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look-a-yandere-fandom-blog · 1 month ago

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Denial | Oneshot

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The Obsessed / Gender Neutral Reader

Fandom: Middle Earth: Shadow of War

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Romantic Yandere.

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Content Warning: Violence, stalking, delusional/obsessive/possessive behaviour, blood.

(If there’s anything else I need to add to these warnings, please let me know.)

I once told myself that I'd never write anything LOTR-adjacent because of the huge amount of lore surrounding it and fear of messing something up...

Apparently, I lied XD

I'll admit, this one's kinda OC-ish, as the obsessed are randomly generated rather than fully fledged characters, but I tried to keep it close to their in-game personalities/dialog.

How well did that go? No idea. Enjoy anyways!

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Watch.

That is all you are here to do.

To survey. To observe. To gather intel.

To listen in on grumbled conversations and examine strongholds for weaknesses.

To keep your distance, and stay out of sight.

Travelling in the lands of Mordor is a perilous task. The dangers of which you are well aware of. It's terrain harsh and unforgiving. It's inhabitants even more so. You know the risks of getting caught.

Which is why your heart stops at the glint of a weapon overhead.

"A scout, eh? You pinkskins can't help sneakin' around where ya don't belong."

Your hand lunges for the sword at your hip, conjuring it just in time to block the downward swing. An axe meets your blade, the cold clatter echoing in the dark.

You look up, and a pair of beady eyes meet yours. Vivid yellow, almost aglow in the dying light of a nearby fire, set behind a worn helmet, its once-shining gleam reduced to a dull grey.

With a sidestep, you pull your blade back. The orc's weapon charging to the floor, but hitting nothing in its journey.

You glance around, searching for the safest escape route, your peripheral vision impaired by your cloak's hood. Your best chance is to get away from this outpost. Staying to fight means that others may become involved. Already at a disadvantage here, you are in no hurry to worsen your predicament.

However, the orc is blocking your path. You have to make it past him first.

A grumble sounds from the orc as he works to dislodge his axe from the ground. Curses are hissed under his breath, before it is yanked up in a flurry of dirt and dust. Focused on regaining his footing, he is distracted.

Holding your sword firmly, you sprint as an opening is given. The wind whistles in your ears as your soles hit the earth.

Mid-stride, his claws snatch your cloak.

You yelp, suddenly jerked back. As the fabric tears, he grabs for your forearm instead.

Sharp nails dig into your flesh. Indents left in their wake. Your wrist is kept in place, to stop you from ramming your sword into him.

He raises his weapon but...

It does not fall.

He stares. Baring his teeth as his eyes waver. Chest rising and falling steadily.

In your terror, you cannot make sense of it. He should have struck by now. He should have buried that blood-stained steel into your skull. Why does he not? Why does he wait?

The axe moves down slowly, agonisingly. Only centimetres from your face. A few specks of dirt land on your skin. The point is hooked under the hem of your hood.

He nudges the axe forward, bit by bit, until your hood falls back, collapsing around your neck. The fire's light glazes your features, illuminating your bewilderment.

There is a quiet noise from beneath his helm, a hum, while his head tilts to the side. His eyes flicker back and forth, scanning what they have found. An animal analysing its catch.

Then, he leans in. With his weapon still so close, you do not dare to retaliate, should he be spurred to attack.

The orc's helmet bumps against your forehead; an icy contrast to the warmth of your skin. Nose to nose.

Seconds tick by in silence. He seems to be settling, nearly dazed in demeanour. A million thoughts hovering behind his distant gaze which you do not know. And you hope you never will.

A single word is mumbled, almost subconsciously, barely heard over your own panic.

"Mine..."

His axe lowers, hanging loosely by his side...

You take your opportunity.

A kick to the leg and his balance is shaken. You wrench your arm from his hold, drawing blood as his nails scrape across your flesh.

Without looking back, you run.

You run until you cannot breathe. Until you are far from that outpost. Until you are far from him.

In the days after, you shove the encounter out of your mind. Nothing new can be discovered by wondering. Recalling the experience over and over will not reveal any unknown truths.

Yet, as you set yourself back to work, something feels... different.

Wherever you venture, there is the sensation of something watching you. Hiding in the bushes, perching atop a tower, lurking in the dark.

Never free of it. Never a moment without it.

You chalk it up to nerves. Merely the weight of your post getting to you. Besides, if you were found, it would be more efficient to bluntly attempt to kill you. There is no need for an enemy to spy on a scout.

You tell yourself that it is naught but fear. Pathetic fear. Again and again. Till you almost believe it.

Thankfully, you soon need to report to your superiors. Leaving this place should give you a few days of freedom from the poisoning paranoia of Mordor's lands.

The world is quiet as you take cautious steps across the night, approaching the border into Gondor; staying far from every fortress and outpost you know.

It is not entirely silent. The sounds of unseen creatures and distant altercations resound in the shadows. Leaves rustle upon trees. Rocks crunch and clink under foot. Your torn cloak flutters like a bird's wings behind you.

There is an odd security in the isolation. A comfort in the solitude. You feel alone. For the first time in days, you feel completely and entirely alone.

Until you spot them...

Eyes. Yellow eyes. Watching you.

A shaky breath of disbelief leaves your lungs. The chance of encountering him again, all the way out here, is too small to be coincidence. He followed you. No doubt in your mind. But for what purpose, you have no clue.

The figure emerges as his lips curve up into a crinkled grin. Armour outlined by a dull sheen in the moonlight.

The confusion that filled his expression during your previous encounter has been replaced. His eyes flicker instead with an unnerving resolution. A determination that you cannot place the source of.

In a moment of déjà vu, you reach for your sword.

"Identify yourself, orc." Clutching your blade tightly, as though a lifeline, you demand an explanation, a name to the spectre that has haunted your every step.

"Ratak." The figure responds simply. No statement of purpose, nor who he serves. Only a name.

"And what do you seek?" You urge, refusing to let your guard down.

He giggles, as though you were silly for even asking.

"You o'course, love."

His voice is different. No longer the threatening sneer heard when you first met. Now, it is horrifyingly casual. As though what he speaks were common knowledge.

Your eyes narrow, angered.

"Do you think me a fool?" A hiss snaps from you, now glowering at him. "What are you here for? Why do you follow me?"

"I've told ya already, I'm here for you..."

He is insistent. Unchanging in his conviction. You refuse to believe it. You cannot. You do not want to.

Starting to feel uneasy, your words become sharper.

"Enough with the games, orc-!"

"Games? You're the one that's been toying with me, love... Makin' me chase you about... always runnin' off before I can get close..."

The orc treads forward, and you swiftly put more space between you and him. A growl-like noise seeps from his pointed teeth.

"Cruel thing... lettin' me catch you, hold you next to me... and then scurrying away..." Accusatory notes seep into his voice as he continues to step closer and closer.

Envy swirls in his ribs. Aching. Ratak's mind enveloped by this feeling. A bleeding ache, festering in your time apart. Every backward step you take sends his thoughts spiralling.

"Why d'ya run, hm? Is there someone else keepin' you from me? Another uruk? A bloody human?" His tone distorts, laced with a jealousy you never imagined that you would see in the flesh.

Ratak would be ashamed of himself, humiliated by how desperate he is acting, could he only think clearly. If his every thought was not preoccupied with that flittering encounter from nights before. If his fingertips were not still stained with your blood. If that pain in his ribs could only stop.

"I am tired of this, orc." You cut off his jilted questions, stuck in your denial. More willing to dismiss his delusional words than ponder the sincerity behind them. "Leave me be. I would rather not have to fight you."

The orc falls still. Hands twitching as he processes your words.

Leave. You want to leave? To scamper away from him again? To make him want to keep you and then cause this suffering in his chest and then... then..!

In a storm of rage, you plummet to the forest floor. The air is knocked out of your lungs as he lands atop you.

"You just won't bloody listen!" He yells, spittle falling into your face. "Your stupid 'duty' and all that's keeping you from stayin' with me, isn't it?"

The point of your sword is aimed to his torso as he looms over you, his hands pinning your shoulders. Ratak does not pay the blade any attention, as though oblivious to it, consumed by his fury.

"You're givin' your loyalty to those weak, worthless, human scum, when it should be mine! You should be mine!"

His frustration is beginning to break through to you. To crack through your guard of denial. Every word feels genuine, feels weighted; the emotion behind it far too strong to be an act.

"Can you not hear yourself?! Your claims are ludicrous-"

"Ludicrous? Ludicrous!" He cuts you off, indignant. "I don't care if I'm bein' ludicrous! You're the one who's makin' me feel like this, you can bloody deal with it!"

Ratak's breaths are heavy, ragged, his face contorted. He pushes himself closer, the sword starting to pierce his skin.

But, despite the weapon pointed to it, the pain in his chest dissipates. Slowly but steadily. He leans closer, it fades a little more.

Nervousness builds as you look up at him. Stunned as he leans in, drops of dark blood trailing down the blade and onto your fingers, the edge slicing his flesh.

Until, finally, the metal of his helm reaches your forehead once again.

Not enough.

He reluctantly removes a hand from your shoulder, tugging his helmet off and tossing it aside.

Returning to your skin, his hand coils around your throat. The action reminiscent of distorted affection, yet also an unspoken threat.

Now, the orc lays his head over yours. His thin, wiry, hair falls to either side of your face, his anger fizzling to a quiet rumble of thunder rather than a blazing hurricane.

"Love..." he mutters the nickname. Despite the word's unfamiliarity, it feels right to him.

"My love, we... we both know you're s'posed to be mine... they don't matter anymore, no one else does... it's you and me..."

Ratak's claws against your neck, your sword pressed to his heart. His fingertips stained red, and yours stained black.

Both trapped, held at each other's mercy.

"Just you and me... for ever..."

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#thank you to the person in the shadow of war tag who said they wanted to see more yan uruk stuff #gave me the motivation to finally write this thing <3 #the obsessed #shadow of war #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere uruk #yandere orc #middle earth: shadow of war

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