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look-a-yandere-fandom-blog · 8 days ago

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Ahhh, would love a part 2 for reader/The Obsessed in the near future! There’s not enough yandere Shadow of War fics on this app or on any other platform! ❤️

Lingering Denial | Oneshot Continued

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The Obsessed / Gender Neutral Reader

Fandom: Middle Earth: Shadow of War

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Romantic Yandere.

PT 1 |

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Content Warning: Delusional/obsessive/possessive behaviour, violence, threats, blood, paranoia, mentions of stalking.

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

Thanks for the request, anon! Totally agree on the lack of yandere SOW stuffs (though I have seen some great headcanons here on tumblr). That was what drove me to write the original oneshot, alongside a hefty dose of favouritism for the obsessed-

Speaking of the obsessed, I had a bit of fun with him in this one, specifically with putting him in a less-stabby-than-usual situation, something he doesn't get in the game as every time you run into an obsessed he's trying to kill you, or you to him...

Also because I couldn't deal with him being stabby all the time, as our reader is much more mortal than Talion, haha.

The idea of how he would act once he got what he wanted was an interesting one, so I hope that you enjoy reading as much as I did writing! :D

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Finally, he has fallen asleep.

Head nestled into your shoulder, arms enveloping you like a cage. His expression calm, but his hold tight and selfish.

You refused to fall under before him. Even though your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, drained by stress, you dared not make yourself more vulnerable than you already were.

Ratak had been staring for hours. Wide eyes locked to your form. Memorising every detail, every dot, every scar. Mesmerised. A spell broken only by the orc's occasional mutterings.

Murmurs of glee, pent-up questions he had no opportunity to ask before, and comments about how different your human features were to his.

The latter left a bitter taste in your mouth. Those comments accompanied by a wandering gaze. Imagining what lay where his hungry eyes could not see, hidden beneath layers of clothing. Dreaming of the day he would be allowed to explore it.

But tonight, he is happy. Tonight, he is content with this. Side by side. Just you and him.

You can hardly believe your own predicament, as you consider what has led you here.

Back to the ground, sword to his chest, his forehead against yours.

It feels as though an age has passed since then.

The two of you trapped in a stand-off. Your motives so different, and his was unfathomable.

You could not understand how this orc had fallen for you, as he claimed, so suddenly. There was no logic behind it, no strategy, no benefit he could possibly gain by making you believe this.

Which led you to the truth: that he meant it. That he had built up this bonfire of obsession, allowed it to flicker and flame since you had first met. Until it was all-consuming, and impossible to stamp out.

But, even with that, you did not trust the hand around your neck. The glint in his eyes. The maddened longing that afflicted his every movement, his every lovingly vicious word.

And quickly you realised: despite his infatuation, he could kill you.

If pushed too far. If fought against. If he believed slicing your neck with his own claws was a better fate than letting you go, he would do it.

You knew he would.

So, you lowered your sword. The point removed from Ratak's chest.

Was it fear that caused your surrender? Or curiosity? You could not decipher it, breath caught in your throat, mind focused entirely on the blade in your hand.

You exhaled only when it was flat on the ground, sheathed by moss and grass.

"Hah... I knew you'd understand." Ratak spoke, disjointed teeth morphing into a pleased smile.

His hand left your neck, trailing down to the hilt of your sword.

"You'll be mine, and I'll be yours..."

You winced, cursing the world itself as he pried your hand from it, forcing you to let go of the blade. Betraying your instincts, you let the hilt fall from your fingertips.

The faint clink of its landing was nearly inaudible. To you, it was deafening.

Then, you were jostled.

Before you could come to terms with your decision, Ratak got to his feet, lifting you up into his arms with frightening ease. Held to the bloodstain adorning his chest, shallow and slowly drying.

"Right, my love?" He posited.

You did not answer. Luckily, he did not seem to care.

With a press of his cracked lips to your temple, he began to walk.

Emboldened by your surrender, the orc was more than eager to leave your sword, the symbol of your human allegiances, forgotten. Left behind with his helmet. Embraced by naught but dirt and worms.

You have no clue how long he walked for. The trees and grass and branches and rocks seeming to repeat endlessly. But Ratak's steps were sure. He knew where he was going.

And eventually, he wound up here. Where you now lay.

The room is one of dark, chipped, stone; it is hidden within the walls of a deserted fortress. Perhaps ransacked and half torn down, or perhaps half-built and abandoned. Regardless, a place that Ratak has made his own.

Laying in a makeshift bed of fur pelts and loosely-stitched fabric, the rest of the room aligns with the salvaged comforts. Furniture made of cobbled-together wood, bones, and leather are scattered about. The scene an echo of a home, but without the wear of being lived-in.

As your eyes trail over the same items for the hundredth time, you wonder if they were made specifically for your capture. The thought of him preparing this all, while you had been blissfully unaware of his stalking, sticks like a parasite.

How much had he seen while watching you? Was he always planning to bring you back here, willingly or not? Had he hoped, when alone here, that you would feel the same towards him?

You look to Ratak. A being made for violence, for battle, for bloodshed. To be a pawn of Lords and leaders greater than himself.

Yet he speaks of love so freely. His affection, albeit clumsy and abrasive, is affection nonetheless. Able to be dealt only by the violent hands he was moulded with. There is authentic emotion at its core, filtered through the brutal, bloody lens of obsession.

He is an enigma. A contradiction you cannot rationalise.

Of course, you consider the chance of simply asking him. Questioning what his infatuation spawned from or how he had made up this room seemed rather safe topics. Likely ones he would take pride in answering.

But, in spite of your wonderings, you do not wish to ask. Aversion overpowering intrigue. Nervous that, should you entertain him, Ratak would take it as an opportunity. An excuse. His lovesickness persuading him that your questions were signs of something deeper.

As you examine him, you notice that his arms have slackened. Sleep traitorously loosening his hold.

With a cautious shuffle, you attempt to drag yourself from his grip. Gradually, carefully. Cold air pricks your skin as the fur and fabric covers are shed. Ratak remains still.

You look to the door. It is bolted, rather excessively; metal rods and latches are attached to the wood, clear despite the poor light. There is risk in approaching it, but there is just as much in lingering here.

With another shuffle, you reach the edge of the bed. Your legs dangling off, unable to reach the floor from this height.

Then, about to descend, there is a sound from behind you. A groan, accompanied by the shifting of fabric.

You freeze like a startled animal.

Ratak is awake.

"Love?" He coos, eyes blinking open. Centring where you had been beside him. Now an empty spot.

Panic mars Ratak's expression as he shoots up. With frantic, half-focused, eyes he glances to and fro. Locking onto your figure as he spots you.

You are not where you should be, with your feet ever-so close to the floor. Too close.

He lunges, a snare set on its target, the action innate and impulsive. Arms snake around you, before yanking you to him.

A sigh echoes from above, the orc relieved, his human returned to his clutches. Where you should be.

All you feel, however, is on edge. This close, you are reminded of his size, his strength, how he looms over you like the sturdiest of mountains. Certain, powerful, and terribly stubborn.

"What were you doin' there, hm?" Ratak muses drowsily.

"I..." Your voice trails, caught unprepared. You try to keep your eyes on him, but you cannot help yourself.

A look is spared to the locked door. Only for a second. He follows it.

Ratak's brows furrow, creases forming in his skin as he reaches a conclusion. Unfortunately for you, it is the correct one.

"You want to leave..."

The adoring notes in his voice vanish. Swiftly replaced by snarls.

"You're trying to leave me, aren'tcha, love? You're tryin' to run away from me again."

Anxiety constricts in your stomach. Lying through your teeth, your voice is detached and firm.

"I am not trying to lea-"

"Don't you lie!" Ratak shrieks, shutting you up as he shakes with rage.

"Of course you're tryin' to leave! Can't bear being in my arms, is that it?"

Ratak's accusations continue. Nonsensical ramblings, as tangled and unintelligible as his proclamations of love.

"You're gonna run away from me... run back to bloody Gondor... let some filthy tark have you 'nstead of me!"

You wrack your mind, aware of just how dangerous he is right now. The last time he acted like this, you had your sword. But now, you cannot rely on its sharpened safety.

"I'll kill the bastard… lop his hands off for darin’ to touch you… make sure you can never leave me again...”

His hands twist and teem with threat. Yellow irises fogged over as he turns desperate.

Your time is running out. All he would need to do is fetch his axe from it's spot on the wall and...

An idea squirms into your mind. A horribly demeaning idea. It makes you feel sick. But nothing else would work. You have no weapon to threaten him with. Anger would not reach him, and neither would indifference.

"Never again… never ever again…”

In the end, there is nothing to lose.

You rest a reluctant hand on his forearm. Fingertips brushing along collections of aged scars. His accusations pause, puzzled.

Choking down the last shreds of your pride, you put on a softer voice. The voice of a lover.

"Please, Ratak..." The orc's name tastes like thorns on your tongue. "I did not intend to scare you... I am sorry."

"I am not leaving you, and I will not. I swear it."

Ratak's expression flickers, picking you apart.

He knows you are lying. Deep in the burrows of his mind, he knows. But as his chest flutters with the sensation of your palm against his flesh, he can hardly bring himself to care.

Your words are measured and gentle. Without animosity. Without distance. Speaking his name so tenderly. Reciprocating his affections. The hand that once held a blade to him is now comforting him.

Even if it is only an act, it is an act he wishes to drown himself in.

The orc's claws remain around you, burying into your skin like ticks, but his voice dims.

"No. You won't. You're meant for me..."

He sinks, no longer towering over you. Instead, he starts to slouch, head drooping as the night's exhaustion catches up with him.

"You wouldn't be happy with anyone else... Let alone some lousy tark..."

With a half-hearted chuckle, he lays down. You are dragged alongside him, caged once again.

"You love me. Not them." Ratak utters. Yet there is an uncertainty hidden within. An inflection you had not heard from him before.

"You love me..."

He whispers, and still, his uncertainty is not quite stifled. Searching for reassurance in the lines and dips of your face.

"Don't you, sweetness?"

With how closely he is watching, you cannot get away with silence. Your dignity burns before you as fatigue tugs at your resistance, begging you to give in.

Averting your gaze, ultimately, you answer.

"Yes. I... I love you."

He chuckles, genuinely this time. Euphoric to hear those words from you. Even if not a syllable is true.

As you yield to the sanctuary of sleep, you assure yourself. Someday you would escape here.

Someday.

But it would not be tonight.

Tonight, you and him lay together. Entangled in false vows and each other's arms. Sleeping dreamlessly.

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#added thank you to the two who reblogged with comments/tags on part 1!#so glad that others have enjoyed these little drabbles #shadow of war #the obsessed #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere uruk #yandere orc #middle earth: shadow of war

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