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mci-writing · 1 year ago

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Warmth (Midoriya Izuku x Reader)

Warnings: Obsessiveness (near the end), implied major character death, reanimated corpse (it’s Deku), necromancy, Deku is the equivalent of Frankenstein’s monster kinda, a little ooc, mentions of pain, descriptions of skin burning (not exactly but yeah idk how to explain it)

Kofi

Viridian irises glance over the form laid before them, a longing sigh passing through chapped lips and landing on deaf ears. Fingers, cold to the touch and tinted blue from lack of flowing blood and oxygen, slide across the small expanse of exposed (s/t) skin, the thumb stopping just under a closed left eye and softly, lovingly, tenderly rubbing the area. It leaves the warmest goosebumps, so warm it should ache, dulling once the contact is distanced.

Whispers of ‘patience’ sound through the air, chilling down to the bone and causing him to pull away out of instinct. The reactions of those around him tell him that they aren’t really there, but he can’t help his response after being told such for so long. For so achingly long.

“Deku-kun,” He feels himself straighten at the voice beside him, a hand setting itself at the small of his back. The thumb rubs small, circles in an attempt to soothe his worrying, “If you keep tugging at your lip like that, you’ll rip it off.”

He becomes self-aware of his habit after his companion points it out, cheeks warming as he quickly lets it go. He wets his lips with his tongue after, teeth grazing over the bottom one as they pop out. He’s unable to stop the awkward chuckle that follows or the way his eyes flit from those around him to the body on the table.

“I’m sure (L/n)-San wouldn’t mind reattaching it once they wake, Uraraka-San,” Todoroki stands near the door, his eyes never straining from beyond the frame as he speaks to them. It’s hard to miss his tense demeanor from where they’re placed, one of his fangs pointing past his lips.

Izuku feels himself sweat at that, a wobbly smile forming on his face as he brings his full attention back to the other members of their group. The best he can manage out is a small “T-Thanks, Todoroki-San” as his hand connects with (Y/n)’s and laces his fingers through theirs.

Silence fills the room again after that. Midoriya can hear his heart racing and feel (Y/n)’s faint pulse. They pump in tandem together, like always. Yet, it does nothing to ease his fears. He knows that spell they cast was powerful, but they’ve been out for a few days now. The only reassurances he’s received of them still being alive was the small noises they’d make as they rested, the way their hand tightly holds his each time he holds it, and the addictive burn he receives with each touch to their skin.

The book of necromancy did say that some spells would be harder to cast for users with less experience, but Midoriya didn’t realize that translated to needing to rest for so long to regain the little strength of power (Y/n) knew how to use. He would’ve tried harder to suggest something else for their escape.

“Oi, Deku!” The rough voice of his childhood friend wakes him from his thoughts, his thumb and forefinger making themselves known on his lips as they tightly squeeze from the small jump he makes. He’s being side-eyed by shades of crimson, but not many would catch the soft worry behind them, “Me n Shitty Hair’s got the ship waiting at the dock. Cargo truck’s outside.”

Emerald eyes meet the fiery shades, an understanding spoken between them that only their little bubble could process. Without a beat, Bakugou comes forward and lifts the end of the slab they're laying across and Todoroki is quick to grab the other end. They load it into the cargo truck's trunk, careful to ensure they're strapped down in the back before Todoroki hops out. Midoriya watches on, eyes longing for the warmth he’s just lost.

~~~~~

The car only holds four people, debatably three if you wanted to argue whether or not Midoriya could still be counted as human in his current form. He was undead, that much he could confirm from the way his body had been stitched together and the ice cold feeling of his skin when he wasn’t within a certain proximity of (Y/n). He was something like Frankenstein, but the context seemed less science fiction and more fantasy. He had no clue why he had been brought back to life, just that he had been. (Y/n) and Kacchan always avoided the question when he’d ask how he’d died.

That’s another thing, it’s always the three of them. Even now, only Kacchan and (Y/n) were going to board the boat with him. Kirishima was only here to take them there and back.

His gaze pans away from the passing scenery outside to the body pressed against his. His cheeks warm as bright a red as they possibly can at the proximity, yet he can’t force himself to move away from the burning sensation of their skin touching. It hurts in the nicest way possible, making him feel way more alive than he thought possible. It’s why he thought he had just woken from a long sleep instead of immediately thinking he’d come back to life, the warmth too comforting for him to question anything at the time. Both of his companions joked about it being out of character for him.

He takes in the low rise of their chest and the serene look of their face. It’s one of the very few times he hasn’t seen them worried out of their mind since being brought back to life. He’s tried not to keep count of their smiles, one of his favorite aspects about them. If with their lips held in a neutral shape, he’s fighting the urge to kiss them until they swell.

He feels himself warm more at the repeated thought of laying a kiss on their unconscious form. He should be ashamed, but he’s been wanting to be intimate with them for a while now. It’s gotten so bad he gets a little jealous when he catches them and Kacchan away from him, whispering between themselves in a bubble of their own that he feels he won’t fit in.

That thought sours his feelings a little, especially when he knows he could never take them from Kacchan and he could never take Kacchan from them. The idea of them moving forward without him, leaving him out, and further pushing him away from the picture he'd perfectly fit in before his current state, gives him a deep pit feeling in his chest that he doesn't enjoy dwelling on for too long.

But right here… Right now…? He could just give them a quick peck and pretend it didn’t happen. No one would know… Unless they woke up from it or something…

He weighs his options, emerald eyes measuring and tracing the outlines of your lips. He has vivid memories of the one time he managed to get a kiss from them, in the dead of night when the only witnesses aside from themselves were the twinkling constellations. He doesn't remember how long ago it was, but he can perfectly picture the sight of them shyly smiling, their face warm, and (e/c) eyes dilated like a super moon. Their lips fit perfectly against his, slated and locked like they were meant to be attached for eternity, and delectably soft like fresh baked goods straight from the oven. He'd press his lips against them as much as he possibly could, suffocate against them even.

The cons would be them waking and beating the shit out of him... Or Kacchan catching him and beating the shit out of him...

Midoriya leans forward, hand burning as he cups their cheek. He rubs his thumb against their skin as his lips finally meet theirs again. It feels like home, his lips feverishly sucking against the plump flesh like he'll never be able to do so again.

He pulls away once he realizes he's being too greedy, too desperate. He sucks in a deep breath, the butterflies rising to his chest as his heart pounds against his ribcage. He can feel the warm honeydew in his cheeks, worsening when his eyes dart up and meet a certain pair of crimson ones. They stare at one another for a moment, but Midoriya can't read what Bakugou is thinking at all. Bakugou sends him a small smile, or something close to it. His lips quirk upward on one side before he turns back to the road. Kirishima is talking about something, but he's obviously not paying attention.

"'Zuku?" The soft call of his name has him looking down, meeting the dazed stare of (Y/n). They're still relatively exhausted from their overuse of magic, a bit of light missing from their pupils. They press their cheek into his hand, the bags under their eyes heavy, "Are we... heading there?"

"We're going to the dock right now, (Y/n). Kacchan's in the front seat and Kirishima's driving us there," Midoriya informs them, voice low as to not cause them any discomfort. He knows they typically suffer from headaches after too much use of their necromancy abilities, "I'm sure you should be able to rest a bit longer-"

"No, no," They begin to sit up, getting a grip on his shoulder and using it to push themselves up. They let go and force themselves to sit up on their knees, getting in a position where they can easily look out the window, "I have to check that... we're not... Not being..."

Their voice trails off as they grab their head, another splintering headache racking their body from the sudden movement. Midoriya is quick to grab hold of them, leaning their body against his. Gravity lays them back across his lap, their face pressing into the fabric of his shirt while they close their eyes. Out of instinct, he presses his fingers against the nape of their neck, slowly sliding them upwards to press at various spots in the back of their head.

"No one's following us, (Y/n). We made sure of that..." He murmurs, pushing their hair out of their eyes. His hand eases down the side of their face, fingers hooking under their chin and pushing it up so they can see him better, "Get your rest."

"Izuku...," They stare at him for a moment, different emotions flashing through their (e/c) eyes. One of their hands reaches up for his cheek, the flesh feeling as if it'll catch on fire at any moment. They pull away too quickly for his liking, the same stricken look reaching their eyes like every other time they touch him and they're reminded of their afflictions. He's heard them apologize to him in the late hours before.

With little thought, he grabs their hand and presses it back to his flesh. He feels just a little closer to being human again at the touch. He nuzzles into their hold, keeping eye contact with them and watching the confliction beyond their irises. He doesn't care about the way his body screams to flinch away from the heat, pressing more into it as opposed to as opposed to running from it. He tightens his hold when he feels them try to tug away from him.

“Izuku, stop. You’re hurting yourself-,”

"No, it's okay," He responds too quickly, leaning into their touch. He presses his ear to their chest, listening to the steady beating of their heart and the movement of their breathing in their chest. The heat isn't as excruciating, simmering to an addictive warmth adjacent to bodies entangled in a hug. It crawls over his skin and wraps around him like a blanket, "Everything is okay..."

He never wants to leave from (Y/n)'s hold, (Y/n)'s warmth, ever again. He doesn't know how he could ever live without it, especially not now when the cold is even colder than before...

#midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #this is based on a Horikoshi sketch from a year or so ago and a WEBTOON I was obsessed with at the time #there’s some Bakugou x reader and bakudeku x reader if you squint #original draft had them very poly coded and it might still be there whoops #also slight Yandere!Deku at the end whoops #erm here’s your Halloween special for the year 👉🏾👈🏾#I will hopefully be back shortly with another piece ✌🏾#I mean it bc I have a few requests I actually like that I’m working on and a big fic that’s been years in the making #the big fic probs won’t get any notes tho 🫣#tumblr did not like this one 😭😭😭 she wouldn’t save it was crazy #thought my thing was too long but it’s only 4 pages on Google docs so #shawty was tripping #yes I did listen to Frankenstein the musical while I wrote this wdym

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ozzgin · 10 months ago

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Is it just me or can I imagine a yandere with a darling who’s immune system and possibly everything about them just screams weak and pathetic, BUT their darling is actually very strong mentally and has and will create the most fucked up, batshit crazy inventions from what used to be harmless to something that can help them escape and possibly destroy everything in its path.

But at the end of the day, they become sleepy koalas who hug whoever is near them and fall asleep :)

This could be a request or rant, whatever you can think of! I just wanted to see how different yandere writers would interpret this small imagination of mine <3

But as always, stay safe and take care! everyone needs a break some time to time~

Sorry, but the moment I read the Darling's description, I instantly thought of Dr. Finkelstein from Nightmare Before Christmas. You know, Sally's inventor. 😭 So let me quickly write this down while I'm in my Shelley vibes, because I like the idea a lot. With a little twist, if you don't mind. :)

Yandere! Monster x Inventor! Reader

A frail inventor, and their affectionate rag doll that has been carefully stitched together for the purpose of a caregiver. An artificial existence, trapped within the confines of your lonely tower. Or so you might think.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior

"I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel..." [Frankenstein]

You dangle an old, rusty bell for a good minute before leaning back in your chair. The barely audible chimes are quickly swallowed by the loud, mechanical groans of the gears and engines occupying most of this room. No matter, his ears are good. You picked them yourself. And surely enough, within moments, the door to your laboratory opens and someone cautiously walks in.

A tall, slender man. Or rather, something meant to resemble a man. The skin is a clumsy patchwork of blues and grays - you're no talented seamster, sadly - gathering together the body parts in what feels like a parodic attempt at mimicking God and his image. You gaze at the creature approaching you with a tray of tea and sweets. Scarcely your best work, if you must adhere to honesty. Regardless of the quality of your labor at the time of creation, you are proud of the result. How could you not be? You know this man better than you know yourself. Every organ, every artificial nerve cord, every blemish and stitch of his body was placed according to your intentions. A masterfully detailed project that took you years to complete; not an easy feat considering the lamentable state of your health.

"Here's your deadly nightshade tea." The man places a small, porcelain cup on the desk. "Do let me know when I should take you to bed, (Y/N)." You wave your hand dismissively and stretch out your limbs. "Not yet. I am almost finished", you respond, returning to the mound of metal scraps and pipes before you. "Can I ask what you're making?" The pale creature lowers himself to your level, a curious smile plastered on his face. "It's a mechanical heart", you reveal boastfully. "Like the one I have?" You run your hand through the creature's hair affectionately. "Almost. I'm testing out a different way to build the valves, for a more efficient pumping cycle." You continue to explain the intricacies of your novel mechanism, occasionally sipping on your tea. "Who knows, you might have a sibling in the near future."

The man's smile drops in an instant, and his sunken eyes widen at your statement. "What? Am I- am I not enough?" You glance at the creature as he becomes increasingly frantic. "Don't speak nonsense. If it comes out alright, I'll upgrade your own parts as well. I'm a disciple of scientific virtue, of continuous improvement." Nonsense? Vile treachery! You might've chiseled the brain that throbs within the walls of his skull, but his mind is his alone, and you seem to lack a fundamental understanding of his feelings and thoughts. His ardent confessions of love are met with mockingly pitiful grins, in the way a parent soothes a needy child. Even now, your eyes reflect nothing more than sympathy towards his protest. A childish tantrum is what you're most likely thinking. You've no time for emotional bagatelles. He can read you like an open book.

You simply won't understand. There is no place for a stranger in the life he's crafted with his very own hands: you, and him, and the evening tea with a side of butterscotch biscuits, and the bedtime talks, and the stripped branches of the decaying tree that rap at the windows on stormy nights. You might be the Inventor, but he is not just a mere, humble servant, a rag doll to be tossed around or toyed with. As you will soon discover, after all.

You awaken in the midst of night with your temples burning from a much too familiar headache. Although it's not just the pain that has disturbed your slumber. You can hear rattles and thuds coming from the upstairs laboratory. An intruder? Oh, your creations! The sound of glass breaking and metal scraping sends you into spiraling despair. You fumble to reach the nightstand, patting the surface in search for the bell and keys. You shake the handle in a panic, unable to find anything else in the darkness.

The chaotic rustle abruptly stops, followed by descending footsteps. You hold your breath as the chamber door opens, but it's none other than your creature. "Another flare-up? Shall I bring you some medicine?" the man asks with monotonous courtesy. "What have you been doing? What's all that noise?" you demand, agitated, but upon lifting yourself off the mattress you discover your legs are numb and uncooperative. The man hurries to your bed with a worried frown, and you hear the familiar clatter of the keychain coming from one of his pockets. "Have you taken my keys? Cease this foolishness at once!" Indifferent to your reproach, he places a firm hold on your shoulders and forces you back down, tucking you in effortlessly.

"You must forgive my impertinence." he says in a pleading tone. "I do not wish to impede the works of your genius. As your partner, however, it is my duty to prevent you from making mistakes." You furrow your eyebrows at his words. "What mistakes? My invention was flawless!", you argue fervently. "Indeed it was, but not its purpose. What need have you for another being?" It is the creature's turn for a passionate speech. He stands up with a confidence you don't recognize and continues: "You should know by now that I am fit to perform any role. That of your servant, your caregiver, your lover, or anything else you may desire. You can resume your tinkering starting tomorrow, but such blasphemies to our bond as the one today will not be tolerated." He straightens his vest and reaches for the door handle. "I will prepare some tea to help you rest."

Inconceivable. Your own creation, built with your own hands...Has something escaped your attention? His dialogue is deranged, tainted by madness. "Have I done something wrong?" you mumble to yourself, deep in contemplation. "Nonsense." the creature turns to face you briefly. "It was you who created me after all. Everything is perfectly splendid."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #male yandere x reader #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster x human #monster x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #gender neutral reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere creation

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after-witch · 2 months ago

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Horrorfest: The Formula for Life [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Formula for Life [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito is your creator, and you ought to listen to his rules. But something inside you wants more.

For Horrorfest request: I got two different requests for Mahito + creating a Frankenstein-monster style of reader, so this is for those!

Word count: 5400ish

notes: yandere, very dubious consent, power dynamic abuse, non-graphic descriptions of sex; violence and death (not against reader); Mahito in general is a warning

You are perfectly imperfect.

Mahito is not entirely sure where he heard the phrase before –a women’s magazine, maybe, or some 1960s British film with upbeat, witty dialogue and blonde starlet at the helm–but as he stares down at your prone, sleeping body, he decides that it’s a phrase which suits you well.

You are a perfectly imperfect human, naked as the day he made you. Something in him puffs up at the thought, a hot sensation that makes his chest tingle. Yes, he made you, didn’t he? He is your… creator. Or as close to a creator as you will ever get in this world or the next, because whatever came before no longer matters.

There is no before-you. There is only the you-of-now, resting with your eyes closed and your mouth slack and ah, here, now, finally–

You wake up.

Limbs jerk and your neck twitches and he wonders how much it hurts–the stitches criss-crossing your body like his own, keeping the various parts of you held together. The skin and muscle and sinew, bold black stitches sewn across your hands and arms and legs and chest and every single part of you. There is even, and he finds it a delightful detail, a stitch across one of your ears. It’s cute.

Like you, he thinks. Cute.

Cute as you sit up on his makeshift operating table, testing out your newfound limbs. Cute as your eyes squint, as your pupils adjust to the dim lighting, as your gaze steadies on the only other living thing in the near vicinity–him.

Cute as you try to say your first words.

“Ah…” You say, or try to say, and he wonders just how much of speech your soul remembers, and whether or not that connection will extend to the way your body works. No matter. He’ll just teach you, if necessary.

He grins, and puts his fingers on either side of your lips, squishing them together.

“Hel-lo,” he says, slow, moving your mouth with the words. “Can you say that? Hel-lo?”

You blink at him, awareness and confusion seeping into your expression. The stitches that cross your face, going from the corner of your scalp across the top of your nose and landing around the curve of your neck, scrunch in with the effort.

Your mouth opens, and closes; he can hear the spittle in your mouth working, can see the way your cheeks move, the pink of your tongue testing out its boundaries.

And then–

Then, you lean forward, and he grins, eager to hear you try; but ah, you surprise him. Cute, ugly thing that you are. Your hand extends, wobbling, and your fingers loosely grip his own lips like they’ve never held anything before.

“Hel-lo,” you mimic, slow, warbled, the word coming out almost foreign. “Hel-lo?”

He grins, and can’t help the croon of pure, unadulterated delight that follows.

–

He has a lot to teach you. You, dear pet, are a lot of work. Not that he minds. Not that he views it as a chore. No, teaching you is some grand, extended hobby. More fun than reading, more fun than experimenting, even, because isn’t that what you are? A complex experiment.

A beautifully awfully blank creature that belongs to him: that’s what you are, and that’s the first thing he teaches you. That you are his, wholly, and everything you should know and do will come from him.

You accept it so easily that he laughs until he cries, and then laughs some more, when you reach up to touch his tears and ask him what they are, and why they come from his eyes, and why your own eyes don’t leak like that.

“Don’t worry,” he told you, catching his breath, adoring the way your recycled callused fingers felt on his cheeks. “You’ll get some of your own eventually.”

And you did, of course. At the most stupid time, which was frustrating, but something he could work with.

The first time you cried was the first time he brought a human home to experiment on. Some salaryman he’d fetched on his late night walk home, exhausted, barely able to hold up his briefcase. Mahito had set you on the ground (you never complained about it being hard, and maybe soon he would give you something soft to sit on, sweet thing that you are) and told you to watch, excited to see how you’d react. Would you be confused? Scared? Or simply feel nothing, and watch blankly as the man died?

But ah, how disappointing. You’d cried, of all things. Your hands had flown to your cheeks, feeling the wetness; your skin had gone all splotchy–”My head hurts, I feel warm,” you’d told him–and your lips curled into a nasty frown.

“Why are my eyes leaking?” You asked, and Mahito had to think about it. Because he wasn’t quite sure. He decided to root around in your soul for the answer, and it was so strikingly simple that he imagined slapping himself for it. You felt empathy for the man. You thought he was like you. And if you were being hurt, well, you’d feel downright awful, too.

Silly thing. So that was the next thing he taught you: that the people he brought down into the sewer were simply experiments. Not living beings, not like you, and certainly not like himself. Nothing for you to worry about at all.

And you simple, sweet thing, what do you do after he tells you this? You listen. You’re so good for him that when he pats you on the head and says, ah, silly goose, this is not a person, it doesn’t matter if it gets hurt, if it dies, if it screams until its mouth bleeds…. You believe him.

And now, you simply watch–or don’t, if he says it’s okay to go about your simple day–as he goes about torturing countless living souls. Stretching, twisting, bending, hurting. None of it makes a difference, because Mahito told you it didn’t. The most you react is sometimes covering your ears–”Why does sound hurt, sometimes?”--and curling up on the nest of blankets he’s seen fit to give you.

You’re a bit like clay, he muses. To be molded and shaped in just the right way. And if something doesn’t work out, well, he can simply squish you in and start over.

There’s something freeing, something altogether delightful, in the fact that you learn what he teaches you, you know what he gives you.

He does not teach the concept of freedom–why should he?--or the outside world.

There shouldn’t be an outside world for a creature like you, only the world he creates for you; this damp, dim world where he is the only thing you need to care about.

You do come with some surprises. Some things, it seems, came along with your soul.

“I know what this means!” You blurt out, beaming, looking to him for approval as you grip the well-worn cover of one of his stolen books. You read the title slowly, carefully, but there’s that flicker of recognition in the way your mouth sounds the words, understands the connection between the printed text and its meaning.

You know something he hasn’t taught you.

He frowns–and you frown just as easily, setting the book down like it burned your precious fingers. Your eyes get wide and your mouth gets slack and you stammer out an apology, even if you don’t know why.

It is one of your most endearing qualities, this readiness to understand that what he thinks is bad is bad, and the uneasiness in him flickers away, just a bit. You’re still his clay, his creature, his pet.

He reaches out and runs his fingers into your hair, gripping your scalp hard until you grunt.

“Well,” he says, when you look up at him with those confused doe eyes. “I suppose you could read my notes back to me, when I do my work.”

If you had a tail, it would be wagging.

And oh, he almost drools on you, from the way your expression shifts from that confused worry to unadulterated delight despite the pain that must be radiating through your scalp–

It feels good, sometimes, to make you look this way. It’s a strange notion, one he doesn’t want to think too hard about. It’s only natural that you should feel pleasure when he is pleased with you, but why should he feel the same?

It’s a conundrum. Something to write about in his notes–the private ones you’ll never see, of course. The notes about you, and himself, plans and plots, theories and guesses.

It wouldn’t do, really it wouldn’t, if you saw his scribbles about making sure you didn’t learn something that annoyed him. A something that would make you want to leave, or know other people, or comprehend that you were your own individual being.

Ignorance is bliss, or so he’s read, and he intends to keep you that way.

–

Oh, oh, oh–your breath comes out in wispy pitter-patters that almost match the rapid beating of your heart.

This… This is not allowed. It is not allowed because Mahito, your master, your creator, said so. And what your master tells you, you obey, because that is how the world works. He’s told you so many times, and it makes perfect sense.

He knows what’s best, because he’s smarter, and stronger, and you’re just a simple person. You’re supposed to make him happy, and would it make him happy, to break this rule? No, is what he would say.

And yet–you wonder. He likes it when you learn, when he teaches and you actually get it and can repeat it for him on demand.

Like when you learned to walk without falling down, or when he taught you to stay still while he squeezed and touched and tickled your various body parts to see if they still worked. That was difficult, and it took many tries, but when you finally did it right, he praised you. Even if it made your stomach flutter in strange ways, and you were sometimes sore afterwards.

Would doing this make him praise you? Or would it make him angry?

Your fingers ghost over the covers, some of them all cracked and worn, others looking fresh and shiny. Books. His books. They’re all over the world, in stacks and stacks. On his hammock, on the floor, on the stacked table he said was a “book shelf.”

He said you weren’t allowed to touch any of his books or papers. Only what he gave you, when he gave you, and sometimes he even pointed to a line and said don’t you read past that, little pet, and you didn’t.

But he wants you to learn, doesn’t he? And you can learn from these books. Maybe you’ll learn something that makes you better, helps you avoid those stumbles that sometimes make him frown. Like when you first remembered how to read, or the time you tried to talk to one of his experiments.

Oh, you didn’t mean anything by it! You were just–bored. And while Mahito hadn’t been as sore once you told him why you tried to talk to it, he’d still punished you (rightfully so, you had been bad) and told you never to do it again. Unless he said so.

So–so yes. He said not to read these books. But. If reading these books helps you be better, and being better means you’ll make your master mad less often, then reading these books is the right thing to do.

You just won’t tell him, and he won’t have any reason to be mad about it.

It’s so simple, you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it before. Well–you can believe that. You aren’t very smart, or so your master says, and he knows everything.

This will help then, won’t it? He knows what’s in these books, but now you will, too.

With a lurching feeling in your stomach, you pick up the first book, a hard one with a shiny glossy cover that says HUMAN BIOLOGY, and flip to the first page.

–

You read about lots of things, and every one of them makes you wonder.

The biology books make you wonder why your body looks like this, but all of the pictures of people (inside and out) look like that. You had never wondered before; you looked like your creator, and that seemed normal enough. But… none of these other people were all mismatched and jumbled. None of these other people had scars everywhere, patched together by black stitches that sometimes itched.

The romance books are nice, even if they make you feel a bit funny. Your master touches you like the people in these books touch each other, but it’s not quite the same. He never says the same words, “I love you,” or asking, “Do you want me?” before he touches. You’re not sure exactly what love is just yet, but you’re sure one of these books will explain it properly.

One thing you learn is that the world is not actually the world. The world, you thought–you were taught–was just… here. With Mahito. In these walls, within the damp stone. But there is a whole entire world out there with things you’ve never seen before.

Things you’ve never seen or done. Things that make you wonder why you live one way, and the people in the books another. People seem to live in houses, but this place does not match the descriptions in the book at all. People get married–you’re not sure what it means, really, except they are together, so maybe you and Mahito are married, after all? He does kiss you, and more besides.

People have children, and these seem to be tiny people that grow up. But you don’t have any children that walk down a staircase–you have seen these in photos, and patch them into your images of houses–in the morning and complain about being tired. You don’t have a yard with a garden to tend to; you wouldn’t mind it, actually, from the pictures of flowers you’ve seen. They could be pretty.

You wonder how they smell. The books tell you most of them smell quite nice.

It is this sort of wondering that gives you the strongest itch to tell your master that you’ve been reading, so that you can ask him to take you outside. Sometimes you even mouth the word to yourself, when you’re alone. “Outside.” It feels wonderful on your tongue, all tingly. But then your stomach hurts and you think he would be mad about the reading, so you don’t ask at all.

Not everything you read makes your stomach curl. You read about lots of things, things that make you smile, make you laugh. Things that make you forget the reason you started reading was to make Mahito proud of you, to learn how to be better. Things that have nothing to do with being better at all.

Even you realize that learning about the world outside isn’t going to help you in here. But the world outside sounds so… so… big. Big and full of things to see and do and experience. Full of people, trees, buildings and even animals.

Oh, you really do love the idea of animals. One of your favorite books is a well-worn guide book to birds. Birds. What a wonderful thing they must be, all pretty colors, flying around in the sky; in the outside.

What would it be like to fly? To have feathers with so many different colors? To make what the book calls “chirps” and “calls”? You’ve tried to imagine what they must sound like, but it’s hard, with no frame of reference.

And you can’t exactly ask your master to mimic them, either.

Sometimes, in your dreams, you turn into a bird. Feathers sprouting from your stitches and taking you up in the air. Birds, the books say, use their chest and supracoracoideus muscles to fly, flapping their wings in just the right way. You don’t think you have supracoracoideus muscles, except in your dreams, and you’re too afraid to ask.

You’re glad Mahito hasn’t asked you about your dreams in a while.

–

You are being so good today. So good, in fact, that Mahito has told you to sit quietly on your nest while he works on his latest experiment. You didn’t even have to read him his notes–you didn’t mind, and told him so, but he’d simply patted your head and said it wasn’t necessary today.

So instead, you watched quietly, legs pulled up to your chest. It was harder to watch, ever since you started reading, because sometimes–

Sometimes you wondered if it was true, that the experiments were not people after all. They certainly look like the people in your master’s books. They talk like the people, sometimes, when they’re not screaming.

But if your master says they aren’t people, well, he must be right. It does get a little frustrating when they beg you for help, because most of them can’t even see your master at all. That makes you feel a little sorry for them, sometimes, if they haven’t been screaming too loudly. If they could see your master, they might know he’s not doing anything wrong when he hurts them.

He’s just learning.

Today, the experiment seems to be going well. Your master is smiling, humming, writing down his notes. You hope you’ll get to read these ones, eventually, but he doesn’t always let you.

(He’s even got a private book, you’ve seen him scribbling in it sometimes. It is, however, the one thing you dare never to read. Not even to learn.)

And then the experiment does the silliest thing! When your master touches him, elongating his arms into a strange shape, he tries to run. Silly experiments, they never get far; but this one tries. He screams–ouch–and begins to run, flapping his arms like they’re on fire. No, flapping them like he’s a–

“Oh,” you say, leaning forward, a delighted smile on your face. “Like a bird!”

The man does not last long. Whatever your master did takes full effect, and he’s misshappen, no legs, a wiggling blob. Not like a bird at all, anymore, but it was nice while it lasted.

Nothing happens, for a moment. And in that moment you realize that something is wrong. It’s suddenly quiet, suddenly heavy.

Mahito, your master, your creator, slowly turns his head towards you with an expression you’ve never seen before. His pupils are too small, his mouth open in something like surprise. “A bird?”

“Yes,” you say, slowly, not knowing yet, not catching on. “It’s–his arms, you see? The way they moved.” You sit up on your knees and mimic the way you’ve seen birds flying in still photographs, the way you sometimes try to fly in your dreams. “When birds fly, they use…” But you stop, because Mahito is frowning. And when Mahito is frowning, you are doing something wrong.

But what, and when, and…

“How would you know what a bird is, pet?”

Oh, no.

The realization makes your guts clench so hard that you almost think you wet yourself, and you throw your hands over your stomach at the strange new sensation. An awful stomach-churning feeling.

You don’t quite know what it is, but a memory from a book you read comes wafting back; a book about a woman who lives alone and a man tries to break into her house and kill her. She’s scared. Is that what this is? Are you scared?

There’s no time to really wonder about this, because Mahito stalks over and grabs you by the hair, yanking you up until you’re on your feet, reflexive tears in your eyes.

You don’t struggle, because he has explained to you that when you’re bad, he’s meant to treat you like this. And sometimes when you’re good, too. You’ve never figured out if there is a difference.

“You’ve been reading my books.” Not a question, and you don’t answer. “What else have you been reading about?”

“Nothing,” you say, your voice hoarse. You scrunch your eyebrows together: that wasn’t what you should have said. You have read about lots of things. He asked, and you should have told him. That’s the rule he gave you. Simple and easy.

“I’ve read about lots of things,” you correct, confusion spilling from your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say nothing. I don’t know why I did.”

His eyes widen, and you don’t know what he’s thinking, but there’s that small-pupiled look of surprise again. “You lied,” he says.

Something in you wants to struggle against the tight grip on your hair. It hurts. You don’t like it, when it hurts, that something says. Even though your master says it’s okay for things to hurt. Which is right, your master, or that something-inside-you that has only gotten louder in the last few weeks.

“I didn’t,” you say, some instinct pulled from deep inside you to deny, deny, deny. Then you pause. “What is a lie?”

His expression never loses its own sense of almost horrified wonder, even as his other hand comes to caress your face, catching against your stitches.

“When something isn’t true. And it’s not true, is it, that you haven’t read about anything else?”

“Yes–no.” Your little head is confused, and the sting in your scalp doesn’t help. “I did read other things. Lots of things.” You swallow hard. “I just wanted to know… to know…”

But how do you explain it, this desire to know? The desire to know that went beyond pleasing him, making yourself better for him?

“Know what?” He murmurs, almost not a question, releasing your hair. You take the opportunity to put your hands in your lap, holding them tightly together, as all of the knowing you’ve been doing in the past few weeks catches up with you.

The questions come like bubbles in the water, one after another, having been crammed inside your head for far too long without a proper outlet.

“Why don’t I ever talk to other people? Why do I look like this, when they don’t? Why don’t we go outside? I want to see, I want to know–” Your fingers hurt from how hard you wring your hands together. “About the sky and the animals and the birds and what music is and how a train sounds and how many wheels do they have, and there’s more, there’s more, I just can’t say it all–”

You can see his expression shifting, but you’re so steeped in your own release of the knowing that you don’t heed it as a warning. Instead, you ask something that has been bothering you a bit. A lot, if you were honest, and you were supposed to be honest, weren’t you?

“What are we?”

His gaze narrows as he looks down at you, and you don’t want him to look at you like that. Not with the question you want to ask.

“What are we?” He repeats, a hint of something in it that makes you feel ashamed. A joke–no, that’s not the proper word. Mockery, you think. Mimicry. Birds can do that, but, you’re not wanting to stay on the topic of birds just now.

“Are we…” Your brain fumbles for the word, flipping through the figurative pages you’ve read and read and read. “Married?” Yes, that was it. Many of the people in the story books you read had marriages. And other things, too, that you don’t have, and he hasn’t talked about giving you.

“Do you love me?” You say, voice rising in pitch. “What is love, exactly? And why don’t we live in a house, in a neighborhood, with a street and a fence? Why don’t we have children? Why don’t I have a job or a dog or parents or ride an airplane–”

He shoves a palm over your mouth and you do finally heed the warning: Stop. Talking.

Your breath comes out your nose against the top of his palm, and your stomach hurts, and all of this feels so awful that it’s a relief when he speaks, even if he’s not happy with you.

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow and he frowns and his mouth twitches before he smiles, but it’s not a smile that makes you feel better. It almost looks–like a lie, you think, the connections falling into place. He’s smiling, but he’s not happy, and that makes it a lie.

“Why do humans always want more,” he asks lowly, and you almost try to answer before he presses harder against your mouth, making your teeth ache.

“Even broken ones, remade ones,” he continues, “always seek out more.”

If his hand wasn’t on your mouth, you would ask what he meant. You try to think about an answer, and maybe when he pulls his hand away, he’ll be happy that you came up with one. But it’s hard to get your mind around the question.

It’s too slippery, too vague. Are you the broken one? If so, he should fix you. And what was wrong with seeking out more? Isn’t that why he taught you things? Maybe you learned the wrong things from the books; but he should have read them to you, and corrected you, if he was worried about that.

It’s all too much, too confusing, and before you can stop them, tears are leaking from your eyes. Hot ones that make your eyes scrunch and you cry openly against his hand, wanting the confusion to stop, wanting the ache in your chest to go away.

Instinctively, your hands reach for his arm, holding him like you sometimes hold your blankets.

His eyebrows raise again, and there’s a flash of surprise before he smiles. This time, it doesn’t look like a lie.

“You poor thing,” he says, crouching down and bringing you to your knees with him. His hand leaves your palm and your little sobs come out openly, almost barking into the air. “You’re so confused, aren’t you?”

You nod, and it’s true, and you resolve to never lie again. Lying hurts.

“I-I don’t know what I did wrong or why I did it wrong and you’re mad,” you tell him, open, honest, like you should be. The words come out fast and stumbled. “I thought I could read books to be better but now I know about birds and I don’t know what they sound like or why I don’t have things and why I’m so… so…”

The word doesn’t come and that only makes you cry harder.

He coos, and pulls you against his chest. It’s familiar, this soothing, and it makes you feel warm even as those confusing thoughts stay stuck to your brain.

“Want to know a secret about the two of us, pet?” He asks, speaking against your hair. “A secret about you?” Every syllable is soaked in the promise of knowledge.

“No,” you breathe out, and it’s that buried-deep-down instinct again, pushing the word through your lips for you. You’re glad, though, because you realize this wasn’t a lie at all. You don’t want to know a secret. If the books you’ve read are to be believed (and are they?) then secrets always lead to trouble.

You don’t want any more trouble. Not now.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Really? I thought you wanted to know everything.” A touch of amusement in his face, and you cling to it like a lifeline. You remember this side of your master; the side that smiles and pats your head. It’s much better than the side that smiles when he’s not happy at all.

Your arms latch around him, snuggling as close as you can get, your face pressed against his chest. “Can we go to bed?” Your words are muffled against him, but you’re sure he understands. “I’m so confused.” And tired, and worried, and scared. All these awful feelings swirling around in your guts, making you want to be sick.

Mahito pulls away from you, and there’s a brief snatch of fear before he begins to wipe at your tears with his fingers. He wipes too harshly, and his nails catch on the lid of your eye, making it sting. You don’t pull away. You remind yourself, if he thinks this is how he ought to stop your crying, it’s the best option.

Is it really? says that deep-deep-deep-down voice, and you tell it to be quiet, you’re tired, you aren’t thinking right, and it should stay buried with whatever secret your master knows.

“Poor pet,” he whispers, cooing. “It’s all too much, isn’t it?” You nod, chin wobbling. His hands go from your cheeks to your head again, petting you on both sides, snarling in your hair. “I could make it go away, if you want.” Sticky words that you want to reach for.

His hands smooth all around your head now, and it’s almost like he’s trying to feel something inside. Like your brain, like your thoughts, like everything that makes you tick.

Your eyes get wide and all you know is that when your master says something, it’s true.

Is it really? repeats that voice.

“You could?” is what you say, because it’s simpler that way. Simpler to remember the way things were before the world had birds, when what he said was exactly so.

“If you’ll be agreeable to it,” he tells you.

His hands trail from your head down your shoulders, your neck, your chest, down and down and down, tracing each stitch on your body. And something in you–that deep-deep-deep-down part of you–says this is wrong. He shouldn’t touch you, you should be screaming, clawing at him, getting out of here.

But you push that something down, with the birds and the children and the stories of courtship, with the way your hands trembled as they flipped each page, with the way you felt proud of yourself for finishing each book.

Those things were nice, until they were not so nice; until they upset the very creator of your being, and made you too confused and hurt to think about them. What good was knowing about the more when the more made him upset?

It feels better, not to think too much. Not to know so much. And if he can fix you–if he’s willing to fix you ,then it’s what you want, too. You think. Maybe. Yes?

“Of course I will,” you stay, trying on a smile.

You can’t tell, even as his hands go from touches to gropes, if it’s a lie or not.

–

You’re finally sleeping now, and he doesn’t mind sighing, sprawling out on the floor and watching with his chin propped into his elbow.

What an awful human trait, this desire for more-out-there-in-the-world. What good is creating your own little creature if it always wants to find out its place in some grander scheme of things? The only world you should know is here, and him, and yet you had to get your grubby little hands on his books and read about ridiculous notions.

You probably didn’t even understand some of them, maybe most of them. That is fascinating, in its own right. He wonders what you would do, if you saw a pretty little robin hopping on the ground, about to get pounced on by some neighborhood cat.

Would your expression of delight turn to horror as the bird was mangled in the cat's jaws? Or would you not process it as horror at all, but simply an experience to learn about? Could he touch you to overlook it, as he has his experiments?

It’s tempting, sometimes, to see what you would do with more outside stimuli. But that temptation doesn’t go too far, because the whole point of your being was to shape you for himself. And that does not include this damned human desire to explore the inside and outside, forever expanding your knowledge of whos and whats and whens.

Well. At least you didn’t put up a fight at the notion of being fixed. At least you seemed properly subdued, once he made it clear he wasn’t pleased. He’d brought you up well enough, after all.

He’s not sure he can really pull it out of you. There are many ways to reshape the soul, and the soul he pulled into that cobbled-together body has certainly been–well, changed, by the experience.

Could he change it further? Wipe out your memory of those books? Maybe he could reach further down, deep down into your soul, and yank out the offending desires like weeds from a garden.

Maybe so.

For his own pleasure, he’s willing to try again and again, until you are just right.

He owes it to himself, after all, to never give up on his most thrilling experiment.

#yandere mahito #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #mahito x reader #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest

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tsuutarr · 6 days ago

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is thomas a dilf?

Thomas has no children so he's not a dad so he's technically not a DILF but he's also 100% old enough to be one lmao

That said, if he did have children, he'd be a really good dad tbh he's just a silly science man

#yandere oc #male yandere #yandere x reader #tsuuper ocs #yandere x you #tw yandere #male yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc #Thomas Frankenstein Tsuu OC #Yandere scientist #Yandere scenarios

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bunnis-monsters · 3 months ago

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🎃🎃MY OFFICIAL LIST FOR MY MONSTERTOBER EVENT🎃🎃

note: I will TRY to get to all of these, but if I feel like I can’t finish some, I’ll put up a poll so y’all can choose what I write

Oct1 legend of the driders(smut)🕸️

Oct2 vampire and werewolf fight over you(GONE SEXY) 🧛🏻🐺

Oct3 yan merman can’t let you go🧜‍♂️

Oct4 slime bf wants to be as close as possible~💧

Oct5 tentacle monster has a humanoid form?! 🐙

Oct6 yandere incubus 😈

Oct7 clingy haunted doll bf 🪡

Oct8 yan!vampire thinks you’re his reincarnated lover🧛🏻

Oct9 friend becomes a zombie then can’t help but breed you 🧟‍♂️

Oct10 baby bee hybrid Halloween special 🐝

Oct11 yandere witch makes you his pet 🧙

Oct12 werewolf chases you while you’re in a bunny costume 🐺🐰

Oct13 orc x bunny hybrid reader 🧌🐰

Oct14 shark hybrid bf going feral during your shark week🦈

Oct15 reader is the yearly sacrifice to appease the ghosts(smut) 👻

Oct16 cow hybrid!reader free use at a farm fall festival 🐮

Oct17 yandere lake monster 💦

Oct18 Yan!(maybe vampire)Scientist x experiment reader 🧪

Oct19 puppy hybrid bf breeds you at a costume party 🐶

Oct20 clown entity lonely after park shuts down, gets horny when you come to explore 🤡

Oct21 vampire milf gets you to babysit her kids then pays you with sexy times later 🧛🏻‍♀️

Oct22 yandere poltergeist falls for you (smut) 👻

Oct23 werewolf is witch!reader’s familiar 🧙

Oct24 Frankenstein’s monster? More like frankenstein’s moaner the way I’m bouncing on that wood 🤖

Oct25 protective headless horseman smut 🐴

Oct26 haunted house? Sentient scarecrow fucking? JINKIES 👹

Oct27 exploring haunted house with friends, get abandoned. Demons fuck you senseless 😈

Oct28 aliens take you for a breeding program 👽

Oct29 Gorgon lady turns you to stone and uses you to get off 🐍

Oct30 Naga’s first halloween 🐍

Oct31 Jack-o-lantern monster fun :3 🎃

#halloween with bunni #monster fucker #monster lover #monster fudger #monster boyfriend #monstertober #smutober #teratophillia #terat0philliac #teraphilia #terato #exophelia

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rollinouttahere-writes · 1 month ago

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Yandere Frankenstein's Creature Zoro x blind baker reader

The amount of yearning in my heart while writing this was unreal. Oh, to be a humble baker in a cozy cottage with a misunderstood monster husband. I will probably come back to this to add more later.

Blind Faith

Frankenstein's Creature Zoro x Blind GN Reader

6k words

Summary: Life as a lone baker is difficult, but you luck out one morning when a stranger offers to do some work for you in exchange for food. Set in 1820's America.

Warnings: yandere if you squint but Zoro is subtle so it largely flies under the radar from reader's perspective, mentions of serious illness and death common to the era

Like many mornings, the sensation of sunlight filtering in through the windows and warming your face was what stirred you from your sleep. For a moment, you bask in the warmth of it while nestling deeper into your quilts as the crisp autumn air nips at your nose. You take a deep breath, then force yourself to rise from your bed. If you were going to get anything accomplished today, you needed to get up and get the fire going in the beehive oven outside now.

Before even attempting to get yourself readied for the day, you trudge outside to start the fire. Wind blows through your hair and whips at your clothes. It’s got some force behind it, but not to the point of being a hindrance. The path to the oven has long since been memorized, and your hand instinctively reaches for where the handle to the iron door is and pulls it open. You stick your hand in, and you’re happy to find that the embers are still warm. With any luck, you’ll be able to rekindle the fire and save yourself at least one hassle this morning.

You hurry back to the cottage and feel around for the tools you’ll need. Your fingers brush over the bellow and poker and latch onto them. You exit your home, stopping briefly at the porch to grab an armful of firewood. Much to your chagrin, you’re reminded of how low your firewood supply has gotten when you’re forced to crouch all the way down to even feel any. You need to chop some more, but you’ll worry about that later.

Once you’re back at the oven, you push in one log, then stir the coals and embers with your poker, listening closely as they crackle gently. You drop the poker and switch to using the bellow to feed the embers the precious air that they crave. They pop and crackle louder, and you can feel more heat coming out of the oven. Then, finally, you can smell the wood burning. You load the rest of the logs into the oven one by one, prodding the coals and wood to encourage the fire to spread until a strong wave of heat is emitting from the opening. Satisfied that the fire will be able to keep itself going on its own now, you close the door and head back inside.

A similar process is repeated indoors with your fireplace, and after you have both fires taken care of, you finally focus on getting yourself ready for the day. While you fasten on your clothing, you go through a mental list of tasks that need to be done. While you wait for the oven to warm, you’ll have to get the bread dough prepared now so that it’s properly risen by the time it’s hot enough. Before that, you need to fetch some water from the nearby stream. Then you’ll tend to the chickens and cows outside. At some point today you’ll need to find the time to chop firewood, but you have no idea where exactly such time is hiding. So much to do, so little time, and absolutely no help.

You’re startled from your thoughts by a loud, firm knocking at your door. It gives you pause. The townsfolk knew that you wouldn’t have anything ready for them so early. When everything was done, you would load it into a cart to sell it in the town square, so you had no idea why someone would be here now, or frankly, at all.

Another series of knocks rings out from the front door, this time pushing you into action. You go to the door, a short trip given the small size of your cottage, wondering who could be here and for what purpose. You pull open the door, ready to greet them, only for whoever is outside to grab the handle and close the door again. For a moment, you’re stunned into silence from the unusual action. Before you can ask what on earth they hope to accomplish by shutting your own door in your face, your visitor speaks through the door.

“Don’t come out. Just listen to me.” The voice is deep and masculine. Based on how high up his voice is coming from, you can tell that this man must be awfully tall.

The request is odd, but you choose to indulge him. “Very well… Might I ask what you’re here for? I just awoke, I don’t have anything baked yet.”

“I saw you outside just now. I can see that you’re low on firewood, and I was hoping you might be willing to trade me food in turn for me chopping wood for you.”

His offer comes as a relief to you. What a perfect occurrence this was! Now you wouldn’t be fighting to make the time to do this task yourself. While you didn’t have the money to pay someone for such work, you could easily spare some food for this stranger.

“It doesn’t have to be much, I’ll take table scraps. Anything. Please consider my offer.” The man’s tone took on a hint of desperation this time around, making you feel a twinge of guilt in your heart for causing him unnecessary stress.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t just give you scraps. I’ll make sure you have a proper meal and then some if you would do that for me.” You’re quick to assure him, not wanting him to think that you would be so unappreciative of his generous offer.

A sigh of relief comes through the door, followed by a dull thud from the top of the door, “Thank you, I promise you that I’ll cut as much firewood as you could possibly need. I just have one more request to make.”

“What would that be?”

The once desperate and wary manner of speech is gone, and has become much more stern, “You need to stay inside until I’m done, and you can’t look out the windows either.”

For a moment, you’re left speechless by his request, but you quickly find your voice, “I apologize, but I simply can’t abide by that. I have duties today that require for me to be outside. I-”

He cuts you off, now sounding frantic, “I’ll do those for you, too. Just tell me what to do.”

“Why are you so insistent on this? I can assure you that I won’t get in your way.” As much as you want to accept his help, his behavior was rapidly becoming ridiculous.

“You can’t look at me. I won’t do this for you if you see me.”

Again, you pause. Then you laugh. “Well, if that’s all you’re concerned of, then you can rest your heart.” You chuckle again and take his silence as your cue to keep talking, “You must not be from around here.”

“I… I’m not. I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

Rather than using your words, you take advantage of his guard being down to wrench the door open. You can hear him stumble and catch himself on the doorway. The wood of the porch and door creak loudly under his weight, and you can hear his breathing stop as he freezes in place. You face where you believe his face to be, hoping that you’re “looking” at him.

“It does have something to do with this conversation. If all that you’re fretting over is being seen, then you have nothing to fear from me. I am quite blind, as you -and only you- can see.”

You stand in the doorway, giving him a chance to take in what you said. You can tell that he’s very close to you now, likely hanging over you. Not only can you feel his body heat radiating off of him, but your senses are flooded by his scent. Overwhelmingly, he smelled like musk and sweat, as if he had just finished a long, laborious day of work. Alongside that, his smell reminded you of the woods. Earthy, but also carrying the distinct smell of moss. Under all that was a much shaper, less natural scent. It stung your nose and tickled the back of your throat like a potent alcohol, but stronger.

After a few seconds of silence between you two, you can feel the rush of air in front of your face, presumably from him waving his hand in front of it. A few more seconds passed, and you heard him quietly mumble, “You can’t see me…” It’s said as a statement rather than a question, but you nod in confirmation anyway.

Wood creaks again, and suddenly his voice is closer, now coming from above your head, “And it’s just you here?”

“That is correct. I’m not quite sure what it is you’re trying to hide by not being seen, but I can promise you that your secret is safe with me.” You make an effort to keep your voice jovial, not wanting to give this anxious man any reason to be doubtful or wary of you. You hold out your hand in front of you, “Now then, do we have a deal? Firewood for food?”

There is a moment of silence, then a surprisingly large hand encases yours. It’s rough and calloused, and you’re certain that you can feel scar tissue on it. His voice is quiet, “Yes, we have a deal.” He shakes your hand, and you find it to be a remarkably gentle handshake given his apparent size. It feels like he could easily shake your entire self with one hand if he so pleased, but he doesn’t. He releases you, and you can hear the doorframe groan as he pushes himself off of it, “I’ll get started on it now.”

“Wait,” Your hand blindly juts out to grab onto him, this time landing on his wrist. Your fingers ghost over what feels like even more scar tissue, and you briefly wonder if that is what he was so worried about being seen. You can’t be sure, but you figure it’s best not to call attention to it, so you continue, “I would like to know the name of the man helping me.”

“You… want to know my name?” The way he says it makes it seem like this is the first time he’s ever been asked for his name. You nod, gently encouraging him to share it. He pauses for reasons unknown to you, then speaks again, “Zoro… you can call me that.”

“Very well. Thank you, Zoro. Your help couldn’t have come at a better time. The ax is in the shed over where the chickens are. I need to go fetch some water now, but I’ll be around after that if you require any help.” With that said, you grab the pails by the door and slip past him to go to the stream.

The path to the stream has long since been memorized. As a child, you would tag along with whichever member of your family was sent to gather water that day. You even had your own much smaller pail to bring with back then so that you could participate. There were plenty of days where you would come back with an almost -and sometimes fully- empty bucket because you shook it about too much while walking, or because you tripped over an object you couldn’t see coming. Fortunately, you’ve gotten much better at keeping steady and catching yourself when you stumble over the years.

Insects and birds chatter and sing around you as you go deeper into the forested area behind your family’s home, and before long, you can hear the bubbling rush of water coming from the stream. You close in on it, taking smaller, more cautious steps to ensure you don’t walk past the bank and into the water. Once the ground becomes more soft and unsteady, you know that you’re close enough and hold out a pail while bending down, allowing the water to flow into it. You set the first one on the bank next to you, then fill the next. As soon as they’re both filled, you pick up one in each hand and begin the walk back home. The buckets are heavy now, but at least you don’t have far to go.

By the time you’re out of the woods, you can hear the familiar sound of wood splitting as an ax cuts through it. It’s quite nice to only be listening to such an act rather than doing it yourself for once. You’ve been alone for a few years now ever since your father passed from consumption. Your mother had died years prior after letting herself waste away when your youngest sibling suffered a fatal bout of scarlet fever. Your remaining siblings had filtered out one by one, searching for better opportunities elsewhere. While you missed them terribly, you couldn’t bring yourself to resent them for leaving. Life as a humble baker was a meager existence. Your father would often go to the city for long periods of time to work industrial jobs just to make ends meet while your mother baked for the town.

Your brothers and sisters tried to convince you to join them, no doubt fretting over how you would handle life on your own considering your condition, but you’re nothing if not resilient. Your parents taught you well how to survive on your own, and the local townsfolk are kind enough to help you with the odd task that does absolutely require sight.

From the sound of it, Zoro is doing just fine on his own, so you leave him be and go inside your home. The pails of water are left by the front door, and you go into the kitchen area to gather everything you’ll need to make bread. The oven outside still needs a couple of hours to reach the proper temperature, but the house is cold this time of year, so the dough will need extra time to rise.

Using a small bowl, you scoop out what feels like the appropriate amount of water for your task, then set it in the hot embers in the fireplace to warm up so the yeast will be able to thrive in it. While the water warms, you slip back outside to toss some more logs into the oven. You crouch down to grab the few remaining logs that should still be there from this morning, but you’re surprised to find the pile noticeably higher than you remembered it being. Had you missed some, or had Zoro really made this much progress in such a short time? You feel around a bit more, and sure enough, the log store is half full.

Well then. He’s certainly earning his meal. You’ll have to get started on his food as soon as the bread dough is taken care of at the rate he’s going.

Realizing that you’re working against the clock, you make quick work of hauling an armful of logs to the oven and pushing them inside. Once you’re back indoors, you mix together the flour and salt for the bread, then check the temperature of the water. Finding it suitable, you mix in sugar and yeast and leave it to activate. While it’s doing that, you make your way down to the cellar to grab some vegetables and meat. The cold air of the cellar chills you, prompting you to pull your clothes around you tighter. You use your apron to hold the vegetables you’ll need, then open the cask you had recently stored some brined meat in.

While you don’t know what Zoro’s tastes are when it comes to food, you assume he can’t be picky if he was begging for scraps. You think he’ll appreciate a hearty venison pie after working so hard.

You exit the cellar, and you’re about to go back inside when you hear your chickens milling about and clucking. You curse internally and rush into the house to drop the ingredients on the table. The surprise of Zoro’s arrival completely threw you off your usual schedule and your duties to the farm animals slipped your mind. You feel around for the bucket containing yesterday’s scraps, then make haste to the chicken coop. While the chickens primarily forage for their own food by eating the weeds and insects on the property, you know that they enjoy the scraps.

The chickens crowd around you as soon as they see the bucket, clucking excitedly and pecking at your shoes and clothes in what you’re going to assume is an expression of affection rather than impatience. You turn over the bucket and scatter its contents as best you can, instantly making the birds disperse so they can get their fill. While they’re happily eating, you open the panels on the coop to gather any eggs laid since you last checked and place them in the now empty bucket. There weren’t that many eggs today, but you have plenty in the home already, so it’s hardly a problem.

Once the chickens are tended to, you go over to the barn housing your cattle. They’re largely fed by grazing in the pasture, only being supplemented with hay during the winter. All that you need to do pressingly is let them out into the pasture. You’ll have to come out and milk the lactating cows later because they most certainly won’t let you do that until after they’ve had a chance to graze.

Climbing over the fence is an easy task for you after years of repetition. The bucket is left on the other side, and you find your way to the barn doors and unlatch them, allowing them to swing open. The cattle waste no time and exit the barn, lowing quietly as they walk past you with little acknowledgment. At least until you feel something bump against your stomach with some force. Enough to make you sway, but not so much as to lose your footing. You chuckle and reach down to pet the excitable calf.

“Good morning. Is this your way of telling me that I took too long?” You scratch the calf’s head as it moos and bumps against you repeatedly. You only had three calves this spring, but this one by far was the most friendly. She always stops to try and get you to play with her before catching up with her mother after.

She nudges you a few more times before running off to either find her mother or try to get the other calves to play. You leave the pasture and walk along the fence until you can find the bucket, then finally head back to your cottage to resume your baking. The shortest path back takes you past the stump where you usually cut firewood, and you can clearly hear Zoro continuing to plug away at the task.

As you draw near, you call out to your helper, “Is everything going well out here?”

The consistent chopping ceases. His breathing is labored, and he takes a moment to catch his breath before answering, “Yes, everything is fine.”

“That’s lovely. I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. It’s hard to make time to do this myself.” You continue walking until you’re roughly in front of him. “I hope you like venison, I’m making a pie for you.”

You can hear his hands tighten around the wooden handle of the ax. “You… You’re making a pie? For me?”

His surprise confuses you. “Of course. That was our deal, was it not? You’re chopping my firewood, and I’m making you a meal.”

Zoro falls silent as he seemingly takes the time to mull over your words, then vocalizes why he was surprised, “I didn’t think you were going to make me something. I had expected to be given raw ingredients at best.”

“What kind of baker do you take me for?” Your hands settle on your hips and you huff indignantly. “I’m already making food as it is, why wouldn’t I take the time to make something for you?”

Grass crunches under his feet as he shifts between them, “I don’t have an answer for that. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

The genuine confusion and remorse in his voice gives you pause and tugs at your heart. Just what has he been through to be so cynical towards people? You sigh and shift the bucket of eggs to your other hand, “Don’t apologize, I’m not truly upset.” You reach out and wave your hand around until it finds purchase on his arm, “I’m going to provide you a hot meal in exchange for your help. Not ingredients, nor table scraps, a meal. It will take some time for everything to be ready, but you’re welcome to come inside once you’re done out here until it’s finished, then we can eat.”

“We? You want to eat… together?”

“Yes? I don’t see why not. Unless you have somewhere you need to be, in which case I’m more than willing to let you take it with you so long as you bring the dishes back.” You hadn’t even considered that he may have other commitments to tend to.

For once, his answer comes quickly. His voice is almost bashful, “No! I mean, no. I have nowhere else to be. I want to eat here if you’ll let me.”

“Of course I will. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn't really want to. I look forward to you joining me for dinner.”

Zoro says something else just above a whisper, though you can’t quite decipher it. He clears his throat, then speaks at a more audible level, “Yes. I look forward to it as well.” You can hear the scrape of wood being placed on the stump to cut it and take that as your sign to leave him be, and the chopping of wood resumes shortly thereafter.

It’ll take a few hours for all of the food to be prepared, so you get started right away. The bread dough is mixed together and set on the mantle of the fireplace to rise. After that, you prepare some pie and tart crusts, then focus on prepping the various fillings for them. Most of the fillings were fruit based, but then you also had to prepare the venison pie separately.

A three-legged spider pan is set by the fire with some lard in it to warm up, and you fill a pot with water and potatoes and hang it over the fire with the pot crane. While waiting for the pan to warm and the water to boil, you clean and chop everything you need for the filling. Onions, parsnips, carrots, mushroom, and venison are all mixed together and seasoned in a bowl, then poured into the now sizzling pan with some beef stock. As it all cooks, your mouth waters from the onslaught of delicious smells within your house.

After a few minutes of searing the vegetables and meat, you remove the pan from the fire and scrape its contents back into the bowl. The filling is then poured into an empty pie tin and covered with the remaining crust. You carry it back to the fireplace and set your dutch oven over some hot coals before placing the pie inside. The lid is put in place and covered with additional coals and embers, and you leave it be to bake. Normally, you would use the beehive oven outside to bake your pies, but you chose to use the dutch oven today since the other one will likely be too full when everything else is set inside.

Once everything that you planned to sell was prepared, you begin carrying it out to the oven. The loaves of bread went in first, followed by the pies, and then the small tarts. Fire licks at your hands as you push everything in with your peel, but your skin has long since grown accustomed to such heat. You finish loading the oven and close the hatch.

You take a moment to listen to your surroundings and find that you can’t hear Zoro chopping wood anymore, so he’s likely finished by now. Dinner should be completed soon, so that works out well. You go over to where the log store is and stick your hands in to see how much wood he cut only to find it overflowing. Not only is it filled to the brim, you can feel logs placed on top of as well as around it. You had heard him coming and going to the log store while you were inside, but you hadn’t realized just how much it had added up until now. You’re beginning to question if one meal truly suffices for this much work. Perhaps you’ll let him take an additional fruit pie as well.

It’s unclear where exactly he is presently, but you’re sure he’ll make himself known sooner rather than later. In the meantime, you return to your kitchen to put the finishing touches on the meal. The pot containing the potatoes is drained and you set to work mashing them with some butter, salt, and pepper.

Heavy footsteps approach the cottage, stalling momentarily before climbing up the stairs. There’s a knock on the door, much softer now than it was this morning.

“Just let yourself in!” You call out over your shoulder.

There is some hesitation from Zoro, then the door is pushed open and he steps inside. The door falls shut behind him, and he remains close to it, not yet venturing into the small home. He’s an awfully sheepish man, you’ve noticed.

“Go ahead and sit at the table, dinner is almost ready.” The potatoes feel consistently mashed by now, so you switch out the masher for a serving spoon and walk over to the table to set it down.

Floorboards groan under each step he takes as he accepts your invitation to sit down. The legs of the chair scrape across the floor as he pulls it out, then sits down. You fetch some plates, mugs, and silverware to set the table with. Zoro remains silent as you get everything in place, so you decide to make an effort to converse with him, “Thank you for taking care of the firewood for me. I ought to be set for a while now.”

“It was nothing…” Zoro’s voice is quiet and somewhat tense.

“Oh, hush. You did a great deal of work for me, take credit for it.” You reach out to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Unfortunately, you failed to take his seemingly staggering height into account. Your fingers brushed against his chest, missing his shoulder by a wide margin. It would be polite to readjust and move your hand, but you’re struck by something. “You’re not wearing a shirt. Aren’t you cold?” Winter may not be upon you yet, but the autumn air was already quite chilly.

Zoro shifts in his seat, prompting you to pull your hand back. His fingers drum against the table as he answers your question, “Don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a single shirt? Oh, that won’t do at all, you’ll catch your death out there. One moment.” You excuse yourself to the other side of the cottage. Your home is one single large room. The kitchen that doubles as a living area is on the side closest to the door, while a couple of beds are pressed up against the wall on the other side. When the house was still full, your parents slept in one while you and all your siblings piled into the other. Now it was just you sleeping in your siblings’ shared bed while your parents’ bed was left empty.

Your father’s old clothes were stored under his bed. You crouch down and feel around until you can feel the basket they’re stored in. It’s pulled out, and you rummage through the clothes until your fingers skim over the coarse wool of your father’s shirt. You pull it out and run your hands over the article to confirm that it is indeed the one you were looking for. Nostalgic memories of clutching your father’s clothes while he carried you to and fro as a child flooded your mind, though you’re quick to dismiss them. Your guest is cold and you would hate to keep him waiting.

The basket is kicked back under the bed as you return to Zoro’s side and present him with the shirt. “Here, try this on. My father wasn’t quite as sturdy as you, but I’m hopeful that it will suit you.”

His hands brush yours as he takes it from you. The fabric rustles quietly as he pulls it on. After a moment, you hear him murmur to himself, “It’s warm…”

“So it fits? I’m relieved to hear that. You’re welcome to keep it.”

“You are okay with that?” There is an element of surprise to his voice.

“I am. I’m sure my father would have wanted his old clothes to find further use. It is yours to keep.” You place your hand on his shoulder, successfully this time, and squeeze it gently. The fabric of the shirt is taut on his frame, but you assume it must fit at least somewhat comfortably if he wants to keep it.

You release his shoulder and go over to the fireplace. The venison pie should be ready by now, and you don’t want to make him go hungry any longer than necessary. You use a hook to pull the lid off the dutch oven, then pull the pie out after covering your hands with rags. The pie is placed at the approximate center of the table. “I’ll get us something to drink, and then we can eat.”

The plot of land your family owns is rife with apple trees, so you’re never lacking in apple cider. You grab one of the bottles of alcohol from the cupboard, as well as something to cut the pie with, then return to the table. You feel for the mugs, then pour a generous serving into each. The plates are loaded with food next, with Zoro’s portion being particularly large after how hard he worked today. You set his plate in front of him, then sit down across from him with your own.

In the time it took you to sit down, he had already begun to eat. The speed with which his utensils scrape against his plate indicates to you that he was absolutely ravenous, as well as seemingly unbothered by how hot the food may still be. You eat your meal at a slower pace, enjoying the savory pie and potatoes. Making conversation now feels like it would be a wasted effort. Zoro is clearly not going to want to entertain one while he’s eating like a starved man.

As the scrapes and sound of chewing slow, then eventually stop, you speak up, “Was it to your liking?” The question is asked half in jest. Partially because he ate it in what felt like seconds, but mostly because you’re fairly certain that he hardly had a chance to taste any of it.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

The genuinity of the statement strikes your heart and warms it. A smile tugs at your lips. This was far from your first compliment on your food given your profession, but the sheer conviction and reverence in his voice made it feel different. You swallow your food, then respond, “I’m glad. You’re welcome to seconds if you’re still hungry.”

Much to your relief, he forgoes questioning you for once and simply helps himself to more. You can hear him resume eating again, though at a significantly less frantic pace. After a moment, Zoro clears his throat, “I wanted to ask something of you.”

“Yes? Is there something you need?” It’s relieving that he’s finally starting to be more forthcoming after getting some food in him.

“I… I don’t have anywhere to stay. I was wondering if you would allow me to sleep in the shed. I’ll work for it. I can do whatever you need me to do. I’ll cut as much firewood as you could ever need, I’ll hunt for you, do chores for you, anything.”

“The shed? Surely you noticed the hole in the roof.” You can’t see, but even you can feel the elements coming through where the roof caved in at.

“I won’t complain. Please… Please consider it. I swear on my life that I won’t burden you. I’ll stay out of your way.”

All that you can do is balk at his request. To be so desperate and destitute that you would plead and beg just to sleep in a dilapidated shed is a level of poverty that even your poor family hadn’t known. “I can’t in good conscience let you sleep in the shed.”

His protest comes immediately, laced with pain and desperation, “Please-”

“There is an empty bed in the home. If you’re willing to bunk with a stranger, I would allow you to stay here.”

The room falls silent, and then his voice shakes as he speaks again, “You’ll let me stay in your home? In a bed?” From the way he utters the words, you almost wonder if he’s never been permitted to sleep in a bed before. Your mind whirls with questions as to how such circumstances could occur, but you quickly realize that this moment isn’t suitable for such pondering. Zoro needs an answer, and it would be cruel, in your opinion, to make him wait for it.

“I recognize that it is unusual to offer this to a stranger, but you’ve been mild mannered thus far. That, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t struggling to maintain everything around here on my own ever since my siblings left. Your help would be deeply appreciated if this arrangement is truly what you want.” You’re certain that your siblings would have a conniption if they were aware of the deal you’re making right now, but they aren’t here. The only interaction you have with them anymore is when you get one of your customers to read aloud the letters they send you. It’s unlikely that they’ll ever even know of him.

Both of your hands are abruptly encased in two much larger hands. Zoro clutches your hands like a lifeline, “That is what I want. I’ll be in your debt if you allow it.”

“There’s no need for such dramatic language. It’s hardly a debt if you’re working for your stay.” You gently squeeze his hand back.

“You don’t understand what exactly you’re doing for me… it means more than you know.”

“Then I suppose we have a deal, don’t we?”

Zoro lets out a shuddering breath as his grasp on your hands loosens, “Thank you. You won’t regret this.” He relinquishes your hands fully, and his chair creaks as he settles back into it.

Dinner resumes in a comfortable silence. This is certainly an interesting change in your life, but you have faith in this person. Zoro seems like an earnest man who has faced more than his share of strife, but you think that he’ll fit in well around here. He’s definitely most skittish about being seen, but you’re hopeful that as time goes by and he becomes more comfortable that you’ll be able to introduce him to the locals. You think the socialization would do him some good.

But, that will come at a later date. The excursion you’ll make into town after dinner to sell today’s goods will have to be a solo trip, but that’s fine. You’ve done such a task more times than you can count. The only difference today is that you’ll have someone to come home to. For now, you choose to focus on your new company and feel thankful for the positive change that you’re confident he will bring to it.

#yandere one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece #roronoa zoro #yandere #reader insert #x reader #halloween event 2024 #nicemice34

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abbyfmc · 2 months ago

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Yanderetober #6:

Yandere Frankenstein Monster x Female Reader:

Note: This section does not necessarily follow Mary Shelley's book.

[Narrator PO.V]

Some time ago, exactly in the 20th century, the story of a doctor or scientist who was obsessed with the idea of creating life became popular. He was married to a woman whom he loved madly, to the point that people rumored that he was capable of killing for her.

He was said to use the corpses of men who supposedly flirted with his beloved and piece them together into a man or humanoid creature at least two meters tall. He managed to bring the undead creature to life, but quickly abandoned him to his fate out of fear that he or his wife would be killed.

It took him a long time to find them, and during that time he learned to speak, read and write. He was always rejected and shunned by every human he met, until he met his creator's wife, who was unaware of her husband's exploits. She was the only one who treated him with respect, decency and even some affection.

That's where the yandere monster of Frankenstein is born.

The yandere Frankenstein monster watched her from afar for some time, hidden in the shadows. She was very different from her doctor husband; he was reserved and cold with people, while she was gentle and kinder, making the monster slowly fall in love with her, coming to see his creator as a hindrance.

This caused the yandere Frankenstein monster to beat his creator to death, causing her to run away in fear and the said monster to try to find her, but in the end he stayed to wait for her return.

You ended up winning title to the house through a family inheritance, and you went to look at it right away. It was big, old, and needed a deep cleaning. You ended up cleaning it up and moving in.

The yandere frankenstein monster heard your footsteps and was quick to come see you (from the shadows, of course), being surprised to find that you resembled his former love, which led him to believe that you had "returned" after a long time.

He watched you clean and do everything from the shadows.

You, on the other hand, didn't notice anything at first, but then you started to feel watched, without knowing he was there.

You gradually noticed strange things in the house, like the aforementioned feeling; things slightly moved or arranged; footsteps and shadows faintly seen in the distance. He became aware of your suspicions soon after.

He thought about it for some time, finally coming to the conclusion that he would let you see him.

Whatever your reaction, he's not going to let you go again.

-The end.

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hi65387 · 3 months ago

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Their Human Pet (Poly! Yandere! Monster High x Human! Pet! Female! Reader) Part 1

(Yandere stuff will start soon. They will seem normal at first.)

Draculaura and Clawd: Y/n was not impressed when she saw the vampire werewolf couple come into the human living area of the shelter holding hands. Surprised, but not impressed. Y/n could see they were typical monsters from a mile away. Nothing special even if they were an odd couple and the vampire girl seemed weird for one.

Y/n stayed in her corner starring out the window and watching rain fall. She was not interested in meeting either of them. She was watching two particularly small drops race each other across the window when someone tapped her shoulder. She didn't turn around. She could see in the window it was the vampire girl.

The vampire tapped her shoulder again. Y/n sighed. "Can't you tell I don't want to speak? I have no interest in being adopted. Now be gone.", says Y/n while making a shoeing motion.

The vampiress pouts. "Why not? I promise we'll be good owners.", says pink and black haired female vampire. Y/n rolls her eyes.

"I do not care. I do not want to be adopted by anyone. I'd prefer watching paint dry.", says Y/n. The vampiress frowns. The werewolf guy finally speaks up. "Uhh, Draculaura, maybe we should look at other humans? Or just get a dog instead?", says the werewolf.

"But Clawd the shelter people said if she doesn't find an owner soon they'll put her down.", whispers the vampiress, thinking Y/n could not hear. Unfortunately Y/n could. She shrugged. "If they kill me they kill me. I still don't want to be adopted.", says Y/n.

Draculaura looks at her boyfriend pleadingly. "I'm sure she's just shy, Clawd.", says the vampire. "I don't know.", said Clawd. They walk away from Y/n. The seem to argue for a few minutes when Draculaura pouts again and kisses Clawd.

The werewolf says something and they walk out. Y/n thinks he told her no and its over. Only a hour later a shelter worker comes back and clips a leash to Y/n collar and drags her out of the human living area.

Deuce and Cleo: Y/n was not in the least bit interested when the Gorgon and mummy couple entered the human living area. Every other human sat at attention but Y/n kept reading her old and battered copy of Moby Dick for the 300th time. Y/n was just getting to a good part when she felt someone sit down next to her.

"Sup?", says a unfamiliar voice. Y/n looked over to see the gorgon guy was sitting beside her. He was looking at her nonchalantly. "You should move along. I have no interest in being adopted at all. Try Jenna.", says Y/n feeling too lazy and interested in her book to piss him off properly.

"Okay.", says the gorgon getting up. A minute later his mummy girlfriend takes his place. "My Ra? Are there no good humans here?", says the mummy.

"Try a human store instead of a shelter if you don't like our attitudes. We're all abandoned here for a reason.", says Y/n flipping over a page. The mummy stiffened beside her.

"With that attitude you'll never be adopted.", says the mummy. "Good. I don't want to be. I just want to read until they put me down in a month.", says Y/n.

"You talk so casually of your own death. Don't you have desire to live and get out of here?", says the mummy. "Nope.", says Y/n flipping another page.

"Ugh.", says the mummy standing up. She goes over to her boyfriend. The seem to be arguing and the mummy points at Y/n a couple times. Soon the mummy kisses her boyfriend and they walk out. Y/n figured whatever it was was over.

Then an a hour later a shelter employee came back. He attached a leash to Y/n's collar. He dragged her out of the human living area.

Jackson/Holt and Frankie: Y/n was surprised when a human without a collar or leash came into the human area holding the hand of a frankenstein girl. Y/n watched them from behind her book. She was curious as to why he was allowed not to a collar or leash. Then a nearby human started blaring rock music.

The collarless human clutched his head. The frankenstein girl tried to turn off the music but she couldn't. The collar free human boy transformed from human into a blue skinned monster boy with flaming red hair. Y/n immediately lost interest as soon as she saw he was actually a monster.

Y/n quickly went back to reading. Or rather she tried to do so. The blue skinned monster boy was very loud and rude. He started blaring rock music from his phone. Y/n gritted her teeth and kept trying to read.

Suddenly the book was snatched out of her hands. The blue skinned monster boy tossed the book aside. "Hey hey hey. A pretty lady like you shouldn't be reading when theirs cools a going. Get up and dance. Best human dancer is probably gonna get adopted.", he says and starts dancing on his own.

Y/n scowls. "No, thank you. I do not want to be adopted. I want to read.", says Y/n grabbing another book.

"What? You don't want to adopted by me and Frankie Fine? You must be tripping.", says the blue skinned monster guy. He grabs Y/n wrist and tries to pull her to her feet. Y/n begins to have a panic attack. She does not like being touched by monsters or dancing or being the center of attention.

Y/n jerks away and curls into a ball as the blue skinned guy frowns. His girlfriend pulls him away and stops the music. She puts head phones over his ears and he turns back into a collarless human. Frankie and her boyfriend seem to argue for a bit. The frankenstein girl pointing at Y/n. The guy nods and they kiss briefly before leaving.

Y/n thinks it is over and she is safe. She goes back to reading. However an hour later a shelter worker comes and puts a leash on her collar. They drag her out of the human living area.

Lagoona and Gil: Y/n didn't even look over from her window to see what kind of monster or monsters had entered. She watching raindrops slide down the window. However when they started to approach her she saw in the window that they were aquatic type monsters.

They came to a stop behind Y/n. Y/n didn't react. The female monster spoke first. "Good ay. I'm Lagoona and this is Gil.", says the blue skinned monster woman.

"I'm not interested in being adopted.", says Y/n. The human girl watches the couple look at each other. Their frowning but turn back to Y/n.

"I see. Are you aware the shelter is telling people they're going to put you down soon if your not adopted?", says Gil. "Yes. I enjoy pissing people off. I look forward to my death in about a month.", says Y/n without looking at them.

"So you've what, just given up on being adopted? That's no good.", asked Lagoona. "No. I never wanted to be adopted. Its why I piss people off.", says Y/n.

Lagoona frowns and pulls Gil aside away from Y/n. She saw them start arguing for a bit. Then they seem to reach an agreement because they kissed and left. Y/n thought it was over and she would never see them again.

An hour later though a shelter worker came back and attached a leash to her collar. Y/n fought them. However ultimately she was dragged out of the human area.

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