar. The air smelled like incense, like something sacred and ancient. And the bed beneath you—

No.

You couldn’t move.

Panic surged through your veins as you struggled, your wrists bound, your breath coming in shallow gasps. A shadow moved in the dim candlelight, and then, there he was—watching you.

Xiao knelt beside you, his eyes a storm, turbulent with something raw, something terrifyingly tender.

"I’m sorry. This is the only way I can keep you with me."

His voice was soft, almost regretful, but the hunger in his gaze betrayed him.

The need. The greed. The unbearable devotion.

It was too much to bear.

He reached out, fingers ghosting over your cheek, tracing the shape of you as if to memorize, to claim. He leaned in, breath warm against your skin as he whispered apologies between desperate kisses pressed to your temple, your brow, your lips. Each one trembling with emotion, each one a prayer, a curse.

For being selfish.

For indulging in his desire.

For making you his karma.

And this time, no matter how much you fought, how much you begged—

He would never let you go.

╰⪼ VENTI - The Free-Spirited Musician

You were always so lost in life—adrift, untethered, drowning in an endless sea of monotony and despair. Everything was dull, every breath drawn out like a cruel mockery of existence itself. Until him.

Venti was sunlight in a world that had long since dimmed for you. He was laughter spun into melody, an ever-burning ember of warmth that thawed the ice in your chest. He made you feel alive for the first time in forever, and that was something you could never let go of.

You became utterly, hopelessly infatuated—no, that wasn’t strong enough. You were obsessed. You craved him the way a dying man craved air, the way a starving soul would gnaw through bone just to taste something real. Just being near him sent tremors of euphoria through you. Your eyes shone like they had never before, cheeks stained in an endless blush, heart thrumming like a frenzied drumbeat. It was maddening. It was intoxicating. It was love in its rawest, most terrifying form.

People noticed the change. One day, you were nothing—a hollow thing, with empty eyes and lips pressed into a thin, lifeless line. The next, you were a flurry of energy, glowing, vibrating with an unsettling kind of devotion. You trailed after him like a shadow that refused to fade, clinging to every word, every note, every scrap of attention he threw your way. Others whispered, wondered. How could someone shift so violently, so suddenly? How could mere presence turn a person from despondence to delirium?

Venti laughed it off at first, waving away the murmurs of concern. He had always drawn people to him; he was used to it. He thought it was flattering—endearing, even—how your face lit up the moment you saw him, how your fingers twitched with the desire to reach out but never quite dared.

But then the disappearances began.

Posters littered the walls, faces of men who had once crossed paths with him—some he barely knew, some he had laughed with once or twice. One by one, they vanished, swallowed by some unseen force, leaving nothing behind but fading echoes of familiarity.

At first, he dismissed it as coincidence. The world was vast and cruel, and people vanished all the time. But as the list grew, as his name was the only common thread among the missing, as your unwavering, feverish adoration never wavered—

He knew.

It had to be you.

Still, he never said anything. He never confronted you. What would he even say? He wasn’t afraid of you, not really, but there was something in the way you looked at him—like you would tear apart the world just to keep him in your grasp.

And yet, something changed.

One day, you stopped waiting for him after class. You stopped lingering near the places he frequented. Your fingers stopped twitching in his presence, your eyes no longer burned holes into his back. You became tame.

And then, you became distant.

It started subtly. A missed lunch here, a forgotten conversation there. You stopped seeking him out, stopped giving him that wide-eyed, desperate look as if he were the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

Then days passed. And passed. And passed.

Until he almost never saw you at all.

And for the first time, Venti felt something foreign stir in his chest. Something wrong. Something akin to loss.

Why did it feel like something was slipping through his fingers?

One day, it was lunch. You were eating alone on the rooftop, the wind always so great up here, the vast sky stretching endlessly before you. It was peaceful—too peaceful, the kind that made your chest feel hollow rather than full.

"Oh, there you are!" Venti's voice shattered the silence, making you flinch. He strolled up to you with his usual carefree grin, but something in his eyes gleamed sharper than before. "How are you? Did you have a great day? Did you miss me? Have you eaten?" He bombarded you with questions, eyes flicking over your face like he was searching for something—something that used to be there but wasn’t anymore.

You blinked, staring at him in disbelief.

"What?" His smile didn’t waver, but his head tilted slightly, studying you. "Where did that passionate devotee go? I miss the love you brought me, even if it drove me nuts sometimes." He chuckled, but it was hollow.

Your stomach twisted, nausea creeping in.

"I always thought your wild devotion was the spark that lit up my days," he continued, plopping down beside you with a sigh, stretching his arms behind his head as if this were just another casual afternoon. Then, his tone shifted, quiet, almost vulnerable. "Now… it’s as if someone turned the music off."

You said nothing. You couldn’t. Because you felt it too.

You had always clashed with his breezy, untamed spirit—your dependency on him, your suffocating adoration, it had overwhelmed him. And yet, despite everything, Venti had secretly enjoyed it. He had basked in the knowledge that someone loved him that intensely. That someone cared so desperately.

But now? Now, you were slipping away. Your passion diluted, your obsession faded. And Venti—

Venti didn’t like that.

At first, he thought he would relish the peace, the freedom. But now, with you sitting beside him like a ghost of the person you once were, staring at him as if he were nothing but a fading dream—

He felt unmoored.

He missed the frantic, fevered glint in your eyes. The way your hands would shake with excitement just to be near him. The way you needed him, so entirely, so absolutely.

And if that fire had gone out—

Well.

Maybe it was time he rekindled it.

You just left. Without a word, without a second glance. As if all the time you spent together, all the laughter, all the stolen moments—none of it had mattered to you.

He didn’t like that.

No, he hated it.

It gnawed at him, a quiet, festering wound that refused to close. He watched—always watching—as you slipped further away, as you filled the space he once occupied with others. He saw how easily you could talk to them, smile at them, laugh in a way that used to be just for him. Why them? Why not him?

No.

That wasn’t how this was going to go.

If you wouldn’t come back to him willingly, then he would make sure there was nowhere else for you to turn. At first, it was subtle—an offhand comment here, a lingering stare there. But when that wasn’t enough, when you still insisted on keeping your distance, he decided to be more... persuasive.

His playful teasing took on a sharper edge, something darker, something crueler. Every time he saw you speaking to someone else, he found a way to fix it. After all, he was well-liked, charming, the kind of person people wanted to please. It wasn’t hard to “convince” others to keep their distance from you. A few rumors, a well-placed lie, a casual suggestion whispered in the right ear—it was all so easy.

And when you finally noticed, when you finally turned to him with confusion in your eyes, with nowhere else left to go…

Well.

That’s exactly what he wanted.

It started small. Innocent, almost. A missing phone here, a misplaced wallet there. Little things. Things that could happen to anyone, right? Maybe you were just being careless, distracted.

But then it kept happening. Your keys would vanish right when you were about to leave, only for him to miraculously “find” them hours later, tucked away in a place you swore you never put them. Your phone would be gone just long enough to make you late for plans—plans that mysteriously fell apart afterward. Your student ID? Your bus pass? They’d disappear, rendering you stuck, stranded. And who else could you turn to but him?

He always had a solution, a spare key, a replacement card, an offer to cover for whatever you lost. With a teasing smile, a playful laugh, he’d hand your things back like he was doing you a favor. Like he wasn’t the one orchestrating it all.

And then came the incidents.

An urgent text in the middle of the night—

I think someone’s following me, can you come over?

A sudden injury—

I think I twisted my ankle, can you help me get to the nurse’s office?

A campus-wide alert—

There’s been a safety issue, everyone should stay inside.

Little things that forced you to linger, to stay just a little longer, to spend more time with him until being around him became routine. Until relying on him became second nature.

At first, it was annoying. Then it was exhausting. And then…

It was suffocating.

It felt like no one else existed. The world outside blurred, grew smaller, less real. The campus, once so big, so full of people, now felt empty. Just the two of you. Just him.

Wait—when did it get this bad?

Wait—when did the campus get so small?

Wait—why are you in his bed?

And why don’t you know how you got here?

i js realized idk how to proofread lmao, anyways, HERE YA GOOO aahhhhh, i've been busy with life

[mizzlotti]

Most Treasured

Tw: A little bit of Isolation, Manipulation and violence towards others. Not proofread

Rich Yandere! Husband who spends every check bit of personal money after investments and bills to make sure to give you the best life possible. Giving the house and car of your dreams. Black card to do all your shopping. Anything you want is guaranteed.

Rich Yandere! Husband who doesn’t let those long hours get to him, still making sure to treat you like an absolute princess. No need to clean anymore. He hired maids. You cook? No you have a private chef on standby ready to prepare any meal and satisfy you cravings 

Rich Yandere! Husband who spares no expense on important holidays like christmas or Valentines day. Dedicating the whole day to you. Showering you in flowers, Trips to beautiful international places, Spa trips, 5 star restaurants, everything you could ever want. Professing his love like he always did because you changed his life in every way

Rich Yandere! Husband who sees a few of his employees and stockholders get too close to you at a company Christmas party. Who feels his face focus on the man forgetting his role before gently pulling you away to say to never trust any man apart from him. He loves you so much, can’t let anything happen to you. Don’t you know how dangerous they are? He could’ve done anything to you, you know? He sighs at you responses and calls the limo to take you home

Rich Yandere! Husband who when he figured out the man that tried to take you from him he showed no leniency to him. In the following weeks working diligently to break down his reputation and character. Paying others to blacklist him for their companies, destroy property, and dig up dirt about his nasty divorce and gambling addiction. He was so relieved when they finally packed up and left, scared for what could happen to him

Rich Yandere! Husband who went home that night to pamper like he always did. Acting as if nothing happened this past few weeks. It didn’t matter anyway. They were a threat to your safety and your love. You were his everything, his most prized possession. He couldn’t let anyone take you. Much less breath in your space.

[jinuaei]

Another pocket spouse au(by @muletia) idea. You know those videos of owners trying to see who's their pet's favourite person? I like to think D-16 and Orion Pax would also do something similar to that, perhaps giving reader a choice on who to spend their time with (even though we all know, given the chance, both of them will crawl towards you instead)

Shout out to Transformers for singlehandedly destroying my art block. I might not know how to draw mecha but goddamn I'm having fun with it.

[cloudedwonder]

𝜗𝜚⋆ (nsfw) thinking of a yandere who just can’t hold himself back anymore.

he’s so overwhelmed by his lust that he can’t help himself from seeking you out. climbing on top of you with tears in his eyes, drool slightly leaking from the corner of his mouth.

he begs you to take control, panting heavily as moans exit his lips. he can’t control his expressions of pleasure, his face twisting into one of desperation as you take the reins and do as he’s asked.

he’s so consumed in his emotions. moaning out praise, trailing on about how ‘you’re so pretty’ but as he does so he’s tripping over his words, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

each time he finishes it’s as though his mind is unable to comprehend. even as he unloads himself inside of you he’s still begging for more, holding his shaking hands towards your hips as he cries and pleading for more.

you ask him for a break and he shakes his head frantically, rushing out his words of ‘no’ and expressing his need. by the end of it all he’s repeating the words ‘please’ as he cums again, brain dead from the sensation.

[dms-saggicorn]

.....Welp. Eyep, a damned priest, is a definite correct nickname below is a series of emotions I felt vvvv

Day 6 of Character Trivia Night!

For tonight we have Micah

Micah is an only child with a mother and a father

He grew up in a small town and his parents were upper-middle class in town standards

They were very religious and paid a lot of attention to always appearing proper. They wouldn't wear the same outfits two days in a row and made sure their clothes were always perfectly ironed

His dad was quite strict with him, not allowing him to play outside and crease his clothes, and made sure he attended church regularly

Micah was never really interested in playing with the other kids so he didn't particularly care about the rules

Even as a child he was aware he was prettier and smarter than most kids around, he was also very apathetic towards others. He didn't particularly care about them but enjoyed when they praised and looked up to him so kept the good boy act

His one joy was growing flowers, because unlike humans flowers are not annoying. If he takes good care of a flower it'll grow up and bloom like planned, it won't betray his plans. Its life is on his hands, if he decides to cut it it'll die, and if he decides to stop watering it it'll shrivel

His parents weren't very into the idea of him taking care of their garden but after seeing he wasn't giving up and that he actually made it look prettier they gave in

He was later on sent to the capital to further his education, joining the cathedral and quickly becoming a high priest

Even away from his parents he continued to live following their teachings. He would wear clean and well ironed clothes, he usually preferred loose fitting ones that didn't show much skin

He also started growing his hair to the possible displeasure of his father, he enjoyed taking care of it and keeping it clean. He naturally had very thick strands but his hair was still very soft

He also quite enjoying coffee, especially with some light sweets accompanying it. Thanks you that he ended up being quite good at brewing coffee and baking low sugar cakes

He was popular with men and women alike thanks to his angelic appearance and polite personality, receiving letters of affection not only from people inside the cathedral but those who simply came to visit it

Soon enough he was more well known than the actual bishop amongst the common people

He didn't really care about ranking up more and taking on the bishop role, he actually enjoyed the fact that he was better liked even as someone of lower status which made the actual bishop quite furious

He was eventually sent to work at a church in a nearby town by the bishop who did not enjoy seeing him around, not that Micah cared. The town was small but clean and well taken care of, he could just live quietly while being adored by those around

He was greeted with many cheers upon his arrival to the church, his fame traveling ahead of him

He greeted everyone and introduced himself, not caring to pay too much attention to the stuff they told him

Around his third day at the church, as he was passing by the inner garden he heard the sounds of giggling

Two nuns in training, seemingly enjoying a conversation between themselves

Micah could hear what they were talking about but somehow it all felt like blank noise, not registering. The weather was nice, he could feel a warm breeze flowing through his hair. The sunlight was just right, making his skin warm and fuzzy but not to the point of making him sweat. He could hear the chirps of birds mixing with their giggles. Everything was so nice, so nice and so clear, and Micah was just standing there. He was just standing there and looking at the nun he seemingly had never noticed before. Was the sky always so blue and full of life?

It wasn't too hard finding more about you as you were on good terms with most people around. He quickly learned that you were a faithful child of god, that your family was quite poor and that you wanted to become a nun in hopes of earning money to help your family

The day he first approached you was an exciting day for you. He's THE Micah after all, anyone would be excited. He was so nice and so easy to talk to, before you knew it you were crying about your struggles and pains as he gently hugged you

You really liked him, he would always listened to your problems so patiently and offer you solutions. With him you felt so seen

At first it started small, Micah bought you the dress you've been eyeing for so long. Then it started getting bigger, he would sometimes directly give you money, telling you to go buy whatever you need

He was like an angel, truly a good person. You thought he must be a savior sent by god to make your pains go away

And so you trusted him, how could you not? He was such a good person, and everyone knew just how good he was. And you continued trusting him when he called you to his chambers late at nights, you trusted him when he locked the door behind you, you trusted him when he was being just a bit too close for your liking

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Micah didn't care about how many weeds he had to cut off to make one flower bloom the way he wants it to bloom. At the end of the day it's the flower he wanted, and his flower has the prettiest petals when he holds it in his hands

[luv-lock]

︵⏜ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤㅤ𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃ㅤ𝅼ㅤ𖥦ㅤ۫ㅤ⏜︵

¡ㅤ ֗ㅤ ๑ㅤ 𝅼 ㅤ꒰ㅤ𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙠 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙭 𝙁𝙚𝙢 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧ㅤ꒱ㅤ ۫ ㅤ𑁤ㅤ 𖥧

♥︎ 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙉 : 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥?

♥︎ 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀 : 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦. 𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺!

Mark falls for you hard.

It’s not gradual. It’s not slow. It’s instant.

One second, he’s just a normal guy.

And the next? You’re all he can think about.

At first, it’s sweet.

He’s nervous around you, fumbling over his words.

He texts too much, calls just to hear your voice.

When he’s with you, he’s so happy—happier than he’s ever been.

But when he’s not with you?

It’s unbearable.

His mind races, his chest tightens.

He starts needing to know where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with.

And that’s when the obsession starts to grow.

Mark has lost too much.

His father betrayed him. His world turned against him. Everything he thought was stable, everything he thought he could trust—was ripped away.

But you?

You’re different.

You’re not like his father, not like the world that constantly demands more from him.

You’re safe.

And after everything he’s been through, he refuses to lose you.

No matter what it takes.

Mark is desperate for something good in his life.

Being Invincible means constantly fighting, constantly bleeding—constantly losing.

But when he’s with you? It all stops.

With you, he’s just Mark. Just a normal guy who can laugh, who can breathe.

At first, it’s normal.

He loves you deeply, intensely, but that’s just who he is.

He’s a good boyfriend. Protective, affectionate—always putting you first.

He never lets you feel alone. Never lets you feel unloved.

But then the fear sets in.

What if you leave?

What if something takes you away from him—like everything else has?

What if one day, you realize that you don’t need him?

That thought? It breaks him.

And once it takes root?

It never goes away.

Mark’s possessiveness is almost sweet at first.

He always wants to be around you.

He texts you constantly, asking where you are, what you’re doing.

He flies you to school, to work—anywhere you need to go.

And at first? It’s flattering.

Who wouldn’t want a boyfriend who’s always there for them?

Who wouldn’t love someone who drops everything to make them happy?

But then it escalates.

You mention a male coworker? Mark’s jaw clenches. His fists tighten.

You go out without telling him? He finds you.

You start pulling away? He notices.

And suddenly, his protectiveness doesn’t feel so sweet anymore.

It feels suffocating.

Because Mark doesn’t just want you.

He needs you.

Mark has superpowers.

He doesn’t need cameras to track you.

He doesn’t need to ask where you are.

He just knows.

His super-hearing picks up your voice from miles away.

He listens to your conversations—even the ones you don’t think he can hear.

He memorizes your schedule, your habits, the way your heartbeat changes when you lie.

And when you go somewhere unexpected?

He follows.

He stays out of sight, high above the city, watching.

And if he sees something—or someone—that he doesn’t like?

It’s handled.

Quietly.

Permanently.

Mark doesn’t mean to be controlling.

He just wants what’s best for you.

And sometimes? You don’t know what’s best for yourself.

It starts small.

A concerned look when you talk to another guy.

A casual “Maybe you should stay home today” when he hears about trouble in the city.

A soft, worried “I don’t like how they treat you” when you mention a friend.

And then it gets worse.

The people in your life start drifting away.

Your friends don’t call as much.

Your job starts feeling unstable.

And through it all, Mark is always there.

Holding you.

Comforting you.

Telling you that he’s all you need.

And you believe him.

Because when he looks at you?

When he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world—

How could you not believe him?

Maybe you start to notice.

Maybe you start questioning him.

And Mark?

He doesn’t snap. He doesn’t yell.

He begs.

“Please don’t do this,” his voice shakes, his eyes desperate.

“I can’t lose you. Not you too.”

But if begging doesn’t work?

His expression hardens.

His arms wrap around you, strong, unyielding.

“I don’t want to do this,” he murmurs. “But I will.”

And before you can react—

You’re in the air.

The ground disappears beneath you, the wind rushing past.

Mark holds you tight, flying higher, higher—until the city is nothing but a blur below.

And then he looks at you.

Soft. Loving. Unshakable.

“You don’t have a choice.”

When you wake up, everything is different.

The doors are reinforced. The windows don’t open.

And Mark? He’s there.

Waiting.

“I know you’re upset,” he says gently, brushing your hair back.

“But this is for the best.”

His fingers tighten around your wrist, just enough to remind you.

“You’re safe now.”

“And you’ll always be mine.”

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[yandere-wishes]

Dear Darling Rapunzel

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Okay been thinking about this for a while but what about a Damsel in Distress/Repunzel AU with the batboys and rogues. It can go one of two ways.

(The Princess who fell in love with the Dragon)

You're the betrothed of one of the batboys. A darling daughter of a Wayne Enterprises bigshot or some nice rich family. And while you may be indifferent to your future husband, he is very very much devoted to you. Absolutely in love with his precious soon-to-be wife...But after the marriage, the paranoia sets in. He loves you, he swears he does. He loves you so much, in fact, that he even reveals who he is, what he does during the ungodly hours of the night. He doesn't want you to doubt, to think he'd ever cheat with another. But there are precautions he must take to keep you safe. He won't let you out of the manner, won't permit you to make content with anyone outside of his family. Heck, he absolutely forbids you from even going near the doors and windows. But one day when the manner is attacked by some Rogue wanting something or another from the Wayne family. During the attack, this particular rogue spots you, the darling princess locked away within the estate. He's almost instantly in love. Heart fluttering outside his chest. He dubs you collateral damage as he steals you away. Poor little Rapunzel being swept away by the bandit...But funny isn't it how you have (somewhat) more freedom with the deranged killer than with your own husband...

(The Princess and the White Knight)

2. For one reason or another, you catch the attention of one of Gotham's notorious rogues. An infamous killer, whose stone heart now only beats for you. They steal you, lock you away from all humanity. It's because they love you, it's because they know how cruel society can be. They'd never want the world outside to hurt you. But one day while you gaze longingly outside the window dreaming of being free again. You happen to catch the eye of one of the batboys. They become your escape, chatting with you while the evil monster is away. You start to see them as your prince charming. You white knight. Hanging off their every word dreaming of the day you can pry away their mask and gleam at their full face. Whenever your tormentor kisses you, you imagine it's your superhero, all soft lips and hope. All sweet words and caring touches. Soon they promised, soon your prince charming will come to free you…

The only pairing I can think of for this so far is, Bruce Wayne and Harvey Dent. Constantly fighting over the darling they both love with all their broken heart.

Maybe Jason and Roman too? Albit it would be so messy and chaotic😆🤣😆🤣.

[allfearstofallto]

If Childe’s darling got injured and lost her memory, would he just roll with it? Diluc seems a lot more hesitant due to his guilt, but would Childe see it as a good thing? Like “yup we are married and u love me! Mwah!”

I WROTE MORE THAN I WAS SUPPOSED TO FOR THIS 😭

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

Forced Marriage AU

The man in front of you made you flustered. Almost to the point of silence. As he eyed you over cautiously, you were eyeing him as well. Taking in his unfamiliar features, his handsome face, strong jawline and big hands that felt you all over, checking you for more injuries. Did you know this man? Internally, you hoped you did, and he was sure acting like he knew you. His face was so close to yours, you could feel his breath against your lips. And it excited you.

His palm pressed to your forehead, a look of curiosity on his face, "You don't have a fever," he muttered beneath his breath, "Why is your face so red, love? Are you hurting anywhere."

Love?

Well, that solidified your mind that there was something happening between the two of you, making your heart beat excitedly in your chest.

"Just a little confused," you said back. Even your voice was foreign to you. This being the first time you'd spoken since you woke up in this large, oranate room. In a bed so plush and warm, you were getting buried in blankets and soft pillows. Next to a man so handsome and charming, you were sure he was some sort of model.

"You hit your head pretty hard out there. I told you to pace your steps when walking on ice. You don't have to try and keep up with me, I won't leave you behind," as he scolded you gently, his hand cupped the back of your head. His fingers gently caressing a knot that you didn't know you had, making you wince in his hold.

"I'm sorry?" You weren't sure what answer he wanted from you. Weren't even sure who he was or what you'd done wrong, but you felt like apologizing was the best option. Although, when you looked up at him once more, you were met with a frown and furrowed eyebrows.

"You're...sorry?" He questioned with a hum and you nodded, a little too quickly. Your head began to hurt again and you groaned from the throbbing pain.

He sat next to you, hit bottom sinking into the mattress. His touch, while gentle, seemed hesitant. He reached forward, eyeing you the entire time like he was waiting for you to snap and bite with a sudden change of heart. When you didn't, the orange haired man held your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of your palm before pressing a kiss to it. The entire time gauging your reaction with those blue eyes. He saw the way you flushed from the affection and his lip quivered ever so slightly.

"Who am I to you?" His question had a hint of malice behind it, but you truly couldn't tell.

"My- my boyfriend?"

"Your husband," He corrected with a smirk, pulling you a little too harshly into his firm, built chest. You hugged him back, squeezing him in an embrace that was supposed to be comforting, yet it felt so wrong. So unfamiliar to you.

Your husband's name was Ajax, although, everyone called him Childe. The two of you met in Liyue, where you were from, during an event called the Lantern Rite. Those words triggered something in your mind, a sense of familiarity that you hadn't felt in days. A sense of excitement and the smell of fireworks and greasy street food. When you looked to your husband, with a big beaming smile, telling him that you thought you remembered the event, he frowned.

"Don't force yourself to remember anything you don't need to," he said while patting your head. Words that were supposed to be spoken in comfort had such a dark foreboding energy to them, one he couldn't mask even if he tried.

Ajax worked as a trader of goods localized in Snezhnaya. That's why he typically was away from home. When asked what you did for work, he just gave you a signature smile and cupped your cheek in his hand, "Look pretty for me." You giggled bashfully as you were pulled into another one of his dominating kisses, sinking into his touch. He always kisses you like this, he told you, with his tongue in your mouth, lapping away as if he were trying to devour you whole. He always kisses you like that and you loved it. Even if there your fight or flight always felt triggered when he approached.

But was that the truth? The maids, they whispered often about how different the lady was acting. You were the lady of the house weren't you? Ajax assured you that you were always like this. Yet, he seemed less and less honest as the days went by.

Coming home late at night with the coppery smell of blood on him and a dark, hollow look in his eyes. He was just trading butchered meat, that's all it was. So why couldn't you believe him?

And his touch, was just so cold, to a scary degree. Why did you flinch every time he touched you? And why did he seem to stare into your soul when you? Like he was waiting for something, but when it didn't happen, he would just smile and pepper your face in kisses. Like he was trying to distract you from the part of yourself that needed to remember.

You lay awake at night next to Ajax. He'd long since fell asleep, but you couldn't get your heavy eyelids to stay shut. You'd been having nightmares, but you didn't tell him that. Nightmares about him, that felt more like a memory than a dream. He'd noticed that you'd began to pull away at each passing day and that only made him pull back harder. Your hands trembled as you thought of just what you were getting yourself into. When you looked over at the portrait of you two on the wall, a wedding painting you assumed. You and him, dressed head to toe in white. You looked at it and wondered if there was a reason why you weren't smiling in the painting? Why you looked scared instead?