#my first yandere

[14dayswithyou]

💖 DAY 4 SNEAK PEEKS! 💖

Hiya Angels!! ^^ Here are some of the Out Of Context™ screenshots I recently shared with the 14DWY Discord boosters... Who also have early access to Day 4 as of right now!

So if you'd like to skip the wait and go on that aquarium outing with [01010111 01101000 01101111 00111111] right now, feel free to join the Discord community and boost the server! Otherwise, keep checking Tumblr and Twitter for more updates and screenshots ^^

[bunnygirllover45]

vampire vkei ocs I did bc I love the visual kei style and It's an actual crime I don't have any with this style of clothing.

I'm getting used to my friend's drawing tablet but I'm not doing that bad...

[wttcsms]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ you know i'll take you there

ᝰ.ᐟ shinsuke isn't too happy after your little escape attempt, and he makes it known. (fem!reader)

word count 2.5k content contains mating press, creampie, yakuza au, yandere themes, dubcon, praise kink, pet names (good girl), depictions of violence (not towards reader) author's notes sorry for lack of context; this is meant to take place after this fic concept

Shinsuke Kita doesn’t flinch when he pulls the trigger on a gun. 

The recoil doesn’t even register for him; when you do something for so long, eventually, it just becomes second nature. Like the mechanical movements you do when you brush your teeth, or the way you can tie your sneakers without having to actually look at the laces — shooting someone in the head is a mundane thing for Kita, for his line of work. He does it so often, has practiced it ever since he was a young boy, that what he does after is muscle memory. He removes the handkerchief from his suit and wipes the tiny splatter of blood that ended up getting on his cheek. He folds the sullied handkerchief neatly, tucking it away in the inner pocket of his suit. He makes sure the safety on his gun is in place, and he nods for Aran to drag the dead body away. 

When Aran takes his leave, the still-warm corpse in tow, the only people left in the room are Kita and a very scared young man. 

One of these men will be leaving this room, and the other will be hoping for a death as swift and merciful as the flawless execution Kita just delivered. 

“I told you there would be consequences,” Kita doesn’t taunt his victims. He’s not the type to do so. Cold and calculated — his own gang considers him to be a robot, and for the longest time, Kita agreed with them. But that was then, and this is now. Now, Kita has a reason to drag out his torture. Now, Kita understands what it’s like to find his very reason for existing. His purpose isn’t to lead one of the biggest yakuza families in the underground criminal world of Japan. His purpose is to devote his very being to you, and vice versa. 

So imagine how heartbroken he felt when he caught you trying to escape from the farmhouse he built for the two of you. And this man, a low-level runt in his group, had been foolish enough to give in and help you. 

“Please, sir, I wanted no part in the escape! She begged me, she—”

“She’ll receive her own punishment. I value fairness, after all.” Kita interrupts him, sounding as cold as the blood running through the young man’s veins. He’s frozen in fear as he tries to stammer out more excuses, more explanations, more promises to do better in the future but—

—there really isn’t much of a future for him. Not one that he’ll be happy to live in, at least. Kita is fair; having you slip away would have killed him internally. So now, Kita has to kill this man internally. Crush his spirit. Make him dream of death, dangle death in front of his face like a treat to a dog, but never, ever allow him such a kindness. 

(Kita is a fair leader, but very rarely is he kind. 

Kindness will get you killed. 

The boy dumb enough to help you — he’s kind.)

Kita retrieves a knife from one of the inconspicuous cabinets in this room. The fluorescent light hanging from the ceiling casts a warm glow over the both of them, but the blade of the knife reflects back the light, makes it shine in the poor boy’s face. He flinches. 

“Do you remember?” Kita asks him, turning the knife as if to inspect it from every angle. 

“Wh-what?” He stutters out, sounding breathless. He might be on the verge of a panic attack. That’ll make things messier than they need to be. 

“Do you remember what hand you used when you held hers?” Kita clarifies. He sounds calm, but the sight of another man holding your hand had him seething. Even now, it takes everything in him to not plunge the knife right into this young man’s heart, to twist the blade ‘round his insides, make him hurt like how Kita hurt when he witnessed it. 

“It was your left hand.” Kita answers for him. “Fortunately, you’re right-handed. Surely it won’t be too much of an inconvenience for you after I’m done sawing it off.” 

Kita’s chopped off a few fingers and one hand before, but never has he attempted to do it with a medium sized knife. A knife with a purposely dull blade. 

He smiles faintly. Sometimes, it can be fun to break routine and try new things.

You’re in bed by the time Kita returns home. He’s back later than he expects; it turns out, his little experiment with the dull blade is very, very messy. Maybe with practice, he’ll perfect that, too. That boy still has another hand to spare, after all. 

Feeling satisfied with himself, Kita starts humming gently as he makes his way to your shared bedroom. Before you, Kita never bothered making unnecessary noise. He rarely listened to music, but now—

The sting of your betrayal has lessened considerably. Kita isn’t even upset with you anymore. It’s normal for couples to fight and want to storm out on each other, but what matters most is that at the end of the day, he’s coming home to find you warming his bed. 

In his line of work, simple pleasures aren’t usually so sweet. 

You don’t stir when he joins you in bed, the mattress dipping just the slightest bit due to the sudden shift in weight, but he makes his presence hard to ignore, even in your slumber, when he presses his chest against your back, his lips nipping gently on the soft skin of your ears. 

You whine, your eyesight blurry as your eyes flutter open, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re instantly aware of Kita’s body covering your own, and when he feels the subtle shivers of your body, the both of you know it’s not because of the chill of the air conditioner.

He makes a tiny grunt of disapproval. Even after all this time, you’re scared of him? Silly girl — he’d never do anything to hurt you. 

Well, nothing that would hurt you too badly. 

“Did ya have a good dream?” He asks you, breath warm against your ear. 

You swallow hard, not brave enough to shift your body. Ever since the truth came out, the fact that sweet Shinsuke is more than just an average overworked businessman but is a yakuza crime boss, things have never been the same between you two. Kita is nothing if not persistent, though. He still cuddles up against you, he still whispers sweet nothings in your ear, he’s still affectionate and downright loving in every action he does towards you. 

He knows not to expect an answer from you, especially when he plays with the bottom hem of your silk nightgown. “Wish ya would tell me what goes on in that pretty little head of yours.” 

You can picture him frowning; as perceptive as he is, you know that he prefers hearing your thoughts directly from you. 

“What happened to Goto?” You dare to ask, and the air seems to shift in your bedroom. 

Kita is gripping the soft flesh of your thighs, his hand large and imposing, rough with calluses and forever red with blood. You never really learn, you suppose, about how there’s a time and place for such questions. 

“Goto received his punishment.” Kita answers calmly, voice steady but cold. “And I nearly forgot about yours.” 

Liar. You want to call him out, but you at least have enough self-preservation to bite your tongue. As if Kita would ever forget. It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since your little escape attempt. 

Kita adores you, loves you, because in a world of greedy, nasty, spiteful little creatures, you are kind and caring and full of the sugary sweet goodness he’s always going to have a taste for. It’s why he’s not surprised when you ask him, 

“Is he… alive?” 

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. “Is that what you’re really worried about? Goto, over the broken heart of your husband?” 

When you don’t answer, Kita tightens his grip on your thigh, contemplating his next move, before he lets his hand travel to the apex of your thighs, his knuckles brushing against your bare cunt. He’s pleased to find out that you’re still his obedient, sweet girl, following his direct order of going to bed without a bra or panties. Some nights, he’s so tired, any excess fabric is a hindrance. 

“If you have a heart, you’ll tell me what happened to him.” You mumble, trying to ignore the way your body craves for Kita’s touch. Before the truth of his second life came out, you were an addict for him. No one has ever touched him the way he’s touched you, and even now, when you want to ignore him and try to remind yourself of what an awful person he truly is, you can’t.

There’s a traitorous part of your heart and soul that still longs for Kita, no matter the truth.

“It’s because I have a heart that I didn’t kill him.” Kita isn’t lying. The torture was for his pleasure, sure, but he knows how upset and inconsolable you would be if you felt like you were responsible for Goto’s death. The register of his voice lowers as he speaks again, though. His warning leaves you frozen in fear.

“If his filthy hands ever touch you again, I’ll kill him.” 

There are a litany of reasons why you find yourself in the position you’re currently in: wanting, waiting, whining for Kita. Fear, for one thing. You feel compelled to do whatever he wants, considering the sheer difference in strength and power between the two of you. But try as you might, it’s hard to ignore the tiny, nagging voice in your head that lulls you into a state of docile desire. Kita’s always taken care of you, right? You were in love with him, for fuck’s sake. And as you ride his fingers, content to wrap your warm, wet heat around three of his digits as he chuckles at your wanton display, that nagging voice reminds you that you still do — love him, that is. 

Three fingers buried deeply in the warmth of your cunt is enough to make you forget about the events leading up to tonight. He withdraws his fingers, much to your displeasure, and you whine out for him to continue with his ministrations before he shuts you up by forcing you to suck his thumb. You can feel the rough skin of his finger on your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks, treating this situation as if you were about to suck his cock, and your tongue laps at the pad of his thumb before he removes it from your mouth. 

Without any preamble, he’s back to burying his fingers into your pussy, his thumb — wet with your saliva — pressed firmly against your clit. 

“Do you wish it was my cock filin’ you up?” He grunts out, rubbing mercilessly against your clit as you continue to writhe against the bedsheets. Your cheeks feel warm, blood rushing up to your chest and face, and you bite down on your bottom lip, knowing your answer. A shameless, pitiful yes. 

“You’re so beautiful, so sweet, so kind.” In his world, kindness gets you killed. Kita’s no different from any other man in his line of work, and it’s why he’s ravaging you right now. Pumping his fingers in and out of your slick hole, making a mess of his fingers, of your pussy, of the bedsheets, of you. It’s why every time he brings you to your climax, you cum violently. You’re letting out a string of stuttered, fractured fucks mixed in with sharp intakes of breath and Shinsuke’s, and you buck your hips wildly against his fingers, pushing his digits even further in as you cum. 

With your mind hazy from pleasure, your brain scrambled from sleepiness and an intense orgasm, Kita wastes no time pouncing on you. There’s no chance for you to beg for him to wait, and you register that this must be your punishment.

Shinsuke is going to fuck you without any of his normal restraint.

He slides in your sopping wet cunt in one sharp thrust, burying his thick cock deep into your warm, snug hole. He likes having a routine, he likes having set boundaries and rules, he likes being a man of practicality. But right now, he’s fucking you like a wild beast. All you can do is just take it; take his relentless thrusts, his anger, his need to dominate you, to remind you who you belong to. 

“Open up.” He demands, his voice rough and thick with desire. You comply; it’s so easy, considering that you haven’t been able to hold back a single moan as he has his way with you. He spits directly into your mouth, watching the way his saliva sits on the surface of your pink tongue. He doesn’t need to command you to swallow, because you do, savoring the taste of him.

He makes you look him in the eyes as he fucks into you relentlessly. One hand is gripping your hip, practically crushing you as he pounds into your pussy. You’re so fucking wet that the sounds of him moving in and out of your cunt are so lewd, so loud. The inescapable burn of pain and pleasure, the sensitivity of your cunt having to endure his insatiable lust, has you moaning like a bitch in heat. 

“Shin— Shinsuke! G-gonna cum!” You squeak out, and it only motivates Kita to double down. He holds up your legs, your limbs burning from the stretch as he continues to get rougher with his movements. You’re looking at him with a dazed, fucked out expression, and he has the audacity to let out a chuckle. 

“There’s my good girl.” He praises you, spitting into your open mouth once more. 

With your legs trembling and the foggy haze of pleasure clouding your head, you greedily, happily accept his praise. Your legs press tightly against his sides, and with his spit in your mouth and his cock drilling into you with even sharper movements than before, you cum. 

Kita lets out a grunt of approval as he finishes inside of you, a load of hot seed pouring deep inside of you as he keeps your legs folded, his hips pressed against yours, as if he wants to plug you up with his cum. He kisses your forehead that’s glistening with sweat from the heat of his body colliding with yours; it seems the two orgasms he wrung out of you have taken its toll on your body. You’re a pliant, fucked out little mess — his pliant, fucked out little mess. 

“Good girl.” He murmurs sweetly. “I love you so much.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to say it back. He just pulls out his cock a bit before thrusting back into you. This action causes you to let out another long, drawn out moan. He’s absolutely relentless, and as tired as you are, you realize that you don’t want him to stop.

(Pity that you’re not capable of speech at the moment.

Because you would have told him that you love him, too.)

[wildflowercryptid]

❝ just you wait, florian... ❞

how we coping tonight, kieran nation?

[saladoffruitcolored]

Yandere platonic omega father x neglected child reader

Omega father who was in a happy and stable marriage with his alpha, the two met in high school and fell in love, it was a typical romance cliché where the alpha and the omega were academic rivals competing for the title of best in the class

The two eventually became friends/rivals until they finally became lovers, after college graduation the two got married, everything is going well until the omega gets pregnant

It is an unexpected but not unhappy pregnancy, the alpha works in a very well-paid job so there is no worry about money so despite not really liking the idea the omega quits his job planning to stay home during the pregnancy

It is a happy pregnancy, you are born a beta, you are an adorable child and your alpha father loves you with all his heart, your omega father also loves you despite being bothered by your gender, your omega instincts cannot understand why your puppy has no smell, is the puppy sick? Is the puppy defective?

The first five years of your life are wonderful, you have an amazing alpha father and an omega father who is always at home with you, everything is fine until it isn't anymore

Suddenly your omega father asks for a divorce, you and your father are surprised, you never expect this, you both love each other so why does the omega father want to leave!? Because he feels trapped, he couldn't go back to work and now his life revolves around a child and a husband as if he were one of those traditional omegas, this was never the life he imagined, he always imagined himself in the future as an independent omega

Despite his alpha father's attempts to try to rebuild the relationship, his omega father leaves, there is no fight for custody because his omega father makes it very clear that he has no interest in keeping the beta reader, in court the omega father declares that he is not mother material and that he never wanted to be a mother

He really thinks that he does not fit into this role of motherhood until he meets and falls in love with two adorable little abandoned orphan omega girls, he adopts them and the role of motherhood easier than he breathes

Omega father who becomes neglectful of his biological child, stops answering your calls and starts canceling several father-child meetings with you

Years pass and the neglect it goes on and on and on and on you insist on begging for your omega father's love until one day you have had enough, during a rare father-child meeting you are walking through the mall with your negligent omega father, everything is going well until you hear two voices scream

They are the negligent omega father's adopted daughters, they were buying some clothes and saw the two of you, as soon as your omega father saw his precious babies he forgot about you, he immediately goes to them completely forgetting that you were there and all you can do is watch as the three of them walk away

It turns out that this was not just an ordinary father-child meeting, this was a meeting to celebrate your birthday and only after seeing that scene do you realize how little you matter to him, crying you grab your cell phone to call your alpha father to pick you up because obviously your omega father forgot that he was your ride back

After that you give up, no more phone calls, no more letters and no more attempts to arrange meetings, you finally realized that all you need is your alpha father

Everything remains silent until the neglectful omega father notices your absence, after looking at your old baby photos your absence silence began to make a huge echo in the omega father's conscience

He looks at the date and then panic sets in, 18 - you're going to be 18 soon and he can't remember almost anything about you almost no memories or remarkable events come to his mind which is strange because he remembers all the twins' events very well

•Yandere omega father who calls you only to realize that your number has been blocked

•Yandere omega father who tries to write letters that always end up being sent back sealed

•Yandere omega father who tries to contact you through school only to realize that he doesn't know what school you go to, have you graduated yet? What college do you intend to attend?

•Yandere omega father who tries to take the matter to court only to be told that you are now a legal adult so you can decide that you no longer want contact with your parent

•Yandere omega father who is desperate to regain contact with you, he has realized his mistakes so WHY DO YOU KEEP IGNORING HIM!?

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. gif | AO3 | fanfic directory

Homelander was born with only one terrible poverty: loneliness. He's been starved of love his entire life, made sick by his hunger for it, but he believes you might have the cure. If you want to survive, you'll find a way to give it to him.

Homelander has never been able to understand people who bird watch. Of all the things a mundane person could do with their abysmally mediocre life, why devote what little free time they have to observing a creature even more dull than they themselves are?

Perhaps it's the gift of flight. By far, it is the ability of his that garners the most attention. Or maybe it's the power trip one experiences when observing something simpler and weaker than yourself for sport. The novelty of becoming endeared by their strange little behaviors and quirks. It's this line of thinking that eventually walks Homelander down the path of people watching. During his downtime, in the quiet moments he spends perched atop skyscrapers and apartment complexes, he finds himself watching the people miles below him scurry about like insects through a colony.

Over time, he begins to recognize regulars. People moving back and forth, day in and day out, no different than ants moving grains back and forth. He has to laugh. It's no wonder god abandoned man. Man is fucking boring.

Even the god they made for themselves thinks so.

To ease the monotony, he concocts little stories for the ones he recognizes. He imagines the kinds of lives they live outside of their commutes and the routines he observes. He names one of them Peter, and every day he invents a new reason Peter is yet again running late for his train. Because he's always late, Peter never stops for the woman selling street meat on the corner across from the station.

Homelander imagines that the meat she peddles is people, and that she's got her eye on that speedy little rabbit, Peter.

And then one day, he notices you.

It isn’t that you’re especially beautiful or noteworthy. Just like all the other busy little bees, you go about your same routine each and every day of the week. Sometimes you're in a rush, other times you enjoy your stroll. Regardless, you always find time to stop and give money to the same homeless man occupying one of the few alleyways protected by an awning. Sometimes you linger to chat, other times you can only stop long enough to drop something into his hands.

It isn't always money. Oftentimes you have food for him packed neatly into a little take-out box. Despite the packaging, it looks homemade. You always have a warm smile for him, even when you’re obviously frazzled.

To the rest of the world, this man may as well be fucking invisible, but here you are handing him a box of home cooked food like he's someone who matters. Homelander is the world's greatest hero, and yet some bum on the street is being fed with more love and attention to detail than he ever has.

It's a goddamn joke. More and more, it becomes apparent to him that you’re pathetically lonely. After a few days of observing you amongst the others, he starts trailing you more actively, forgetting all about Peter and his eventual butcher.

He wants to know more about you.

You live alone, working and cooking for only yourself and your stray pet. Sometimes you cook for your coworkers or the odd friend who stops by before leaving you alone all over again. He watches from a distance while you toil away, cooking more food than you’ll eat in a week for people you see for a fraction of each of your weekdays. It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re desperate for someone to take care of.

In a way, he can relate. 

Maeve has been more distant than ever, choosing to engage him only when there’s a camera present. When it’s only the two of them, she just drinks until he barely recognizes her. Madelyn has begun her “fertility journey,” words that set his teeth on edge, and has barely had a real moment to spare him as of late. The rest of his team doesn’t help abate his loneliness either; Marathon is a washed up hack who can barely sprint these days, Lamplighter is only ever interested in clubbing, the Deep couldn’t hold a conversation in a bucket, and Noir is a mute.

And so he soothes his solitude with thoughts of you. When he isn’t with you, he daydreams about it, imagining what life would look like if your worlds were to intersect. The more he learns about you, the more vivid his fantasies become, and the more intensely he aches when he still finds himself alone in his bed at the end of each night.

It spurs him to visit you more and more.

One particularly warm summer night, you leave your window wide open. He takes it for the invitation it is, drifting towards it under the cover of dark. Your screen is loose and pops out noiselessly. Not exactly safe, even if you do live on the fifth storey.

You just never know what might come lurking out of the shadows.

Slipping into your living room, he’s met with the sound of white noise playing from your bedroom. Is it the sound of the streets below that bother you? You’d never hear it from his penthouse a hundred feet in the air. You could leave the windows open all you like and hear only the roar of the sky, not unlike the ocean waves your phone is poorly mimicking.

He could take you to the actual ocean. A beach house far away from the buzzing neon lights and incessant honking and revving of traffic. Walking through your apartment, he makes his way to your tiny kitchen. The one in his penthouse puts yours to absolute shame, and yet the only thing in it that’s ever been used is the fridge. He’s certain he’s never opened the double oven or so much as turned on the gas range. Meanwhile, your kitchen is riddled with use, each cupboard stuffed with mismatched cookware and the like. It smells of grease and spices and love.

The sad irony of it is almost too much to stomach. You don’t belong in this cramped little sardine can. You should be in a proper kitchen. 

You should be cooking for him. The thought comes to him like a flash of genius. Of course. That’s the answer that will solve both of your little dilemmas. If he is a bird watcher then you’re a songbird snared in a net. It would be inhumane of him to leave you to die before you’re ever appreciated–ever seen–by anyone who matters.

You would worship him for rescuing you. His wealth and power would see each and every one of your material needs met with ease. You would never work for anything again. All you would ever have to concern yourself with was being loved and loving him.

He walks to your room with a hand pressed absently over his heart, cradling the anxious little bundle of nerves that have gathered there. He can tell by your breathing that you’re deep asleep, and yet he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he approaches.

His first time being so near to you after weeks of simply observing.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he steps towards you. The sound of him is masked by the ambient noise spilling from your phone, not to mention the fan you have pointed directly at your bed in a desperate attempt to save yourself from the summer heat.

You clearly weren’t built for this paltry life. Mary was no one before God chose her for greatness. Is that not what he’s about to do for you? It’s the will of a god that elevates you.

He kneels by your bedside, bringing himself face to face with you. Your breathing is even, each huff smelling faintly of mint. Your lips look soft, slightly parted in sleep. Everything about you is gentler, more relaxed than you ever are in the day to day grind of your life.

You could look like this all the time without it. He has the power to change your entire life with nothing more than a couple of numbers shifting from one space to another. Money has always been inconsequential to him, so abundant that it hardly means anything anymore. You, however, are ruled by it.

For the first time in his life, he recognizes the power in his wealth.

He brushes the tips of his gloved fingers along your cheek, down your jaw. He’s never used his hands so tenderly as when he traces your sleeping eyelids with his fingertips, imagining what dreams chase behind them and make them flutter.

You don’t stir. 

Emboldened, he follows the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, imagining how soft you would feel against the bare pad of his finger. Leaning in closer, he indulges in the warmth of your breath tickling his lips. You’re a sound sleeper, the thud of your resting heart beating steadily in his ear.

Closing his eyes, he bridges the distance between your lips, pressing his own lightly to yours. For a second, he thinks he’s woken you, that you’ve caught sight of him and your heart is drumming loudly in his ears. He draws sharply back, but sees that you’re still deep asleep, your features peaceful.

It’s his heart that’s racing, a thundering sound that blocks out every other noise in the room. He’s breathing shallowly, excited in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. There’s a flush crawling up his throat, and it’s at that moment he breaks out into a wide, wondrous smile.

There’s no question of it now.

He has to have you.

The plan to acquire you ends up requiring very little setup. If Madelyn cares why Homelander’s suddenly spending so much, she’s yet to make a comment. 

Bitterly, he thinks it likely that she’s glad to see him distracted. 

He starts preparation by appropriately stocking his kitchen; you’ll appreciate the supply of ingredients, he knows. The quality of what he obtains for you is leagues above what you can afford, as is the cookware. He buys you new clothes, jewelry, imagining every step of the way how you’ll look in each piece. How you’ll look as he takes them off. He’s seeking to upgrade your life in every conceivable way, like bringing a cat home from the pound and teaching it the meaning of luxury.

You’ll want for nothing. You’ll be so grateful to him. And you, the sweet and perfect little thing that you are, make yourself painfully easy to ensnare. You come home under the cover of dark like clockwork, perfectly oblivious to his approach. You’ve just managed to fish your keys out of your bag when his hand closes a kerchief over your mouth and nose, stifling your cry. His other arm slips around your waist, holding you steady. The cloth smells overly sweet, ether-like, and though that scent has no effect on him, you respond to it almost immediately.  “Shhhhshhshh,” he soothes, letting the anesthesia do its job. Fuck, you feel good in his arms, back held tight to his chest, your delicate hands prying at his wrist as you kick, claw and scream–albeit muffled–into the cloth. He holds you with ease, keeping you close to his body, angling you in such a way that you won’t hurt yourself.

Despite your tenacity, you fight a losing battle. Your efforts grow weaker and weaker as you lose your grip on consciousness. He hushes you all the while, encouraging you. “That’s it, let it go. I’ve got you, I’ve got you...” Finally your head falls back against his shoulder, your face lolling into the crook of his neck, the rest of your body falling slack in his arms. He pulls the cloth away from your mouth, tucking it into your bag for now. He turns his head to yours, lips barely ghosting along your forehead. He takes in a deep breath of you, his eyes falling shut. Beneath the sickly sweet smell of the chemical mixture he knocked you out with, he can smell the remnants of your perfume. It’s not his favorite fragrance, but the underlying warm scent of you is intoxicating. He’ll collect whatever belongings you decide you want with you when he returns, if anything, but he doubts you’ll miss much. Your stuff will seem like a heap of rags and garbage by comparison. He’s looking forward to how the perfumes and lotions he’s bought you will smell on your skin, and how you’ll look in the clothing he’s picked for you. He adjusts you into a bridal carry in his arms and gently kicks off from the ground, holding you firm to his chest. The city is beautiful at night, a landscape of stars mirroring that of the sky above it. He’s always loved it here, and yet he’s shared it with a painful few.

Madelyn never lets him take her to the skies. Maeve had been wowed initially, but she had quickly grown disillusioned with it. With him.

You’ll be different. The trip back to his penthouse feels agonizingly slow, but he maintains a lesser pace to keep the wind from rashing your skin, savoring the featherlight weight of you in his arms at last. He lands deftly on his balcony, stepping through his open reinforced glass doors. After laying you down in his bed, he takes a moment to slip off your shoes, setting them aside. He eases your purse off of your shoulder, and places it on the nightstand. After sprawling a thin blanket over you, he takes a step back and puts his hands on his hips to admire the perfectly domestic scene he’s set.

Slowly, he breaks out into a smile. His bed swallows you up, makes you look small and lonely. He’s the missing piece, of course. He’s already looking forward to seeing himself complete the picture in the mirror above you. He imagines coming home to you like this, curled up in his–no, your shared bed, blanket pulled up over your shoulders to block the chill left by his absence.

Oh, how you’ll miss him when he’s gone.

You’ll have nothing and no one to concern yourself with except for him. No burdens, no dread, no stress. You’ll live in peace and security the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, spoiled rotten by the bounty of all that he is.

Neither of you will ever be lonely again.

Tilting his head slightly, he listens to the sound of you. Your breathing is shallow, the beat of your heart steady. Normal people don’t realize it, don’t have the capacity for it, but a heartbeat is as distinct as a fingerprint. Over the years, he’s learned to read them as such. He’s memorized yours. There isn’t much for him to do in the time that you’re asleep. He knows precisely how long you’ll be out; the anesthesia blend he gave you was straight out of Vought’s lab, and the dose he gave you leaves him with at least an hour before the two of you meet properly. The anticipation is enough to make him giddy. For all that Homelander knows about you, there is plenty he does not. The externals of your life have only provided him so much, but that will come in time. He didn’t bother with perusing your social media accounts, not being particularly proficient in them himself. 

Besides, he wants getting to know you to be an organic experience.

He remembers to take your phone out of your bag and dispose of that rag he used to dose you while he’s at it. He unlocks your phone the way he’s seen you do a dozen times before, and spends some time ensuring that no one will be expecting you anywhere any time soon. All it takes is one quick email and you no longer have a job. A few social media posts later, you’ve informed anyone who might think of you that you’ll be enjoying an impromptu sabbatical in Europe.

The power of technology. After that, he pops your phone into the safe behind one of the dozens of portraits on his wall.

When he hears you starting to stir, renewed butterflies start fluttering about in his stomach. You have no idea that your entire life–no, your entire perception of reality–is about to change. No more dodgy commutes, no more living paycheck-to-paycheck. You’ll be free to admire the world from the lap of luxury–his lap, to be specific. You make a quiet moan, the chemical fog wearing off gradually. He moves swiftly to your bedside, primed with a welcoming smile, hands on his hips. “Riiiise and shine, sleepyhead,” he coaxes, leaning forward at the waist. Still disoriented from the drugs in your system, you stare at him as if you’re dreaming. He doesn’t blame you. In almost every other reality, there’s no explanation for the fact you’re seeing America’s favorite hero, the Homelander, standing above you. He knows the side effects of the drug have left a strange buzzing in your ears, and that your tongue likely feels heavy and cottony. He’s already got water for you on the bedside table. “Home…lander?” You manage to get out. His smile broadens. That’s the first time he’s heard you say his name. You look cute like this, bleary-eyed and needy. He’s grown accustomed to seeing you as a put together provider, self-sufficient and tending to the needs of those around you, but rarely your own. Seeing you unraveled feels like a secret intimacy for him alone. “The one and only,” he preens. Now that you’ve seen him posed valiantly by your side, he takes a seat on the bed next to you, reaching out to brush his gloved knuckles along your forehead. He attributes the slight flinch to your drug addled confusion. Poor thing. If he’d had an alternative to using a sedative, he would have preferred that.

Not that it matters now. You’re finally here.

( chapter two )

[zhongrin]

modern au crack-ish yandere idea. dragons being the king of all lizards, imagine zhongli being able to control all the 'lesser' lizards to some extent, maybe even share senses with them.

and what better way for him to watch you, his dearest darling, than connecting with the common house geckos that's roaming around your house?

they're harmless, agile, and inconspicuous enough to do some basic monitoring. don't pay attention to the strange amber-eyed tiny animal perched on your bedroom walls, dear. don't delude yourself into thinking that its eyes seemed to shine in the darkness of your room while you teeter between dream and reality deep into the night. don't worry about how it seemed to chirp angrily whenever your friends come over, as if it's warning them from entering its territory.

it's just a common house pet anyway. right?

if you're a superstitious person, that's even better. geckos are said to be a symbol of luck, protection of your home and its residents. and in this case, it's especially true for you.

worry not, for this 'lizard' will gladly rid all the 'insects' who dared to step into your abode.

a/n: lil background story time. i needed to change my bedsheets and got utterly spooked by a tiny lil house lizard flopping onto my arm when i was moving my plushies to my desk. zhongli... honey... lizards are cute, yes, but you're the only lizard i don't mind having in my bedー /smacked

[meo-eiru]

hi dear, I'm not sure if ur ask box is already open, sorry if it isn't, please take your time and stay healthy

soo I've been thinking about that whole concept of delulu elf babying us and BOY isn't that depressing?? like I'd have a whole ass existential crisis after some time

I mean in my perspective, it must be pretty humiliating for a grown person to be not be taken seriously to such extent. like our boy doesn't even trust us to leave the house and is convinced that his darling needs his absolute protection. no personal space, little to no social interactions except for him, etc.

ANND the worst part is that Silas doesn't even realize that he's doing something wrong, unlike classic yanderes. in his head, he's only doing what's best for darling, without any ill intentions (man's head is filled with unicorns and rainbows). in a way, he's the child here; one that accidentally breaks a kitten's paw because they hugged it too tight.

so can you really blame him? can you really bring yourself to hate him? even if you're upset at him for taking away your basic human rights, he's only trying his best for you!! even if his concept of that "best" is a bit twisted. it's a whole ass internal conflict for darling we have here!

and like, I'm a pretty empathetic person, so I'd hate to see him cry. I'd hate myself if I ever snapped at him (he should only cry from pleasure uh huh). so the only choice I have is to slowly convince Silas to change, but can that really work? what if I'd have to spend a millenia like this, slowly dying on the inside?

that's kind of a hilarious concept for me, like, he's the mama here, but you have to sit him down and patiently explain how your body works, to not die because of overfeeding or smth like that

you created a masterpiece, my brainworms are brainworming so hard rn. I also have some interesting thoughts abt Elias ^^

(DESPAIR!! SUFFERINGS!! ok I'm sorry I still want to squeeze his booba like a stress ball)

I love this ask a lot because that's exactly the vibe I was going for with him.

It's very contradicting. On one hand his mothering is appealing because someone taking care of you with such genuine love is... nice. No matter how you act, no matter what tricks you pull, Silas will forever and ever love you with all his heart. You are his precious flower and he has so much affection for you. He can heal you, he can keep you fed, he can give you the love no one else can.

But at the end of the day that love will be the thing that ruins you. The fundamental difference between you two's existence, how you two view life and each other is just too much. While Silas can take care of your basic needs and give you love, him being so unable to fully understand you and your capabilities can and will eventually break you.

Silas is nice but he isn't. Silas can keep you healthy but also can't. He thinks he's sufficient for you but he just isn't.

He's beautiful and lives in a bright world full of colors but will be the one who'll strip your world of color.

You'll slowly change as he continues to suffocate you with affection.

And he will do all of it with genuine love and good intent in his heart.

Which is what makes him so contradicting. He's like your doom wrapped in cute packaging and presented to you by someone who loves you. He's a poison turned into a warm homecooked meal.

[bweoo]

Good morning/evening/night.

I got bored so I drew Dominic! I hope you like the drawing🥺👉👈

I apologize for the errors in the drawing and also for the errors in the text, I use Google translator🥲

(This is my first time writing something here, so I'm really nervous 🥲🥲)

WAAAA THIS IS SO CUTE! THANK YOU SO MUCH <3 (and your English is fine! Don't worry about it!)

But I think Dominik wants more! :3c

[missriabean]

I have honed my skills in digital art, so I decided to redraw my first drawing of Mychael to see how much I've improved.

[justivik]

; yandere! italian boyfriend x fem! reader

english isn't my first language

You have been in a relationship with Matthew for 7 months. You have lived very nice moments like going out to fancy restaurants or cooking together on a Saturday night, no doubt you felt very lucky to have him by your side but there was something that caught your attention about him.

His pathological jealousy.

He would tell you that he trusted you but not others, it seemed like all day long he was suspicious of all the men and even women who surrounded you and maintained a friendship with you. It seems like an endless loop when you two fight, it was always suspicions on his part against you. The two of you would fight, make up and end up getting intimate. Almost like that Katy Perry song; you loved your boyfriend and you were determined to put an end to that intense jealousy so you could have a stable relationship…. Or that was your idea. You two went back to the same fight with the same theme, his distorted suspicions showing with every word and look he directed at you.

“Understand me, coure mio. I feel that your new coworker is trying to flirt with you, I've seen how he looks at you and how he tries to have some friction with you and that makes me feel…. disgustato!” He shouted whispering the last word so as not to attract the attention of the next door neighbors, with his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw tighter.

“He has no other intentions, Matt. He's already engaged to his partner and he was just being nice.”

“Being nice, being nice! You're lying! He was looking at you with other intentions and his touches were not friendly. No touch from a man who is not me is friendly.” He said.

You watched as he brought his left hand to his face with an annoyed sigh, his eyelashes pointing downward as his lips traced inaudible whispers. You stood in silence as Matt tried to calm his fit of jealousy, his hands clenched and his jaw went back to the same tense state. He sat down on the couch closer and looked at you, his sweet eyes were now darkly bitter, he opened his lips to say something again.

“Ti amo, e ho bisogno che tu mi capisca that he is not a good man, stay away from him and don't talk to him anymore. He is not a good influence and look at the problems he is bringing.”

You love it when he speaks Italian and he knows the power of saying sweet words to you in his native language. He knew how to manipulate you quickly and easily, making you nervous and blushing but this time you weren't going to let him, you were tired of the same arguments.

”He's not guilty of anything, Matt. Work on your fucking jealousy before we break up this relationship and we're more broken than anything.” You looked into his eyes and how they turned from angry to scared of losing you.

Desperate babbling was coming out of his mouth, head tilted from side to side in a no.

“If you leave me, I'd die! Don't think stupid things, coure mio.” He kept flattering you with words as soft as a rose but painful as its thorns.

“Stay with me, please. I love you, not anyone else. You!”

You felt Matthew's arms around your waist, his face on your stomach and his tears staining your shirt. You sighed deeply and then stroked his messy hair and promised him that you would never leave his side. This time your fight ended in something more than fucking…It all happened so fast, but you were glad your fight didn't last more than an hour. You would have to do a lot of work with your boyfriend on his jealousy and insecurities.

“I'll never leave you, honey”

My first post & open request!!!

[justficsiguess]

thinking about... yandere!batfam...

Imagine you're living your normal life and *boom*, one day suddenly a portal opens right in front of you, you fall through it, it closes right behind you. You can only make out a few vague shapes making their way towards you before you pass out.

When you wake up you're... in a bed. Surrounded by a bunch of people who introduce themselves as the Wayne family. You're in Gotham. There was some kind of portal accident with a villain and you fell here from a different dimension and you're stuck until they can figure out how to fix the portal machine, because it was broken during the fight.

Villain? Portals? Gotham? And what was this family doing there during a fight?? They explain that they're vigilantes, Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, etc etc. They decided to tell you this because you'll have to work with them to figure out your home dimension and they didn't trust anyone else to take you in, plus this is just more efficient [and more comfortable than living in the batcave]. I haven't decided yet if you're from a dimension where they exist in comics or don't exist at all, but either way, you're really confused bc this is just not something that happens in your universe.

Anyways. You live with them now, get closer to all of them, work with them sometimes (even though you can't do much, mostly you just watch them work but they insist it's important you're there), decorate your temporary room in the manor a bit, learn some stuff about this dimension (some people have superpowers?? cool!!). You can't go outside though, they say that would be dangerous, as you're not from this dimension and not supposed to be here at all. You want to go back home, but the repairing of the portal machine seems to be very complicated, everyone keeps telling you they just can't figure it out...

One day, during a rare (very rare) moment alone, you decide to look around the manor. You still haven't seen everything in here, it's so big! After some exploration, you stumble across an interesting room that's kind of hidden away. It looks almost exactly like your new room in the manor, but dusty, with some items you remember the Batfamily proudly showing you as you were decorating your room, and becoming unreasonably disappointed when you didn't like them. But the most concerning thing is that there are pictures of you. Not new ones they took since you've been here, but older ones, where you're younger. But, no, it doesn't seem like they're pictures of you exactly, there are photos of a pre-teen you on Bruce's shoulders, that can't be you, you just met them! There are also pictures of a vigilante you've never seen before, which you figure must be this other-you as well. What happened to them? And why would everyone hide this from you?

Turns out you didn't come here from an accident with a villain at all. The Batfamily lost the other version of you somehow and decided they wanted you back. But not a strong, smart vigilante like the version of you from this universe. No, they could get hurt again, or figure out what's going on sooner and escape. They chose you, hoping they could slowly get you accustomed to the idea of staying and then one day lie to you and say they can't fix the portal machine, they can't send you back. It still hurts them to know you're not exactly like the you they lost, you were raised in a completely different way, of course you're not the same, but they'd never let you go, either. They love you.

They were hoping you wouldn't find everything out so soon... but, well, they can fight over whose fault it is that you were able to find this room later, first they need to find a way to calm you down and stop you from leaving them.

If you find yourself drugged and/or tied to your bed, don't be mad at them! You gave them no time to explain before you started panicking and trying to get away, they couldn't just let that happen!

[devotion-disorder]

ok since you listen to drama cds which japanese VAs suit the elves (this is totally not suspicious and i will not look those voice actors up when you answer)

love you for this. muah

Killian: 佐和真中

Asa: i dont know actually. 猿飛総司 mayhaps?

Yuri: 彩和矢

Mishka: 冬ノ熊肉

and i know you didn't ask for this but:

Kuuya: 一条ひらめ　(but like, imagine if it was more high pitched)

Noel: 湯町駆 or 五日天峰 mayhaps?

[traumawhomst]

So Vampires, I won’t lie I love a platonic yandere vampire sire so much.

(1,250 words)

He sees you at your minimum wage job and at first just brushes you off as just another boring human. Then he notices the colors on your bracelet, school colors for a very expensive and exclusive school, a few (human) businesses partners he knew sent their children to that school and none of them worked for minimum wage on their free time. Between the bracelet, the callouses on your hands, and the way your eyes seemed dark and sunken, he knew everything. He left without much thought, telling himself that he didn’t care about some random human and their poor tragic life.

He told himself it was just curiosity when he looked up the current class list, (you can find anything with enough time and money) and found your name. Even in just the school photos you stuck out like a sore thumb, a wildflower in an otherwise perfectly manicured garden. A little further digging revealed you were an amazing student, even if your grades weren’t always perfect. You clearly had talent and a strong work ethic.

It’s just curiosity that makes him dig further, finding your admissions essay, in his office, finding himself smiling at some points, quietly charmed by your choice of words and styling of your essay. It had been a risk that had clearly paid off. He liked those willing to take risks, reminded him of himself when he was younger.

He might as well look further, finding your freelance writing which he poured over in chronological order a growing sense of pride in your progress over the years. Finding your work made him stumble upon your personal life.

Family, but not close, which seemed to be the theme for everyone in it. Did they know about your accomplishments? Did they even care?

He’s not very surprised when he follows you home and sees you living in a studio in an apartment with paper walls, living on a diet of instant noodles and whatever soda was cheapest for that week. How could you study living like this? You seemed to only ever work or study, taking every shift you could just to make enough to afford something a little filling than instant noodles. Surely you’re not at your best, he can’t help but wonder what you could produce given proper resources.

His colleagues laugh when he defends it all as just curiosity, and he decides to approach you in person to finally get over this little, inquiry to rest.

But you look so tired when you smile at him, you’re trying so hard to maintain the smile and he’s wondering when the last time you smiled and he realizes then, as he nods along to your explanation about whatever item he picked up, that he hadn’t seen you smile once in a week of watching you.

He could smell your blood and did his best to hide the scrunching of his nose. Wildly anemic and deficient in every vitamin and mineral that a human needed to stay upright. It set him on edge, wondering about the strain on your body it must have. Humans were so fragile already, how long could you live like this?

The thought of you dying sent a bolt of panic through him. You were young, talented, and hardworking you deserved time to flourish and grow.

It would take a few months for all the necessary paperwork to be complete and in that time he slowly builds a sort of friendship with you.

On your end an older man, (whose eye color you could never remember) started to come in at least once a week. He was sweet in a way you hadn’t expected, happy to talk about any book he or you had brought. That’s when you really noticed him, when he came in holding your favorite book. He hadn’t read it yet, and was happy to hear your small preview and talk about the major themes in it. He always managed to come in when it was slow and for some reason no one ever approached you when you two talked.

He’d said he owned a bookstore, (more than one you imagined from the amount of first editions he causally walked around with) but was visiting here for business. He told you that when you refused to take one of his very expensive first edition he tried to give you. He only relented when you explained that your apartment was rather damp and you knew that it would only degrade the book over time. Next week he showed up with the newest edition, and refused to leave with it. Really you’re doing him a favor, he’d love to hear your thoughts on it.

He wasn’t scary either, he always had this air about him that was calming. Something that made you relax and trust him, and in the few months you met him he’d never done anything make you doubt your trust in him.

He’d brought you a book to read with an immortal character in it, and asked what you’d ever take the chance if offered. The thought of being stuck in your life forever or any life really made you sick to your stomach. No you’d rather accept that your life would be finite and told him you thought life would be meaningless if you were immortal.

And for the first time, something new quickly twitch across his face. Anger? Disappointment? After months of friendly banter and discussion it was almost a slap in the face of the reality of it all. You didn’t know him, or his motives. The look only lasts a moment, before shifting to his pleasant neutral again, but you still saw it. You pretended for the rest of the conversation until he leaves. You request to a new work schedule when you finished for the day.

He on the other hand was practically spinning about it. He should have been ready for this short of answer, but he wasn’t. He’d had the conversation played a million times in his head, and you always agreed on it being a gift. He rationalized that you simply couldn’t understand it, given time you could be persuaded to see differently.

He showed up, ready to talk with you only to find out (through a heavy layer of compulsion) that you’d changed your hours to avoid Him. Time to move forward with the plan it seemed.

He found you one late night as you walked to your apartment and something about him made the hairs on the back of your neck stand-up.

He offered to walk you home, and you finally put your foot down and told him to leave you alone, as politely as you could muster. But you couldn’t seem to actually speak any of the words. What were you trying to say again?

He happily chatters on about how excited he is to show you your home, one arm around you steering you to some place you didn’t recognize. But every time you tried to say something you’d forget a little more of what was going on.

He didn’t really want it to do it this way, he told himself as he guides you in the deep state of compulsion you’re in. He wanted to win you over with the idea, to gladly accept his offer, to see it as the gift it was. But he could also admit to himself watching you try and fight the compulsion and fail, it was adorable to see the stubbornness that you had, it’d serve you well in your new life.

[sk3tch404]

RAHHHH IF I DIDNT MESS UP THE LAYERS THE COLORS WOULD BE BETTERR

This will do. Douma braintot 4eva 💞💖

[narumi-gens]

yandere!morax/zhongli x adeptus gn!reader

morax finds you where he always does on the few occasions he allows you time to yourself, kneeling in the garden with your hands folded in your lap and your head respectfully tilted down. it's been only a few decades since he took you for his own, a self-reward of sorts for a still freshly won war.

and what are a few decades to the immortal?

he supposes you spend so much time here because the gardens are so wide and open that they make the high, stone walls that keep you caged within his grasp seem slightly smaller by perspective.

there's a soft, spring breeze in the air, which picks up for just a moment as he chooses to sit on the grass directly in front of you with his legs crossed before him and his wrists casually resting on his knees.

your head remains down and your eyes stay closed, choosing not to acknowledge his presence.

"have you not grown bored after spending so much time alone with nothing but your thoughts?" his deep voice and teasing tone shatter the garden's tranquility, yet still you refuse to look at him. "I'm happy to provide you with whatever book you would like. all you need to do is ask."

"my prayers keep me occupied."

it's a dangerous admission on your part. as liyue's archon, he hears every prayer his people make yet he's never once heard yours. which means that your prayers aren't to him.

but he'll indulge you and play your game – for now at least.

"what do you pray for?"

"for liberation." your answer isn't a surprise. what else could you pray for?

"oh? and to whom do you pray?"

finally, you open your eyes and lift your chin to meet his gaze. there's a hardness in them that reminds him of the jewels the people of liyue put so much time and effort into mining. even the warm, gentle wind and the smell of blooming flowers it brings are incapable of softening your demeanor.

"the archons."

any trace of amusement immediately vanishes as his eyes flash dangerously. his pupils morph into the slits of his true, draconic form.

"I am your archon."

he doesn't mention the contract you signed during the archon war in concert with the other adepti, agreeing to protect liyue. he doesn't need to.

although with your powers now sealed away through his own means, there's little protection that you would be able to provide should you ever actually be called upon to do so. the only part of the contract that still pertains to you as you are now, as he's made you now, is the provision accepting morax as liyue's archon.

it's a provision that he worded carefully in the specific contract he offered you, where you not only accepted him as the prime of adepti, but also swore eternal subservience to him as part of it.

"you are one archon," you remind him coldly, raising an eyebrow in challenge, daring him to contradict what is fact. "one of seven."

he offers you a patronizing smile in return.

"tell me, then. which of the remaining six do you think would be foolish enough to answer you?"

he only decides to humor you because he knows the answer is none of them. no archon would risk upsetting the peaceful but precarious balance they had just spent centuries, more than a millennium, fighting for.

and to break this unspoken contract amongst the seven in order to steal his greatest treasure right out from under him wouldn't just be foolish. it would be reckless.

but then his sight turns a pure, blood red that he hasn't experienced since the final days of the archon war. his fingers begin to elongate as they transform into claws. his horns make a grotesque cracking sound as they emerge from his skull. his teeth sharpen as he bares his fangs openly.

because a sudden divine energy has appeared between you and you open your clasped hands to reveal a glowing, teal-colored gem bearing a pair of spread wings.

"the god of freedom, it would seem."