#popular reader x unpopular yandere

[misstycloud]

Yandere loser

Yandere!Loser who is a prime example of the stereotypical nerd. He is not especially good-looking, has no friends(if you don’t count the pigeons he feeds in the park on Saturdays) and faints at the idea of being the centre of attention. Usually when he is, it’s not for a good reason.

Yandere!Loser who thinks you’re very pretty. Granted, it’s what everyone else thought too. But you’re totally different from him! You are popular, has many friends (who’re not birds..) and is not shy at all.

Yandere!Loser who wishes he was in your league. That way he might actually have a shot at being with you. The only thing he’s not average in is his grades. He had the idea of tutoring you and that way get close to you, but he scrapped that idea the same day. He just didn’t have the courage for it.

Yandere!Loser who thinks he’s dreaming. You were confessing your love to him!! Of all people?! He has to pinch himself hard to prove he is, in fact, in reality and this was not a fantasy his mind had created.

Yandere!Loser who starts stuttering in front of you. He humbly(and quickly) accepts your confession. The poor boy is too caught up in the moment to notice your grossed-out expression. He is so thankful for your feelings. The thing is, he too, is in love with you. He would’ve wanted to seal your future with a kiss, but when you back away, he fidgets nervously and says it’s fine; your kiss can wait.

Yandere!Loser who wants to be the best boyfriend ever. He know he’s not as tall or athletic as your exes and many admirers. But he’s smart and he’ll try his best to make you happy! You just have to ask and he’ll do your homework. He can also carry your stuff to class, and he’ll even fetch drinks for you and your friends. It’s fine, he doesn’t mind! Promise.

Yandere!Loser who grows to be insecure. He overheard others talk, and apparently they can’t believe you would chose to go out with someone like him. They laughed at the thought. And here he was thinking everything was going perfectly. Sure, you’re not as affectionate as a girlfriend would be normally(how would he know though, it’s not like he has any experience) but you’re obviously taking your time to warm up to him.

He’s definitely the perfect choice for you. Just let him prove it!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Get Her Back 4/4 (Word count 7.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The knife still juts from the table.

She touches it often, fondles the handle like it's her lover.

Days pass, and König escapes her stare with raised shoulders and poorly disguised hurt in his eyes. She feels his eyes on her every single time she's not looking.

He breaks into her room every night, but she never wakes up to his presence. The only thing that tells her the man's been there are the fresh flowers on her table next to the knife.

He brings her flowers every morning, just like he promised, and she keeps the blade there to remind him that he's still in her heart. It's like a silent conversation, and it stabs her stomach full of pain.

On the fourth day, he returns her panties. They're covered in dried cum, and at first, it makes her feel disgusted. Then her heart flutters, a warm feeling settles deep inside her stomach when she imagines him jerking himself off to her underwear amidst his knives, with despair and longing coating the air.

For anyone else, it might be a chilling thing to wake up to: to open eyes to the sight of a brutal tactical knife, freshly picked forget-me-nots and some cum-stained lace. But for her, it's a loving attempt to remind her who she belongs to. It's also a sign that the man is trying to let her go and finally obey her wishes to be left alone.

And she doesn't want to be left alone.

He promised she would never be alone.

On the fifth day, there's no flowers, there's nothing. She starts her day with a horrible, awful bawl. Then she puts on a black dress. It makes her look odd, like she's in mourning, but it also gives her… power, somehow. Even if it's another cute kind of cotton babydoll dress, it makes her look more austere.

“König, wait.”

She chases him down this time: runs to his retreating form that stops the instant she calls his name. He’s tense when she walks the last steps to him and hugs him from behind. The familiar scent of tea tree and gasoline and sweat and guns bring a visceral memory of madness to her mind. It’s an ambrosia of crude virility, and she's missed him, God, that she's missed him.

It's also safety. Because no matter what anyone says, he is the only one who knows her, sees her, sees right into her core, her very soul.

He slowly places a hand on hers, the arms that embrace his narrow, treelike middle.

"Engel…"

The voice comes out tight and strained. He caresses her hand with hesitation and swallows.

"I'm confused.. I don't know what you want me to do."

"Come with me," she whispers in his back. He has no gear on, and she can feel his abs through the black shirt, the way his shoulder blades flare against her cheek with shallow breaths. "If you want…?"

"Ganz sicher."

She takes him by the hand and guides him to her room. People look at them with pity and dread, and she feels like they’re in high school where people were divided into groups of popular and unpopular.

She knows where she and König would’ve belonged. Where they belonged now…

And she just doesn't care anymore.

When the door to her room shuts behind him, she feels a little tug near her heart. She had nearly forgotten how big König looks inside her little room, the space she has tried to turn into a cozy home even though she doesn't view the base as her home like the soldiers do. It's just a place for her to reside in when she's working.

But he does not fit into a normal society like she does. The base must be the closest thing to a home for him. Not every elite soldier is a lunatic perhaps, but König certainly couldn't find any other job in the modern world that would cater to his needs without sending him behind bars.

But he was supposed to kill only in the field. Only somewhere far, far away.

Why did you do it?

Why…?!

That's what she meant to ask when they're behind closed doors, but something quite different comes out instead.

"Did you miss me…?"

She stands before him, holding her hands in front of her, looking probably quite silly clad in black.

"I've been in hell ever since I left, Engel."

Christ have mercy…

Normal men just didn't talk like that.

"Will you forgive me?" He looks her up and down, but the calm, proud posture, the way he holds his chin high behind that dark shroud tells her he's not used to begging. She has a feeling that this question is asked only because Soap suggested it would be a good idea to apologize for making her so upset.

"It's not me you should be–" She sighs. "Look�� That man had a wife. König, I think he had a kid and everything."

His eyes are covered in a veil of disinterest only she can pierce. There's actually so much going on behind that odd, distanced stare. But what’s horrifying is that he clearly doesn’t agree with her on this matter.

"I kill people every week," he declares. "Just not in the break room."

His logic leaves her wordless for a moment. The officer was not an enemy, he was not part of some foreign military, his only crime was that he was in a hurry…

She has barely even opened her mouth to speak before he finally defends himself.

"How do you know his wife is not secretly happy with the news?"

The question is like a bucket of ice dipped in her head. She had prepared herself for almost anything but this. König only tilts his head and narrows his stare.

"Would you want to be wife to that kind of man?"

Her mouth opens on its own; her jaw would fall to the floor if it could do such a thing. His worldview unfolds before her in full, and it should disgust her: but all she feels is an odd thrill in her stomach from realizing this man is not only possessive; he's also fiercely traditional.

"He just spilled some coffee on me," she whispers in soft, tender horror. "He just happened to have a bad day."

"How many times a week did he have a bad day?"

The defense is solid, even if it's preposterous. The man was rude and disrespectful, yes. To everyone, every day, probably continued the abuse at home, too. But he didn't deserve to be killed for it. Still, König doesn't seem to find any fault in his way of thinking.

"I can tell when people are evil," he crosses his arms over his chest as a final note.

Evil…

Evil.

She's left blinking, then she finds her tongue again.

"You can't just… deal punishment like that," she huffs.

"Why not?"

Jesus Christ…

His arms are still over his chest, and he looks… so big, so powerful, like an omnipotent being.

Probably thinks he is.

"Will you go to jail?" She changes the subject because arguing with this kind of man seems futile. Downright hopeless.

"No," he says with perpetual calm. "Would you want to see me in jail?"

"...No."

He finally unravels his arms and takes a few steps toward her. That swaying lounge is intoxicating and seductive, even when he doesn't mean it as such. It's just the way he walks, but it makes her woozy.

"Engel. You are too… kind for this world."

More odd arguments are laid out before her, more confusion and love and pain. He raises a hand to touch her arm and make his point clear. The weight of him is heavy and adult, his military clothing is in blaring contrast to her tiny, childish dress.

"You don't understand it now, but perhaps someday you will."

The man looks like he doesn't quite know what to do with her. She's a child in his eyes, but something in this lunacy tells her she's dealing with a child, too: a boy who no one ever loved.

"My little angel. Always wearing pretty dresses," he says more softly now.

"I'm not an angel."

"Yes you are," he rules without effort. "And you look good in everything. But you shouldn't wear black."

"Why not…?"

"Because you belong with flowers."

Her heart aches, her eyes prick with burning tears. He's self-aware, that's for sure. He knows what he has done to her, what he is doing to her. And he wishes to spare her from him.

"I thought you liked black," she peeps, her mind and will and defense breaking.

He doesn't say anything, but his hand brushes down her cheek, then cups her chin softly. That same hand must be ironclad when it grips his enemies and brings them to his blade.

"I like this dress," she tries to quarrel, voice shaking.

"And I know a knife that would go perfectly with it."

His eyes are warm. There's even a passing sadness in them. She's relatively sure that he's not talking about butterfly knives any longer – she's almost certain that König hasn't gifted his weapons to any other human being on this earth.

“How about we take off that pretty little dress now, hmm?”

The time for the compulsory explanations is over in his mind, and it’s time for sex. He knows that his exile has ended, that whatever liminal space they walked in for a few days wasn’t enough to rid herself of him. There’s no turning back anymore, and he looks at her with amused hunger when she obeys his suggestion which is, in truth, a command.

Her fingers do not shake anymore as she undresses for him, but a shiver goes through her guts: that stare is a look from beyond. He’s a madman, and falling more in love with her every day, even if the only way he knows how to love is by stabbing people with his cock or his knife.

“Lie down,” he gives her more orders when she stands before him with nothing on.

It’s futile, completely futile to pretend that she doesn’t want this. It’s almost like an act, the way she slowly and demurely obeys his command. In reality, she wants nothing more than to be devoured by him.

He takes his clothes off while she waits for him on the bed like an injured bird. He rips, then throws his gloves off like they have done something naughty, all the while his gaze is fixed on her. She has missed the sight of that faint hair on his abs, missed that broad chest, missed how his muscles bunch even when he gets out of a shirt that weighs practically nothing in his hands.

The long, veined cock flies out from his pants with a demanding bounce that makes her swallow. They form an odd pair on the floor: her little dress and his huge woodland camos. His eyes are surrounded in black paint under the eternal mask, but otherwise, he's the palest man she has ever seen.

Her breasts rise and fall with aroused breaths as he settles himself beside her, naked and blazing. His cock is pure fire when it gets trapped between them, and he's already drooling hot precum on her thigh.

He's gentle, kind of. Slides a hand over her shivering stomach, palms one breast, then takes a nipple between his fingertips and gives her a pinch.

“Did you miss me too?”

The hood makes him look like a hangman, and he’s infuriatingly patient now. She expected him to rail her like a sex toy right after the door was closed.

"Yes."

He releases her, and the callous descends with a gentle, deliberate caress to her waist.

"Then you're the first who ever did."

She just might be the first woman he's gentle with, too, and she cannot help but think if it's because of what she said just before he killed that poor man. If the last piece of the puzzle locked in place when he realized how much she admired him. If her confession also made him stake his claim in the loudest possible way, announcing everyone that he's her protector.

It's not her fault that the man's dead, but she should be ashamed: she's wet already when the murderer's fingers delve further down to meet her folds. He disappears somewhere in her wetness, and her thighs rise and drift apart to give him full access.

And it's always like this: she spreads legs for him with a helpless, longing stare, he takes in what belongs to him with dark, pleased hunger.

He finds her clit in no time, drags his thumb over it, and she gasps. Her breaths come quick now, her nipples are shot to the sky and her back is already arching when he delves down and slides one finger inside. It's long and lean, and her cunt grips him like they have been apart for four weeks instead of four days.

He sighs under the mask, just from her greedy response. She wants to touch him too, but doesn't dare to move when he's looking at her like that. He starts to finger her gently, first with one, then two digits while attending to the tight nub on top. And he's good with a knife, quick with his hands, so what did she expect?

But she’s also sad and mad. Because he definitely knows what he’s doing. And it makes her think…

"Have you had a lot of women..?"

Her question is a mouse's whisper. His fingers halt inside her; they spread her with delicious torture.

"A few," he says. "Back in Austria."

He buries his face in her neck and nuzzles his way to her ear. The bag of darkness is soft and hot, but nothing compared to his heated whisper.

"But they were nothing like you."

He punctuates the declaration by curling the fingers inside her. She bites her lip to stifle a filthy, needy moan. He even grinds his hips against her: that cock is like a heated spear against her soft thigh, and more cum oozes out to trickle down her leg.

"How many men have had you, Engel?"

He doesn't ask: how many men has she had. She may not be his plaything, but she is his possession. In his mind, she belongs to him and only him, no matter who has come before. But the murderous passion with which he waits for her answer makes her flustered, and she bolts her mouth tight in an indication that she will not disclose this information.

"Gut. Don't tell. I would kill them all."

Oh.

Oh…

"Would you like that…?"

"No," she whimpers.

"Yes you would."

“I don’t–I don't want you to–”

“Shh.”

He’s working those fingers smooth and quick, and she’s already leaking on his hand, probably on the bed, too… The room is filled with sighs and whimpers and sobs as he fucks her with slick, wet sounds. She's close the edge in mere minutes, but he won’t let her finish.

Instead, he pulls out just when she's about to tighten around him.

"Why-why did you stop?"

"Angel... Take me in your mouth," he rasps, breathless too despite trying to disguise it. She briefly wonders if this is some sort of a punishment. That perhaps she’s ordered to give him a blowjob just when she’s about to come – after all, she has dared to keep him waiting for days.

But that’s not the case, it seems, as she moves with heavy limbs to fulfill his wish.

"Nein… Other way around. I want to taste you."

The perverse suggestion in the break room turns into a reality as she realizes what he wants to do. Her heart is pounding when she crawls on top of him to meet that leaking cock. How exactly is that thing even going to fit inside her mouth?

A sudden shyness takes her as her thighs are forced into a wide-legged spread from straddling the broadest man on earth. She's exposed to the cold air only for a second before his breath hits her. The shortest shadow of a stubble on that usually clean-shaven chin meets her soaked cunt with hunger.

“Ah… Take it– in your mouth,” he moans orders to her folds, and her cunt clenches immediately, just from hearing that accent and that voice.

She moves to give him a shy lick, sweeps a tongue over that tip to clean him from all that precum. He goes tense under her and breathes heavily when she wraps her hand around him, wraps her mouth around the weeping slit.

He tastes of salt and sin, and the minute she tries to take more of him in, he groans with a dry throat. It's a hot, broken breath that travels straight inside her. It’s too much – the position is far too stimulating, it’s over the top wicked.

And then he starts to lick her. It messes up the blowjob that has barely even started. She knows his hood must be almost completely off, otherwise he wouldn't be able to breathe.

"Take a bit more, Engel," he urges between the long slathers that already sound lewd. There's simply no way to take it fully in, he’s far too long for that. The last thing she wants to do is gag on him. But she does a good enough job, tries to concentrate on breathing through her nose as she goes as deep as she can.

"That's…more like it…"

It’s a relieved notion somewhere behind her before he continues with the agonizingly slow licks. Fat and flat-tongued, the work of a famished man. For someone who's so clumsy with social interaction, he’s infuriatingly good at giving pleasure to women. The tip of his tongue grazes her clit, and causes a muffled moan – her mouth is full of him but she just cannot help herself.

And arms of steel close around her middle the minute she whimpers on his cock. They pull her closer to his face – he wants to hear her make noise, then, and her will to compete arises. She wants to make him moan too. She ups the pace, flattens her tongue on him every time she retreats…

"Where did you learn to–nnh…"

She nearly laughs at his surprise, at their silly little competition. He's shocked, probably jealous too, of her past and the imagined cavalcade of men who may or may not have been inside her mouth before him. She swirls a tongue around the tip every now and then, wraps her lips tight around him, and goes even deeper.

"Verdammte Scheiße.. I'm not going to last long…"

Strong thighs around her power up, and he has stopped licking her altogether: he's just panting in her pussy and holding on to her hips while waiting for the upcoming wave.

"You know what to do, ja?" He pants that question like she doesn't know he's about to shoot a load on her tongue soon.

"Don't make a mess," he shares advice with a sly tone to his voice. "Unless you want to clean after…"

He gives a short laugh as if the joke is funny. As if that's a clever thing to say to a cleaning lady. It makes her grip him harder, and he's close, so close: he's not even moving anymore, everything's just completely rigid under her body and inside her mouth.

"I'm fucking–cumming…"

He spills with a long groan, moans against her cunt, cries inside her with pain. The seed is hot and heavy, it shoots right down her throat even in this position. She does the best she can to not make that mess, but it's hard work when a giant cock pulses in her mouth.

"You're perfect, angel," he sighs behind her, tries to feed more of himself inside her mouth by rolling his hips.

The praise makes her pump and suck him even more, get every last drop out, and a tremble goes through her lover. She has to take support from the bed until the earthquakes recede. His cock is a clean mess after, and she's a mess too: overworked, and shy, and victorious.

They're both left panting: she tries to catch some breath there between his thighs after everything, but she's not allowed to rest and recover. The grip around her middle pulls her back, and a breathless man trying to lick her like it's the end of the world is not only far too much, it's unbearable. She's already overly sensitive and needy from the four days of barren grief.

"It's too much…" She tries to tell him, but he won't listen. If anything, it only spurs him on.

"König, I can't," she wails softly while resting her head on his thigh.

"Yes you can."

A feverish tongue dips inside her as deep as it goes. It forces her legs apart, she spreads herself all over his face completely unwillingly. There's no mercy for her as he flicks a tongue over her clit, plunges a tongue inside her as deep as it goes, returns to the nub again – does it again and again and again like it's some secret code meant to break her.

"You like that, huh?" His rough voice is muffled by her cunt, he sounds both parched and wet.

"Hm? Talk to me," he demands an answer although it should be obvious that she's losing her mind from his treatment.

"Yes," she mewls while being spread so crudely wide for him. "I… I love it…"

"Hah. You sound like a little cat," he laughs, pleased, then gets to it again. She's so close now that she can feel the growing waves. Her thighs are not just shaking, they're trembling.

"So pretty and so wet," he comments between the licking and dipping, voice covered with smoke from all the lust. And he's hard again, too: right next to her face, and she could cry actual tears – what if he plans on fucking her too after this? It's too much, she can't even take this, she can't…

But she does.

Her back starts to arch just before the orgasm. She's not weeping yet, but every noise she makes sounds like she's crying her heart out.

"Slow down, slow–down, please…"

She's a one-woman choir of tight pleas. She tries to muffle them by burying her face somewhere in his thighs and musk. The tongue dips in and out like he's a machine and not a man, and the first wave hits unexpectedly, like a searing, white-hot blade.

"A–ah!"

The climax swallows her, she starts grinding against that face without meaning to. He only laughs and buries his nose and tongue deeper into her slickness. The arms around her hold her like iron bars, his breaths hit her along with his tongue like she's strapped to a torture device.

Her cunt is sloppy, and throbbing, and he is a torturer, licks her even when she's lying on top of him in ruin: a devastated, trembling heap of a woman who's lost everything.

"Stop–König, you need to stop…"

Her weak whispers do nothing. His tongue sweeps her from front to back until she's crying on top of him. Frail fingers try to claw his thighs but grasp nothingness.

When he finally relents, he does it with another laugh. Then he gives her a last lick: a total bully, snorts a chuckle when a tremble goes through her entire body from just that single, fat sweep.

"Mmm. That was good. Right?"

"M–mh…"

There are tears in her eyes, but not one comes out. Her pussy throbs and winks with the aftershocks, and his hand moves up and down her back like she's that little cat.

"You're mean," she sobs. Complains.

"Heh… you didn't like it?"

"I did," she sniffs, and his hand moves to caress her thigh.

"I know you did. I know you. Everything about you."

He sounds merciful at last, pats her leg softly.

"Come here. I'll take care of you."

When she turns and crawls back to him, his mask is fully in place. He receives her with open arms and speaks more softly than ever.

"I have to take care of you after. Isn't that so?"

"Yes…"

She holds onto him, because he's the only thing that's solid in her world at this point. His aftercare is the most tender thing she has ever known: her hair is being caressed gently, the tension in her neck and back is soothed with long, loving strokes. He buries his mask in her hair and inhales her after-sex scent like it's a whole offering of incense.

"Angel. You feel like… like it's my birthday."

His statement brings another round of tears to her eyes. Instinct tells her that birthdays might've been the only happy days of the year for this man.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

He sounds worried when she's so quiet and timid again. Her heart settles slowly into a warm pool of love, she presses herself against him with fervor, and he squeezes her in turn like she's the most perfect birthday present ever.

"No."

I really needed that.

I need you…

"I will never let you go again," he promises. "Never. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers. "I don't– I don't want you to go."

"Little one. I'm so glad I found you."

He takes her palm and uses it to brush away the hood from his lips. The violent edge is always taken away after sex, and the devouring is gentle, the passion is blunt. His kiss is soft; sweet.

"König…" She's raw and bare in his arms, her adoration reflects back to her from his blues. "Why did you pick me?"

"You're the one who picked me, Engel. I just answered your call."

He takes in the effect this truth has on her, then takes her breath away with another kiss. A small giggle erupts in the lazy afternoon as he threatens to crush her with a bear hug. Her hand steals its way further under the mask: she meets smooth skin and a collection of even smoother bumps.

"Why can't I see your face..?"

"It's not a pretty sight," he sighs. "Father liked to cut me when I was little."

The laziness leaves her body that very instant. The man is detached, distant: as if he's sharing something trivial, the city he grew up in or his favorite subject in school.

She doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror, but what he says next sends even more ice down her spine.

"Now I cut those who are evil."

Everything starts to make perfect sense.

Why he was bullied at school, why people fear him. Why disrespectful, cruel men deserve to be knifed and why women and wives are angels. Why he wears a mask.

It's not sound reasoning, but it is a strategy, perhaps. Survival… A defense mechanism.

And offense is the best defense…

She had been right: this man is incurable, only in ways she could never have guessed.

Afterwards, he shows her his knives.

His room is full of them: combat knives, throwing knives, bowie knives, daggers, bayonets, balisongs, two machetes, a kukri, knives she doesn't even have a name for… There's swords and sticks and a riot shield. There's only one bed, nothing more, not even a nightstand.

And the room is also full of guns.

Assault rifles, sniper rifles, shotguns, handguns; there's scopes, tripods, gloves, gas masks, a ghillie suit, pouches, plate carrier vests, magazines, grenades, even a launcher.

The room is filled with violence.

And she didn't know what she expected.

Some "Hot Gun Babes" wall calendar and a few pocket knives? That he would play by the rules and keep weapons and gear where they were stored instead of in his fucking room?

He gives her his third gift that pairs well with her black dress, or any dress, for that matter. Another knife, but not the kind he kills people with, nor the flimsy kind used for entertainment purposes.

She receives an automatic switchblade, simple but pretty. The double-edged blade looks almost feminine, the way it curves into a sharp, dainty tip. The handle is made of sturdy, polished wood; it's incredibly beautiful and so dark it's nearly black. The knife is only a threat when it's flicked open: all in all a piece that isn’t what it seems.

"Hier. Good little blade. Would take it wherever I go."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you, Engel."

She kisses him after his gift. She kisses the white scar on his jaw, lifts the mask a bit more, and he doesn't stop her. He doesn't stop her, not even when she finds more keloid cuts and kisses them too.

And he's… simply a man.

There's a human under all that darkness.

It's not a pretty sight, perhaps, but for those scars, she couldn't love him more.

"You're not afraid of me," he sounds surprised when she takes in the violence done to his face with tenderness in her gaze.

"No."

He's speechless. The barricade covering his eyes is permanently broken, and she can see him, all of him.

She falls to her knees and opens his pants, gives the man another round of love. He looks at her with pain and pleasure; a pale, adoring god. Strokes her hair gently while she gets drunk on him like a succubus, wants him to spill that white on her face and all over her pretty black dress.

"Cum on my face, König."

She looks at him with angel eyes while saliva and drool make a rope from her mouth to his throbbing cock. But there is nothing left of the celestial, nothing more than a sweet, fallen angel, and a safe space just for her and him.

"Please…?"

Ruin me.

He hesitates a few seconds, then grabs his cock in an iron fist like it's heavy artillery.

"Whatever my angel wants, she shall have."

. . . . . .

He brings her flowers every morning and fucks her every night.

Sometimes he catches her when she's outside in the sun, reading a book or watching the clouds. He carries her off to the woods and takes her against a tree like they're the first man and woman on the earth after tasting the forbidden apple. They share a few hushed laughs and more than a few desperate kisses under the hood, then he brings her back to earth, straightens her dress like a gentleman before leaving to have a date with death.

He takes her out to eat sometimes, takes her to the shooting range. Calls her his little Wildkatze when she takes a liking to one of his shotguns. He takes her hand when they stroll through the grass and sings an old love song from his homeland. He has a beautiful voice, especially when he forgets he's in company. Or perhaps she's just special like that…

They share a secret language in the base. Whenever he sees her, he draws his knife and throws it in the air ("I miss you") or twirls it around ("The things I will do to you tonight…"). Sometimes, he just places a hand on the handle of the cruel blade. That stands for 'You're mine'.

It's the closest thing to I love you before either of them have spoken the actual words. Or then it's the closest thing to I love you he's capable of.

She gives him a small smile in return, puts a hand in her pocket and fondles the gift she carries everywhere she goes. He knows it's a nod to his secret messages. It stands for 'You're my everything'.

She keeps the switchblade with her even when she's wearing a dress after work. Red this time, the color of passion.

She wants to surprise him: König always comes to her before nightfall, but this time, she wants to go and visit him. She wants him to take her in the middle of black steel and acrid gunpowder while she's dressed in blood.

"Be a darling and fix me a cup of coffee, will you?"

She's stopped by Phillip Graves of all people. Another man who has never paid her any attention. Apparently, red cloth is the same thing for evil men as it is for the enraged animals in bullfighting shows.

She does stop, but she doesn't obey his wishes. She just stares him down like he's filth: another thing she thought she could never do.

I'm not your coffee girl.

"C'mon honey. I've had a bad day." The man only seems to feed off from her silent scorn: like it's some dark game they're playing now. "You could make it so much better."

For fuck's sake…

Here is a man who disrespects everything about her: her position as a cleaner, her value as a woman, her rank as a shy being who is too kind for this world. She's simply a doll who doesn't know how to kill, who doesn't know how to say no. This man however, won't take no for an answer.

"I'm not here to serve coffee," she says with pure ice.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And I'm off duty, too."

"Thought we could have a little chat, you and I."

"Why?"

"You seem like an interesting woman."

He seems pleased with the fact that for some reason, she's still here, that he has her attention. Thinks he's winning her over with some yucky flirting.

"And wearing a red dress like that…" He tsks, as if it's a crime for a woman to wear red. "Red can drive a man crazy, darling."

She understands why she has been invisible to everyone except König up until this point.

Because deep down, she knows if she would carry herself in full, show herself to the world as the woman she truly is, she would instantly attract love, and power, and hunger, and lust.

"I'm going to go now, sir."

"Tell you what. You serve me that coffee and I'll let you go."

She catches sadism in that stare. And to think she had always found Graves to be somewhat… arrogant, perhaps, but not cruel. The man obviously has a Napoleon complex, but he was not supposed to be sadistic.

How wrong she has been.

She knows she could just get out of the situation by filling that mug the bastard can't fill himself because of some stupid need to have a powerplay moment with an innocent little girl who happens to wear red.

But she doesn't want to. König would have ripped this guy's head off by now.

"I'm off duty," she repeats.

Fuck these men who are always looking for a plaything.

Graves rises from the chair. She's both cold and sweaty by the time he has taken a step, two, three.

But men are a bit stupid sometimes.

They think dresses don't have pockets.

When he takes the fourth and last step, with joy-tinged cruelty in his eyes, she flicks the knife out and open, and simply stabs him in the supposed direction of the organ called heart.

It feels thrilling, pure power: to sink that knife there and catch a man – a soldier of all people – unawares.

So this is what it feels like…

The hurt in his stare doesn't necessarily come from pain, but from the realization that he has made a huge miscalculation.

He looks down at the small knife that will be the end of him, then at her, the woman he thought was just a simple, shy cleaner he could bully into submission.

"You fucking–bitch," he gasps. Weakly.

By the time she pulls the knife out and stabs him again, she's somewhere far away. It hits him in the stomach, and he still doesn't do anything about it, and that's the moment she finds pity, and mercy, and horror.

She turns and stumbles, then runs from the room, unsure if the thump on the floor behind her is real or imagined.

"You fucking whore…!"

The shout is real enough though, and she runs, runs, with a sharp little knife in her hand for what seems like an eternity. That flight is a prolonged medieval torture moment that ends in front of König's door.

Her titan is as calm as ever when he opens the door, and tilts his head when he sees she's breathing fast.

"I think I killed Phillip Graves," she informs with eyes wide.

He blinks, then immediately looks at her hand, the knife, the blood. She goes to him, lifts a hand to his shirt in a desperate attempt to find support. There's not even that much blood. She thought killing would be much messier.

König said it would be messy.

"I… He…"

Her hands won't even shake. All her senses are blown wide and sharp, she sees everything, hears everything, but her hands won't shake.

Is she a psychopath?

"I killed Phillip Graves," she repeats, looks at his chest, clutches at the knife, clutches at his shirt.

The door behind her closes, and König takes hold of her shoulders with warm, warm hands.

"Well done, Engel," he says with such joy, such unbound pride that it snaps her back into reality.

Her jaw starts to tremble, her teeth clatter, she raises her eyes to him…

"He… He wanted coffee, and to talk, and he liked my dress, and–"

"Did he touch you?"

He asks it like it's far more important than what she has just done. She has to shuffle through her memory, but she finds no recalling of Graves laying a single finger on her.

"No."

He was about to. Right?

He was. He threatened me–

"Don't shed tears for him," König says as he looks down at her with mesmerized awe and infatuation. "I can promise you he doesn't deserve them."

Then he hugs her, squeezes her and just holds her, and she's still holding on to the murder weapon.

What will everyone say? What will my friends say?

"My little angel is good with a knife," the titan laughs proudly somewhere high above her.

People have killed each other since the dawn of time.

These things happen.

I'm not the first murderer on this planet.

"My poor little… He was a bad man, Engel. I promise you that."

It's not a big deal. He was a killer too.

He could've died in the field…

"I'm going to jail," she whispers on his shirt. She wants to let go of the knife, but fears it might hurt him or her when it falls.

And she remembers she's not dealing with normal people.

"They will kill me for this," she says with distant realization.

"No they won't," he strokes her hair like she's the best pet he has ever had. "I will take the blame. It was my knife, ja?"

She pushes herself away to look at him, then nods slowly. Her jaw just won't stop trembling.

"Good girl," he pulls her against him again, so fondly that it forces out a whimper.

"Mh."

"Come here," he coos while already holding her so impossibly close. He's surprisingly good at this: at comforting her. Or then it simply feels uncommonly good to have someone sturdy to hang on to while her life and identity are falling apart.

"I'm not sure if he's dead," she whispers when the embrace lingers on. König breaks the hug immediately.

"You didn't confirm the kill?"

She must look like a shy cleaner again, because his resolve is stone cold and solid.

"Engel, I will go and finish it. Where is he?"

She tells, because he would find out anyway. He would start a manhunt and cause even more ruckus.

But when his hand reaches the doorknob, when he's already about to go and finish her crime on top of taking the full blame for it, he turns.

"Do I have your permission?"

Her jaw slowly stops trembling, and a soft sweetness spreads through her heart. The elite soldier, the mass murderer, asks for her permission.

She is more than just special…

"Yes," she whispers, and he gives her a curt nod before storming out the door.

And he's not living in the 21st century.

Instead, he walks in the world of gladiators, rages in a blood-drunk arena, lives in a time where killing was the norm. He solves problems with physical force: it's just that simple. There is no complex society, there are no rules other than the rules of the heart and the loins.

Anyone who disrespects her will get the blade, anyone who might take her away from him will make him do whatever is in his power to prevent it.

And he has the ultimate power: the power of violence.

He comes back surprisingly clean: only a tiny speckle of blood on his camos and some vivid-colored grime on his hands.

"Done."

She nods with solemn silence. She's done, too. Done with everything, because everything's gone. No matter how high the sun is, she will walk in darkness from now on.

"I believe you Engel. He swore he didn't touch you."

And God.

She might be special, but a dying enemy's, a man's word is more worth to him than hers. As if she would try to protect Graves from his wrath by lying.

And Graves wasn't even dead…

But he is now. Probably tortured too to get the truth out about not soiling her with his paws.

"Did anyone see you..?"

"No. But they will know it was me."

It's another gift to her. Another murder. And her purity, intact, in exchange for a compliment, a testimony of his character during a lazy coffee break. For a few kisses on his scars of abuse. For letting him fuck her like a beast.

Her gifts are burning tears, soft flesh and tight little cries…

His gifts are cold, black steel, hot, white cum and a stream of crimson blood.

"Thank you…"

"I would do anything for you." He bows his head, a little nod to inform her that he is hers to command. "Anything you want, just ask."

She's at home in hell, filled with guns and knives and a fallen god. She knows he will take her again tonight, just like he has done every night in the past weeks. In every position imaginable, grunting, howling, panting, laughing how sweet she is, asking if she likes what he is doing to her. She has always whispered yes through tears of hot joy.

Sometimes, they come together and their gazes lock, and it feels like drifting into a starless space with him. He strokes her hair and coats her with whispers of love before they fall asleep. They always curl up together in the cover of womblike darkness, with soft little smiles on their faces, safe from all evil.

"Can you keep me safe…?"

It's a sad little question, but she doesn't feel weak. She knows he is lost in her too: especially when she's wearing a dress the color of blood, especially when she looks at him like he's her God.

"Please keep me safe."

He comes to her carefully, answers her summons. She's pulled into a familiar embrace, and she doesn't even think about Graves anymore: she thinks about whether König will take her on the bed that smells of acid sweat or on the wall next to the gun rack.

"Always, Engel. I promise."

She holds the most powerful weapon in her tiny little hand. A dark, fallen titan who has risen from the depths of the earth to pledge himself to her, body and soul, while her innocent little dresses flutter in the wind and make everyone believe she's a victim. But she doesn't feel sorry.

Because it's just like he said.

They belong together, she and him.

🖤 🖤 🖤

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

[merakiui]

wait mera can u elaborate more on slasher!floyd? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 the plot twist of jock floyd being the slasher sounds hot ngl

and what if reader was the unpopular, outcast type? and her group of friends get killed one by one because it turns out floyd got jealous you give them attention more since you have never look in his way for once? when in truth you’ve always did from afar but you never had the guts to approach him before since hes always hanging out with the popular kids. i just like the yandere potential of this idea it got my brain cookin!!

:O omg omg omg yes!!!!!! The trope of popular jock x unpopular outcast is so yummy... imagine Floyd sending you anonymous love letters, but he's the last person you suspect because he never seems engaged in your literature class and you never pegged him as a poetic sort of guy. The letters are all so sugary-sweet. Whoever's writing and sending them genuinely loves you. It's a gentle love, mostly. The pining-from-afar sort. But this mysterious admirer becomes the last of your worries when your friends start turning up dead in ways more brutal than the last. You're devastated, reeling from the horror of it all.

What if you're next? What if this person is specifically targeting you and your friends and you're next on their chopping block? You're trying to grieve and mourn the losses while also attempting to stay safe. It's such a stressful time. Floyd just wants you to notice him. You probably think he's just a stupid jerk who loves sports and sex, but that's not true. Sure, that's the face he wears for everyone because it's easy to be carefree. But he has his own worries, too! No one ever bothers to ask because it's a rainy day when Floyd worries, so he never says anything. But if you just talked to him... if you wouldn't push him away or cower whenever he tries to be cool and talk to you in that lively manner everyone knows this could have been avoided. He feels bad for scaring you and he feels bad for being a bit of a bully before whenever he'd get impatient and intimidate you into a conversation with him.

But now there's no one left to stand in his way. It's terrible being alone. Floyd would know. In a crowd of dozens, he's never once fit in. He doesn't care about the things all of these social cliques pride themselves on. He just wants you, but you never seemed to want him in return. Why bother running from him? You know as well as he does that he'll catch you in the end. He plays basketball and works out daily. Come on, Shrimpy. Not very smart.

He won't kill you. He'd never! Sure, he might rough you up a little if you struggle, but that's only because he can't have you escaping. Was it surprising to find out he was the one who killed your friends? You didn't expect the popular jock, did you? No one ever does because the popular jock almost always dies in the arms of his lover or fuck buddy in most horror films.

Floyd hates seeing you cry. He did note in his many love letters that he adores your eyes the most. They're expressive even when you don't mean for them to be. You may have thought no one would ever notice an outcast like you, but he did. So even if your eyes are filled with fear now, one day they'll soften with love. He's sure of it.

[noctualagenaria]

Choose violence 1-25

all in one? ok you asked for it buddy

1) the character everyone gets wrong

- most if not all of the men, even itto he is Not a himbo im sorry hes literally a twunk,, or as much of a twunk as hoyo can make them hes also jus awful in general 2) a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom - my top fave is baizhu and he's 100% a switch hes both at the same time so this is difficult for me to argue-- alhaitham and ayato however !!! paragraph incoming sorry--

alhaitham is 100% a bottom not because he wants to be but because he doesnt wanna put any work into the act, he just wants others to do things to him, others doing the work for him basically dfsfsd so ofc that reflects here ( also flushed alhatiham expression >>>)

ayatoooo isss s s s i think also a switch but i dont think too much abt it sjhdf he could be a service top and a power bottom at the Same Time 3) screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

-- every diluc x fem!reader im sorry they are all so bad and also the unironic use of "yandere!(guy)" is,,, never done right or like,,, isnt good sdfsdf at all 4) what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

-- there was this artist i found bc i wanted to look for more diluc artists, right, as one does ! and then after like a couple weeks of tolerating the chiluc bc it started to get on my nerves, they posted a komi cant communicate diluc au thing, and in the caption they had literally said "i thought it fitting considering diluc deserves to be worshipped <3" liKE DID YOU WATCH THE SHOW???? diD YOU PLAY THE GAME?? ?? ? diluc doesnt deserve that nor Want that and the show character komi has a mental illness that makes it awful its not something to be romantisiced at All and they were romantisicing it AND diluc like aughhhh

5) worst discord server and why

-- main genshin server or the keqing main one bc i think the main one jus is Hoyolab part two (derogatory) and the keqingmains is just meta fighting over numbers n shit orz orz orz

6) which ship fans are the most annoying?

-- any and all popular ships but mostly the popular mlm shippers bc they are,,, practically if not Exactly ,,fujos basically (the popular wlw shippers are either Cis Het Men or also sapphic ppl 7) what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them? -- itto for sure, tho the more i saw abt canon the more i hated him, i jus saw a buncha fanon that i hated so sdfsdf 8) common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about -- most if not all of them, most specifically kazuha/beidou family and zhongli/xiao family i fucking Hate that SO much because WHERE did it come from????? the infantalising short guys bitches??? fucking stop it

9) worst part of canon - ugh too much to fit here it could be a2 hour long video essay atp but mostly the colorism fucking Sucks 10) worst part of fanon -- also a lot, but the part that irks me the most is that No One thinks outside of the box, and im not pretending like im special or anything bc of certain things but like,,, at the mere mention of a rarepair they just go "oh no but i like (popular ship) better!" like ughhhhh stop it think differently 11) number of fandom-related words you've filtered - too many to count on twitter but here ive been spacing it out ;> 12) the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them - baizhu for SUREEEE and like look at the everything about him literally WHY after his release whyyyYyyYyyyYY is he STILLLLL unpopular why is he STILL lacking in fancontent im ehrgehrgeehrgere upsET 13) worst blorboficiation - childe,,,,, who made him a fuckboy 14) that one thing you see in fics all the time - they/them pronouns for baizhu ( not a bad thing but not rlly a good thing im getting sick of it a little bit ) 15) that one thing you see in fanart all the time - diluc with a Bow WHY 16) you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc) - a LOT a fucking LOT mostly ships and the Collective Dynamic of the ships bc aughhh they are so boriinnnnnnggggggggggggggggg g g g g g and again the "found family" that comes out of NO WHERE

17) there should be more of this type of fic/art

-baizhluc 18) it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

-baizhu,,,,,, 19) you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

-,,,,,, tighnari-- and i used to absolutely HATE him bc the voice was so just IRked me so Badly it rubbed me the complete wrong way and ruined the character for me, yes i play in eng and ever since the recasting my view of him is much nicer now he doesnt irk me anymore 20) part of canon you found tedious or boring

-ayatos story quest he deserved better still 21) part of canon you think is overhyped

-,,,,,raiden and yae content 22) your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

-- the fact that diluc is 1) BANNED from snehnyaha 2) got WASTED in snezhnya 3) was part of a secret underground organization WE STILL know NOTHING about??? it was never brought up again and 4) Killed his Own Father out of his misery 23) ship you've unwillingly come around to

-uhhhh is i bad i dont know, 24) topic that brings up the most rancid discourse -- "are kaeya and diluc brothers " and to that i say they are exes fuck both sides of the argument 25) common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

--"genshin fans need to touch grass" "genshin fans are the worst fandom ever" literally look at every other fandom, any big hit anime fandom ,, (ahem mha) are like 100x worse then genshin fans, like yeag we're ruthless sometimes sure and will chew each other out thanks to most of the fanbase being on twitter of all places but we wont put glass in cupcakes

[aerosiderwrites]

Archery Practice ... Yandere Childe x Harbinger!Reader

warnings for genre typical portrayals of unhealthy relationships... ngl childe is kinda tame in this one tho

Word Count: 2k

Mid-evening tended to be an unpopular time to train. Most were having dinner, finishing their work day, and getting ready for as restful night as possible in the frigid climate of Snezhnaya. You typically would as well, but with a lot to reflect on and frustrated energy, you brushed off the snow on your person as you entered a Fatui training facility. You gave a quiet greeting to the guards who manned the building, who stood at attention at your arrival. You paid them no second thought as you began to navigate the pristine building.

You followed a path down the corridors you knew by heart, as even years before your ascension to being a Harbinger you found yourself here more than at home whenever your weren’t on assignment. Most windows into the various gyms were dark, and the ones with people in them had young recruits of little consequence to you.

You turned a corner when you heard someone calling for you. You processed the distinct voice as Childe, the most recent addition to the Harbingers. You ignored him, hoping that your increase in pace would not catch his attention. You mentally pleaded that he would avoid the archery range in favor of the other combat gyms.

He didn’t stop, as he never did, as his voice continued to come your way. You closed your eyes in weak attempt to hide your wince as he addressed you by name, by your real name, not your Harbinger title as the other nine would.

You stopped dead and turned to where he was trailing behind you and gave him your attention, unfortunately rewarding his bad behavior, “Titles only, Childe.”

“I wasn’t sure you could hear me” Childe responded, now standing tall right in front of you, his smile still the same, ignoring or otherwise completely unbothered by the standoffishness on your end. “I wanted to see if you wanted to spar while you’re here.”

Like clockwork. Every damn time you came in here and he was here too he’d ask. Each time you’d say no. Each time he’d hover around you until one of you had to leave. It had worked for the other Harbingers, as he now paid them no mind but for whatever reason, he still engaged with you. Tonight, you hoped your verifiable excuse and unfriendly aura would be the last straw for him.

“I’m just going to be doing target practice today,” you said, hoping to deter him. “I don’t want to do anything too strenuous today.”

“Oh you are? Do you mind if I join you?”

You blinked, “I didn’t know you knew how to use a bow,” you verbally dug your heels into the ground, even though you knew he could just walk into the range and practice along side you if he so wanted. There were no restrictions to who could use what when, but you desperately wished he would take a hint and leave you alone.

“I’ve been practicing on my own more recently, actually,” explained Childe, “And considering you’re the best archer among us, I can’t imagine having a better training partner.”

You narrowed your eyes at his compliment, while delivered earnestly, you couldn’t help but interpret his words as being subtly facetious. Since Childe sidestepped your frustrated hint with ease, you relented with a sigh, “Do as you please.”

The two of you headed to an archery range, Childe walking along side you, while you stewed in silent annoyance. So much for introspection time.

No one quite knew how to pester quite like Tartaglia. It was the popular opinion among the other Harbingers that the 11th was obnoxious. While you and your contemporaries preferred to work in the shadows and keep the often extreme extents of your servitude to your Archon hush-hush, Tartaglia, or Childe, as he preferred, ended up with a style that was far more akin to a performance. However, unlike most performers, he would make sure that his performance would be the last his audience would ever see.

You stopped in front of a door to the small range, opening it up unceremoniously, and Childe followed close behind. The room lit up, and illuminating the long room with three suspended targets, at three distances. Even with the unwanted company, you stretched and warmed up on autopilot, the silence between you and Childe surprisingly comfortable.

You glanced over, Childe having gone through his warm up routine faster than you. He had called his bow already, and you found yourself gawking at the absolutely abysmal posture he held as he aimed at the closest target, the one on the far left.

His shoulders were hunched and his bow hand gripped the bow in such a way that seemed entirely unsustainable. The arrow sat flimsy in his drawing hand, the only saving grace of the shot being the strength with Childe drew, which was borderline disturbing. You weren’t sure if he was showing off, or if he genuinely didn’t know to hold back.

You held your tongue as you watched him fire the shot, your eyes barely able to follow as the arrow swiftly embedded itself deep into the target, although the hit was only one by the smallest of margins

You watched him fire two more arrows, the second being a ring outside of the bullseye, and the third a near miss from the top. Both would be a challenge to pull from the targets as the fletching of the arrows were barely all that stuck out.

“See, I have a problem with being consistent in the hits I land,” Childe sighed, aware that you were observing, “What would you recommend?”

You took a deep inhale, “I think most children who pick up bows for the first time don’t have posture as bad as you.”

Childe flinched, his body language exaggerated, a pout resembling a kicked puppy having formed on his face, ��Cut me some slack, I’m self taught!”

You remained unrelenting in your onslaught, “That’s obvious,” you scoffed, “You put way to much strength into the draw, especially when you can barely hold the bow itself. I’m amazed you hit the target at all.”

As as satisfying as it was to drag his form through the mud, Childe’s hurt expression only seemed to deepen, and you let yourself be worn down. “Draw the empty string, I’ll tell you what you need to fix.”

He did as you asked, and you rationalized to yourself that you were ultimately helping the Tsaritsa if you assisted Childe here. If he were ever stuck in a situation where he could only use a bow, you didn’t want him to be caught with his pants down. As invasive as he was, you didn’t want him to die or anything.

You lightly tapped his upper back, “Don’t hunch.” He fixed himself quickly. You moved his elbow up on his drawing arm, and went around to bend his elbow on his bow arm, going in quickly, and touching his as little as possible. You gave explanations for why each mistake would be detrimental for any kind of combat, and how to develop instinctive shooting, while making him maintain proper posture.

You were surprised how well he seemed to internalize what you explained, and you didn’t stop yourself from going into more detail than was feasibly retainable, but he stayed attentive, and showed a passion you weren’t expecting. You eased into a comfortable rhythm, and with rudimentary fixes, Childe was able to improve.

Time passed quickly, your engagement far more than either of you had expected. Childe had been trying to gauge you for a long time, but your persistence into giving him as little as possible became entertaining in and of itself. He enjoyed the open resentment of the other Harbingers, and before you had let your shell crack, he had enjoyed yours just as much.

Your patience with any mistakes was unexpected, your exasperation and irritation with his presence having dissipated entirely as you focused on helping him despite yourself. It was endearing seeing this side of you, a side that showed itself with surprisingly little prodding or string-pulling. It felt… natural, and unfortunately for you, it was also very endearing.

“Hey, [Y/N],” he started, interrupting a demonstration you had started about sights, earning a surprised look from you as he got your attention.

It took a split second, but you noticed he used your name instead of your title, your guard went back up, and you narrowed your eyes at him, “Don’t speak informally with me, use my title, Tartaglia.” You hissed out, using his official title instead of his preferred to emphasize your distance.

“Why? You can call me Ajax,” he offered, testing the barrier you set up. He hid his surprise when you hesitated, pursing your lips. He saw through how you tried to treat him apathetically, and forced yourself to be unkind to him. You were so much softer than you wanted anyone else to be privy to, and Childe was excited to exploit it.

In your own head, you had reached a conclusion that you weren’t sure he had reached, or if he even noticed in himself. You could have been way off, but as someone so at odds with his peers, seen as a tool by his superior, and feared by enemies and underlings alike, the pieces fit in your head and spelled out the fact that Childe was probably lonely.

Realizations clicked together quickly upon this conclusion, but you kept them to yourself.

“I won’t,” you maintained, refusing to let up. You couldn’t stop sympathy and understanding from now changing the tint of your interactions or how you viewed them, but you didn’t have to let him know any of that. Childe wasn’t your business, no matter how much he wanted to be.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Childe cooed, holding back a patronizing urge to pinch your angry cheeks, “I just wanted to ask why you’re helping me, since you seem to dislike me so much.”

You shifted your weight where you stood, “I don’t think you’d leave me alone either way.”

“That hasn’t stopped you from ignoring me before.”

Resentment bubbled in your chest, “So you are aware that you’re a pest.”

“Only because I like you.”

You were baffled that he could just say something that familiar, and you hoped any warmth that showed itself on you wouldn’t be interpreted as anything other than embarrassment on his behalf. “Well, stop.”

Childe seemed more amused than anything at your words, it only feeding into his idea that you’re just playing hard to get, “Am I really so unlikable?”

“You have no idea.” Any understanding you gained during your interactions being emotionally tossed to the wayside as your couldn’t bring yourself to care about someone with such a deliberate lack of regard for boundaries.

You disarmed yourself and made way to the door, pulling it open only for it to shut fast before you could blink. Your eyes followed the gloved hand that slammed it shut, Childe now far closer than you have ever let him get before.

You didn't want to turn around, and when you did you found yourself regretting it. His eyes were cold, completely unamused at your intent to leave while he was enjoying your company so much. He didn't mind a chase, but he needed you to realize that he was serious, and very difficult to deter.

If being pleasant and fun wouldn't get you to loosen up, he could change his approach until you changed your mind.

It had been a very long time since you felt this small. You’ve always been aware of Childe’s strength, but at the end of the day, despite his irritating nature, he was an ally. Or was. In that moment you looked up to see his lighthearted facade disappear so completely, you understood that regardless of your allegiance to your Archon, he was a threat.

“Don’t go, I still have so much I’d like to learn from you, [Y/N].”

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

hey crys!! i got the idea from my new friend and moot, @/trashlord-007 to ask you, what are your favorite works on your account? i don’t mind whatever fandom or anything, i just want to get around to reading your writing and asking you for recommendations seems like a good start. of course i want to read everything one day ^_^

Ooo good question! And ahhhh I've read a couple of works from them before and I think I even reblogged one here way back when, one of the Kun fics I'm sure haha but yeah! I'm happy to share! Of course, obviously I love all my fics but if we're talking favorites then...

Zemblanity [WayV x Reader, Space/Prison AU, Yandere(?) it's more of a Thriller] - Honestly, the girls who were here were here and the ones who weren't weren't. When I first dropped this series this blog surged like crazy. I never had so many anon asks every day! It's currently going through some heavy rewrites, but the original is still up on my archive of our own account (I knew it was popular because I had like two or three people straight up plagiarize it on wattpad LMAOOOOO)

Prominence [NCT x Reader, Park Seonghwa x Reader, Idol AU, Social Media AU] - This one should really go without saying considering it's my longest series to date! But it's also significantly different compared to a lot of the series on this list. I promise! It's a romantic comedy!

Covalence [Qian Kun x Reader, University AU] - Ooh this was the last big fic on my first blog before I moved here. Nearly 20K of me trauma dumping into a fic asking the big question "What if?" seriously though, it's one of my all time favorites! I can't say much more without spoiling though but if you have free time, make a coffee and read through it!

Infatuation [Jaemin/Jungwoo/Sungchan/Johnny x Reader (not all of them lmao), University AU, Yandere] - HOOOO boy everyone's waiting for Johnny's ending and if I'm being honest it's done but it's way too fucking long AHAHAHA but basically the premise is that you're being stalked and you don't know who but yeah! I know you're a yandere person so if you have time check it out! I think Jaemin's is the most popular but I'd have to check.

Lavenza [Lee Taeyong x Reader, Scientist AU, Yandere(?)] - Kind of one of my least popular fics, but I genuinely had a lot of fun writing it (so I may be a little disappointed lmao fsdhfkh) but if you're into suspense mixed with sci-fi give it a go!

Without a Trace [ATEEZ x Reader, Vigilante AU] - Another kind of unpopular one but that's most likely because I mainly write for NCT LMAOOOO but I really like the tone of this one! Plus, YN's a badass in it too.

Black Magic [NCT 127 x Witch!Reader, Magic AU] - Man it's actually kinda interesting because Black Magic isn't all too popular here on Tumblr but my readers on AO3 eat this concept up. So like??? If you like magic, read this one! I put a lot of time into the world building of it and I'm currently working on it's sequel Midnight Illusion.

And, ofc, honorable mentions:

How to Keep a Promise

Midnight Coffee

Fate's Gamble

Happy reading, love! And don't worry about it if they're not to your taste either, obviously, everyone has their preferred genres! Much love from me as always <3

[tainted-wine]

I read your fic and now I'm stuck in Hawks hell. Any writers/fics you recommend?

This place is a treasure trove of Hawks lechery!

@hawkssimp is to be admired for being as dirty as she damn well pleases. Her imagery is an impressive combination of depraved and romantic, and sometimes only one or the other. Her work has given me confidence in exploring some of the raunchier ideas in my head. In fact, the next little Hawks ficlet I’m writing would probably never happen if it wasn’t for her. Go explore her blog!

Now, @lemonpepperhawks is new to the party, but the work they’ve dished out so far already has me drooling for more. Their pacing and build-up is flawless, making the smut all the more intense. If you want a great interpretation of a charming yandere!Hawks, this is for you!

@kazooli is the eldest Queen of Depravity in the fandom. She may prefer villains, but the hero material she’s written isn’t to be ignored. In fact, my love for feral!Hawks is mostly her fault. If you want some unapologetic scumbag action, take a tour!

Every once in a blue moon, a generous and talented creature will emerge from the shadows. This creature is known as @creepsh. They will leave us with an erotic blessing and return to the dark depths. Their twisted characterizations of Hawks, along with their unique style of writing that I can’t even explain why I love so much, makes me cherish their precious gems. Will you feel the same? Find out!

Now you may be thinking, “Hey Tainted, a lot of this is pretty dark and messed up,” to which I reply, “Yes I know don’t judge me dammit.”

Let me find some more leveled thirst...

@dee-madwriter is sensual, with a pinch of playfulness. And let me tell you that her threesomes are to DIE FOR. I’m not ashamed to say that I have lost count of how many times I have read her endhawks x reader fic. A+++

@lady-bakuhoe is kind in showing off her talents with not just the exploding gremlin, but all characters, popular and unpopular. This fic of Hawks eating you out is another one that I have read way too many times.

Dammit, there’s so many more. Go search that hawks x reader tag, anon! It’s a gold mine!

[misstycloud]

How about a popular reader x unpopular yandere>

It was lunch break and you sat together with your classmates inside the classroom, eating your food. Today's topic was the new horror movie coming out soon, you'd all seen the trailer and it seemed scary. It was one of those 'robot turns evil and starts murdering people' kind of film, and you were totally up to see it.

"Bro, did you see her face? Now that's what I call scary.'' your friend Taro said in an exited voice.

"Yeah, bet you shat yourself when you saw the trailer." Hana joked and snorted at him, Taro in return gave her a 'really?' look.

"Haha, very funny."

"I agree, I'd love to see the way you'll scream when we actually go watch it. It'll be the best moment of my life." you said, following in Hana's footsteps.

"Oh no, not you too. Bullying is bad, you know. You could get expelled."

"The only one getting expelled here is you, we saw what you did to that Mitsuki girl in 3A. Not to mention that other younger student." another one of your friends reminded him with a smirk gracing his lips. "Mitsuki was not looking good, I'll tell you. You need to stop tormenting these poor people or it'll come back and bite you one day." he mocked.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." in the corner of Taro's eye, he noticed a certain boy enter the classroom and glancing around until he spotted your group. Taro smiled deviously, "well, talking about sad people," he turned to face you, "there is one right there."

Looking in the direction of which your friend pointed in, you realised what he was talking about and sighed at the sight. Sano Yamada, your boyfriend. Actually, you didn't know if he really was your boyfriend. It's not like you loved him or anything. How could you? Not with that plain face, boring fashion and lack of social life. He wasn't exactly a popular one...

Why are you with him, then?

Simply because it’s fun. He obviously liked you, enough that your friends noticed and proposed a plan to you: fake confess to him on the rooftop, and then tell him he was being pranked. It would be hilarious. Especially if you caught it on video. That way, all of you could rewatch the moment for ever. So you agreed. You asked him to meet you on the roof by sending him a note and put it in his locker. At first, you thought he was too shy since it was after the decided meeting-time, but then he stumbled through the metal door and fell in front of you. He apologised for being late and you had simply sighed before getting on with your mission, glancing at your phone who was in recording mode.

It was easy. Just pretend that you like him before breaking the truth to him and let your friends revel in his humiliation. That's how things were supposed to go. Just be a little mean and then go home like nothing happened, but the world had different plans it seemed.

For when the time came for things to go down, Sano got too caught up in joy that he failed to notice you weren't done, you hadn't gotten the chance to spill the beans that it was all fake and you weren't even close to liking him. You wished to fix things so you didn't have to date him, but your friends wouldn't let you. They believed it would be fun if you simply didn't say anything and kept going out with Sano, even if it was fake.

So that is how you ended up with an unwanted boyfriend.

"Hello," Sano said as he reached the put-together tables you were seated at. "how's it going?" Is he was trying to adapt to your group of friends and impress them. He sadly didn't succeed.

The others gave him a tight lipped smile and answered shortly with a small 'it's fine'. You could not help but sigh again at his presence, the two of you didn't even share any lessons, did he really have to be there? Understanding you were the reason for his unexpected visit, you still asked, "Sano, what a surprise. What are you doing here, aren't you supposed to be with your own class?"

He didn't pick up on your irritation and replied to your question with a kind smile, "Yeah, but I missed you so much that I thought I could come here instead." Blushingly he turned his gaze to the floor, still somewhat shy in front of you.

"Oh..that's so..sweet." You forced yourself to at least look like you enjoyed his gestures and loving gaze. Taro and the others covered their mouths to hide their snickers, you pretended not to notice. How you wished Hana was the one Sano liked, not you.

"Can I join?'' Sano wondered and pointed at a free chair next to him nobody was using.

"Eh, sure."

Ha thanked you and pulled the chair close to the tables and sat down. Giving their last mocking laughs, they stopped after you sent them stink eye. After that conversation continued on like normal. Though he'd been allowed to join you, Sano didn't dare say anything and only sat there quietly. Just like a shadow. Just like it'd always been. There but not there at the same time, unnoticed and ignored. That's how most of sano's life has played out.

"-yesterday me and Taro talked, and we thought it would be cool if we all went to mall tomorrow."

"Need those new clothes, y'know." Taro chimed in and gestured to his body.

"You in?" Hana asked and looked at you.

"Yeah, of course." you said happily, you needed to do a little shopping yourself anyway.

"Cool, we can see if we can find those dresses we didn't buy last time!"

Last time you went to the shopping centre, you discovered two beautiful dresses but sadly weren't able to but them at the time because you two were broke as hell. You were pretty sure you only had like three dollars in your bak account. While you thought you were bad, you didn't even wish to think about Hana's economy.

"Good idea, I really liked it and-"

"-sorry to cut in,'' an anxious voice had interrupted you, "but aren't we going on a date tomorrow?" Sano put his hand over yours and squeezed it, "remember?"

Right. You totally forgot. You werre supposed to go on a date with Sano this weekend, he'd inquired about it nonstop for almost three weeks now and there was only so much you could take before giving in to his demands. You thought it better to simply get it over with so he'll shut up and leave you alone for a while.

"Right, I forgot. Sorry" you apologised in an obvious fake tone.

Sano nodded, signalling he accepted your apology. He didn't see how you scowled at him behind his back when he wasn't looking.

-

Lunch time had now passed and school was almost over, the weekend fun could soon begin. Which everyone was happy over, perhaps the teacher's more than anyone.

'I shouldn't have drunk so much water.' Sano thought to himself as he wandered through the halls of the building.

Entering the boys bathroom he saw it as empty, and proceeded to open the stall door stall and lock it. But right as he was going to get down to business, he heard the door opening and others coming in. The voices weren't of people he recognise, so he didn't plan to bother with it. However, when the conversation went in a direction related to him, he had no choice but to secretly listen in.

"You know that (Yn) girl from class 3C?"

"Yeah, of course, she's hot as fuck."

"Right, but have you seen that guy who follows her around all the time?" The voice mentioned in a rude way, making it clear he did not mean well.

"I've seen him a couple times. Not the best face, if you get what i mean." The second voice said and laughed.

"Hahaha, he's not a prince charming that's for sure."

They didn't realise the person they were talking ill of were very much within hearing range and listened to every word that came out of their mouths. Sano stood there, completely frozen. Taking in what they said. Was that really how people saw you and him? While he knew he was no social butterfly and you were well liked by many in contrast to himself, he didn't think it was something people actually brought up.

"I don't get why she doesn't leave him. There are surely better guys in school, she's bound to fall for one of them."

"You mean someone like Haruto?"

The other voice exclaimed, "Exactly! Someone like Haruto is a much better fit for her, he's well in her league. "

After that Sano heard some more bustling noises, and then it was silence. He poked his head out to confirm they had indeed left. The boy decided to goo back to class, his reason for leaving now forgotten. He piled over the two students words. Were they right? Did people actually believe someone else was a better choice for you. But that couldn't be true. He was yours and you were his. You belonged together.

That's what you felt too. You must, what would he do if you didn’t? No, you have to love him. Otherwise you wouldn’t have confessed to him so sweetly that day on the roof. He tried convincing himself that he was the love of your life like you were his, something told him it wasn’t like that though.

He wondered if you actually would leave him if someone better showed up. Someone like Haruto. Those two students from earlier weren’t wrong at all, Haruto was great. At many things. He was liked by everyone, he was good at sports, good at being funny and he just had to be good-looking too.

Much more than Sano, which hurt pretty bad. He hated to admit it but you and Haruto would make a better couple. He was jealous. Very jealous. He’d have to prove he was the perfect one for you. Sano couldn’t let anyone come and steal you away!

Sano would show you how good of a boyfriend he can be and your date tomorrow would be a glorious opportunity for that.

-