#and if it's slightly yandere idk

[thecoolnauta]

Idea for Sagau but instead of MC as a young adult who is love by everyone is just... A TEEN (xd)

THIS GOING TO BE LONG SO

So okay, (I'm bad at English so, I don't thinks this might be well understod but, please excuse it :'u) this actually came from me watching TOH while eating so.

Just think of it, where all Teyvat's knows about this mystic and graceful creature that is always near the Traveler and their little rare pixie. They know that a unknown creature even above their gods is traveling with the (far to nice) foreign.

They don't know how they look, they don't know how they act or even how they sound like, but they can feel them. A warm hug filled with curiosity and dearly affection.

Maybe they won't make a whole new religion for that new god, but they might pray them instead of their own Archons for very important wishes. Hoping for an instant, you'll hear them.

And even the Archons are cool with it!!! Since the Traveler came to Teyvat, everyone feels that love biting their skin in a childish way.

They imagine you like a benevolent and playful deity, a charming and elegant being that helps even with the most harmful missions, just for save them.

Just for make them smile again.

And there's you! A (probably) neurdivergent queer kid who might be not fully North American and is obsessed with fantasy and writing fanfics about your parental figures.

Yeah, you might get to intense when is about them. But hey, even Jesus doubt.

In your universe, Genshin is not, in fact, a thing. The whole freaking lore and the "gameplays" are just very detailed dreams you have every night.

You can't actually tell when it started, but it have a while so-

Yeah, you are really The Creator, huh.

Well, let me tell you something, IT'S GETTING WORSE

When your not that accepting parents decided to put you on a weird camp thing where you will be a honorable member of American society (yeah u know what I meant) a weird but cute... create stool your diary where you write your dreams.

To write a fanfic or smt idk.

And that, really weird existence with withe fluffy hair(?) and golden eyes ran into a forest that you never actually notice.

But screw that you probably change the state, you're getting back that diary.

Persecution cringy cinematic, blahblahblah and you get to a very gigante estructure more old than your last name. The fantasy and pure white practically inviting you to take a closer look.

And you do, of course (maybe was your internal desire of still being you)

You pass over it, the creature is gone, but you have your diary back. Yey :D!!

But man, this isn't the Americans, they would never take care of a forest like this.

Then you almost do the same travel of the not Abyss twin (I'm getting tired, I just want to name one of them but AHG), you walk all over the forest, see with amusement all around and WHY IT'S TOO FAMILIAR FOR THE LOVE OF MADOKAMI.

And yeah, after finding slimes and a statue of a very pretty man you realized you were in your dreams world.

oh, oh

Yep, you were in fuckin Teyvat's floor, touching Teyvat's grass and breathing Teyvat's oxygen...

AND LISTEN TO ME you just fall into Mondstadt to find a guide and a way to scape and all treats you like the Traveler but ways less useful. Just offering you food and awkward smiles by your strange kind of act.

(they just can't handle a neurdivergent kid with anger issues talking Spanish when they can't understand how the time works)

So after the fourth night sleeping on a bunch of boxes because you refuse to have any type of cold blood animal on you when you sleep, an aventure took you to the Favonius knights.

(Totally not a request, Katherine you inteligent metallic women)

So they might just seeing you like a kid who happens to be in the same spot as the Traveler, but less stronger and more but MORE curious than them.

You smeems to know everything, not just of them but their nation, asking thing that a normal foreign would never ask.

But after a while of overthinking, they just decide to let you wandering around Mondstadt, just if you don't cause any trouble.

In fact, you did, but shhhh..

Yeah, all that would ended like a weird but not problematic at all situation BUT OH NO LORD BARBAS FREE THEM BECAUSE THEY GET ATTACHED TO U MORE THAN THEY WANTED.

Found family found familying and stuff, you're totally Pog dude, never forget that.

AND WHEN THEM FINDS OUT YOU'RE THE CREATOR WHO TAKE CARE OF THEM AND TAKE CARE OF KILLING THE MENACE WITH THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP THEY JUST:

"Oh for you, kiddo you were the creator all along!!!"

"The what?"

But you just go before they even finish to assimilate all that information bomb. And that repeats with all the nations, for the love of hippie god son

So yeah, they just re program their windows and treat u like the above mortals type and you're just confused and too neurdivergent for that shit so just "continue talking man, yeah I totally understand the fact that u see me as the god of gods, yeah sure, rad"

And yeah, that was everything, it's 3:00 and I'm very dizzy so, please don't mind my really bad grammar and thanks for reading all that.

(If you want to use the idea just give credits, it's okay) Maybe If I have time I'll write an actual fanfic or more headcanons but now I'm going to sleep.

Stay safe, remember: you can fight all this shit, you'll get better soon. Bye :v

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Solomon who secretly enchants the ring he proposes to you with so that you mysteriously feel more clingy to him. Suddenly, you monopolize his time, you desperately yearn for his presence, and most importantly, you always choose him.

Ironically, he’s come to call this enchantment “Solomon’s Curse,” as the obsessive feelings that compel you simply mirror his own.

To love the way he does is both a blessing and a curse. A taste of both realms, above and below, that makes him crave your humanity and betray his own. And now…you, too, are subjected to the same fate.

[ivoryghostyy]

「 image, not mine. sourced from pinterest. 」

「 note: previously known as "love bite" and this is the actual revamp of the oneshot. "destined pair" feels too different from the original, so here's something closer. have fun. ^^ 」

「 tw: possessive, mentions of blood, non-consensual biting, non-consensual drinking of blood, slightly suggestive?, implications of stalking, violence — read with caution, i guess. 」

a dark chuckle reverberates through the winding hallways, filling you with a sinking sense of dread.

"come now, you can't hide from me. while i do enjoy this little game of chase, i'm beginning to lose my patience."

you do your best to calm the erratic pace of your heart, but the pressure is getting to you. you're bleeding out, for god's sake. for all you knew, you wouldn't make it out of this alive.

'how comforting,' you thought, as you basked in your own bitter notions. your mind blanks, however, when you finally notice the footsteps resounding nearby.

they're quiet—you barely heard them—but they're close.

dangerously close.

your first mistake was exposing yourself so soon. it was meant to be a quick mission: locate the target and take him down. but he had noticed you too early—almost instantly, as if he knew the whole time.

that should have been enough of a reason for you to back out, as even the slightest risk could lead to your death. you're dealing with vampires, after all.

yet, absurdly, you continued on.

why? somehow, you didn't know either. 'could be the alcohol. or perhaps, there was something bigger at play here. regardless, you kept your pace, staying at a distance and waiting for an opportunity to strike.

which, to be honest, took a lot longer than you expected. if only you could simply kill the witnesses, too.

he was a social butterfly, easily getting along with every person he conversed with. but then again, why wouldn't he? he manages a large organization, after all. with a handsome grin, he knocked everyone's guards down, leaving them completely vulnerable to his charms.

he's beautiful, you'll give him that.

after a while, he excuses himself, and you tail after him. as an experienced hunter, you've learned to mask your presence; to hide within the shadows cast beneath the soft moonlight.

it was going smoothly.

until it wasn't.

he stopped, turning his head to meet your alarmed gaze. it was brief, but it was enough for you to know: he knew you were there.

ruh-roh raggy.

you knew that playing ignorant wouldn't work on him. you've read his files—despite them highly lacking in details. he does a good job of keeping his information confidential—it's practically part of his job to find out if someone's lying or not!

seduction? he may be hot, but really, all you want to do right now is go to sleep. you are not getting laid tonight. really?

'alright, plan C it is.'

you booked it.

cursing under your breath, you ignore the painful ache of your poor feet. you'll be fine, probably. this isn't your first rodeo. for the record, you've once managed to escape with a broken leg, a stab wound, and a splitting headache. this should be easy! don't be so complacent, dear. plot armour can only do so much.

his looming figure casts a shadow over your guarded frame.

"there you are."

you're stuck. trapped between two unwavering arms as he grinned cheekily at you. his eyes are dilated, and he looks almost.. intoxicated.

"i warned you, didn't i? you can't hide from me, fawn."

fawn.

what a stupid nickname. you sneer.

"i'm impressed, really. not many can land a hit on me."

he refers to the healing cut on his chest, the wound beginning to weave itself back together.

righr now, you couldn't do much. with a bleeding gash running from along your hips, you're basically screwed. your hand clutches the wound, blood trickling through your palm as you struggle to apply enough force to your trembling hand.

god, you feel so weak. his eyes pull you into a trance-like state, and you're barely able to hold yourself together. he leans down with an angelic curl to his lips, reaching up to stroke your cheek.

"how cute. 'still resisting, dear? my, you're quite stubborn."

you grumble under your breath. unfortunately for you, he hears it. glowing optics bore right into you, and for a moment, you thought he'd kill you right then and there.

to your surprise, however, he simply chuckles. you release a breath of relief, shivering from the hot puff of air that brushes your neck.

then you wheeze; a pained gasp fumbling out of your lips as he slams you against the wall. a rough hand curls around your throat, sharp nails poking your skin—that should be enough of a warning to keep you still.

"now," your eyes trail to the side as you shift;

but he moves in, lips only an inch away from yours.

"ah-ah, what are you looking at, fawn? i don't want your attention straying. your gaze is meant only for me."

"shut up, you i-insufferable-" you cough, lightly gasping when the grip on your throat tightens.

"-oversized mosquito!"

…

goddamn it-

"pfft-"

his eyes crinkle as he laughs, and you're completely stunned; mesmerized by how genuine he sounds. seriously, has this guy considered making asmr videos?

"oversized mosquito? is that supposed to be an insult?"

his grip loosens for a moment, but he regains his composure before you can make a move. fuck vampires and their inhuman speed.

"i quite like you. you've always been an entertaining little fawn." he pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his handsome features before he smirks. "i've decided, i'll be keeping you." it shouldn't be a problem. you've always been his.

he smiles, but his eyes are dimly lit, glinting ominously.

"what!? no-" he interrupts you, a sharpened nail digging into the skin of your neck, drawing a few drops of blood.

"i don't think you heard me. see,"

he guides you impossibly closer. his lips now only mere centimetres away from yours. his thumb trails along your jaw as the other wanders up the skin of your thigh, landing on the small of your back. his touch leaves a trail of heat, a shiver crawling up your spine.

"i wasn't asking, fawn."

and in the next moment, you're pinned against the wall. he leans his weight against you, pulling your hands behind your back. his fangs graze your neck, and you can feel your heart beating frantically.

"i'll have you, even if i have to break you in the process."

the dread settles in, and for the first time in years, you're filled with pure, unadulterated fear.

"shh, don't worry, dear. the pain is only for a moment."

you're scared. he's going to bite you. he's going to bite you. as a last-ditch attempt, you move to stun him.

"stay still."

he's quicker.

fangs sink into your skin, and you whimper at the pain. the feeling of your blood being drained, of the unbearable sting of his fangs in your neck, you almost cry from the agonizing discomfort.

but this isn't what you fear the most. no, this doesn't even come close. you're not scared of pain; half your life was spent with pain playing the role of a clingy lover.

what you fear.. is what comes next.

pleasure.

you can't succumb to it. you can't! you can still take him down with what little strength you have left. you need to resist-

his fanks sink deeper, lulling the ache away and replacing it with a heated embrace. your tense muscles relax, and you stifle a guttural moan at the growing heat in your abdomen.

your instincts fight against the sedative effects, still trying to pull you out from drowning in pleasure.

wake up, goddamn it! he'll kill you!

breathing heavily, you once again struggle against his hold, forcing yourself to shove him off.

his jaw clenches, and you flinch. his hand pulls you closer, pressing against your stomach, causing a wave of heat to course through your trembling frame.

you feel so sensitive; almost like you're drunk on aphrodisiac.

as all fight leaves you, an open moan flittering through your lips. your eyebrows furrow. you don't feel the need to resist anymore.

why would you? you're safe with him. he is all you need.

your limbs grow heavy. why're you so tired? you groan, leaning your head back as he moves away. your wobbly legs can barely hold you up, so he takes the liberty of pulling you into his arms.

he grins in content, licking off the stray blood on your neck. you shiver, clutching the fabric of his clothes. 'you're so adorable. all vulnerable and dazed in his hold,' he muses to himself. you're disoriented, unable to think clearly as you nuzzle into his chest.

"look at you, darling. safe and warm, right here with me."

he'll make sure to take care of you. he's not just watching from afar anymore; now, you're finally in his arms.

'finally, mine.'

[sweetindigosky]

Thinking about Hector falling for Dracula’s daughter. Just a smitten Hector who falls for the woman roaming the halls of Dracula’s castle, enticing him with her glossy hair and intoxicating perfume. Hector who can hardly stop himself from staring at her whenever she’s in the room. Hector who finds himself seeking her company in anyway, finding her in the garden, kitchen, the halls, the library. Smitten Hector who loses sleep over Dracula’s daughter, who finds his cock in his hand more than he ever had before, moaning her name into his pillow every night. Hector, who can’t stop himself from wandering to her room at night, ignoring the risk to jerk himself just to the sight of her. Smitten Hector who finds himself falling into the palm of her hand.

[malfromtheblue]

Ever just...

does your skin ever just itch like fire, as your blood boils when they flirt with someone else?

perhaps, your ribcage just tightens until its about to crack?

do your lungs ever just completely deflate?

eyes ever just lose color?

but only if they're being a little too happy around someone that isn't you. of course you like to see them happy. adoration drives the feeling further. but jealousy spirals, drills into your head, giving you a migraine with such intensity that you can't stand up.

and even on your knees, you watch as they affectionately embrace an unfamiliar face goodbye.

such a small interaction, such a big reaction.

s'honestly really embarrassing at times. so many people have on their blogs "this isn't me irl" and "i dont really condone this" and "dont reenact this". i suppose it would be much easier if i didn't obsess sickeningly over people who catch my attention. be easier to be average, not " crazy", "weird". i do act like this, most every day of my life. unnoticeably, i might add.

but...

the obsessive hyperfixations, the meltdowns, the panic attacks, the screaming, the bruised fists, the bloody nose... its all there. it will always be there... for you.

do you ever just love someone to death?

~ Mal 💕

[satorena]

the thing about yandere!characters is idk if i can be that reader cause you will not be a grown ass man trying to bully me 🧑‍🦲 like me,,, a nineteen year old girl….. you, a grown ass man…… oh ! not even a little embarrassed ??

[yandererightsadvocate]

Every time people talk about subs it's always the fuckin sweet lusty types, what about the subs with an energy similar to an old guard dog? What about subs who look and act like they would knock the reapers teeth out but just want to be held and told that it's ok and the threat isn't here anymore? Where's the love for off putting PTSD dog girls is what I'm saying

[fangdokja]

They’re not heroes. They’re your tormentors, and you’ll love every second of it.

❤︎ Synopsis. Four men, each consumed by a darkness that binds them to you, will stop at nothing to claim your soul. In their world, love is a twisted cage, and you’re the captive—lost in a nightmare where escape is impossible and desire is the cruelest torment.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Mr. Reca x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Mydei x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Anaxa x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Phainon x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. The Game of Surrender - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 4,707

♡ TW. dom + top + older + slightly sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, suggestive themes, psychological + mental conditioning, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological + emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, Stockholm Syndrome

♡ Note. This was made before the official releases of characters, so be warned that some information may be inaccurate once additional lore comes out.

♡ A/N. Not me not knowing fully who these characters are. So... not sure if I did this right hahaha. It's too early to judge the unreleased characters but oh well. And, I did put this into my usual style... idk adjskaskd Take this like a brief hypothesis, I suppose. I am thinking on getting back to Genshin and HSR... maybe. Probably not though. Idk. Anyways, I personally thought I cooked with this. Just not sure with personalities askadsdakldsm

♡ Mr. Reca.

"Every thought you have, every breath you take, is a scene in my film—my masterpiece. And don't worry, darling, I'll make sure you never forget your lines. Not even when you're screaming them in your sleep."

The universe had always been a canvas to him—a vast, writhing tapestry of chaos and order, the kind of unpredictable beauty that Mr. Reca found utterly magnetic. He had always been a collector of moments, a Memokeeper who consumed emotions, gestures, and unguarded thoughts with the same fervor a drowning man gulps air.

But you—oh, you—you were not just another fleeting spark in the vast night of existence.

You were an anomaly, a glitch in the dreamscape, a hauntingly real smear of imperfection across his perfectly constructed illusions. And so, he watched you, studied you, devoured the fragile lines of your every expression. It wasn’t obsession, not at first. It was curiosity, a scientist’s hunger for understanding. But curiosity, as it often does, rotted into something far darker.

It began subtly. At first, you didn’t even realize you were his subject. The assistant frog—so innocuous, its mechanical chirps like a child’s toy—hovered too long in your presence. That thing recorded the barest twitch of your lips, the dilation of your pupils when you dreamt, the cadence of your breath when you were lost in thought.

He played those recordings back again and again, crafting you into the centerpiece of his mind’s latest film, a work of art that no audience but him would ever see. Each flicker of your gaze, each half-whispered syllable, was dissected with a surgeon’s precision and woven into the dream bubble of his fantasies.

You had not agreed to this, of course. You would not have, had you known. But consent had never mattered much to Mr. Reca, not when reality itself could be edited, overwritten, and reshaped to suit his narrative.

He didn’t fall in love with you in the way mortals understood love.

No, it was something far more grotesque. You were not his equal. You were not even human, not to him.

You were a role to be perfected, an actress bound to his script. And he—he was the director, the puppeteer pulling the strings of your existence with a touch so light, so surgical, that you didn’t notice your autonomy dissolving until it was too late.

He didn’t approach you like an ordinary man. Ordinary men didn’t cloak their words in riddles, their intentions in shadows.

“Your dreams are fascinating,” he said once, his tone light but his eyes dark, predatory. “I could make a masterpiece from them. Would you let me?”

His gaze burned into you, not with affection, but with hunger—the kind of hunger that consumes, destroys, leaves nothing but ash in its wake.

When you hesitated, when you stammered out a polite refusal, his smile curved sharp and cruel. “Ah, but do you really have a choice?”

You didn’t, of course.

The dream bubbles began soon after. Vivid, horrifyingly real landscapes where you were no longer yourself but a marionette dancing to his whims.

The first time you woke screaming, trembling from the phantom pain of dream wounds, he was there. He shouldn’t have been—your door had been locked—but there he was, sitting on the edge of your bed with his head tilted and that damned frog-camera clutched in his gloved hands.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, as if you were a specimen under glass. “You feel it, don’t you? The fear, the thrill, the pain. Tell me, how does it taste?”

In bed, he is not a lover. He is a creator, and you are his medium.

His touch is clinical at first, cold and calculated, his gloved fingers trailing down your spine as if mapping the curve of your body for a sculpture he plans to carve later.

But there is heat beneath that coldness, a violent, consuming fire that erupts when he lets himself indulge. He does not make love. He takes. He presses you into the mattress as if trying to merge you with it, his weight oppressive, suffocating. His hands grip your wrists too tightly, leaving bruises like the ink stains of his artistry. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice a low murmur that mixes poetry with threats, promises with lies.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his tone too calm for the frenzy of his movements. “The way your body betrays you? The way it obeys me, even when your mind doesn’t want to?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, and the sharp pain that follows is not accidental. “I could keep you here forever,” he says, his voice thick with sadistic delight. “Inside the dream, inside me. Would you even know the difference? Would you even care?”

You would care, of course.

You fight him, or at least you try. But he’s relentless, unyielding, a force of nature that smothers your resistance with sheer willpower. He doesn’t let you hide from him, not even in the sanctuary of your own mind.

His powers as a Memokeeper ensure that every thought, every secret, every fleeting desire you’ve ever tried to bury is laid bare before him. He uses them against you, weaving them into the narrative of his control.

“You want this,” he says, his voice a velvet knife. “You want me. Your body knows it, even if your mind refuses to admit it.”

His lips trail down your throat, his teeth leaving marks that will linger for days, physical proof of his dominance. “And when I’m done with you, when there’s nothing left of you but what I’ve created, you’ll thank me. You’ll beg me to keep you.”

The horror of it all is that he doesn’t just break you physically. He breaks your mind, piece by fragile piece, until you can no longer tell where the dream ends and reality begins. His dream bubbles seep into your waking hours, twisting your perception until even the memories of your resistance feel like fabrications.

He tells you that you’re his muse, his masterpiece, his greatest work. And despite the revulsion, the terror, some part of you begins to believe him.

Because how could someone so brilliant, so meticulous, be wrong?

And yet, in the darkest corners of your mind, you know the truth.

You are not his muse.

You are his victim, a living doll trapped in the nightmare of his creation.

But no one will ever hear your screams.

He’s made sure of that.

After all, reality itself is just another film to him, and he’s already written your final scene.

♡ Mydei.

"You belong to me, just as I am bound to this blood-soaked fate. No one will ever take you from me, not in this life, not in the next. I’ll carve my name into your soul, and you’ll learn to love it, even if it takes a thousand deaths."

It begins as a hum in the back of his throat, a low vibration that settles into his chest like the resonance of a beast stirring in its lair. He watches you, not from afar, but from the corner of your vision, where his shadow seems to stretch and curve unnaturally—always larger, always darker than the dim light allows. His gaze is not mere sight; it’s weight, pressure, suffocation. He sees the tremor in your fingers as you pour water into a glass. He catalogues the way your breaths hitch when his footsteps echo closer, closer still.

And when he speaks, his voice is a razor dragged slowly, deliberately, across raw nerves. “You’re trembling,” he says, though there’s no concern in his tone.

It’s an observation, clinical yet laced with something sharper, something akin to hunger.

He doesn’t touch you yet, but the proximity is suffocating—his presence a noose tightening with every passing second. His breath brushes your ear as he leans closer. “Are you afraid of me?”

You flinch but say nothing, and he chuckles. It’s low and guttural, almost amused, but there’s an edge of cruelty there, a promise that he’ll savor every inch of your fear.

He feeds on it, you realize, and the thought sends a chill racing down your spine. “You should be,” he murmurs, the words dripping like venom. “Fear keeps you alive… but not from me. Never from me.”

He lies, of course.

The predator in him is far too obvious, a wolf cloaked in something barely resembling humanity. He doesn’t see you as prey to consume in haste.

No, he sees you as a possession—a rare, precious thing to break slowly, to shatter and rebuild in his image. He thrives on control, on the knowledge that every shiver, every gasp, every cry is something he owns, something he’s dragged out of you inch by agonizing inch.

When he finally touches you, it’s with the precision of a surgeon dissecting his subject. Fingers glide over your skin like scalpels, drawing phantom lines where his teeth will follow, where his hands will linger. There’s no tenderness in the way he grips your wrist, the bruising force of his palm a warning, a declaration.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to understand: you’re his.

The room is suffused with a kind of tension that seems alive, thrumming in the air like an electrical charge waiting to snap. His lips curl into something that might resemble a smile if not for the sheer malice in it.

“You can fight,” he says, voice as smooth and cold as glass, “but we both know how this ends.”

And then he moves, swift as a predator pouncing, pinning you against the unyielding surface of the wall.

The impact drives the air from your lungs, and before you can catch your breath, he’s there—everywhere. The heat of his body seeps into yours, the solidity of him a cage that leaves no room for escape. His hands are firm, unrelenting, roaming with a kind of obsessive thoroughness that feels both maddening and humiliating. He maps every inch of your body as if it’s a territory to be conquered, claimed.

The words he whispers into your ear are sharp, biting things, designed to slice through your defenses. “Do you know how easy it would be?” he breathes, his voice a silken thread woven with danger.

“To tear you apart. To ruin you so thoroughly you wouldn’t even recognize yourself. And you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you? By the time I’m done, you won’t want to remember what it felt like to be whole without me.”

His grip tightens, and you can feel the latent strength in his hands, the power that could snap bone without effort.

And yet he doesn’t.

Not yet.

He revels in the anticipation, in the way your body reacts—fear mingled with something darker, something you refuse to name. The way your breath catches, the way your pulse races beneath his fingers… it’s a symphony to him, a melody of submission he’s determined to conduct to its crescendo.

When he finally takes you, it’s not an act of love—it’s an act of dominance, of ownership.

His movements are deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, each thrust a reminder of who holds the reins. He doesn’t allow you to close your eyes, doesn’t let you escape into the safety of darkness.

No, he demands your gaze, demands that you see him, that you acknowledge the monster who has reduced you to this trembling, gasping wreck. And when you do—when your eyes meet his, wide and glassy with tears—he smiles. Not with joy, but with triumph, with the satisfaction of a hunter who has cornered his prey.

His words during these moments are a mix of degradation and adoration, a twisted litany that leaves no doubt of his intentions. “You’re mine,” he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath searing like a brand. “Every breath, every scream, every drop of blood in your veins—it all belongs to me.”

And yet, even as he tears you apart, there’s an undeniable allure in his madness, a magnetic pull that keeps you rooted to the spot even as every instinct screams at you to run.

Because beneath the cruelty, beneath the overwhelming force of his obsession, there’s a flicker of something more—a need so desperate it borders on pathetic, a craving for connection that he can’t voice but demands nonetheless.

When it’s over, he doesn’t release you.

His arms remain locked around you, a vice that refuses to loosen. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged, his body still trembling with the aftermath.

And in that moment, you realize the truth of it: he doesn’t break you because he hates you. He breaks you because he loves you, because the thought of you existing without him is unbearable.

But love, for him, is not soft or kind. It is a blade, honed to a deadly edge, and he wields it without mercy.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, and it’s not a question.

It’s a command, a promise, a threat.

“You’ll stay because there’s nowhere else for you to go. No one else who could ever understand you the way I do. And if you try to leave…” His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequence hangs heavy in the air, a silent vow etched in blood.

You nod, because what else can you do?

And as he tightens his hold on you, his lips brushing against your temple in a mockery of a kiss, you feel the full weight of your reality settle over you.

There is no escape. There never was.

And in the dark recesses of your mind, a small, terrified part of you wonders if you’ll ever want to leave at all.

♡ Anaxa.

"You think you can escape my mind, but you're already tangled in my thoughts—your every breath, every movement, is an echo of me. You belong to me, and I will never let you forget that."

The air around him was always cold, as if reality itself recoiled in his presence, drawing its warmth into the void of his indifference. Anaxa moved like an unfinished thought, fragmented, deliberate, yet ever disquieting.

You felt his shadow linger before you saw him, a chilling weight that settled on your skin like frost, sinking into the marrow of your bones. His eyes—one bared to the world, the other concealed beneath the eyepatch—were an unforgiving tapestry of contradictions: icy intellect simmering beneath the calm veneer, an endless labyrinth of thoughts that spiraled toward madness.

He whispered your name like a sacrament and a curse. Each syllable, spoken in that low, velvety cadence of his, seemed to unravel you, a knife peeling back every layer of resolve.

"You think knowledge can shield you," he murmured one night, his breath as cold and intimate as the edge of a scalpel. "But even wisdom has limits. I’ve seen them. I’ve transcended them." He would circle you like a predator savoring the hunt, his movements calculated, his proximity suffocating.

Anaxa was not a man who shattered the soul through brute force.

No, his torment was subtle—a slow dismantling, piece by piece, until you became something unrecognizable to even yourself.

You didn’t notice how he had claimed your life until it was too late. The quiet manipulation seeped in like poison—so gradual, so insidious, you mistook it for safety. Every book you touched, every whisper of thought you dared to express, every step you took outside the prison he called your sanctuary…all of it traced back to him. You'd look up from a page of text only to find him leaning in the doorway, a slight smile curling his lips, the sort that spoke of secrets too profound and too damning to voice.

"You have such a beautiful mind," he'd say, his gloved fingers brushing the side of your neck in a touch that was almost reverent.

"It’s wasted on anyone else. They’ll never understand you—not like I do." The words were honeyed, dripping with a sincerity so intoxicating you almost believed it.

Almost.

Until you noticed the way his gaze lingered on your trembling hands, on the ink smudges on your skin, on the way you recoiled yet stayed rooted in place. He liked the way fear made you fragile, and though you hated him for it, you hated yourself more for the flicker of thrill that bloomed in your chest.

Anaxa didn’t need chains to hold you down; his words alone were shackles. His intelligence was a web, intricate and all-encompassing, and you were the fly ensnared at its center.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he whispered once, late into the night when the room was too quiet and his voice was too close. "But I will, if it’s the only way to make you stay."

And you knew he meant it—not as a threat, but as a promise, a truth spoken with the same certainty as an immutable law of the universe.

The moments of intimacy—if one could call them that—were no less haunting.

His touch was clinical, precise, like a scientist studying a fragile specimen. He knew where to press, where to hold, where to carve into your soul with a calculated cruelty that left you yearning and dreading in equal measure.

His lips on your skin felt like frostbite, burning cold yet addictively sharp. His hands, those hands that wielded intellect like a blade, seemed to map every inch of you with the precision of a scholar dissecting sacred scripture.

"You’re beautiful," he would say, the words an oxymoron of tenderness and possession.

"Beautiful because you’re broken. Broken because you’re mine." He traced the curve of your throat with a gloved fingertip, lingering on the places where your pulse betrayed your terror.

His gaze bore into you, unrelenting, as though he could peel back the layers of flesh and bone to reach the essence of you. "Do you know what the Titans whispered to me in my dreams?" he asked once, his voice a mix of wonder and madness.

"They said I’d find divinity in ruin. And here you are."

The nights were the worst.

In the darkness, you felt him even when you didn’t see him.

The weight of his presence pressed against you, suffocating, inescapable. His words would echo in your mind, winding through your thoughts like a parasite. He’d appear at your bedside, his figure shrouded in the dim glow of moonlight.

"You should sleep," he’d murmur, though his tone carried no warmth. "You’ll need your strength. Tomorrow, we’ll unravel the secrets of the cosmos. Together."

And though you tried to resist, you found yourself clinging to the edges of his words, desperate for the clarity he promised, even as it led you deeper into his labyrinth.

When he finally claimed you, it was an act of calculated brutality disguised as love.

Every kiss felt like a conquest, every caress a branding. He whispered to you like a poet reciting his magnum opus, his voice soft yet unyielding, every syllable carrying the weight of his obsession.

"You belong to me," he said, his lips brushing against your ear as his hands pinned you beneath him. "Not just your body. Your mind. Your soul. Everything. No one else is worthy—not even you."

And as his touch became more demanding, more consuming, you realized that he wasn’t just unraveling you. He was recreating you, piece by piece, reshaping you into something that existed solely for him.

And though every fiber of your being screamed in defiance, a small, treacherous part of you wondered if this was love—or if it was something far darker, something that transcended the bounds of human understanding.

"You’ll never leave me," he said, his voice a blend of certainty and desperation as his lips ghosted over your trembling skin.

"Even if you try, even if you run…I’ll always find you. You’re the only constant in my chaos, the only light in my darkness. And I will burn the stars themselves before I let that light fade."

And so, you lay there in the cold embrace of his obsession, trapped between terror and desire, caught in the orbit of a man who would dismantle the heavens just to keep you by his side.

♡ Phainon.

"Every strike I make, every victory I win—it’s all for you. So don't be afraid when you see the blood. It's just a little sacrifice to remind you: you're mine, and I will burn this world to the ground before I let you go."

The moments he craves most are the quiet ones when the two of you are entirely alone, but tonight, silence isn’t kind.

It’s oppressive, weighted by the looming presence of the man before you—the Deliverer, the Nameless Hero, a man who wears the name Phainon like an armor of light.

Yet beneath that golden radiance, a storm of obsession churns, relentless and unyielding.

He stands over you, the faint luminescence of his ichor-stained veins pulsing faintly in the dim, cold air of the temple chamber. You can feel his gaze before you see it—heavy, glinting with something raw and unspeakable.

His voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is soft but unshakable, carrying the weight of a promise that makes your blood run cold.

“You don’t understand, do you? You’ve never understood.” A smile curls at the edge of his lips, serene yet terrifying. “I don’t want to save the world, not anymore. I want to save you. Every step I’ve taken, every blow I’ve struck, has always been for you.”

His claymore rests at his side, its edge gleaming faintly with an unsettling crimson, dried remnants of the battle from earlier still clinging to the blade.

He hasn’t cleaned it.

He hasn’t even sheathed it.

The weapon is as much a part of him as the air he breathes.

You can’t help but wonder if the blood that stains it belongs to someone you knew, someone who once stood too close to you for his liking.

He takes a step closer, the sound of his boots against the stone floor echoing like the toll of a funeral bell.

You back away instinctively, but there’s no escape.

His pace is slow, deliberate. He knows exactly how far he needs to push you before your resolve shatters.

“Run if you want to,” he murmurs, his tone almost gentle. “I won’t stop you. But you’ll come back. You always do.”

There’s no malice in his words, only certainty—a chilling, inescapable truth that wraps around your throat like a noose.

His hands are stained too.

Not visibly, not this time, but you can feel it in the way he reaches for you.

Fingers meant for wielding destruction now hover over your cheek, trembling slightly with restraint.

You flinch, and the flicker of hurt that crosses his face is almost human—almost.

“You’re afraid of me,” he whispers, his breath brushing against your ear as he leans closer.

“And I... I hate that. I hate that you make me this way. But I hate it even more when you’re far from me.”

When his lips press against yours, it isn’t a kiss—it’s a conquest.

His desperation seeps into you like venom, intoxicating and suffocating all at once. He tastes like metal and fury, his ichor burning faintly where his tongue grazes yours. His touch isn’t tender; it’s possessive, frantic, like he’s trying to carve his existence into your very bones.

His hand tangles in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “You’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous timbre. “Say it.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

And that’s when his patience snaps.

His grip tightens, dragging you against him until there’s no space left between your bodies. The heat of him is overwhelming, a furnace of ichor and madness that threatens to consume you whole. His other hand presses against the small of your back, forcing you to arch into him as he lowers his head to your neck.

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he speaks again, it’s a guttural rasp that makes your stomach twist. “You don’t understand how far I’d go for you. What I’d destroy. Who I’d become.”

He sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, not enough to break the skin but enough to leave a mark—a brand, a reminder of his claim. You cry out, and he exhales sharply, almost like he’s savoring the sound.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That’s the truth of it, isn’t it? You’ll scream for me, cry for me... but you’ll never leave.”

And he’s right, isn’t he?

Because even now, as fear and anger coil in your chest like a viper, you can’t bring yourself to push him away.

His presence is suffocating, his obsession terrifying—but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the sun in a world of endless night, that makes it impossible to resist him entirely.

It’s sick.

It’s wrong.

But it’s real.

Phainon knows it too.

He knows you better than you know yourself, and that knowledge is his greatest weapon.

He wields it with precision, unraveling you piece by piece until there’s nothing left but the parts of you that belong to him.

“You’ll stay,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’ll always stay. Because no one else can have you. Not the Titans, not the Trailblazer... not even yourself.”

When he finally pulls away, his eyes lock onto yours, glowing faintly with the golden ichor that courses through his veins. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about him in this moment, a tragic god draped in shadows. He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he’s just solved.

“You’re mine,” he says again, softer this time. “And I’m yours. Whether you like it or not.”

And you believe him.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @belovedoftheanemoarchon , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses , @tinandabin , @sashakittycloud , @songbirdgardensworld , @monamuskay

———

❤︎ 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. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[suiana]

(yandere! saw x gn! reader) (i actually haven't watched saw so idk how the game works 🤓☝️)

"and for your final challenge... you have to kiss me, now."

"aw hell nah, can you just kill me instead?"

"w-what?! no absolutely not!"

you watch as the male visibly twitches, freaking out on the spot as he faces the camera. he was literally panicking, gripping his microhone as you watch a bead of sweat drop down his forehead.

"no! it's either you kiss me, or you die! don't you understand?! you have to kiss me! it's like, the only option!"

"nah, i ain't kissing your clown looking ass. just kill me already dawg."

you remain calm, eyebrows raised as you tap your feet against the ground impatiently. there was no way in hell you were going to makeout with this man thing. he looked like a murder clown from 1900s with his black and white makeup and suit!

and even thoigh you thought you were freaky, there was no way you were going to kiss that doll turned man. nuh uh. that is downright insane, even if he does look hot. i mean, this guy killed people! led them to death games that none of them eould survive to begin with!

why?

cause he liked you, duh. the game was rigged apparently. you found that out from him when he sneaked around and tried holding a conversation with you. it was mostly just him talking though. flushed cheeks and stuttering and all. it would've been cute if he weren't a murderous doll.

"so? are you gonna kill me now? I'm actually not gonna kiss you."

"no! ugh! you're so stubborn! just kiss me already damn!"

he groans into the microphone, glaring at you down the cameras before he disappears momentarily, holding a big red button with the words 'do not push' underneath.

"if you don't kiss me now, i will press this button."

"what does it do?"

"make you do things. silly things. with me, of course."

you stare at him, silence filling the room. what the hell? you couldn't even get a chance to respond before he presses it and out came a chair which you were forced to sit down on.

"what the- a chair? you're gonna give me head?"

you stare up at the screen, only to realise that the oddly attractive doll-human had disappeared. damn it. so he really was going to get all up and physical with you huh?

you watch as he pops up from behind, a grin on his lips before he kneels down by your feet, face against your lap. he looked... weirdly calm and at peace for a doll that just led someone to their death a few hours ago. but you suppose it's because he's not human. well, fully at least.

"oh, so head it is-"

"no not head! what the heck?!"

the doll screeches, hands digging into the legs of the chair. he whines, throwing a small tantrum before his rosy cheeks get even rosier (if that was possible? and his eyes grow all wide. you raise an eyebrow at his silence, frowning slightly before yelping as he suddenly starts begging.

"ahem! do you want to be my lover? uh uh who said that?! okay okay, do you want to be my big sweaty alpha lover? WHAT?! WHO SAID THAT?!"

what the hell?!

"uh..."

"i meant- do you want to be my sigma lover who will peg me- WHO THE HELL SAID THAT?!"

"please just kill me."

yeah, now death is sounding like the much better option than being the lover of this weird doll. hey! maybe smashing your head against the chair would work!

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hear me out

Batsis baking something for them just because shes bored but shes horrible at baking (or she would just sabotage it idk put some peppers on the cake)would they just eat it?

Yandere Batfamily x reader

The kitchen smelled like war. Not the type fought with fists and weapons but the kind fought with flour, sugar, and an oven’s unrelenting heat. You stood in the middle of the chaos, apron smeared with batter and the counter coated in the powdered remnants of your efforts. You weren’t a baker—hell, you barely knew how to fry an egg—but boredom had a cruel way of twisting your decisions.

So here you were, baking for the people who had stolen you away under the guise of "family."

Not that you called them that.

Still, the silence of the manor grated on your nerves, and after hours of sulking and dodging their hovering presence, you thought, Why not? Maybe the mess would annoy them. Maybe the smell would be enough to break through their obsession-induced fog and remind them you weren’t playing along with their delusions.

The cupcakes you pulled from the oven looked… edible. Kind of. Half were lopsided, and a few were slightly charred. You dumped a ridiculous amount of frosting on top in an attempt to salvage them, but the end result was a tray of pastel blobs with vaguely cake-like shapes.

“Perfect,” you muttered sarcastically, swiping frosting from the counter with a finger.

Before you could second-guess your plan, the sound of footsteps approached. Slow, calculated. Bruce. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him—the weight of his presence filled the room like a stormcloud.

“Baking?” His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity that made your skin crawl.

“Yeah,” you replied shortly, not looking at him. You started stacking the cupcakes onto a plate, pretending you didn’t care that he was watching. “Got bored.”

Bruce stepped closer, the faint rustle of his coat as deliberate as everything else he did. You hated how easily he could unsettle you. “It’s nice to see you trying something new,” he said, his tone gentle—fatherly, even.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the plate and shoving it toward him. “Here. You can have them.”

Bruce took the plate without hesitation, his gloved hands looking out of place against the childish swirls of frosting. “Thank you,” he said, as though you’d gifted him something precious. “The others will appreciate this.”

As if summoned, the rest of the Batfamily began to trickle in.

Dick was the first to arrive, his easy smile faltering only slightly when he saw the cupcakes. “Did you make these, [Name]?” he asked, grabbing one before you could answer.

“Yep,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “Don’t expect much.”

He took a bite. For a moment, his face betrayed nothing, but then his expression twisted into something that could only be described as polite horror. “Wow,” he managed, forcing a swallow. “These are… unique.”

Jason snorted as he sauntered in, the smell having lured him from whatever dark corner he’d been brooding in. “What’s this?” he asked, swiping a cupcake from the plate Bruce held. “Looks like someone murdered a unicorn.”

“Eat it and find out,” you snapped.

Jason raised an eyebrow but took a bite anyway. His reaction was less subtle than Dick’s—he gagged dramatically, spitting the mouthful into a napkin. “What the hell, kid? Did you put salt instead of sugar?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” you shot back, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Tim appeared next, looking bleary-eyed and clutching a mug of coffee. He grabbed a cupcake without a word and took a bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he coughed. “Is this… is this cinnamon?”

“Possibly.”

“Cinnamon and… garlic?”

You frowned. “I didn’t put garlic in there.”

Damian was the last to enter, his nose wrinkling at the plate as though it offended him on a personal level. “What is this monstrosity?” he asked, glaring at the cupcakes.

“Dessert,” you said dryly. “Take it or leave it.”

To your surprise, he picked one up, inspecting it like it was a puzzle he intended to solve. He took a cautious bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Tolerable,” he declared, setting the half-eaten cupcake down with a disdainful sniff.

“See? Tolerable,” you said, pointing at Damian as though his judgment absolved you.

Jason groaned. “Tolerable isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”

Bruce, who hadn’t taken a bite yet, finally broke his silence. “It’s the effort that matters,” he said, his gaze settling on you with unnerving intensity.

You glared back at him, hating the way he spoke as though you’d done this out of love rather than sheer boredom. “Don’t read into it,” you said sharply. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t believe you.

Despite the disaster your cupcakes turned out to be, they ate them—or tried to. Even Jason, after some grumbling, finished his. Maybe they thought it would please you. Maybe it was another way to force their twisted idea of “family” on you.

Or maybe, you realized with a pang of unease, they just couldn’t say no to you.

The thought was more unsettling than anything else.

[ivoryghostyy]

『 love bite ... the original 』

↳˗ˏˋ soft yandere!vampire × reader ˊˎ˗ ↴

╰⊱ 「 image not mine. sourced from pinterest. 」

╰⊱ 「 warning: swearing, sexual themes, non-consensual biting, mentions of blood, read with caution. 」

「 be warned: swearing, sexual themes (because vampires but it's nothing too bad), non-consensual, biting, blood (just a bit) – just read with caution, i suppose 」

you're stuck.

struggling, yes, but also completely helpless.

you couldn't do much. not with both of your arms either restrained or injured to the point of being unrecognisable.

you curse under your breath, but unfortunately for you, he heard it; an airy chuckle brushes your ear.

your breath hitched.

a pained gasp escapes as he raises you by the waist, gripping your chin roughly to turn your gaze to him.

"now," you try to move away–

"eyes on me. i don't like being ignored." but he effortlessly pulls you back in—if not closer than before. his smile is charming. if it weren't for this situation, you would've swooned.

"then–" you cough. "–maybe y-you should back the fuck up" shit, you stuttered.

his eyes crinkle as he laughs. brightly: like the sun. rather ironic considering his species.

"you're still resisting? even in this situation?" he drawls out an amused sigh. "i don't think you understand,"

he guides you impossibly closer, your figure pressing against his as he trails his hand up your thigh, over your waist, and past your back, leaving a trail of heat on every surface he touched. you shudder.

"..your position"

he grins in amusement, tightening his grip on your restrained arms when he feels them struggle free.

the next moment is a blur.

against a wall. body pressing yours. hand behind your neck. fangs out and ready to feast. dread. panic. fear. fear. fear.

"don't resist"

you're scared. he's going to bite you. one final attempt. you move to kick him with the tiniest bit of strength you have left,

"just let it happen"

he's quicker.

you whimper. pain. pain. pain. pain. but that's not what you fear the most, no. you fear what comes next–

pleasure.

no no no no no, you can't! you have to resist–

he sinks in deeper, lulling the ache away and replacing it with an unbearable heat in your lower belly. you stifle a moan.

no! your heart drums in your chest. it's beating erratically, reminiscent of your heavy breathing. you force yourself to shove him off.

in retaliation, he presses a hand against your lower abdomen. you flinch. it's sensitive, you moan.

all fight leaves you. you strain to remember...

remember..

remember what? there's nothing to recall. you're not even scared anymore.

...scared? why were you scared? a headache surfaces, and you groan into his shoulder; clenching the fabric of his clothes in a heated impulse.

he pulls away, a drop of blood left trailing down your neck—he licks it off. you shiver. languidly, he smiles at your dazed state. chuckling, when you move to bury yourself in his chest, nuzzling your face against the crook of his neck.

eyeing the fresh mark by your throat, he grins in pride; embracing you lovingly.

finally, you're his.

[lustlovehart]

Soft Clipped Feathers

A/n: Really Self-Indulgent for Sundays realese today.

Pairing: Sunday x Reader

Summary: You’ve grown tired of staying in the hidden nest that is Sundays arms, yet you can’t bring yourself to really leave that comfort. So, you do the only thing that can alleviate this want, use Sundays infatuation for yourself. (1.3k words)

Warnings: [Yandere], Possesion, Manipulation, Implied NSFW & Suggestive, Reader lowkey plays with Sunday (And it backfires LMAO), Themes of codependency, Sunday and Reader get filthy? Very unholy you two, Tiny (Big) obsession from Sunday, Uhm they make out on the floor?? Idk if that needs a tag

There’s a certain petulance in the room you sit in. Stained windows filled with colorful sectors, unify into a beautiful image of a Dove… falling victim to the hunter who sang false truths in its flight of freedom.

“You’ve been staring at the window for quite some time.” The man who claims himself to be the representation of the holiest of days, speaks into the once-relaxing silence of the room. He displays himself as a savior, yet you know better than to trust hunters, they’ve always believed their prey to be the lone sustenance for their fortune. “It’s lovely isn’t it?”

“Not really. I just don’t feel like looking at a man flaunting his feathers.”

“You liked when that IPC worker did. Did you not?” Sunday takes a step closer, to the wooden bench you rest on, his gloved hand caressing your skin. He traces up your arm, thumb ghosting your lips, bestowing a gentle tap on your mouth. It’s akin to a kiss really, if you could count it.

It doesn’t matter though, you’ve kissed plenty of times, and it makes no difference whether you do it with or without clothes. Though, the remembrance makes you shudder. Fingers dancing on your skin, blankets surrounding your intertwined bodies. A romantic scene really, if it weren’t for the fact you imagined the cool cruel silver, to be a chilling night in penacony.

“No, that was just jealousy blinding you, Sunday.” The man pulls away, his wings fluttering ever so slightly.

“Jealousy is the trait of men with no virtues, inharmonious men.” He speaks the word inharmonious, like treason.

“Well, it seems this room is filled with impropriety then hm?” You lean further into the mahogany, hoping somehow, someway, the wood will take liquid form and drown you. Yet you know it won’t. A trio of buttons undo on your blouse from the action, Sunday watching with great intent.

A majority of your chest is now on full display, to Sunday and each piece of art in the room. The eyes in the stained glass, those sculpted pupils of those statues, yet the only gaze you feel is his. Halovian eyes dilate at the sight, he’s quick to look into your eyes when you notice his entrance.

The garment was far too tight on you, but you had no urge to change out of it. Perhaps an unconscious act of rebellion to Sundays put together attire, perfectly fitting his form.

“Your clothes are astray.” He points out the detail as if you didn’t know. You don’t have the chance to reply before you feel Sunday nudge his way into your spot on the bench, towering over you as gloved fingers quickly work to redo the buttons. “Still, it would be dishonorable, for you, if someone saw you this way.” He emphasizes the ‘for you’ as if you cared.

You clasp your hands around his, effectively pausing his movements. He inhales when you pull him down, wind rushing through his hair. This adrenaline is further ensued, when the only thing stopping him from touching bare skin, is the cloth he’s attempting to redo.

In truth, this is the only way you feel to have any control of your fate. His affections for you are wide, yet narrow too. Wide in a way you can feel yourself drown in this so-called adoration, but narrow to a point you could never fully move through it. The rare moments you have with him, where you have him in a cage, is when you entangle him in the love he sought from you so deeply.

Though, this cage will always be unlocked for a free bird like him. But for you, you’ll forever be doomed to roam on the floor, those soft feathers of yours, clipped to never breathe air again.

“If someone saw us like this, that would only solidify what you want.” Your voice is low, warm air blowing on Sunday's neck. His knee is placed between your legs, his elbow being the sole pillar from his ravish on your being. His eyes trail between your eyes and your lips, those golden optics widening when you suddenly lean up.

Now you’re truly testing a man of virtue. A dangerous endeavor indeed.

“What do you plan to do?” His question doesn’t match the look in his eyes, you should know, his eyes are centimeters from yours, and so are your lips. The wings from his head flutter down, gentle feathers caressing your skin; successfully covering the visage of your surroundings.

All that’s left to see is Sunday.

“Do you plan to do this, and go to sleep satisfied at testing my countenance?” You don’t answer him, yet again, he didn’t want a reply. “Or will you finally change your ways? As you’ve promised at confessional time and time again.”

Oh, he knew that was you?

“Sunday—” you’re cut short when a kiss is delegated on your temple, any retort dying immediately at his placating.

“It’s okay, I’ll forgive you,” His arm falls to brush your cheek, the leather from his glove squeaking at the movement. “As long as you listen.” he stops talking after the final sentence, only softly gazing into your eyes. It’s uncomfortable, and piercing. It’s a strikingly familiar gaze to that of a husband, which Sunday is anything but.

“You…” Your words are strained, it’s a pain to face the reality you willingly put yourself into with him. “Sunday…” You grit your teeth, roughly pushing Sunday to the marble floor, bodies falling in unison.

Once again, you’re left in the only position you feel comfortable, making Sunday fall victim to your charms. At this point. Your shirt has already fallen down your shoulder, and your back is on cold flooring.

You take a deep breath in, before enacting your act of rebellion to this so-called man of virtue. You shall strip this room of its purity. But, to be transparent…

There’s no purity left in this room, for it’s not a beautiful art gallery of glass and statues. It’s the home you’ve always lived in. It’s the cruelest joke of all, you have the freedom to go where you wish, but you don’t, you stay.

“This world isn’t kind,” Sunday kisses your palm as he lays his head on your chest, the soft beating of your heart turning his own. “Wait until I’ve made it so.” You’re not sure what he means, but you nod… at the time.

Maybe it’s because of his words, or maybe simply fear for the unkind world he speaks of. Sometimes, you wish for a reality where you step into this cruel world, only then do hatchlings grow strength in their wings.

Now though, wings that have been clipped, have no chance of regaining that opportunity.

In one motion, you take his handsome face into your palms, pulling him roughly to your lips, his own hands finding refuge on your waist, pulling you down into him. It’s filthy and self-indulgent, but all you can do.

When you disconnect to breathe, a trail of saliva connects your lips, a reminder of the everbinding hold he has on you. If you think positively, it could also refer to how deep this infatuation with you, has implemented itself into Sunday's core.

Maybe the simple sight of you, reminds Sunday what it is he strives to do in reality, create a sanctuary of peace. Not you though, he’s the only one allowed to feel your comfort.

You dive back in, ready to drown in the essence that is harmony, through his lips.

…

You wake up to the colorful sight of stained glass, the same sight of a Dove and a hunter invading your pupils. There’s something different though.

There’s a hole in place of the Dove's heart, the window shattered, but only in that sole spot.

The blanket draped over you slides off as you leave the marble platform, but you’re stopped when a firm forearm wraps around your waist, effectively pulling you back. You look back at the perpetrator with a glare.

“Sunday, you’re a man of manners, you’ll be late for… whatever you have going on today.” it’s a pathetic attempt to get him off. Of course it doesn’t work.

“You’re right, but I won’t be late.” you continue to stare at the image, only vaguely listening to Sunday's words.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?" Considering it’s only the morning after…. what you’ve done, your urge to be spiteful isn’t as strong as yesterdays. You wish that wasn’t so.

“You’re coming with me.” He says it so softly, it doesn’t register completely in your mind. But when it does, you wonder if the dove was attempting to warn you.

“You’re… Making me leave…?” You turn around, facing the man that continues to lay next to you.

“No, I’m making you stay, with me.”

…

It seems you’re no longer a bird with freedom to walk anywhere you want anymore either. You’re left flightless, and freedomless.

But…

“I see…” You don’t fight, not like he expected you to do. Not like… you expected to do so either. You lie back down, burying yourself into the blanket with him, burying yourself into Sunday. His arms surround you in a warm embrace.

Maybe it’s your own fault for flying into this hunters trap, with your own free will.

Hahaha, please come him with my 0 pity and 80 pulls Mr.Sunday :). Alsooo, I hope this is good, because, confession… I haven’t finished the penacony quest, only the first one 😬

[lavandulawrites]

Hi! Here's a short request. Yan! Genshin men with a darling that compares the yandere with fictional men(they are themselves fictional but I mean a book character or smth idk)

Yandere Genshin Men With A Darling Who Compares Him With Fictional Men

Yandere Albedo x reader, yandere Tighnari x reader, yandere Diluc x reader, yandere Neuvillette x reader

This was a really fun request<3 (Let me know if anyone wanna be apart of my taglist).

Masterlist

Warnings: imprisonment, post abduction, reader has Stockholm syndrome in Diluc’s part

Word count: 582

Albedo

“Look Albedo! He looks just like you!” you pointed at the blond prince in the fairytale book you were reading. The prince had light blond hair and kind blue eyes. He really did look like Albedo.

The blond man chuckled as he looked at you with a playful smile. “Are you comparing me to a fictional character?” his voice had an amused edge to it.

“Yeah. I am. But look he’s not only just a fictional character, he’s a prince!” you smiled back at him.

Albedo’s crystal blue eyes studied the drawing for a few seconds before his gaze returned to you. “Don’t think you can make me let you go through comparing me to a fictional prince. I’m not that easily persuaded. Plus it would be illogical to let you roam the dangerous world alone, love” he stroked your cheek gently before he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

Tighnari

“All I’m saying is that you look like him, not act like him! I don’t get what the problem is” you tried your best to explain yourself to the irritated fox that sat in front of you.

His ears were pinned back in irritation and his fingers drummed against the kitchen table. “I’m not a wolf nor am I a werewolf. Are you seriously comparing me to a monster?” his voice akin to a hiss.

“Well you did abducted me you know…” you mumbled under your breath, which of course the fox hybrid heard.

“Watch your mouth [Name]. One more word about me looking like a stupid fictional character and your manga privileges gets revoked” he folded his arms over his chest as he glared at you.

Diluc

“Diluc, you remind me of him” you nodded towards the book that was perched onto your lap. “The knight I mean.”

The red head tilted his head slightly in curiosity. “The knight? Why?” he took a seat beside you and wrapped his arm around you in a one-arm hug.

“He’s the love interest. He saves a young maiden and her village and in return she marries him. It’s quite a sweet story” you smiled up at him.

Archons, he never got enough of your pretty smile. “I see. I must say I’m flattered to be compared to a hero, but as you know I’m not the fondest of knights” he chuckled as he kissed the crown of your head. “If you see me as such a nobleman, I suppose it’s only fair I act the part” he smiled to himself. Diluc was surprised how far you have become. All the struggles have finally paid off.

Neuvillette

“Are the new book to your liking, dear?” Neuvillette asked you as he took a sip of his fine glass filled with the clearest spring water. His eyes were trained on you who were sitting on the sofa opposite of him.

“Yeah, it’s good so far” your eyes still glued to the cream coloured pages. “However, one of the characters reminds me of you” your beautiful eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Oh? Which character do I remind you of? And how come?” the white haired man tilted his head in curiosity.

“You remind me of the dragon. He turned himself into a beautiful man and loved the princess into his tower. He refuses to let her go no matter what and claims he keeps her locked away as a way of protecting her” you looked up at him with a glare. “Don’t you recognise yourself?”

[pigeonpeach]

Yandere sex shit

Cw: fem reader, pregnancy risk, degradation, dubious consent for some, somnophillia, breeding, women with dicks, might be mildly misogynistic in arlecchino’s but idk if it really counts as that.

Characters included: Diluc, Arlecchino, Neuvillette, Yelan, and Pantalone

“I can’t stop…” his voice was like a growl almost. You raised your head, your body felt sore as you took in the scenery and the position you had been forced in. You were on your side, leg hitched onto his shoulder.Diluc must’ve come home late while you were already asleep. The fact your nightgown had been hitched, your panties pushed aside, and your womb had been filled was enough to incriminate him yes. But it wasn’t like you could leave this olace anyways. As his pace resumed the chains on your hands clanked slightly. You hated how you still had to be chained to this day. You had been so good and yet his staff still doesn’t trust you. Or is it their way of offering you as a sacrifice to him, leaving you defenseless so he can have his way. Although initially you were numb to all pleasure, your mind sleepy snd still processing everything. You suddenly gasped as you felt him knock against your g-spot. Your arms thrashed, the chains clanked and jingled.

“You feel like so good.” He commented,”Haah… fuck If you squeeze me like that… oh… fuck.. shit I’m going to cum.” Your eyes widened as you looked down. Unable to communicate your concerns as you realized you had no form of birth control here. Nor was he wearing a condom. But it felt so good you didn’t want to stop deep down. The previous rounds sloshed inside yourself as you couldn’t help but spread your legs s little more. Your sensibility actively fucked out of you.

You just had to hope you weren’t ovulating

“Please~~~!” You whined. The vibrations of the toy inside had been edging you for so long now. Each time you would get close to release Arlecchino would pull it out making you squirm desperately. You had tried to escape recently, growing a bit paranoid after being here for so long against your will. But after what must’ve been hours of orgasm denial the torture session’ had turned you into what you would later regret. But currently you were dumb and horny and really just wanted to cum already.

“You haven’t earned it. Disobedient wives to be don’t try to escape in the middle of then night now do they? You’re a bad little fiancé and therefore you need be punished until you’re absolutely sorry.” She growled into your ear. You whined as she pulled it out once more.

“N-no no I’ll be good i promise! I promise I’ll be good!” You whined desperately. Your hips chased the toy to no avail. You heard her belt unbuckling. You looked down to see a rather impressive cock. You were to out of it to think about how she wasn’t reaching for a condom or any form of protection.

“You promise? As if that has any value.” She smacked your face with her cock. “Don’t just stare at it, be a good little whore for me and I’ll consider letting you cum.” You gulped but quickly pressed your lips to it as she quickly forced it in. Your sounds of surprise were muffled as she quickly settled her own pace.

“A useless little whore. Am i the first to defile this little mouth? Will I be the first to deflower you?~” she grasped your hair like a leash. Forcing you up and down until suddenly pulling out.

“W-wha-“ you whined as she suddenly flipped you over.

“I need to know how pure my beloved little fiancé is.” She responded with immediately sinking her cock into your pussy. You whined as you felt absolutely heavenly. Squirming as she established a brutal pace. “You’re tight, even after all that foreplay… fuck… i need to defile you, make you my whore and only mine. I’ll turn your body into my little cumdump!” You gagged from the ferocity of her thrusts. You tried to say something but it came out in stutters and mumbles. She seemed to understand it somehow. “You’re going to cum? Good. I want to feel you cum on my cock again and again until I fill your womb with my seed.”

“The Iudex is… currently in heat.. miss please do consider your position on your marital responsibilities!” The maids pleaded with you. The Iudex, the hydro dragon was currently in heat but hadn’t the heart to make you accompany him during it. You turned your head away. You could care less if your captor was suffering, it hardly would be as painful ad you felt just being here. “Please its been absolutely torrential rains!” The maids pleads ment nothing.

“I don’t care. Now where is that tea I ordered?” Normally you would be polite and respectful of service workers. But considering who they were working for and what their intentions were you really couldn’t give s fuck if you made them cry. What you didn’t know was in that tea they begrudgingly brought out was a aphrodisiac.

“My love… they said you weren’t feeling well…” His hands traced over your face. You didn’t really know where he came from just that he emerged from hiding to help you. You were certain those maids had some role in your current predicament, but also you were too horny to care. Your body felt firey and hot and you needed him more than ever. He opened his mouth to lick at your sweat as his hands reached down below your nightgown.

“Just… get it over with..” you whined, trying to maintain some defiance. It was humiliating sure but… oh you couldn’t help but fall apart as his finger entered inside. His cold hands making you clamp onto him tightly.

“So.. warm.. fuck.. you’re fertile too.. i can taste it in your sweat.” He purred. “I won’t be able to control myself. Please pardon me.”

“Ne-neu-neuvillette!” You whined as he slammed every inch of his cock into your sopping wet little cunt. His hands pinning you down as you squirmed mindlessly. All resistance long drawn out as you had been fingered through three orgasms until now. You were practically his little bitch now. Unable to think straight.

“You’re so tight for me… fuck I can’t… i need to breed you my love.” You gasped at his words but couldn’t respond as he started to fuck you at a brutal and unrelenting pace. His cock dragging against your insides only to slam back in. “So good for me. So good…” his whines turned you on more than you would like. But who could blame you when his cock was just so thick and reached all the right places, his voice bordered on a purr as you were held in a mating press unable to stop or resist as his cock bulldozed any thoughts out of your head. The aphrodisiac making you into a fine slut.

“Cum inside! Please!” You begged instinctively. Your body wishing to be fertilized and impregnated beyond your senses. You needed him in this moment more than anything.

“Fuck… can’t.. stop… ugh!” He groaned loudly as he came, his seed flooding your womb as you whined in release. He paused briefly before resuming his pace. “I’m going go knock you up, maybe then you’ll finally be a obedient little slut for me”

“You’re such a bad liar you know. I wonder what your god would think if she saw one of her top soldiers bouncing like this.” Yelan was simply smarter than you, a simple Fatui agent. But you really couldn’t resist. Her charisma was irresistible. Her voice itself was aphrodisiac that made you buck your hips.

Pantalone would no doubt be utterly disgusted if he saw you now. Although he’d likely be more disgusted that you were bottoming than your sexual orientation. But the chances of you ever returning now were low. You had a feeling this encounter would leave you in her grasp forever based on that possessive stare she held. “Fuck… you’re such a good slut. I don’t know how you haven’t been taken by that harbinger yet, although he already doesn’t have good tastes in fashion, he must’ve been blind to your true potential~”

“N-noooo… ah~”

“No? You aren’t a good slut? I beg to differ. I don’t think I’ve had this much fun interrogating any of the other agents before. You certainly are a catch.” She purred. You tensed up at the idea that your colleagues may have similarly found themselves in your position. “Don’t worry, you’re the first I’ve done this too. I just couldn’t resist the way your uniform looked on you. You’re always so well dressed. Maybe I should steal your clothes and send you back to him nude?”

“N-no!” You gasped, blushing more than you should’ve. She winced as you clenched on her.

“I’m only teasing now. I have absolutely no intentions of letting you go back at all.” She grinned like a cat as she suddenly held your hips down, forcing you to feel her deep inside. You flinched and squirmed. Desperately trying to get off or finish. “Look me in my eyes now.” You hesitated before eventually obliging. Your hands bound tightly in some artistic pattern behind, your legs sore and exhausted. You were used to the point of exhaustion, a normal sensation but not in the sexual sense. You thought if you could break your restraints now and gain some freedom you could make a escape now, you would just have to cover your torn tights that left your cunt exposed- “I know what you’re thinking. You’ve already tried to break those restraints and you haven’t succeeded yet. Why would you even want to go back anyways?” Her hands pushed your thighs so you were on your back, legs in the air, you tried to kick at her with what little sense and strength you had. But she grabbed it with amusement.

“I’m not letting you leave. I think of all those nick-knacks I’ve taken from that harbinger you’ve certainly been my favorite. I don’t care what he tries, you are going to be mine. Even if I have to melt your mind myself. I’ll happily train you to be a good little slut~”.

“I-i didn’t mean anything sir I was just trying to be polite to her!” You whined. You were simply his secretary. Used to handling and recieving guest when he was busy. Apparently Signora had a bone to pick with the Regrator, some drama you weren’t aware of and she decided to… make him jealous? You hadn’t even known of his feelings. Despite his smile he is hardly expressive minus when he’s angry. What were you supposed to do other than abide by her advances! She was a harbinger afterall!

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care if that manual didn’t specify or told you what. You are mine.” Pantalone was certainly pissed now. His eyes revealing a unnatural and omitting a possessive aura. You felt like a mouse in the clutches of a cat. You hadn’t even been stripped yet as he had simply thrown you onto his desk. He towered above you as his hand trailed up your skirt, which was now pushed up to expose you. “You are my secretary. And I swear if I have to lock you up in some room in my mansion I will gladly do so. I don’t care if some harbinger catches your fancy or whatever prior commitments you have. You will henceforth be considered mine both in mind and body.”

“I-I didn’t know that you considered me in su-AH!” You squeaked as he tore your tights. Those tights weren’t the fragile type either, special made and lined with thicker fabrics to help insulate in the typical blizzards you would encounter leaving the office.

“It doesn’t matter now…. You’re practically leaking right now. You tremble and shake but your body is as ripe as a peach. I wonder if you’ve dreamed of this scenario before…” his voice grew more assertive. “Or maybe you were thinking of that woman instead. Hoping she’d be the one to see this perhaps?”

“N-no! No sir!” You shivered. Your legs trembled as you were utterly lost on where to go from here. You couldn’t escape and you hadn’t ever fucked your boss before so this was a quite the adjustment. A shiver ran up your spine as you suddenly felt his lips latch onto your dripping cunt. Your hand reached to cover your face from embarrassment. Trying to stay still as if it wasn’t already to late. What made you even more embarrassed was the sounds he was making. The sensations and pleasure you felt was in your veins but the sounds of wet smacks and slurping could be heard potentially out of his office. You knew they hadn’t finished soundproofing it. Anyone passing by would hear it. Your hand suddenly was tugged away.

“Don’t muffle your sounds now. You were oh so chatty just a few seconds ago. So go on, scream, cry, beg I don’t care. The louder you are, then the better other people will hear you.”

“Bu-but that’s p-mmmmm!” You bit your lip as a finger suddenly entered. You didn’t even notice the rings had been removed.

“Go on. Let everyone in this building know your mine!” He growled as he began to finger you more aggressively. The tips of his fingers still clothed by his gloves, reached your g-spot making you yelp and squeal. “I’ll make sure you never go unmarked again. You aren’t going to leave this office or my presence until I’m thoroughly satisfied.”

[bones4thecats]

Them Crushing on their Opponent's S/O

Characters: Beelzebub, Apollo, Thor, and Poseidon Inspired By: Idk... random thought I guess? A/N: Apologies for not posting anything in a while, I have been trying to get everything set up for the next few days (I have a dog-sitting job lined up here soon and school starting has been making it a little more stressful) but I do hope this was worth the wait for you guys! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Swearing, mentions of fighting, world-wide destruction, mass death (implied), and implied wish to kill another, attempting homewrecker Apollo + implied yandere behavior on each (not bad on Beel and Thor's, worse on Apollo, and horrible on Poseidon's) ⚠️

Disclaimer: The Reader is quoted on being a female

Reader's Outfits ; Beelzebub - Apollo - Thor - Poseidon

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Beelzebub ═════════════════════════════╝

🪰 Beelzebub was not excited for his fight. He just wanted to get this over with as fast as possible so he could get back to doing his own things

🪰 He watched as Nikola stepped out and into the ring, and he noticed how the human looked back at the other inventors. But he was looking at someone specific, at a human that stood alongside the Valkyrie sisters above

🪰 You smiled gently and waved at your husband, your short-sleeved dress moving alongside your shoulders while the rest of your dress accented your frame in amazing ways, much to the amazement of some deities and humans, and in most to the amazement of the two fighters below

"Kick his ass, Nik'!" You yelled.

🪰 Nikola chuckled as you cheered, the youngest sister jumping alongside you. You were such a flamboyant woman back during your lives, and it was hard getting used to life without you when you passed, and it was amazing when you both joined hands again

🪰 Beelzebub saw how much you adored your husband and just scoffed, trying to push the odd feeling of butterflies in his stomach away with the flush on his face

🪰 When this fight ended with a God's victory, the Lord of the Flies needed to find a way to speak to you...

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Apollo ════════════════════════════════╝

☀️ Leonidas was ready for his fight, after all, he was going against the man he blamed for the deaths of not only his and his men's lives, but the death of his wife via the domino affect

☀️ You were so saddened when he passed that after your son, Pleistarchus, finally aged up and began his rule, you decided to finally end your life, much to your people's despair

☀️ As your husband looked back at you, you smiled and hugged him, wishing him luck. You the heard an eruption of applause, making you look up while Leonidas scowled silently

☀️ Standing before you both was a youthful-looking god, specifically Apollo, the Greek God of the Sun and Music. Much like the others close to Leonidas, you knew how much he despised this guy and how much he blamed him for the deaths of his men, himself, and in result you

☀️ The God of the Sun looked around and winked at his nymphs in the audience, which caused you to roll your eyes and kiss your husband's arm before leaving him to enter his fight

☀️ It was when you finally made it up to where Brunhilde and Göll were that the fight was about to begin. You could see that the two males were speaking, or rather Apollo was speaking to the King of Sparta standing before him

"You know I always wondered what my opponent looked like, wondered if you truly were just a brute, but..." He looked in your direction, causing you to flinch slightly.

☀️ Apollo smirked as your long blue sleeved moved and how your traditional Greek dress hugged you. It accentuated your chest perfectly and allowed your perfect skin to shimmer in the light that Apollo controlled. Not that man you called yours

"I must admit, you found the most gorgeous ray of life I have ever seen. And I'm a well-sought-after god."

"Shut your fucking trap and fight me like the powerful man you claim to be." Leonidas said, readying his weapon.

"Simmer down there, Leonidas! I meant nothing offensive towards your beautiful wife up there." He said as he winked at you, much to everyone's annoyances. "I just merely wanted to commend you on your taste. Maybe after my victory I can take that flower out for a walk? Yes, that sound delightful."

"Kick that motherfucker in the balls for me, honey!" You screamed.

"Planning on it."

"Well then, I guess we can begin our fight. Now... let's dance, your majesty."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Thor ═════════════════════════════════╝

🌩️ Lu Bu was against leaving you alone in this afterlife. He died in front of you long ago and he didn't plan on doing it again. And if you had any say in what Brunhilde decided for this fight, you would've made he pick another warlord

🌩️ But, fate was cruel and it always landed you both in extremely tight spaces. It cursed you with the arranged marriage to a man you despised while Lu Bu's gave him the strength nobody else could match, leaving him alone for many years

🌩️ Thankfully, your fiance was stupid enough to get himself crossing paths with the rough-man, landing him six-feet-under. It was only after that day that you finally found the man you loved, to which you married and, while not having any biological children, you treated all of your shared subordinates with the love of a mother

🌩️ As the fight began, you shivered. Raising your hands, you gripped your upper sleeves, causing Chen Gong to look at you and wrap an arm around your shoulder, attempting to comfort you while your husband readied himself against the notorious God of Thunder

"Human. Why do you intend to beat me?" Thor asked.

"My wife and soldiers have faith in me, though I don't expect an arrogant monster such as a god to understand that. So why bother?"

🌩️ Thor cocked an eyebrow slightly as he looked over at the many soldiers that Lu Bu led, he gazed over them all before settling on you. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon in eons

🌩️ You looked at Lu Bu with worry and determination in your eyes. It almost made Thor... jealous. But why would he, an all-powerful being such as himself, be jealous of some mortal's luck with picking a spouse?

🌩️ Eventually you felt Thor's gaze on you, making you stare into his yellow-colored irises. He blinked as you shifted slightly in your hanfu, which only made Chen wrap his arm tighter around you, determined to keep you at-bay

🌩️ Thor looked back at your husband before sighing and starting the walk that would mark the start of Ragnarok. He glanced back at you, only to see you focused, watching Lu Bu with both love and hope despite your furrowed eyebrows

🌩️ And while they began their fight, there was one thing plaguing Thor's thoughts; why did he wish for you to look at him in that way?

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Poseidon ══════════════════════════════╝

🔱 As a god of few words and one that showed far to much pride for even his own brothers to handle, Poseidon was the opposite of your husband. And you hated that

🔱 Your husband was none other than Sasaki Kojiro, History's Greatest Loser. And as you were close to a couple immortals such as Buddha and Brunhilde, you knew just how dangerous the God of the Seas could be. And it made you concerned for your husband's outcome in this battle

🔱 Sasaki looked back at you as he raised his now-broken sword, and he could tell by the subtle look that you were beyond pissed. And that was the thing he loved most about you, your fieriness

"Why you arrogant bastard! How much of a fucking asshole do you have to be to not even blink an eye at killing such a magnificent man?! Why if I was down there, I'd smack the ever-loving shit out of you!"

🔱 Poseidon was internally shook at hearing a mortal woman yell at him. Every time any human tried voicing their opinions to him, his mere glace would shut them up. But not this human. This one was different

🔱 Looking up slightly, he saw you standing with the other supporters of your husband. One of the males, Musashi Miyamoto, was holding one of your arms to keep you from jumping down and attacking the god with your bare hands while his son, Iori, was watching in shock at how strong you were

🔱 The one thing that Poseidon noticed other than your attitude was how you moved. You moved so delicately and swiftly despite your fury, and it was, dare he think, alluring. It was almost like you were an embodiment of the silkiness of a piece of the softest fabric ever

🔱 You raised your fist and slammed it on the nearby seat, causing Iori to jump and your elderly-appearing husband to chuckle. Poseidon merely watched stoically as you screamed once again

"You win this match and show Humanity just how amazing your old-ass is, Kojiro!"

"Alright, sweetheart. I understand what I must do." He replied, a chill-smile on his face while yours portrayed pure hatred towards his opponent.

🔱 The God of the Seas then saw you lower your fist back down as Musashi had his son wrap it up, as it was bleeding from the impact of cement and your fragile-hand. He saw your hanfu, it looked very blue, like the seas he ruled over for centuries

🔱 After this fight was over with his winning and a step closer to the destruction of those pesky worms down on Earth, Poseidon was going to need to pay you a visit. Maybe said visit will lead to something else? But, for now, getting rid of this hunk of waste was the first step to said future

[moonsaver]

Warning; yandere, entirely ooc because idk anything ab moze other than the fact he might be an assassin.. whatever.

--

Moze likes watching you.

It's more curiosity than infatuation, at least at first.

Why do you like that perfume? Why do you like those colors? Why do you like certain foods and patterns? It's new to him, the way he seems to cling to your information.

He's not unfamiliar per se, but the implication is clear – he hasn't felt this sense of curiosity about anyone before. A few meager, short lines are enough before he sweeps up another mission. But he doubts he'll be satiated with even the pages worth of information he knows about you.

He ghosts you, sometimes. It's slightly.. endearing, the way you almost jump out of your skin from a small tickle or a whisper. The way your sleeping body unconsciously shivers when his rough hand trails up your bare back, goosebumps rising at the graze of his calluses on your skin, the way you stiffen when you feel someone breathe down your neck only to turn around and see no one there. The way your fingers twitch when his hand ghosts them. The slight flicker in your eyes when you think someone's whispered your name in a crowd. He sees it all.

He just needs a sure-fire way to get rid of.. obstacles. Rudimentary personalities that fill the gap between you and him. And considering his skills, it'll be no time until you're left vulnerable and grasping for any company. Perhaps he'll make sure to visit the marketplace where you'll inevitably be, succumbing to routine despite your mournful state.

He visits you, of course he does. But the risk of being discovered by you instills many feelings in him, contrasting to the indifference when his target spots him. He doesn't like the risk of being discovered – not when his diligent hands scan through your room, nor when he stalks you constantly anywhere, or when he maps out the measurements of your body. But another part of him, finds a sort of perverse pleasure in trying to imagine how you might react.. although distasteful, the idea of that burden of having to hide away his.. hobby, finally lifting from his shoulders is something he'd perhaps like. And perhaps he'd like to put his knowledge about you to good use.

Unconsciously, he even holds himself in pride when it comes to how much he knows about you. You avoid wearing that sweater because it's too stuffy, or maybe he notices the stitches of your garments come loose from how often you fidget. Maybe he sees the way you always order the same food when you have a crappy day. Maybe he notices who's been responsible for all your crappy days.

Maybe, just maybe, he notices the quirk in your step when they stop.

And he understands – slowly but surely, he's becoming a part of you in more ways than one.