#possessive behavior tw

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Afton'd Reader AU my beloved,, clingy obsessed possessive boys my beloved,,,, i really should draw this Mentally Unwell Trio more often, its very fun skldfhsdkjfdh

[diejager]

I can’t stop thinking about reader who’s a ballerina and 141 being absolutely obsessed with her, to the point they just have to have her.

Cw: DARKFIC, possessive tf141, ballerina!reader, obsessive behavious, tell me if I missed any.

It felt like something right out of a princess story, down to the T. They found you, a pretty, little thing in need of comfort and safety, frail and graceful on that stage. You twirled and threw your leg up, back arched so deeply that Soap had almost lost his mind. You looked so beautiful on the main stage, dancing under the bright, leading light that made you the main attraction of the theatre. You were made for the stage, for the light and the elegance of ballet, and the mask you hid under brightened your eyes, the glimmering gems accentuating the curve and fluffiness of your lashes.

They watched, eyes never straying from your body in the mass of dancers, easily finding you despite you mingling and switching places with others. You were just so perfect that it was hard to not find you. They had enjoyed the ballet show, all of it, from the dancing bodies to the melodic violins, cello and flute. Until men barged into the room, weapons pointed to the baroque ceiling and shot, firing dozens of rounds that fell down on a panicking crowd, pushing and fighting to get out of the room before they were gunned down by these men.

There was the reason they came to the show for. Where you were an unexpected and amazing distraction, the true attraction had finally arrived. Everyone had followed the plan, but Ghost had kept an eye on your fleeting figure, rushing behind the curtains and into the backstage, you were one of the few that managed to escape through the emergency exit at the back. With you safely secure by the second team they posted outside every exit, the four of them could concentrate on getting this plan executed.

Gaz had worked with traumatised crowds, instinctively finding you seated abord an ambulance, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Price and the others watched a small smile light up your face, cheeks slightly flushed from the adrenaline of the situation and a small laugh bubbling from you during your conversation with Gaz. He had always been the softest, the warmest and the most welcoming of them. Gaz was and will always be the easiest to approach, that’s why he dealt with crowds more often than them, and lucky them, Gaz had charmed your number into his phone.

He called every two days, forming a routine where you became used to his voice, creating a codependency between him and you. It helped that they missed you as much as you missed Gaz, your voice sounding out from Gaz’s phone with a light tone and airy laugh whenever he made a joke or a cheeky remark for them. Then he introduced you to another, incorporating Soap into your routine call and it couldn’t have gone any better. It was like gasoline to a dying fire, Soap’s cheek and golden retriever-like behaviour made you cackle and roll over in full-chested laughter.

For a while, it was only the three of you, hours spent on the phone talking and gossiping like Asian aunts, until Price and Ghost’s names (well, the mention of them) came up during. You shyly brought them up, your tone worried after Soap had told you about the rigged car, wondering about their injuries when they told you they had a few scrapes and burns. The two, who usually sat in the back of your calls, spoke up, Ghost’s dark growl and Price’s deeper rumble reassured you that they came out in better condition than the other side (you laughed and the four of them couldn’t help falling deeper in love).

You were always on their minds, if you weren’t on call, where they could hear you, feel you smile or bathe in your presence, and if they weren’t going to your ballet show, watching you twirl and dance and simply glow, they would be thinking of and about you. Your charming giggles. You sweet smiles. Your elegance. Your bright personality. Your snark. Everything about you made it hard to stop themselves from wanting more, and more and more. And soon enough, daily calls with you weren’t enough.

taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce   

[tempfrangit]

cw: obsessive/possessive behavior, stalking

thinking about how soap really is like a dog with a bone, always, always, always.

just let him sink his teeth in and he's never letting go. hell, just being the thing that catches his attention has him clenching his jaw, digging his feet in the ground with a refusal to let go.

for all the shit the others give him, he's smart. he knows everything needs a plan.

so he starts small, now that he knows you're out there. he eats the things you eat after you do, savoring the flavors and his cock twitches with interest as he wonders if your mouth still tastes like them. he watches the things you watch like it’s the next mission he’s gotten intel on, when you tell your friend about the episode he notes what you focus on, what you liked, what you thought could have used more work. (and maybe it's a little wrong to clone your phone, to bug your apartment, but he means well, mo ghaol) your words soothe him, almost lull him into his first restful sleep in...in years. a balm he didn't know his soul needed.

he wants to break apart your rib cage and live inside it, to be held close to your heart forever, in a spot just for him.

and maybe he gets a little too excited to meet you. he'd never put you in danger, no. he's drawn the line there and he's not gonna cross that. but he's got to meet you, gotta make sure you see him too, accept him as part of your life.

you'll be happy together, he just knows it.

and he's not going to let go of that idea.

his teeth are already biting down to the bone.

[cuppajj]

yknow while I don’t subscribe to golden cheese x burning spice, I think Spice having an unrequited, toxic crush on cheese is a fun and scary angle

(yap below, tw for possessive/obsessive themes)

Spice wouldn’t have taken her seriously before and during BY 5 and 6, seeing her as little more than a thief with squandered potential that he just wants to see changed. She’s not supposed to be weak, he’s supposed to be a legitimate adversary. He’s bored, and she’s supposed to excite him! It’s why he’s mad when she gets her ass handed to him, and why he’s elated when he learns she escaped her birdcage. That burning anticipation for a reunion continues throughout the story, with Spice hunting her down for their (what he assumes) final fight, not wanting to waste any more moments without her in his sight. Sure, he believes he’ll kill her then and there, and go on to destroy everything she holds dear. It’s par for the course for all the heroes he’s seen and slain. She’s more special, a little different, but the same. It’s even looking like that when he finally tracks down and battles her, seeing the lost queen desperate and hanging on by a thread.

But then she puts up a fight. She defies his expectations. She turns into something more powerful than he could ever fathom and Spice isn’t even mad, he’s not horrified, he’s ecstatic. The most ecstatic he’s likely ever been in centuries to millennia. Finally, finally, Spice has something new. After a long and tired quest to make his life more interesting, he has it. And then the temple collapses on him, and his new light disappears. It’s not the end of the road for him, though, no. He laughs under the rubble. It’s clear he’s not given up, and he wants to see her again. He will see her again. He must see her again.

Spice never stops thinking of the day Cheese came back from the edge of death and teased him with power that he’s desperate to get a taste of. He wanted her to be entertaining, and he almost doubted her, but she proved to be it and more. She surprised him. She amused him. She, just like his addiction to destruction, provided an avenue to cure his boredom. His imagination runs wild with ideas of what she could do and how she could entertain him, his bird, just like she did back then. He wants to lock her up again and watch her plow through his underlings again. He could play other dangerous games just to see how she’d do. And he wants another fight, he wants to see her on the edge, but then what? What other surprise could she give him? She could find a way for him, or else he’ll just force her to find a way for him. Maybe her new wings could be torn off too, and she’ll once again crawl and struggle until she rises up stronger than ever. Because she’s full of those surprises, isn’t she? They can do this forever. As immortals, they have all the time in the world for each other.

I like to think that Spice isn’t fully aware of his feelings for her, but he’s aware of how she makes him feel. The thought of her and her power makes his jam boil and chest flare with tingling heat. Remembering her limp in his clutch makes his dough tingle with fervor. Maybe he notices that his breath hitches in the smallest way when he thinks of how she’s somewhere out there, waiting for him. It’s something not even destruction could make him feel, no, the little bird is above that. She makes him feel this way and he likes it. He wants more. Spice wants to keep her, plain and simple. He had her in his grasp once, and she ran away with the promise of more. He wants more. He wants it. He wants her. And maybe, if he takes away everyone she’s ever known and loved, she’ll have no one but him. His little bird, his to entertain him forever.

Cheese is absolutely none the wiser to this, and she’ll be in for a hell of a ride when their paths cross once more.

[silenceofthecookies]

CW: past mention of abuse, possessive behavior

You sat down behind your desk, grateful for the silence your office brought. Being the assistant of a harbinger wasn’t easy, but the job came with its perks, a calm work environment being one of them. Especially after the mess with your fellow Fatui members yesterday… 

You jumped as the door slammed open. Scaramouche, who seemed to be in a fouler mood than usual, walked in. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him, simply heading to his chair. You could hear him mumbling something about Dottore, but couldn’t exactly make out what. You didn’t ask either, it was none of your business. Scaramouche may not have been kind with his words, but he was always clear when he’s addressing you. You got up to close the door behind him before sitting back down at your desk, processing the documents Scaramouche had asked you to work on yesterday. 

“Hey, you,” Scaramouche barked. Him addressing you as ‘you’ was nothing new. He never used your name. “go wash this for me.” 

Scaramouche held out his catalyst to you, which you could see was covered in blood. You got up from your desk and accepted the weapon, taking it to an adjacent bathroom to wash it. As much as you were not a fan of it, you were used to it. You rolled up your sleeves and got to work. 

Once you were done you went back to your office and placed the now sparkling catalyst on Scaramouche’s desk. Before you could walk back to your desk, you heard a firm ��stop’. You froze in place and looked up at Scaramouche. His eyes seemed trained on your arm. 

“Lift your sleeve.” 

You looked down at your arm and felt anxiety settle in as you realized part of the bruise from yesterday was showing. 

“Sir, it’s nothing se-” “I told you to lift your sleeve, not to talk back.” 

Anxiety turned to fear as you saw cold eyes glaring at you. He was angry. You lifted your sleeve, revealing the hand-shaped bruise under it. Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed as he saw the bruise. He glared at it for a few seconds, before looking you in the eyes.

“Who did that?” His voice was colder than you had ever heard. 

“Sir, it-” “I asked you who, y/n.”

You muttered the name, hoping to not anger him any more. Scaramouche nodded and left the office without another word. He would teach them that nobody messed with what was his.

It was only after he closed the door behind him - gently - that you noticed that for the first time, he had used your name.

[hoosurdaddy]

Nest.

Pairing: Joe Goldberg x reader x Love Quinn.

ummary: You’ve been in their home for weeks now. Maybe months. Time’s slippery when you’re kept warm, fed, worshipped. You should feel like a pet. Like a prisoner. But all you feel is wanted. Needed. Maybe even… loved.

Warnings: NSFW (explicit sex), obsession, unhealthy dynamics, possessive/controlling behavior, manipulation, dubcon-adjacent (reader is drugged lightly for “relaxation”), voyeurism, dom/sub undertones, pet names, praise kink, mild biting, dark romance themes.

You have been warned.

Not taking requests.

⸻

The sheets smell like vanilla, linen, and Love’s skin.

You stretch slowly, the silk blindfold still warm against your eyelids. There’s a buzz in your limbs—not quite sedation, not quite arousal. Something between. Something intentional. You know the tea Love gave you an hour ago had something in it. You’re past questioning it. You always feel good afterward. Calm. Soft. Docile.

Joe’s voice cuts through the haze, low and careful.

“You look perfect like this.”

You hear the click of a camera. Not a phone. A real camera. The kind he used back when he said he “wanted to capture the truth of things.”

“You’re taking pictures?” your voice is hoarse, half-curious, half-sleepy.

“You’re art, baby,” Love whispers from the foot of the bed. “We can’t keep you all to ourselves and not at least look when you’re not here.”

You feel a kiss on your knee. Then your thigh. Then teeth.

Your breath hitches.

Love climbs up between your legs like a predator, hands sliding up your sides, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. She’s naked. You can feel her heat against your leg.

“She’s wet already,” Love purrs to Joe. “Just from hearing your voice.”

There’s the sound of something being set down. The camera. Then the rustle of clothing. Joe’s taking his shirt off. You know the sounds now. You know the feel of him when he presses against you—sharp hipbones, calloused hands, thick and patient where it counts.

“Of course she is,” Joe says, now closer, breath hot against your ear. “She knows she belongs to us.”

The words make your thighs press together involuntarily. Love pushes them apart again, chuckling. “Uh-uh, sweetheart. No hiding from us.”

They don’t ask for permission anymore. But somehow, you never feel forced. It’s like they’ve trained you—slowly, lovingly, breaking you down until this became your sanctuary.

Joe’s hands slide beneath your back, lifting you slightly so he can kiss along your collarbone. His voice is gentle. Too gentle for how rough he can be.

“You’re our pretty little pet, aren’t you?”

You nod.

Even blindfolded, you can feel their smiles.

Love licks a long, slow stripe from your navel to your chest. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

Joe’s fingers wrap around your throat—not to choke, just to hold. “Good girl.”

You feel Love’s fingers first. Then her mouth. Joe keeps whispering—dirty things, loving things, terrifying things. You lose track of where one of them ends and the other begins. You’re breathless, aching, unraveling under four hands, two mouths, one obsession.

They don’t stop until you beg.

Even then, they keep going just a little longer. Just to hear you cry.

[snowluvvie]

₊˚⊹ ♡ . mutt!rafe cameron

MINORS DNI. | warnings — possessive behavior, toxic relationship, smut, oral (f. receiving), violence, blood, codependency, biting

mutt Rafe, who shows up on your front step with his hand in his mouth, chewing furiously at his fingernails, head hung because he had nowhere else to go

mutt Rafe, who offers to sleep on the couch in the most insincere, unconvincing tone of voice you’ve ever heard, and makes zero effort to hide his grin when you tell him he can just sleep in the bed

mutt Rafe who suddenly feels entitled to every inch of your house and everything you own just because you let him in. he eats whatever he wants out of your fridge, walks around shirtless, gets water all over your bathroom floor from shaking his hair out after he showers. you try to remind him that he’s a guest, but Rafe is too busy acting like it’s all his territory now

speaking of territory. you’re his and he won’t hear anything otherwise. he’s glued to you all the time when you guys are out—he doesn’t wanna do “his own thing” so he doesn’t see why you have to. why can’t he just be next to you all the time?

arm slung around your waist or over your shoulders, a cute back hug that turns into his bicep encircling your throat and squishing your cheeks together. he laughs like it’s a cute little show of affection, but you see the way his eyes dart around like he’s making sure other people see

bites you during sex, he can’t even help it. he gets so lost in rutting into you and proving he can make you cum harder than anyone else, when you’re in mating press with your legs over your head and he leans down to press open-mouthed kisses to your calves as he’s fucking you, they quickly turn into harsh bites that leave imprints that everyone will see tomorrow

when he’s about to go down to you, and he’s teasing you because of how much he loves to hear you beg, pressing kisses and licking stripes up your inner thigh, he also sneaks in a harsh bite. your thighs are so soft and inviting, how could he not? the way your back arches when you cry out in pain makes him so hard he gets dizzy

mutt Rafe whose bite pattern you’ve seen etched into your soft skin so often you could practically draw it from memory

mutt Rafe who sees a random guy bump into you and not say sorry at a decently crowded party and is immediately laying into him, dragging him outside by the back of his neck, kicking him until he’s crying. when you get outside and he hears you say “Rafe” in that stern voice, he stops immediately and leaves the guy on the ground to follow you as you leave

head hanging because he can tell you’re disappointed in him but he can’t figure out why. “I did it for you!” he’s following behind you and waving his hands around as he emphatically explains that “you don’t understand! I was protecting you, it was for you!”

if someone tries to hurt you, he has to put them down! that’s what you do when you love someone! you make the world a safer place for them, right? he assumes you just don’t understand what he’s saying, because he knows he’s right

you haven’t talked to him and you’re getting into bed in your cute little PJs, he looms in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, waiting. you roll your eyes and gesture for him to join you and he immediately clambers to get into bed next to you

you had planned on staying mad but when you feel his warm, hard body pushed up against you, his mouth against your cheek as he’s mouthing “don’t be mad” into your skin, your resolve shatters and you’re making out with him breathily. He keeps saying that—“c’mon, don’t be mad” through gasps and grunts the whole time he’s fucking you

mutt Rafe who eats more meat that anyone you’ve ever met in your life, yammering on about protein and iron intake. you don’t complain, though, when he brings home pounds of steak and cooks them for both of you

mutt Rafe who presents you with the most perfect medium rare steak, placing the plate down gently in your lap before he sits down next to you and subtly watches your face as you eat to make sure you like it

asks casually “was it good?” every time. so casually, putting on an oscar-winning performance of not caring, though when you hum “mm-hm” and say thank you with those eyes looking up at him, he gets a big dumb smile on his face as he takes both your plates to the kitchen

mutt Rafe who sulks around the house when you’re too busy to fuck him, which is made ten times more irritating by the fact that he always wants to fuck you and can’t seem to wrap his head around why you can’t be fucking twenty-four-seven

mutt Rafe who has zero concept of boundaries or personal time and doesn’t see why he can’t be with you whenever he wants? he feels entitled to your alone time, doesn’t see why you need it

mutt Rafe who slips into the shower with you so quietly you didn’t even know he was there until you see him, you screech at the top of your lungs and he laughs and has to catch you so you don’t slip and bust your head

he ignores your indignant fussing in favor of burying his face in your neck, and you’ve barely gotten in a single word before he has you pressed flush against the wall and has already buried himself inside of you with a low, satisfied moan

mutt Rafe who won’t get off of you, ever

mutt Rafe who pulls you onto his chest and squishes you into the crook of his armpit and is so, so warm and smells like leather polish and cologne and something else distinctly him

mutt Rafe who lays his head across your lap and stretches his shirtless body out across the whole couch. just to be annoying, at first, to get in your personal space and on your nerves, but his eyes drag shut when you start carding your fingers through his hair

mutt Rafe who gets frustrated when you won’t pay attention to him, if you’re laying in bed and reading or scrolling on your phone, he’ll stand at the end of the bed and yank on your legs, pull you down the bed and bite your feet and your calves as you screech with laughter and try to kick him

mutt Rafe who teaches you how to ride his dirt bike with hands guiding yours on the handbars and gripping your hips to guide your sitting position

when you take a tumble and bust your lip on the ground, blood running down your chin, he scoops you up off the ground like you weigh as much as a leaf. he squishes your face in his hand and gives you a sympathetic frown, telling you that “you’ll get it next time, yeah? takes practice.” he swipes some of the blood off your chin with his thumb and pops it in his mouth, like he wiped a little smudge of food off your face, and not your own blood

mutt Rafe who carries you home and leaves his dirt bike behind, and tells you you’re still the prettiest thing he’s ever seen even when your smile is stained with red

mutt Rafe who needs your reassurance that you’re proud of him, that he’s doing well, that he’s taking care of things, that he’s taking care of you. his eyes glaze over when you tell him you’re glad he’s around, he’s doing such a good job. he nods dumbly, head empty aside from the warm glow at your praise

mutt Rafe who watches you with intense eyes as you wrap a bandage around his knuckles. he decked someone for being mean to you again, so hard he almost broke his own hand and definitely broke the other guy’s nose

this time, you didn’t reprimand him. he’s trying to gauge your reaction, figure out what you’re thinking, but you’re keeping it tamped down because weirdly, you liked it a little this time. what does that say about you?

mutt Rafe who becomes junkyard guard dog Rafe—mean and singleminded and covered in blood—if you aren’t careful how you talk to him

[someweirdoreblogger]

Witches help you if you create. If you hold a passion for crafting trinkets, hoarding valuables, and hanging treasure of your own design, molded of your jam and sweat.

Shadow Milk Cookie is a deeply possessive hoarder of the things he truly admires and covets. He will inconsistently steal a few little ornaments off your shelves in remorseless obsessive droves, kept securely isolated in a sealed corner in time and space, self-justified under the excuse of merely indulging himself.

A young star shatters, implodes ecstatic and passionate into its own heart, a keyhole melted by formidable forces beyond simplicity, a destructive ripple opens a welcome palm in the divine-woven fabric of the mortal universe itself, courtesy of the mad Jester's own forbidden magic.

Of which, the privilege of entry is only afforded, so obviously, for himself.

Ever the selfish narcissistic tyrant; then, once you finally corner the little thieving rascal, Shadow Milk Cookie will bat his frosted lashes to flip a switch, keen innocence feigning the dark star in each deviant eye, to play his signature move: the dramatics.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

lovesick, but never felt better <3<3<3

[aspensforestofstars]

The Sun and its Lights

° summary: You are the Sun, and they are your Light. To them, nothing matters more than your will.

° warnings: unhealthy behavior and coping mechanisms, possessive and obsessive behavior, description of addiction/withdrawal, cult-like/zealous/fanatic behavior.

○ note 1: I'm putting emphasis on the unhealthy/cult behavior. These two are.. unhinged, to put it simply.

° note 2: considering making this a series..

Belle and Wise were always.. different. Everyone knew that. Even their beloved teacher knew there was just something.. off about them.

Smiles that never reached dull eyes. Dull eyes didn't sparkle until they looked to the sun and looked to the light. Quiet murmurings to something no one could see or hear.

When the old Eridu fell, and New Eridu came to be, it was easy for them to cover it all up.

Until, of course, you finally came.

You, who had such an enticing warmth that it was overwhelming. You're a constant source of watching, of guidance, of care and want. Even when they're guiding an Agent on a mission, you are there.

It's as if you're whispering in their mind. Guiding their fingers, what to say, how to act.

You're always there.

If they are Phaethon, then you are Helios. You are the Sun. They are the Light.

They are your light.

It's the small details. The small sun stickers placed around each of their rooms, matching sun necklaces. The way they will slowly go on and on about all sorts of things about the sun, revolving around one being; Helios.

To them, the Hollows are a product of your will. A test to humanity, and while most of humanity failed, you had decided that New Eridu would live. And for that, they are forever grateful.

Belle and Wise know that everyone is ignorant of your glory. You are above in the sky every day.. and yet people do not even give you a glance.

You are Existence, you are Inevitable. You are light and dark, the sun and the moon, and these people just ignore you.

They ignore you, they scorn you, they rage for what you took for what you destroyed.

Belle wants to rage and shout. It's a trial. Why can't they see? New Eridu is blessed to be alive, under your constant gaze, your light, and life. It's Wise who reminds her they are just blind, that not everyone deserves to be as blessed as they are.

Your warmth is like a constant embrace. Like gentle hands guiding them, pushing them to where they need to go. It's like a rush, they could feel every command. Words being whispered in their ears and coming out with no effort.

When you're gone, it's like the Sun has gone out.

It's cold. It's freezing. They hate it, hate when your warmth leaves.

Belle stays up later than she usually does. Prayers, whispers, offerings, anything. She just wants you to come back.

Wise doesn't sleep at all. Just watching the moon, and sometimes, just cursing it.

Is it the reason why you leave? Why you do not watch them all the time?

He hates it. She hates it.

They hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Your light should never perish, never die. You are the Sun, you are Helios. The sun should never vanish, never go.

Why do you go?

Are they trials? Because if so, they will gladly weather them.

They can keep themselves composed in public, for the most part. So what if Belle gets a little jittery without your overwhelming warmth, or Wise's hands can't stop shaking with anxiety when you don't return at your usual time.

When you do return, it's a blissful weight and control. Shackles that they love.

They are your puppets, your Proxies. They are Phaethon. Carries of your will.

They explore the Hollows to learn more about them, yes, but it learn why you made them. Clearly, as punishment, yes. But why, why why why. What sins did the past commit?

What sins did they commit, so your loyal Lights will never commit the sins.

They just love you so much.

Belle wants to spread your good name, but Wise knows better. They need to wait.

Wait until your warmth and influence spread. And then, soon, very soon..

All will know Helios.

Just as things should be.

[bimboothefool]

Hi!! Can I request a yandere Emil and Ada x gn reader? Maybe how they met the reader, how will treat them if they ever abduct them, up to you!

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐇𝐂’𝐬

Oh Yes you may and I had to rewatch their introduction trailer just to get a good feel of their personalities. Hopefully you’ll enjoy these headcanons Anon! ^7^ 🩷 Happy Halloween to you all, hopefully this halloween was great and you got a bunch of treats or atleast had fun!!🎃🎉

Warning this story isn't suitable for an audience of 17 & younger.

This story contains the following subject matters: Drugging, Gaslighting, Possessive & Manipulative Behavior, Kidnapping, Brainwashing and Forced Marriage (???) If you click read more you've consented to reading this story.

- There’s two possibilities they’ll meet you, You’re either Ada’s coworker/psychology nurse or are a patient like Emil.

- If you’re Ada’s coworker, she’ll often observe how you behave, what your quirks are and overall take in as much info about you as possible.

- Ada falls in love with seeing how devoted you are to making sure the patients are comfortable and safe. Every time to obediently follow her orders or trial behind her, her heart skips a beat.

- She also takes into account how your relationship is with Emil, sometimes leaving him in your care as she quickly “attends” to other patients.

- Emil would at first be weary of you, but soon warms up to you. He’ll cling to you often wanting to lay his head on your shoulder or lap.

- Emil grips onto your hand, trailing behind you like a lost puppy. He craves your attention and affection.

- Emil falls in love with how gentle and kind you are to him. He’s been so deprived of it, finally getting it is like finding cold, crisp oasis in a cruel, hot desert.

- Ada seeing how well you take care of Emil, involves you in their escape plan. Basically feeding you half truths and getting you coaxed into this plan.

- If you don’t agree and stand your ground, she drugs you and takes you with her. Emil clings to your unconscious form immediately, hugging you close. Wanting your warmth as Ada drives.

- Now onto if you’re a patient like Emil, he’s pretty antisocial during his time at the asylum. Barely talking to anyone else, you showed him a sliver of kindness, he’s practically attached at the hip with you.

- Often seeking you out and asking where you are. Wherever you go, he follows right after you.

- Ada seeing this change in behavior does a bit of bargains with the higher ups and is soon assigned as your psychologist.

- She’s very intrigued on how you operate as well. Learning every intimate detail about you.

- Ada proposes the idea of taking you out of this place, proposing you’re better off with her than in here.

- She’ll again just kidnaps and drugs you if you say no.

- Now onto how they both treat you after you’re abducted for both scenarios.

- If you resisted, when you wake up, you’re tied up. Ada knows how clever you are and isn’t taking any chances. She knows that using a different method on you into making you love both her and Emil is her top priority along with helping Emil.

- “Don’t worry my love, soon you’ll see things our way. For now rest up.” Ada looks down at your restrained form.

- When the hypnosis results start to stagnate, she knows they’ve yielded incredible results. ‘ Maybe, just maybe they’ll work on you. ‘

- So now you’re apart of her tests, your backbone is forcibly ripped from you. Your autonomy is taken from you piece by piece.

- Emil helps out by constantly being beside you, seeking you out frequently and offering you comfort and security. Feeding you the idea that he nor Ada would never hurt you. They want you to be as free and happy as they are.

- After many tests, you finally crack and often needing to be close to Ada or Emil. If both they’re both around, the merrier your time is spent with them. You crave their attention at first. But slowly you needed their love.

- Ada and Emil’s love becomes your addiction, their kisses make your knees buckle, their embrace keeps you grounded and it all felt so right.

- The once loud voice screaming for you to run and hide, starts to get quieter and quieter. You don’t want to run from your beloveds. They’re your lovers, why would you run from them.

- Ada and Emil have shown you what true love is. They would never hurt you. Ada and Emil love you and you love them.

- If you went along and complied, Ada uses this to her advantage. Using Emil as a way to tempt you to not defy her. Emil isn’t innocent, he plays along and amplifies how he needs you too. Having without you, means he’s incomplete.

- With time it does its twisted job, you fall in love with Emil and soon Ada. You look forward to their kisses, the nights where you cuddle eachother.

- You all practically are each other’s entire world, you know even death won’t make neither of you part.

- This is true love, the pinnacle of pure, unconditional and unadulterated love.

- In both scenarios, when you all receive an invite. When both Ada and Emil, propose to you. Your heart is beating with sick joy. First a getaway from this life you’ve outgrown and now being engaged to the two people you clutch onto dearly.

- “Paradise… Here we come.” You smile with broken delight. You now have rings on both of your ring finger. This is the start of a new chapter, with your new wife and husband.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝

𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐧 | 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐬

[hoosurdaddy]

Nest.

Part 3.

Joe x Love x Reader | Dark Obsession, Possessive Smut, Psychological Breakdown

Warnings: Dub-con undertones, emotional manipulation, possessiveness, graphic sexual content (fem!reader receiving rough sex from Joe, reader giving oral to Love), dominance/submission, unhealthy dynamics, gaslighting, crying kink, dark love.

It’s your own fault if you continue.

Part 2.

⸻

You didn’t make it far.

Two steps from the door before Joe caught you.

He dragged you back by your wrist—firm but eerily calm—and the look in his eyes wasn’t anger.

It was heartbreak.

It was betrayal.

It was ownership.

You barely get a word out before Love is on her knees in front of you, clutching your thighs, sobbing like you shattered her world.

“You were leaving us? After everything?” she cries, voice breaking. “We love you more than anyone ever could!”

You try to shake your head, to explain, to lie.

But Joe just hooks his arm around your waist, lifting you off your feet effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed like you weigh nothing.

Love follows like a broken doll, sniffling, whispering, “We’ll fix it. We’ll fix her. She’s just scared.”

⸻

Joe doesn’t say a word as he strips you bare.

Every movement is precise. Controlled. Terrifying.

When he pushes you down onto the bed, he doesn’t even look angry—he looks determined.

“You forgot who you belong to,” he murmurs, voice low and deadly soft.

Love crawls up beside you, trembling hands cupping your face.

“Show me,” she begs, tears shining in her lashes. “Please… show me you still love us.”

You would do anything to make the devastation in her voice go away.

Anything.

Even as Joe pushes your thighs open brutally wide and lines himself up at your entrance, you nod.

You whisper a broken “yes” against Love’s mouth.

⸻

Joe slams into you in one sharp, unforgiving thrust.

You cry out, your body unprepared for the roughness, the sheer overwhelming force of it—but he doesn’t slow down.

His hands grip your hips bruisingly tight, forcing you to take it, forcing you to feel every brutal inch of him.

“Feel that?” he growls against your ear. “That’s what you almost threw away.”

Love kisses your tears away, her thighs straddling your chest.

“Be good,” she whispers, voice wrecked and needy. “Please, be good for us, baby.”

She shifts forward, her thighs tightening around your head, and you understand exactly what she wants.

You don’t hesitate.

You can’t.

You tilt your head up and drag your tongue through her slick folds, tasting the salt of her need, the desperation in her body.

Love whimpers brokenly, rocking against your mouth, threading her fingers into your hair.

⸻

Joe fucks you harder—faster—the bed creaking under the brutal pace.

Every thrust knocks you deeper into Love’s core, your mouth wet and messy against her, your tongue desperate to make her come.

“You belong to us,” Joe hisses, driving into you like he’s trying to carve the truth into your body. “Say it.”

You moan into Love’s cunt, the vibrations making her gasp, her hips grinding down harder against your face.

Love is crying again—shaking, sobbing—but it’s not sadness anymore.

It’s relief.

It’s possession.

“Our good girl,” she pants, riding your mouth. “Our sweet girl—so good, so good for us—”

Joe’s thrusts grow brutal, almost punishing, until your whole body is trembling between them, used and worshipped and claimed.

You don’t know whose orgasm hits first—yours or Love’s.

Maybe both.

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

All you know is you’re falling—sinking—owned.

⸻

Afterward, you’re boneless. Shaking. Drifting.

Joe cradles you against his chest like you’re precious.

Love kisses every inch of your face like she’s apologizing for hurting you.

“You’re safe now,” she whispers.

“You’re home,” Joe murmurs.

And somewhere deep inside…

a part of you believes them.

[imallyoursssss]

be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me be obsessed with me

[darlingvhs]

it is actually okay to adore someone so much that you want to abduct them from their home and never allow them to see the light of day or interact with anyone else aside from you ever again. It is morally just and perfectly acceptable. you are not evil for keeping your loved ones safe. it is ok. it’s perfectly legal and actually encouraged ♡

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

if you want you a smitten, needy lil jester boy to smother you in kisses when you come home drenched in blood, then the Afton Virus'd Reader AU is for u (it's for me im talking abt myself)

[mocchiixxx]

Seventeen's 95z Yandere One-Shot Trilogy # | 3: Heaven Sent

Genre: Psychological Horror, Thriller, Obsession, Idol x Actress AU

Yandere Hong Jisoo | Joshua x Famous Actress Reader

Inspired by: “Now I can’t let you go, I’m getting closer to you…”

Summary: You were tired. Tired of the limelight, of the loneliness disguised as fame. So when SEVENTEEN's angelic gentleman offered you comfort, you thought it was fate. But heaven has walls, and Joshua built them around you with velvet words and a knife hidden beneath prayer. After all, angels don’t run away. They fall. And you fell— into him.

🍒Trilogy#1 • 😇Trilogy#2 • 🦌 Trilogy#3

You were born for the spotlight.

Or at least, that's what they always told you.

Lights. Cameras. Schedules stacked until you couldn’t breathe.

Everyone wanted a piece of you— directors, fans, interviewers, award shows. You were everywhere, and yet, so painfully alone.

The night you met Joshua was the night your mask cracked.

You were in a restroom, tucked away from the afterparty noise, clutching the sink like it could keep you grounded. You didn’t cry pretty— your mascara ran like melted ink, your breath was ragged, your shoulders trembled.

The door creaked.

And then… him.

Joshua Hong. SEVENTEEN’s gentleman. The 'angelic' one, known for his soft laugh, polite charm, and comforting presence. You weren’t sure why he followed you in. You didn’t care.

“Rough night?” he asked, voice dipped in honey.

You didn’t answer.

He took off his suit jacket, folded it neatly, and placed it on the counter. Then he handed you a white handkerchief, embroidered with his initials.

“You don’t have to be perfect all the time, you know,” he murmured. “Even stars burn out.”

And like that, he’d lit the match.

He was patient. Never pushed. Texted you little things: photos of calming places, a song here, a verse there.

He told you he prayed for you.

Said your heart was pure— more radiant than the spotlight could ever capture. That maybe, God had made you for something… greater.

You should’ve seen the red flags. But they were white and fluttering, disguised as wings.

When your agency put you on health hiatus to avoid scandal after a tabloid leak, you vanished from social media. They didn’t tell you who exposed your panic attack at the gala. They just told you to rest.

Then came the flowers.

A knock.

A smile.

“Hi,” he said, holding your favorite tea. “You looked like you needed saving.”

You let him in.

And Joshua never left.

“I want you, I want you now. This feeling’s breaking through me…”

His house was spotless.

Too spotless.

Everything was white— walls, bedsheets, curtains. You joked it looked like a hospital.

He laughed.

“No, not a hospital. A sanctuary.”

At first, he was a gentleman. Never breaking the title he's most known for.

Made breakfast. Braided your hair. Read aloud to you in the evenings.

Then the small things began.

Your phone charger went missing. The windows wouldn’t open. Your clothes? gone. Replaced with white dresses, soft and flowing, like robes.

The door was always locked.

Joshua said it was “for safety.”

The outside world, he warned, was filled with darkness.

They wanted to break you. Use you. Tear down your light.

“I saw your pain before you even knew it yourself,” he whispered, fingers tracing your cheek. “You were crying out for a savior.”

He built a chapel.

Not in the backyard.

Not in a church.

But in the basement.

A single bench. Candles. Your face in framed photographs on the wall— dozens of them, every smile, every stage. And in the center, a mural of you kneeling in front of him, painted like a Renaissance angel.

Your hands trembled.

“You like it?” He smiled.

“It’s for our future. God speaks to me through dreams. He told me I was chosen to protect you.”

You stopped eating for days. You stared at the candles until your eyes burned.

You tried screaming, but the walls were too thick.

One night, you tried to run.

You made it to the door.

But he was already there, as if he’d known.

He wasn’t smiling.

“You’re sick,” he whispered, almost mournfully. “You still think you’re meant for that… hell outside. You don’t understand— I am the only way to your peace.”

He held you that night like you were glass.

And in your sleep, you felt the ring slip onto your finger.

Thin gold. No diamond. Just a promise.

He whispered into your ear:

“You don’t have to say yes now. You already did… when you came to me.”

“Can’t escape, I’m getting closer to you…” “You belong here. With me. In my heaven.”

When the police finally came, after a delivery boy reported the strange basement sounds, you were sitting on the chapel bench.

White dress. Barefoot. Ring on your finger. Blank stare.

Joshua was beside you, humming. Brushing your hair.

“Shhh,” he whispered to the officers, placing a finger over his lips.

“She’s praying.”

You didn’t scream. You didn’t run. You smiled.

Because even in the madness, he made you believe you were holy.

And saints don’t leave heaven.

END.