#yandere again

[starr-finn]

Payday 2 yandere HCs: Sokol

NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE YANDERE BEHAVIOR OR ANYTHING OF THAT NATURE!!!! THIS IS A SILLY FIC FOR CHICKEN MAN!!!! DO NOT REPLICATE OR IMITATE ANYTHING I WRITE HERE, IT IS HIGHLY ILLEGAL AND WILL RESULT IN RESTRAINING ORDERS, PRISON TIME, AND POTENTIAL HARM TO YOURSELF AND OTHERS! thank you and have a great day

Warnings cuz we need them: Kidnapping, mentions of abuse, Vague hints at murder, hints at a forced relationship, mentions of manipulation, drugging, mentions of amputation, manipulation

once again, carried away, just assume I did for all of them

Sokol is manipulative

He'll make you love him before he kidnaps you

He's such a sweet and loving boyfriend

Spoils the hell outta you

But behind the scenes, He's a stalker, obsessive, and possessive

Treats you like a goddess

Hides his possessiveness behind protectiveness

gives damn good cuddles

literally worships you

now onto the part you came for

Sokol kidnaps you by drugging you on a date to a bar and takes you to his house instead of yours

ties you up and waits for you to wake up

he gets a bit more violent now, but more so in threats

your his and his alone, and he'll make sure you know it

he does also cling to you

he holds you so tightly it's crazy

he just wants you with him all the time

holds your hands a lot

has killed all of your friends and cleared out your team of co-workers

has threatened to remove limbs, but would never do that

but he's so sweet it might give you a toothache

buys you one of his old hockey jerseys

buys you a bunch of cute stuffed animals too

bites at your neck a lot, it's a possession/marking thing

tries to make you feel as loved as he can out of guilt from kidnapping you

he will never hurt you despite his threats

he likes kissing your neck, forehead and jaw

texts you 24/7

calls you his baby, regardless of gender

sweet but deranged

will kill anyone for you

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of��wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[bunnygirllover45]

Here's my own tutorial on how to sleep with your kidnapped victim partner. I did not take comfort as factor btw I think this was a trend?? I don't know I just remember seeing similar drawings before.

[acid-ixx]

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[yanderedrabbles]

Softcore Yandere Boyfriend

Yandere! Boyfriend who knows exactly how messed up his thinking is and is trying very, very hard to not give into it. Yes, you would look so good tied up on his bed where you can never ever leave him but it's not a very ethical thing to do, y'know?

Yandere! Boyfriend who's built like an absolute tank of a man. Who has to be extra careful with his strength. He could pick you up and take you anywhere he wanted, but then he'd set a precedent and wouldn't be able to stop hauling you back into his bed.

Yandere! Boyfriend who needs constant reassurance. Who'll sit with his face propped between your legs and ask if you love him, again and again until he's satisfied.

You find it silly that this huge jock of a guy needs to be coddled so much. But Yandere! Boyfriend craves it. He needs reassurance or he might give in to all the toxic urges buried inside him.

Yandere! Boyfriend who spends every second in the gym thinking about your male classmates and all the random cashiers and waiters and drivers who get to lay their eyes on you, who probably go home and think filthy things about you. Yandere! Boyfriend who spends his time in the boxing ring imagining he's pounding all those guys to fucking tripe.

Yandere! Boyfriend who tries to keep his obsessive side happy, just so it doesn't become too demanding. Who allows himself little treats whenever he's had a hard day. Your used panties, a tracker on your car, a bugged teddy bear. Just so he doesn't go stir crazy with obsession.

Yandere! Boyfriend who'll never admit that he stalked you for weeks before introducing himself.

Yandere! Boyfriend who leaves lovebites all over your neck and thighs, even when you complain about how embarrassing it is to go out in public like that. He's marking his territory and he knows it, but he can't stop.

Yandere! Boyfriend who applies to all the schools you apply to, who takes all the same classes you do.

Yandere! Boyfriend who loves you so much that it frightens even him. Who'll kill you and then himself if you ever try to leave him.

Yandere! Boyfriend who really is the best boyfriend, who drives you to class everyday, who cooks for you, who pitches in and does your laundry. Just ignore that he locks the doors every time you get into his car, that he might sometimes crush a sleeping pill in your dinner just so he can spend more time with you, that he'll inspect all your clothes for traces of other men.

Yandere! Boyfriend who loves you very, very much. Who is trying and failing to be normal about it.

[suiana]

beo idk where i saw or read this but can you imagine a yandere! husband who would actually go insane if you left/escaped him?

like, actually insane. I'm not talking "ohhh my spouse left me :((( im gonna find them grrr" type of insane.

im talking like mental breakdowns, crying, screaming, actually getting ill, throwing fits and acting like a sick and deranged man because you're not with him anymore.

he's a rich guy, comes from an old money family. so obviously his parents and family all see the state that he's reduced to after his beloved darling left his grasp. and they absolutely hate the way that their son is so miserable right now. that's their son! and how could they let their son suffer? just how can they help?

so they find you on his behalf and bring you back to him.

like, they're sorry you're back here against your will but their son's condition is more important! don't you see? he loves you and you're just... just neglecting him! a good spouse wouldn't do that. you have to be with him. no questions asked.

upon spotting you, their son (who was literally clawing at his arms, nails all bloody) immediately switches moods and perks up. he's no longer the insane man he was just 5 seconds ago. now he's your loving and sweet husband.

his family all sees that, especially his parents, and they make a vow to make sure you never leave him again. i mean, they like you too! you're perfect for their son! why would you ever want to leave? you don't need to leave.

just stay here with them. stay with your husband. after all, he clearly needs you. and what type of spouse would you be if you left him again?

[dystopyx-blog]

Stuck in TWST without meds

and also they're yandere or something

@shironakuronatasa here you go pookie <3

Because everyone is different, I'm gonna be focusing on the meds I take and the things I experience! If you're inspired to write one of your own based on your types of meds, go for it! I'd love to see others' takes on this :3

I'm still writing in 2nd person, but you/mc is heavily based off of me!

(And if you still want a personalized one but don't want to write it, my commissions are open/hj)

Tw for one mention of suicidal ideation.

Imagine...

You don't quite have a clusterfuck of things going on in your head, but sometimes it can feel like it. Autism, Anxiety, depression, and ADD. Thankfully, you have access to medication, and they work well for you.

Although you can't keep the downward spiraling from the depression and anxiety away completely, it is far more manageable with your medication. You've found that when off them, you are far more prone to completely fall apart at even the slightest inconvenience. It feels like constant stormy waters, with stormclouds that only make the waves worse. But when on them, the storm disappears. Yes, the waves still get rocky and tip your boat from side to side, but you're emotionally stable enough to handle them.

Then the meds for your ADD. With them you have the razor sharp focus to not only take care of projects and work, but also to simply take care of yourself. When off of those, even simple tasks like taking out the trash can take hours, especially since you so easily forget steps, and will stop the chore in the middle, genuinely thinking it's complete.

But you have your meds, so you manage just fine.

Until you're sucked into Twisted Wonderland.

First of all, even if you had already taken the meds for anxiety/depression, there's not much they could do in the face of being transported and consequently trapped in a different dimension. But they do still help, and instead of bawling, you manage to keep a cool (enough) head and get yourself settled into Ramshackle.

But they don't last you long. They had built up in your system enough to last you a few days, but time and circumstances were not on your side.

Even though Grim is by no means an emotional support pet, and is by all means a little shit, he manages to push his pride aside when he can tell you really need it.

Especially the days where you wonder if death is what will bring you back home...

Grim will act as if he helps you for his own purposes, but he is genuinely there for you.

The others, however...

First of all, quite a few of them don't completely understand... you're extra sad and spacey, but you had some kind of magic to help with it back home, but you don't have them here, and without them you get... sad and spacey?

Riddle probably sees it as some pathetic excuse. It's not until after his overblot that his tune completely changes and he is giving you all the special treatment. Even if you mess up on purpose, even if it's something that really frustrates him, he'll justify it as you not knowing any better. Which is patronizing as hell.

Ace will use it to his advantage. Getting into trouble and having you take the brunt. And you play along with it, because, again, Riddle is treating you like an incompetent child, so you are all for raising Cain with Ace. What Ace really loves about this, though, is that it makes you more willing to hang out with him, and more likely to dislike Riddle.

I imagine Deuce has something going as well, though I don't quite know what, and neither does he. But he finds a kindred spirit in you. Study sessions with him are a MUST, and you share your different study and coping tactics, while he stares at your lovely face.

Trey relishes in caring for you. If you're having any kind of sudden increase in stress or sorrow, he is fucking there. He will scoop you up and take you to the kitchen and treat you with his home baked goodies right then and there. Same with your academics, if you need help with academics, it's to the kitchen for tutoring. And as bad as it is, he finds himself wishing you'd give in and lean on him completely.

Leona will also be there for you in depressive episodes. He sees how you always go to Grim when your upset, notices the little things that Grimm does that helps, and starts subtly using them whenever you're upset. Not even just if it's depression/anxiety related, if you're upset with him specifically he'll start purring in that low register that has your heart slowing. He'll rest his body on your chest as a weighted blanket. He'll let you pet him and comb through his hair. All until all you associate Leona with is safety and comfort–as you should from a mate.

Ruggie is SUCH a little meanie at first! Specifically regarding your ADD. Once he sees how much it genuinely upsets you, though, he'll back off. He does have a manipulative streak, though, and will use your anxiety against you. Any way he can get you to distrust others and seek him out is a good way.

Jack is one who does not fuckin understand at first, but once he does, he's supportive. He asks if there's anyway he can help and you offhandedly tell him about emotional support dogs, and he is locked on. He's embarrassed by it at first, of course, but he can tell how safe it makes you feel, and like Leona he is completely fucking for that. Though he won't just be emotional support, no, he'll be the guard dog chasing away anything that could possibly trigger you.

School is very difficult for you without your ADD meds. You can manage, but it is far more stressful and difficult than it needs to be. So, of course, you have those generously offering to help you–specifically Azul, who's more than willing to help... at a price, of course.

Floyd really likes when you daze off in class... When you're staring blankly, mind thinking about so many things except whatever the professor is droning on about. The way your eyes glaze over, the way you're so focused on whatever the fuck is going on in your head, the way your lips part ever so slightly... All your idle habits are endlessly entrancing to him. And, goes without saying, every single time you're especially depressed, he offers a good squeeze session.

Jade, the manipulative bastard, will purposely set you up for failure so that you feel like you need to go to him for help. Because lord knows Azul will make you pay for it, but not your good friend Jade. Plus, if you ever mention how hiking can help with mood, lord save your soul...

Jamil is such a DICK. He will be degrading you at every second, completely taking over whatever it is you try to do. Even if it has nothing to do with him. God, you remind him of Kalim, but at least you don't have the nerve to be so fucking happy all the time. A sick part of him likes when you're sad. You're less annoying when you're depressed, specifically, without little energy or motivation to do or be anything else. He'd happily take care of you then. He'll do whatever you need done. You'd probably do it wrong anyway.

Kalim feels so fucking seen and understood. He honestly felt like some kind of freak for so much of his life, but you... you're kinda like him! A lot sadder though. Your very existence brightens his life, so he's made it his mission to brighten yours. He also really can't stand it when you're with others. It's so obvious you two are meant for each other! He views your shared ADD symptoms as evidence of soulmateship.

Vil is another case of not fully understanding. You're making excuses. Until he takes it a bit too far, pushes even more than what you can handle, and you fully break down in front of him. You're so completely and utterly vulnerable in that moment. He doesn't know if it's a very dedicated manipulation tactic to get out of his nitpicking, but... he becomes a little more sympathetic with you. Vil recognizes that, for whatever reason, you do in fact seem to struggle more with certain things. And yet, despite that, you still try. You continue push yourself, even if what youre pushing towards is, by other people's standards, the norm/mediocrity/minimum. And in you he starts to see a bit of himself. Especially since, let's face it, with depression, anxiety, and add, it is very likely you relate more to Vil than you do Niege. He helps you, and in turn you help him, though you don't even realize it. Helping you be happier with yourself helps him be happy with himself. And he'll fucking slaughter anyone who takes you away from him.

Rook, like Vil, is easily able to recognize how much you not only struggle, but how much you try. And he finds that incredibly beautiful. Needless to say, he is often watching you. Everything you do is enchanting. He memorizes every. single. stim. and habit. Sometimes when you get frustrated, he just wants to scoop you up in his arms and shower you in kisses, but then you'd realize he broke into your room...

Epel will see how much you get pushed around, and takes it upon himself to defend you. He also sees a bit of himself in you. Sometimes he purposely waits around you, and at the first sign of trouble, he'll attack.

Sometimes you just get too fucking overstimulated and you need a break. And in those times, you've found Idia to be the best person to go to. You both started off pretty distant. You approached him, upset, and asked for a quiet place. You put in headphones and just laid down right there. The two of you just sat in silence, with headphones in, doing your own things, blocking out the world. And, oh, how Idia came to crave those moments. He began to depend on you for comfort, ans hoping that you would similarly come to depend on him. You're different from those other normies, you're the only one who gets him so please just stay with him! He will start to modify his room to be the perfect sensory room, the only place in the school you can go to fully regulate yourself. He starts going out with you, acting as if you're really helping him step out of his shell, when really he just wants to spend more time with you, and will continue to shy away from everyone else and hide behind you. This man desperately needs you to need him as desperately as he needs you.

You are so. Fucking. Cute. Malleus finds your every single quirk so fucking attractive. He doesnt like, however, seeing you so upset. So sad. And the kind of sad where he is helpless to help you. He also really doesn't like it when you're upset at yourself. Don't you realize you're perfect? And who cares if you're not good at any of the school stuff? Malleus doesn't. You don't need any of those skills anyway, with Malleus Draconia here to always take care of you.

if you want the rest of diasomnia or the secret character I subtly didn't include lmk

part two out now!!

[junjunjunko]

"Kylar's Little Angel"

[14dayswithyou]

DAY 4 EARLY ACCESS IS OUT NOW!

Hello Angels! You can now play Day 4 earlier than everyone else by joining the 14DWY Discord server! Please be aware that it's an 18+ community, so you will need to verify your age to get in!

Don't want to join? That's okay! Day 4 will be released to the public after a week! This is just for those who want to skip the queue ^^

💖 ...As well as some more screenshots from previous posts! 💖

[yandere-romanticaa]

It was a dangerous thing for a man to fall in love. Men lose all rationale, all meaning and thoughts if they were to merely catch a glimpse of the object of their affection.

Such a thing was even more precarious if the man in question was Calcharo.

Calcharo, in lack of words, did not know how to love. He was unfamiliar with the soft touch a lover was required to have, the thought of having to constantly shower you with gifts and praises made his stomach churn with nausea.

So, he settled with being a silent observer. In his head that was the best possible outcome he could have. This way he would never taint you but he would also be capable of having you to himself.

Loving you brought no pleasure to Calcharo. He was often found crouching near the group campfire, his gaze distant and heavy, the grip on his weapon was so tight that the men around him were positive that if anyone dared to even approach him in such a daze, their head would be chopped off clean from their shoulders. His heart would ache so badly, Calcharo felt as though thorny vines had manifested deep inside of him and conquered his soul, leaving him powerless.

He made a rule that he will never, ever, allow you to touch him.

If he felt the gentleness of your skin on his own, there would be no going back. He would be lost deep in the abyss.

His love only brought him pain. And like the madman that he was, he continued to fall even deeper under your spell.

He was not sure if he was ready to face the pain of the absence of your presence.

[starr-finn]

Yandere Payday fic 2: Jacket

NOTE: I DO NOT CONDONE YANDERE BEHAVIOR OR ANYTHING OF THAT NATURE!!!! THIS IS A SILLY FIC FOR CHICKEN MAN!!!! DO NOT REPLICATE OR IMITATE ANYTHING I WRITE HERE, IT IS HIGHLY ILLEGAL AND WILL RESULT IN RESTRAINING ORDERS, PRISON TIME, AND POTENTIAL HARM TO YOURSELF AND OTHERS! thank you and have a great day

Warnings cuz we need them: Kidnapping, mentions of abuse, Vague hints at torture, manipulation, murder, hints at a forced relationship, mentions of manipulation, drugging, mentions of amputation, and boundary stomping

Got carried away again-

Jacket is deranged, violent, and possessive

He will not hesitate to kill you if you try and leave him

the second he fell for you, you were his and his alone

will remove limbs, no contest

Has no concept of boundaries at all

Burns you with cigarettes, you have his name burned into you somewhere

grabs you and throws you around for fun

bites you a lot for literally no reason

Manipulates you into believing he's protecting you, but he just wants you to himself

killed all your co-workers, friends, and almost all your family, aside from those you're close with

not really a pet man, but if you have one he falls in love with them too

later buys a bearded dragon, he lets you name him, his name is Jimmy

overprotective, anytime you guys go out, he's holding your hand or has his arm around you

gets pleasure from hurting you and causing you pain, just because he's a sadist

cuddles you, like stupidly tight, so you can't get away

If you try and run away, he'll cut off your leg

cold mean and abusive sometimes

kind, adoring and sweet others

the gang has no idea you exist

You're never allowed to leave the apartment alone

lets you help make tapes to keep you busy

lets you wear his clothes

you get away with a lot of stuff he'd kill all others for

calls you stuff like 'love' and 'dear'

doesn't wear his mask around you

will let you play with his hair sometimes, when he feels like it

probably gets you stuffed animals

introduces you to the good early nintendo games

drugs you a lot, mostly as an experiment

A total jackass

[just-null]

Plz… do you have any yandere clone crumbs (or headcanons even)? I love this trope lmao

YOUR CULT LEADER IS SO GLAD YOU ASKED

[LONG yandere ramblings under the cut!]

THESE ARE ALL RANDOM STREAMS OF THOUGHTS. THERE'S NO ORDER. ALSO I'M NOT A WRITER SO FORGIVE ANY ERRORS!!!

General

They're all interested in the same type of person for different reasons. So if you catch the interest of one, you'll soon catch the interest of the others.

The clones are also pathological liars like the main body.

They're scrappy unfair fighters.

They'd all have a common trait of imposing themselves into your life. Whether or not you want to see them, they'll always pop up uninvited.

That and being disgustingly clingy to the point you can barely breathe without one of them there to share your air.

Their violence varies, but rest (un)assured that it is always an option for them, yes, even Hantengu.

Even if different, sometimes it really shows that they're a single unit.. sooner or later, your hands will be full with a bunch of annoying, needy, lying, terrible, and problematic assholes. 

They're all more intense than the average human. To them, a human life is as insignificant as an ant. They'd kill someone for the hell of it, or if it's an order from Muzan. That view doesn't change much if you're in the picture.

Now it's just a matter of not scaring you too much, hence, Hantengu’s chronic lying problem. They want to be the ones you rely and lean on. to feel comfortable with! Don't mind the blood. It's not like you haven't seen it on them before!

Relax, they truly never want to hurt you!!

Hantengu

Starting off with our man of the hour, Hantengu. He's aligned with delusional and obsessive types of yanderes, one who's too afraid to approach you but watches you from afar nonetheless.

You'd have to make an effort to find him since he'd most likely be shrunk into his tiny form and hidden in some small crevice.

It started off as a simple fascination. You probably made contact with him in his human disguise (accidental or not.) As he cowered, you were pretty decent.

It was a surprising but welcoming change of pace from the usual villains who'd try to harm him, but he still fled from you. He was going to eat you no doubt, but he kept putting it off until he lost his appetite.

He's terrified you might do something to him, that you'll hurt him! but the attention you gave him makes him yearn for your company. He wants to watch you all the time and quite literally, will do just that.

Hantengu's there when you wake up and when you go to bed. He's living somewhere in your home. Always watching.

With the ability to shrink very small and run extremely fast, you'd think you might have rats in your home. Each time you think you hear a snap, the rat traps always end up broken to pieces.

He sends his clones in his stead to test the waters after getting far too worried once you leave his sight. If you don't hurt them, then he'll know you're not so bad! Still won't approach, but a bit more calm when he's "around." or when they invade your life. 

Assuming the clones never stray too far from the main body (if they're physically able to or not, doesn't really matter) they never want to leave Hantengu unprotected, which means your home is the main base.

You can move, try running away, get help, or whatever, but it's all futile because Hantengu will hide in your items meaning the others will always end up finding you with him.

it's a rule of thumb for the Hantengus not to mention him for safety reasons and because he's already terrified as is and any unwarranted attention is probably bad... He'd be horrified to be under your gaze for long, which is why he prefers you with your eyes closed.

Hantengu is like your sleep paralysis demon. At the dead of night, he peeks out from wherever he's hiding and watches you.

With demonic speed, any flinch or shuffle from you has him hiding again, but if you awaken and keep your eyes closed, you can hear faint crying and sniffling while you slumber.

If it makes you uncomfortable or ruins your sleep, Hantengu doesn't put two and two together, it can't possibly be him. What a travesty..!

It'd be difficult to try and make contact since he's always watching from the sidelines or cowering and hiding away, but it'll get easier eventually when it's drilled into him that you won't be like the people he's met.

He genuinely believes that the world is full of evil villains that may hurt you, so if he sees someone that worries him, the clones will zero in on them.

Hantengu has a dangerously powerful influence on them.. combine that with his victim complex? terrible.

Sometimes all Hantengu needs is a single seed of doubt to be implanted in his mind before he's lying to everyone and deluding himself that you're getting manipulated.

That's when his clones step in, scouting out the place for the possible source of the problem. That or pick off random people one by one before you're back in their arms!

But it's not his fault that you're surrounded by overprotective, suffocating freaks! Trust!!

The upside is if you meet him, he's extremely docile. He doesn't do much aside from cower and weep, begging you not to hurt him. Attempts to hide are futile if you tell him to stay... like a deer caught in headlights. ironic.

One of the others are probably always in the room, if not all of them, making your interactions even more awkward. 

Once Hantengu warms up to the idea of having you know about his existence, you'd mostly find him in the pockets of your clothes or in areas where your trinkets would be strewn about.

It’s highly unlikely that he’d be violent in front of you, but that doesn't mean that the others won't be, (for his and your safety they say) Hantengu just cries about things or trembles at most with every sound making him flinch, huddling behind you in some way.

Hantengu often forgets he can go to his full height, usually being the size of your foot or smaller. If he's tiny, you'll see how he's a really harmless and defenseless victim of the world!

Nevermind how you sometimes catch the scent of blood coming from your home, only to find him cowering at the scene of a crime.

Depending on your demeanor, you're either a victim like him so you MUST stick together, or you're his savior.

He feels that safety and contentment when around you, but would rather stay on the side lines than risk anything. It's as if watching you do your daily routine is his stress relief.

It's absolutely awful if you're in danger or out of his line of sight for long. No reports from one of his clones? No most recent update to your whereabouts? No one is with you to inform him!?

Full panic attacks and inconsolable babbling about how you must be dead!! The world is so cruel and awful to him!!!

These types of reactions agitate the others, making them more worried if they're also in the dark. It's possible Hantengu would use Urami to go and find you himself in these rare instances. It'd be a disaster, but at least he'd have peace of mind..

At least you don't have to worry about Hantengu being jealous though. He's pretty tame, too focused on being afraid of everything else. The others handle his jealousy for him so that he doesn't worry.

Sekido

A mixture of highly jealous and possessive type, secretly protective as well! A mean tsundere is what you usually see, if not his common form of verbal abuse if he's too worked up.

The subtle flush on his cheeks takes the edge off his words if it's directed at you even if he blames it on being red in the face with anger because of you or [x] reason.

First impressions were probably that you were extremely annoying and would suggest eating you to the others whenever a situation arose. Thankfully the others prevented that from happening.

Sekido is one out of the two who'd accidentally hurt you. He never means to, but he forgets his own strength. In the beginning, instead of trusting you to follow him, he'd grab your wrist and drag you around with him to wherever he needed to be.

You could run away when he's not looking and cause an unwanted commotion, so it's best to have you on a tight leash leading to bruising sometimes..

Out of all of them, Sekido needed the most time to warm up to you. When he'd realized he'd fallen for you, he'd already be cursing at himself for being so blind to it earlier.

It started off as moments where his irritation calmed then snowballed into a bliss he only knows if he's by your side.

You'd think he genuinely hates your guts at times. The way he gets so angry and harshly insults you can take a toll. If he senses he's cut you deep, he still won't apologize verbally.

Knowing himself, saying anything would only hurt you more, he's too rough with phrasing that it wouldn't sound genuine. How is it his fault that you're so fragile?

Sekido has too much pride, but a lot of it is in constant conflict with his love for you. It's what gets him so frustrated when thinking about it. You make him feel disgustingly mushy inside, and he wants to tear out his heart and tell it to get a grip.

He probably doesn't speak to you for a few days, instead choosing to act while you're not looking to regain favor. 

Making food you'd like, inviting you to spend time indoors, buying you small gifts, and even cleaning up around your place. Wordless actions that come off as apologies for his temper that he’ll make SURE won't go unnoticed.

If you confront him, he huffs with his back towards you as if it were nothing but takes credit for it regardless.

Sure, he's the oldest, but Sekido still has his moments of immaturity like the other three. If he had it his way, he'd refuse to let anyone speak to you, almost isolating you, so his acts of service really shine through.

What if someone tries getting your favor by taking advantage of his supposed mistakes? It's extremely insulting that anyone would even dare try! Infuriating even!

The only people he'd allow you to speak with are his clones and main body. But like everything, it depends on his mood or the situation.

Is it REALLY necessary to talk to someone else when Sekido is RIGHT THERE?? No. It's not. Now shut up and eat the sweets he got you.

Sekido doesn't do PDA, but violence will always be on the table, never hesitating if someone gets near you, or looks at you too long.

He says he's the best clone to take when going out, but he’s punched too many bystanders as a warning far too many times... You're lucky if he simply verbally abuses someone until they're crying or humiliated.

You can say the handsome man with the red eyes has grown a reputation in town.

You also gain a reputation as someone who’s EXTREMELY off limits, dangerous even. While Sekido isn't as affectionate or sweet as the others, the things he lets slide when it comes to you make it obvious that you're his favorite person.

“Are you trying to die? Even insects have more survival instincts than you.” and all you did was bump into him. Sekido dusts himself off and gives you a once over, subtly making sure you're okay before he continues with whatever he was doing.

Were it anyone else, he would’ve swung his staff at them for even getting near him.

You're given special treatment because, to Sekido, you ARE special. On rare occasions, he'll even verbalize his fondness for you, even if it's worded as if he were reprimanding.

Just don't be so blind to the hints he's throwing at you and he won't have to beat your face in.. specifically your lips with his lips, very roughly, until you're both bruised and breathless.

When Sekido needs to be away from you for whatever reason, he knows you're okay. He entrusts you to the others in his absence, but his mind starts wandering to how he misses your hands on his.. 

It's different remembering it and seeing it, if you were there, you could touch him and he could reciprocate. It'd be even better if you were both alone—and now, someone’s interrupting his thoughts.

Frustration bubbles up and he's ready to snap at someone. What could be so damn important!?

If Sekido comes back with blood on his person, just don't ask, he's already annoyed and he's seeking solace with you.

You flip a switch in him. Your warmth, your presence, your voice, it’s like serenity to his vexed soul. He sits comfortably beside you when he has to plan for something.

It helps him think clearly but, he doesn't let go of your wrist..

His grip is unnaturally tight too, so you're stuck there unless you want to risk Sekido getting frustrated again because his personified peace wants to get up and do something, at least, that's what he says.

Even if it holds some truth, when you whittle Sekido down enough, he confesses that, in a weird way, he's constantly worried for you.

You're not as strong as them and he knows this, but it's clear as day when he's calm enough.

Not that he needs to, but Sekido takes the responsibility for not only keeping himself alive, but Hantengu and more importantly you. 

If anything were to happen to you, he doesn't know what he'd do. So instead he acts as the most aggressive guard dog ever and keeps any unknown presence as far from you as possible.

Moments of peace with you don't happen often for him, so please stay a while longer? The others will barge in any minute now, so indulge him a little until then?

And don't speak a word about it to anybody or else he’ll destroy your home and everything inside it!

Karaku

Extremely self aware, obsessive type. He knows how to properly court someone, that everything they're doing crosses many lines, but this way is much more entertaining.

You were just another random face in the beginning that he just shrugs and tries to find enjoyment in by tormenting, but as he interacts more with you, he finds it more invigorating than anything else.

He starts going easier on you, opting for just teasing. Dragging you into spending time with him is surprisingly more fun than a battle lately..

Whether you like him back or not isn't even important. As long as you have SOME level of affection for him and don't forget to give him some attention, he's satisfied.

Everything is fun when it comes to you and while he'd IDEALLY like you to reciprocate his feelings and be obsessed with him, he just needs an inch for the mile he'll take!

It's not like he will actively make you hate him, but he'll definitely try coaxing you into things you might not be eager for.

I doubt there's much that can upset him in general, much less if it's you. You're so attractive and entertaining to him, all your reprimands and insults go in one ear and out the other.

He laughs and agrees to whatever you said, brushing it off, then tries nudging you into moving on and doing something that doesn't upset you! Like doing him!

O-or.. if you're not in the mood right now, that's fine. There's a bunch of other fun stuff that you two can do!

With all that, Karaku's still aware that you'd be uncomfortable with him shoving all his affection onto you, getting possessive, and even beating some people up for the hell of it.

But he also knows people can learn to get used to things they can't escape and get desensitized, so he attempts to do just that and ease you into your new life!

He's still affectionate, it's Karaku! He doesn't force you into anything too intimate. Physical touch may be his go-to, but holding you and hugging you is the most he'd do unless he gets hints that he may be allowed to do more.

Out of everyone, he's the most relaxed, which isn't saying much. If you say you're going somewhere he hears we’re going somewhere, but at least you can go near strangers without him hurting anyone.

When spending time with the others, he knows he can just butt in, or do something that'll force your attention on him. Even if people try talking to you, he's not upset, just amused.

Very confident Karaku is.. any attempt someone tries with you is hilarious to him since he knows you're likely to reject them. He only gets slightly miffed if YOU'RE the one coming onto others.

“Oi~ You're really greedy, you have all of me and yet you still want other's attention? ..How about you try convincing me a little and I won't make that much of a fuss, yeah?” as if he's not always trying to hold you in the most PDA way possible… 

Karaku loves to show off how he's taken even if it makes you embarrassed. You're cute when flustered anyway so that's just another plus!

When you're gone he's sooo~ bored. It reminds him of that itch he had before he met you where life was too dull and he needed that stimulation only chaos could provide.

Unfortunately, chaos is like a storm, and the clouds dissipate eventually. So what does he do? Create his own storms, of course!

Karaku is a renowned pleasure seeker, sexual or not. Since he met you, the sexual part is reserved, so he's usually seeking fun in terms of mischief, adrenaline rushes, or destruction. 

Starting problems on purpose by provoking others to the point of a fight is his favorite especially if he can blow down buildings.

Some dishonorable mentions that aren't fighting are planting gross items into bags, spreading rumors, giving false information, and turning people against one another.

Overall things that would make you regret letting him out of your sight.

Karaku likes to make himself more appealing to you by boasting about small things. It could be the bare minimum, but you wouldn't know if he's exaggerating any tiny details!

Hearing your tastes and interests will have him leaning into that, but he's not going to change himself completely.

He's confident he can worm his way into your heart by being himself.

You should give him praise sometime! He didn't tease Sekido and make him so upset he blew a fuse. And! He didn't toy with anyone’s life before killing them this time! He also only used his uchiwa twice. max. and no buildings collapsed completely..

See? He's not that bad of a guy! You should trust him more, you'll hurt his feelings..!

He's the one who will also flirt with you the most, leaving lingering touches and casually inviting you for some bedroom fun. You could be in the middle of dinner and he'd ask if you're up for it later as if it's a casual thing between you two.

This guy.. he really REALLY likes you touching him.. from his hair to his arms, to his chest, and down his legs, whatever you want is yours. But it also makes him more reserved in a way? 

Someone tapping his shoulder gets him a little miffed. It's like someone is touching something of yours. Whatever, getting your hands all over him should fix that right up.

Karaku is an interesting case.. He portrays himself as an open book, but there's so much more than he lets on.

He makes mental notes of things you like and strictly hate, secretly helps balance everyone’s jealousy so you don't get burnt out, always there when you need him most, and is second to tend to you if Aizetsu isn't around.

Serious situations aren't his style, he’ll always try to be playful to lighten the mood, but you can see his ear twitch when he notices something’s wrong.

He's the second oldest after all, so he has the capability to be mature if he wants to.

But being a stick in the mud is Sekido’s job, so he works around it in his own pleasurable way!

There’s times even when he likes to take things slow and enjoy the moment with you around. Pleasure can be relaxation. While he loves being out and about, a nice quiet evening with you can be fun too.. even if he has to push you around a little too make it happen.

He likes how you make him feel whole, like he's not chasing after the unattainable satisfaction that's so close but so far.

Urogi

Intoxicated delusional type... Urogi believes you wouldn't do anything to hurt him on purpose and finds joy in your “shyness.” If you were to reject him or push him away, he laughs very loudly, “reassuring” you.

First impressions were pretty tense. He'd eye you like he's waiting for you to step wrong before feasting. Like those fangs suggest, he's a humanity's predator first and foremost and he wanted to keep it that way.

At least, he thought so until he played with his food too much and got attached. 

You later begin to be like a drug to him. He NEEDS you. Whether it be within earshot, field of vision, or (preferably) within arm's reach. If not, he gets super fidgety, nervous, restless. Can't sit still.

Similar to Hantengu except he begins getting impulsive and violent with anything or anyone around the longer you're away.

Usually, he thinks twice about slicing anything with his talons when you're around, he's too happy with your attention and knows you're pretty squishy! But if you're gone, the blood splatters make him feel better!

He misses you! Come back!! There are scratches and tossed furniture everywhere because Urogi attempted to calm himself with things that smell like you. Everything's just a mess, but he at least greets you the second you get home.

Cuddly and excitable! He'd tackle you in a hug and swing you around, or cling to you with his full body until you both tip over. Urogi likes your scent and warmth.

It's comforting, so he's constantly near you and touching you, sometimes fighting with the others cause he wants his turn.

Similar to Sekido, you're like a switch that flips to excited when you make contact of any kind, so it's not uncommon to find him clamoring to sit on your lap or lay his head somewhere on you when he sees you.

Again, like Sekido, Urogi can get jealous to the same levels as him. However, whereas Sekido would be violent and aggressive, Urogi is whiny and clingy. 

It's almost funny how he’s the one whose mood shifts the quickest. Even compared to Aizetsu, he's more likely to cry, or compared to Sekido, he'd lash out about something small.

But as his main emotion states, he'll always revert back to his gleeful self.

One second, he's complaining because you've been “ignoring” him for too long [three minutes] but cheers up if you so much as graze his skin, “Hahaha!! Okay, I forgive you!! Can we go out now? Oh! Oh! How about a kiss?!”

Joy may be better than when Urogi's upset, but it's still... pretty shameless like Karaku, except Urogi doesn't WANT to embarrass you on purpose.

He's got a loud voice and a one-track mind with you. Begging and asking isn't out of the realm of possibility for him either.

Something you can count on with these four is that they're honest in their feelings for you.

Urogi, being the one who's extremely raw in showing it, talks from the heart with no brain. What you see is what you get. Most of the time...

Urogi, like the others, has his moments of dishonesty, but it’s not his fault! He wants your love constantly so bends the truth about needing you in some type of way or that he was bullied!!!

He has a headache, take care of him! Oh, his left wing hurts, pet it for him, please? His feathers have been really bothering him lately, preen him? Yes, you did so yesterday, but they're bothering him again!! Also, Sekido was really mean for no reason again, stay with him so he doesn't get yelled at again!!

With how much he thrives under your attention, you'd wonder how he reacts with people who aren't you. Well, it's simple, if its not a fight, he leads back to you!

If someone ever talks to Urogi long enough there's a 90% chance he'll mention “someone” and ignore whatever they say.

When you're not the subject of the convo, he brings you up, interrupting the other's train of thought. Annoyingly so.. 

It gets particularly messy if he's conversing with the other three because then they'd forget about the original topic and get swept up with missing you instead.

Even the hobbies he has that aren't you, remind him of you.. in albeit concerning ways..

He likes to eat fleshy meat, but he gets reminded of how your skin feels under his hands. It'd be more flattering if he wasn't literally ripping the flesh off of something with his fangs, but he means well.

Sharing things he likes is a sign of love, right? That's why he brings you gifts! ..Like a cat bringing its owner dead mice except this cat is five foot nine and way more dangerous..

and the dead mice are limbs that can get you arrested............

It's terrifying to wake up to a mysterious blob of red meat, especially when Urogi says “It's the only thing that kinda resembles what it used to be!” but laughs in your face instead of explaining further.

A tongue was probably the most concerning thing that still had its original shape, but not surprising.

Urogi is unfortunately way too damn strong. He's the second one to accidentally hurt you after Sekido, his talons are extremely sharp and sometimes dig into you when he gets too excited. He tries not to, but even passing by he can nick you. 

Bandages are difficult for him to grab with his talons, and he feels terrible afterward, so he licks your wounds clean if you let him. Sure, it won't do much, but at least your blood smells delicious, and it makes him happy tasting it! 

Right, this isn't about him, right! 

There's something almost innocent about how Urogi acts with you. Even if you hate his guts, he’d still treat you like treasure. He can't bring himself to hate you no matter what you do.

He’ll get annoyed at times when you're too “coy,” sure, but never more than that or for long. 

He can be a handful, but you can tell he tries to give you a good happy relationship. One that he hopes makes you feel the same unending joy he feels even if it's a bit traumatic.

Aizetsu

Manipulative and stalking type. Aizetsu wants to get tasks over with as fast as possible. he doesn't have any motivation for it. He's tired and sad and wants to curl up into a ball and lay down.

First time meeting, Aizetsu didn't even spare you a glance. If you weren't food or a threat, then you might as well have been a poor wall or weird tree.

Giving him a taste of pampering is probably what slowly melted his cold walls.

Now that he has you, it's strange. He WANTS to get up and do things with you. The weight on his shoulders isn't as heavy when you're around. He wants to keep you near him always and if he has to be pathetic to do that, then he'll do it.

Sending cute sad glances your way, sighing after each word as if its tiring to breathe, constantly leaning or holding onto your clothes, whatever makes him look like he'd die without you is what he'll do. 

Aizetsu is more than capable like the other three if not the most. it's just that he doesn't need to do it, so he doesn't want to.

He purposely makes himself out like he's the “good” one, but he's just quieter. Unlike Karaku's boasting, Aizetsu wants you to see the worst in others so it makes himself look better by comparison.

Making others or himself seem pathetic is his strong suit, sometimes making his counterparts the brunt of that pity.

That or he takes a page out of Karaku's handbook and stirs the pot so they do the job for him. Sometimes they involve Aizetsu if they find out which makes him sad...

He pouts, looking at his counterparts fighting, and tells you how it's such a pity you're stuck with a rowdy bunch like them while knowing full well that he muttered something under his breath about Karaku mocking Sekido to make Urogi laugh while passing by.

It didn't happen, but it could've... it's okay, just stay with Aizetsu on the sidelines while they tucker themselves out.

Speaking of that, Aizetsu seldom lets you go. Like the others, he loves touching you, but the others let go eventually from some form of hyperactivity.

Aizetsu.. doesn't. His hand is always firmly grasping some part of your clothes while you walk, but if you're not using your arm, he'll hold that for you too.

You can try shaking him off, but it really wouldn't do anything except make him frown and grip tighter. You could ditch your clothes, it'll stun him for a moment until he's pouting again, but he’ll let you go.

Unfortunately you probably won't get your discarded clothes back for a while even if you apologize.

That and he’ll cling on again in five minutes if he's near. It's a force of habit.

Aizetsu's the strongest physically of the four, but tries his best to seem weak around you so you can spoil and love him more.

The second you leave him to figure out his own issues, you usually hear a loud thump then crack followed by Aizetsu's soft footsteps rushing to follow behind you.

Even with his crazy strength, he's the second least likely to spill blood.

Not because he's guilty or anything, don't be silly, but because he doesn't want to put effort into cleaning himself up, so you'll embrace him again. If you didn't care, then he'd be a bit messier.

Then again, he doesn't like how the dried blood feels in his hair, and he doubts he can get away with making you wash it for him every time.

Aizetsu is constantly upset, but he's not openly emotional aside from his usual declarations of sorrow. He doesn't cry easily, being in a constant state of sadness makes everything numb at some point, so it's something he expresses privately..

or, to persuade you into feeling bad for him further.

“Pitying others is only natural, but don't forget you have someone waiting for you always. I'd wither away without you.” He says that, but the others never see him waiting for anything when you're out.. Why? Because he never leaves you.

Sometimes you think you see a blue reflection from the corner of your eyes, but you check and nothing. Feeling like you're watched has been a constant lately since meeting the clones. Hopefully, it's just nerves.

But it's not!

Behind wall corners, in the shadows, amongst crowds, in closets, Aizetsu's always there. Watching with that same sorrowful pout. As mentioned earlier, he doesn't feel demotivated when doing things for you.

He's making sure you're safe and gathering more information. He wants to be precise when around you. How are you when you think they're not around? He'll find out. He always does.

Not that you notice much... He doesn't throw tantrums when you need to part from him like the others, only simple, “Really? Where are you going..?” and that's all for protesting. He's the “good one,” remember? He won't stop you.

Aizetsu gets a little sloppy with hiding his hobby(?) when he doesn't react to the new things and stories you intended to tell him. As if listening to a story again.

He's lucky he doesn't speak much or he would've filled in the details of the story you forgot about.

The downside of following you is that Aizetsu gets approached sometimes. Annoying... He's so gloomy, that he's sometimes approached by kind bystanders to check up on him. 

He doesn't speak to anyone as much anymore, only responding with nods and head shakes unless he's pitying someone. He's only “chatty” with you and his clones, more so you.

A tired look crosses his face when someone's being particularly bothersome. Say, the authorities or an insistent stranger for example. 

If you were with him, he'd look at you to fix it, but since you're not, he'll handle it himself. i.e. a precise swift jab to the throat that'll get them to keel over long enough for him to scamper somewhere else.

Zohakuten

Conflicting love hating attention seeker.. He can't help but hate how your mere presence makes the others and himself worse versions of themselves, but he can see why. Having your attention is like basking in the warmth of the sun again.. 

He rarely shows up, only when the four are panicked and desperate, but the first time is probably extremely tense........ he'd reprimand you for screwing up the minds of his clones and scaring the main body constantly.

He doesn't separate, wanting to see what the big deal is. Having Zohakuten follow you around or dragging you places while getting insulted, you're mostly babysitting him at this point.

He may not be a child in the usual sense, but he definitely uses his appearance to benefit himself. Big eyes, grumpy frown with his chubby cheeks and that usually gets people to believe him if he's lucky.

It's whiplash inducing when Zohakuten's face and way of speaking don't match (it's easy to forget that all these freaks have the mentality of an over two hundred year old man.) He uses an older way of speaking and their inflections.

He's not free from the common ground that is wanting your attention even if he's almost always complaining that you're the source of their corruption. yet he still doesn't try getting rid of you aside from a couple insults. Though it can get annoying when he's constantly on your case.

Zohakuten is extremely defensive of the main body. Hesitating when it comes to him isn't a problem. He's like Sekido where he punches as a warning in that sense.

He's very kind with Hantengu, and surprisingly you who now falls under the category of needing protection.

Hatred is part of his nature so if you're alone with him, that hatred focuses on you, but it's mixed with affection. He only really huffs at you and occasionally tries swatting you when you get too affectionate.

He's critical of his older clone counterparts. 

If there were a setting where Zohakuten coexisted with his them , he'd be very antagonistic even if it's to a lesser degree than opponents. He's going against them then complaining to you about it so you can be careful of their misdeeds!

He sees their actions as the main reason Hantengu gets bullied and falsely persecuted. they fool around too much instead of doing their job properly that it grinds Zohakuten's gears..

He'd probably call Karaku and Urogi manwhores for showing off so much skin. Sekido and Aizetsu are on thin ice but they'd still get called harlots for wearing their collars so open.

You're probably not free from his berating either but he excludes the derogatory insults.

Similar to Tanjiro in that one scene with Mitsuri, Zohakuten would grab your clothes and adjust it to be more modest. He can't have animals like those pigs looking at you!!!

That being said, Zohakuten is much more manageable compared to dealing with four smothering men.

Still.. he's less likely to listen to you and has a short fuse that can cause problems out of nothing. Plus, he's much MUCH stronger than what you'd be used to.

Luckily, there's moments when he tuckers himself out and he's quietly following you like a cat. He doesn't speak much then but glares at anything and anyone who gets too close.

He might look pettable, but don't do it or he might both claw at you and get a second wind.

It's best to stay alone with Zohakuten for as long as he's around. If someone else makes him or Hantengu upset, he'd focus his hatred into them and make up some deluded reason as to why they have to die.

They'll harm Hantengu first if they're allowed to live!! It'll be swift, but he can't promise it'll be clean.

It's pretty easy to get Zohakuten to get violent. it only really takes someone getting close to you or Hantengu until he's acting faster than you noticed he moved.

He doesn't really care if you get scared, it's all for the greater good. you're just spooked because his methods were taboo, but it's fine. Now all of you are safe..

He really likes trees and forests, so taking walks around there might be the safest bet.

Zohakuten wouldn't be as cuddly, more so because of some pride of holding himself up as the strongest pillar for Hantengu, but there are moments where he sighs and leans his head against you.

Being alone with you, Hantengu, and the peace of nature puts his mind at ease in a way it's not built for. Even his wood dragons come along, bellowing quietly and making the whole environment uncommonly calm. like he's almost a normal kid.

Serenity isn't forever of course and you must part from him eventually. It's not like he'll make it easy by any means though. His brattiness shines through here where he hides some essentials of yours that make it impossible for you to leave.

Your shoes, outdoor clothes, utilities, anything that'll make your life more difficult so you'll stay home. Yes, he knows you have a life outside, but he doesn't like it when you come home smelling different. It's concerning!

If you somehow manage to escape, you'll only see his hateful eyes from his safe spot in the darkness. Throughout the day, the occasional concern chill creeps up, and coming home reveals why.

It's a disaster. Everything is trashed and turned over in what looks to be a tornado hit. Except the tornado was just a small tyrant sulking in your bedroom. The tantrum didn't comfort him at all and all he wants is you.

When you come back, he's berating you and calling you the worst person imaginable! He grabs your arms tightly then nearly crushes your ribs in a hug.

He doesn't apologize, but helps clean up after he's done, wanting to spend time with you. It wasn't the same without you and he loathes how the difference is so tangible now.

It's unfair how he's tasked to protect you too, but now that he's met you, there's specific conditions that need to be met to be allowed to see you again. He's not here for long and people around you get to meet you whenever they'd like. it's really not fair!

Maybe after a while, Zohakuten would learn not to act first if you PROMISED to keep your interactions with others to a minimum.

Even If you don't, he'll remind you by cutting your conversation or starting an argument that'll quickly get lethal if not stopped in time.

The way this guy swears like a sailor is incredible. Very foul mouthed. He talks bad about people, even sometimes to their face. It's also painfully accurate. Zohakuten can really cut deep with his words alone.. even be problematic

so fingers crossed he doesn't slight the wrong person.

While he doesn't really need to, he tries getting you small trinkets to keep so he's with you when he's separated.

All stolen of course, or so the woman from the market says, but it's not true! he made it himself, what kind of person would spread lies like that?!

Note: Zohakuten is a platonic yandere. Like the boyfriend's bratty younger brother who likes you so he cock blocks everyone to hang out with you trope

You can try asking for help, but people have seen what they're like without you.. they're like a blender without a cap. The contents will go everywhere, and it'll be chaos. UNLESS, the blender has its cap, you.

With a heavy heart, people usually give you sympathetic glances if you ever do interact briefly and quick words of comfort if they can. at least you're well taken care of by those freaks.

i love them all theyre awful.....

Tl;Dr

Hantengu is delusional and obsessed, where he thinks you'll harm him if he gets too close, but can't stay away from you for long or else he freaks himself out Sekido is the jealous possessive mother fucker who's very rude but surprisingly gives you extremely special treatment. Karaku is the obsessed self aware one, but that's wasted because he loves causing problems on purpose and embarrassing you with love. Urogi is the Intoxicated delusional one because you gotta be delusional to be as happy as this guy.. also animalistic. Too raw about his feelings........ Aizetsu is the manipulative stalker. He acts like he's the good boy when he's just as shit as the others who also somehow knows everything about you. Zohakuten is the love-hate attention seeker. it infuriates him how you "wont leave his main body alone," but he secretly thrives on your attention and will cock block at every point and time.

[tsuutarr]

Yandere! Elf mage x AFAB! Reader (nsfw)

Content: magic is used to connect your pussy to a pocket pussy.

Reol is the top of his class, the president of the student council, and a magic prodigy with talent that no one has ever seen before. Maybe that's why he's a little detached to most people, preferring to bury his nose in books.

The only person that's been able to break through his shell is you. You're the vice-president of the Solstice Magic Academy, the right-hand helper of the more quiet Reol. He was cordial but frosty when he had first met you, seemingly preferring to keep a distance. Regardless of his demeanor, he's quite competent, so you weren't too pressed.  

You honestly didn't think you could get close to him, but you offered him some snacks one day, and since then, he's been a lot more clingy. The way to someone's heart really is  through their stomach.

Now that you two are… friends, you suppose, you realize that Reol is only quiet about things he doesn't care about. He's always chattering about magic to you. Another thing you realize is that he really is smart. He's practically solved all the magical mysteries of the universe. You wonder how a genius like him would use his brain. You're sure it's for something amazing.

And Reol does use his brain for something amazing. He’s probably the only person who can even think up and use a spell like this – it requires quite a good grasp of spatial magic (one of the hardest magics), after all. So, what exactly is his amazing spell? Well… it's connecting your pussy to his pocket pussy.

All he needed was your DNA (which he had gotten quite easily since he has a rather large collection of your things) and he was good to go.

He activates the spell after finals are over, enchanting his pocket pussy to be connected to yours. He watches as his toy shifts and changes until it's the perfect replica of your lower body. His breath is shaky in his throat as he stares, red-faced, at your pretty body. Oh, if only he could see you in person… but this would be good enough for now. He always liked studying before the exam, after all.

Tentatively, he trails his fingers over the pocket pussy's – your – lower belly, making you flinch a little at the feather light touch. You blink, confused at the sudden sensation, before going back to reading. There's no one else with you in the room, after all. You must have imagined it.

Slowly, Reol continues his exploration. His index finger lightly presses the pocket pussy's clit, making you jolt in surprise. Reol continues to flick and rub your clit, eyes gleaming curiously, as your thighs squeeze together, your hands clutching your desk. Confusion flickers in your eyes as arousal begins to pool in your belly, making you slide down your lower garments, only to see nothing there. Amidst your confusion, a loud moan is dragged from your throat as Reol leans in, his hot tongue flicking your clit as his fingers begin to roam further down, circling your entrance.

He engulfs your clit into his mouth, sucking it eagerly as his fingers prod your hole, before a finger slowly eases itself inside you. You're already so wet that your pussy sucks his finger in eagerly, making him groan. You can’t help but gasp as your thighs clench, your knuckles white from grabbing onto your desk.

Reol imagines how you must sound as he continues to finger you, teasing your clit with his teeth and tongue. Arousal continues to bloom in your belly, your pussy feeling full from absolutely nothing. You can feel something wet on your clit, your pussy beginning to stretch around something, but you can't tell what's going on. All you can do is moan as another finger eases inside of you, spreading you open even wider.

As the sensations become more and more overwhelming, your mind can't help but blank out as you cum, soaking Reol's fingers.

As your tight cunt clenches around his fingers, Reol can feel his cock straining against his pants. He continues to tease you through your orgasm, making you tremble desperately.

Reol only pulls away when your orgasm seems to subside. He looks at his fingers, before licking your juices off, groaning at the taste. You taste delicious, lighting him up with desire. Unable to wait any longer, he pulls down his precum stained pants and boxers, letting them pool around his feet. This gives you enough time to recover from your orgasm, peering down curiously. You swear you felt something, but – but nothing is there. And it can't be a ghost or anything of that sort, surely, since there are warding spells set up all around campus.

You're not given much time to ponder further as something begins to rub between your pussy lips. You groan as Reol's cockhead rubs against your clit as he continues to slide his cock between your folds, gathering your arousal on his cock. 

Once satisfied, Reol pushes his cockhead against your pussy, making you gasp as you're slowly fucked open. You groan as something thick fills you, before pulling out, before thrusting in again, desperate for your warmth.

Reol can't help the moans and gasps he lets out as your heat envelops him. You’re so warm and tight that he can't stop moving his hips. He fucks into the pocket pussy, desperately imagining how cute you must sound right now. The thought makes his hips piston into you faster, his cock hitting all the right places.

You aimlessly feel below you, unable to feel anything despite how your pussy stretches around something thick. You can only moan as Reol fucks into you harder, desperate for his release.

“S–so, so good,” he whines, feeling your pussy tighten around him. His fingers clumsily go to rub your clit as he feels himself nearing his orgasm. Imagining you, all flushed and depraved from his touch, sends him over the edge as he buries himself inside the pocket pussy, filling it with his cum.

The feeling of his finger on your clit as he cums in you is enough to send you over the edge. Your pussy seemingly clamps around nothing, but Reol feels it, his pocket pussy perfectly replicating your movements.

He groans, breathing heavy, before he slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. Reol watches as his cum slowly seeps out of the pocket pussy. Imagining his cum in you makes his cock twitch.

Meanwhile, you can’t find any traces of cock or cum in you, despite cumming twice. It's a complete mystery to you, making your eyebrows furrow with confusion. You can’t help but wonder, but no answers are coming to you, so you opt to take a shower to clear your mind. With shaky legs, you stand up, though you don't get very far as something prods you again. With a low moan, you fall back into your chair, your pussy stretching wide open once more.

Fuck. You really need answers. But who could possibly know what's going on?

As you're brought to another orgasm, one person comes to mind: 

Reol.

Your breathing is rough as you come down from your high. 

Yeah. He’s the only one smart enough to help you.

[myeagleexpert]

A story about the director and Grim, who are very close friends <3

Translation from fan to fan, all credits go to the appropriate artist, see the source in the pin below:https://br.pinterest.com/pin/902690319055568233/

Who else wants to see Grim's final form? but…. What cost would this have?

[acid-ixx]

a loving family, an unpalatable desire

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: would anyone hear me out if i ever wrote romantic yan! bruce (ft. platonic yan! batfam AND romantic yan clark kent alongside the superfam ofc) with a neglected spouse reader... because uhm, i've been thinking about it lately just yk... so anyways PLSPLSPLS send in asks about this, ive been thinking about it so much lately.

imagine wanting to raise a family so badly with a man who adopts problem children as a side hustle. you're not some invasive spouse, you've always been good, always been loving, so... so accepting, never questioned where or how he picked them up from the side of the streets, never once complaining about the hickeys on his neck or the once neat tussles of his hair now tangled accompanying lipstick stains on his white suit.

you love your children, you tell yourself all the time. you love them, you love bruce— even if he doesn't love you. you said it in your vows, despite it being scripted, despite your family finally sighing in relief in the sidelines at finally being able to sell you off to one of the wealthiest man in the world, rather than being wasting off under their care— your vows are real.

you wanted someone to love you, unconditionally, so viscerally eternal that it eats you up.

really, all you wanted was to play that fantasy life of trophy house spouses. all you wished for was a loving, healthy relationship. the american dream: the picture perfect family frames, your husband kissing you on the cheek as he leaves for work, your children bickering at the dining room, with the scent of homemade meals wafting about the vicinity. all you wanted was the warmth in your chest to flicker like candlelights. all you dreamed about was that domestic life, an escape from the abusive household you were raised in.

yet the manor is too cold, too unforgiving for a soul such as yours.

the longer you stay inside claustrophobic, yet oh-so large hallways, the quicker you drown in a neverending pool of self-hatred.

but you're not allowed to show them your sufferings. they've been through much worse, you tell yourself. they've suffered more, and as what good spouses do, as what you're taught, you stay silent, enabling them to turn you into their own emotional punching bag.

you only allow yourself to cry at the dead of the night, under the sheets of your too-cold blanket and your too-hot pillows. when the manor is filled with deathly silence and a looming sense of dread and ill fitting thoughts of ifs and when they'll come back in one piece, will you grant yourself temporary respite; worry for a family who never even called you their parent.

yet you've always been so considerate. despite the pang in your chest every time bruce flirts with anymore potential love interest at a gala, you chose to instead monitor your chaotic children, who have always never bat an eye on you despite you always gazing lovingly at them.

you know of their interests, they don't know yours, yet you still give them extravagant gifts on their birthdays, with tired, yet glinting eyes, and a silent excuse to return to your room; one separate from bruce.

you know of bruce's hardships, but you don't push too hard, don't force him to talk, only provide him your silence and an offer to serve him dinner; all the time he refuses without looking at you. you give him comfort only if he ever allows you, only if he allows his walls to crumble— but not even his spouse can amount to a warm, crackling fireplace. to him, you're probably only a matchstick under the deadbeat glaze of the snow in a winter night.

maybe that's why you're such a ghost in the manor, stalking through the hallways, looking out for any of your children in case they come across you with any injuries. maybe that's why eventually your resolve weakened.

and maybe the absence of familial love led you to find comfort in another man's arm.

''til death do us part,' is such a tragic saying in your case, because you know it in your fragile heart that bruce's love for you was never alive in the first place. and yet you allow him to play you like a fiddle, allow him to slowly allow you to slip away from his nonexistent grasp.

and now, you're a stand-in parent for clark's son, jon, after the tragic loss of his wife. now, your world seems a lot less bleaker, as you play the fantasy of a loving house spouse, fully abandoning the life you left behind, a life you've never been gifted with until now. you want to feel guilty, you want to feel absolutely terrible but the heartache of neglect has become too much and all you do was allow clark to warm you up each night, kissing away your tears and spooning your deep-seated anxieties away.

you don't let the past eat you up, not when the present is too perfect, too freeing, too delusionally beautiful.

your son, jon provides you every joy a parent could have. parent's day gifts, heartfelt letters at every nook and cranny of your shared bedroom with clark— even reading him bedtime stories, allowing him to sleep in your lap after he slowly nods off, with clark knocking softly on polished wooden doors, greeting you with a loving kiss on the lips and a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand—

it's everything a parent wants, needs even.

and you're everything clark, and especially jon wants, needs in their life.

so it's such a stupid mistake, really. a slip of the tongue, a too-enthusiastic smile, incredibly bright, shining eyes. it's not jon's fault, you still love him either way. but it's an error still— one a complicated matter at hand, so dreadful for you, that jon accidentally, all-too-suddenly, mentions you as his parent to damian.

a loving, wonderful parent, he says, with a picture of you in his wallet shoved right in front of his friend's face.

[minthy]

The Star Sanses,

with the Map of the soul: 7 song that I think it fits with them, Because I miss 2019.

(forgot to post these doodles here, yay)

Persona: Swap.

"Actually I’m real good but a little uncomfortable,

I'm still not so sure if I'm a dog or a pig or what else,

But then other people come out and put the pearl necklace on me"

(Truth to be told, I have no idea what "swap sans" really is, He's just... well.. A swap, He doesn't even have a personality the silly, He just is there to fit for the plot of your AUs, heheh, Relatable)

Ego: Dream.

"I go back every day, To me of yesterday,

To the life of giving up, I let myself go away,

But in this world, you know, There are truths unchanged,

Time rushes ever forward, There's no ifs, buts, or maybes"

(I don't think he can get over what happened, his heart is big and his ego is bigger than to let him ask for guidance and support, man release us)

Shadow: Ink.

"I wondered everyday how far I'd go,

I came to my senses and I find myself here,

Yeah, hmm, shadow at my feet,

Look down, it's gotten even bigger"

(No matter how great high and mighty he's getting, the more the shadows of his past and constant need for stimulation are driving him to a point of despair and unsatisfaction, get a grip)